The messenger hopped into the trench just after a shell hit. He face chittered, ghostly pale after the brush with death.
“How long until we get backup?” a grizzled twenty-one year old asked.
“It’s not coming,” the fresh young messenger said. “The shelling’s too hard. No one’s moving from the redoubts.”
The professional soldier rubbed his aching feet. “I’m not sure we can hold them off this time. We don’t have enough men in this line.” Upon seeing the fear on the messenger’s face, he comforted. “Don’t worry, mate. I suppose they feed their prisoners!”
The young man gulped.
This was written for the Carrot Ranch February 28 prompt, Backup. This is one of those rare times that I have nothing else to say about what I’ve written, so… woohoo!