Foxhole

Ernst is sorry he didn’t become a tanker.
“You’re right, Hans. You’re a lucky bastard. I’m a bloody foot soldier depending on a lousy rifle, hiding in a hole in the ground like a trapped animal. If the Artillery doesn’t get you the tanks will.
I was buried in my foxhole and I heard this massive rumbling noise, getting louder and louder, and - as it got closer - I looked out and saw this gigantic, smelly, smoky monster approaching our forward trenches about 100 metres away. It looked like the new T 34 and it was preparing for a carpet run over our trenches.
It was creaking and chattering, and the ground was shuddering, as it started to go over them. If they’re not constructed properly you’ll end up as recycled jam.
As it passed close to me I noticed that it had red tracks, and I gradually realised that they were covered in blood - with bits of flesh and insides - hanging between the tracks and the rollers. The snow had changed colour to red.I can’t describe it. I can’t describe my fear. I squeezed myself into the bottom of my foxhole until my neck had almost disappeared into my body, as I tried to make myself smaller and smaller. I though the earth was going to crack. The time was like an eternity and I was in a cold sweat, which was turning to ice on my body, and then the noise seemed to change and go in a different direction. My whole life flashed before me, as strange and unusual events shot through my brain in milliseconds, like my life had rolled into a tiny circle with all my episodes looking back at me.”
/Leo Hellmann, When the lights went out. pp. 71-72/