That Night in Gallipoli

The bombs came, one, two, three, all around me, pounding at my ears. This repeated nightmare had continued ever since that horrid night in Gallipoli. All I could do was run, off the boat and towards my enemy, hanging on to dear life. Our troops were surrounded, ambushed by the Turks, sentenced to our death. Soldiers fell, one by one, blood spilling from their bodies, staining the shores of Gallipoli. I needed to find cover, anything that could keep me alive. I found shelter behind a rock, wishing I was back home with my family, wishing this war would come to an end. From behind the rock, I saw how vulnerable we were. The Turks had a major advantage, firing at us from the elevated cliff. This was not what I expected war to be. This was not what I signed up for. This was not fair. 

It was about six months later that the war ended, when we were all finally evacuated from the failed mission, one nobody should’ve had to go through. Both forces suffered great casualties. I was lucky to survive, unlike many of my close mates that fought bravely beside me. I woke up, sweating all over, relieved that it was just a dream, a memory I wish to forget.