1
As I heard the sounds of screaming and gunfire above my head, I tightened my grip on my rifle. Harris shifted in his seat, and pressed his back further against the dirt wall of the trench. The auto next to me, Jerry, as we called it, did not move. I did however, hear the pistons and gears shifting around inside its head. It was thinking.
“How many Turks you reckon I can get on this one?” Harris asked boyishly, “Five? Six?”
Anderson laughed, “Like hell you could! I bet you'd drop dead before you make it three feet!”
Harris smiled, “Is that a bet?” He got up, brushed off his uniform, grabbed his rifle, and crouched over to the opposite end of the trench, next to me.
“ We are not to engage until given orders by the commander,” Jerry said.
Harris ignored it, and peeked over the top. A bullet whizzed by his head, and he ducked back down.
His mask cracked, and only for a moment, his face was stricken with fear.
He turned back to Anderson. “If I shoot more than six Turks, you owe me your dinner rations,” He said.
“Make it seven,” Anderson retorted, “and the same goes for me too.”
I heard Jerry’s head shift, and it turned to face the two soldiers, “I find it highly unlikely that both of you will make it out of this alive.” It turned its head back to a forward position. “Either way, one of you will have the other's rations, because the other will be dead. This bet will prove to be pointless.”
Harris looked to Anderson. Their little bubble of security, of slight comfort before their impending deaths, had been shattered. The chances of them both making it out alive was slim, they knew that, but Jerry saying out loud meant that it became real, they couldn't ignore it anymore.
Our commanding officer came marching down the segment, the shrill sound of a whistle between his teeth.
“Everybody, over and up!”
Jerry, and all the other autos in this segment, got to their feet.
2
Anderson laid sprawled in a ditch, his left leg sat not six feet away from him.
I yanked the cloth tourniquet around his thigh, and he cried out in pain. With my leg, I jabbed at the unconscious body of Harris, who lay next to me.
“Jerry!” I shouted, as it dug itself out of a few centimetres of dirt, “wake Harris!”
Jerry looked at Harris, then turned around and looked up the hill at the area in which the explosion had come from. “We have taken quite the tumble, we are lucky we are out of sight of the Turkish.” Jerry walked over to Harris, seized both his shoulders, and frantically shook the poor boy awake.
Scared and confused, Harris scrambled backwards in the dirt, “Shit! What happened?” - he looked around him, then up the hill - “Did we fall?”
“Yes,” said Jerry.
A loud shriek from Anderson made Harris jump.
“You have to keep him quiet,” said Jerry, “If he alerts the Turkish of our location, we are all as good as dead.” It located its rifle, half buried in the dirt behind it, and picked it up.
“His leg’s been blown off!” I shouted, “What do you expect him to do?”
“I expect that, if he is to die, that he try not to bring us down with him,” it said, “The Turkish dont know we’re here, that is the only reason we are still alive. The second he changes that, is the second we die.”
I scowled at the auto, and it shrugged, turning around to scan the dirt for our other belongings.
I looked to Harris, “Help me move him.”
Harris crawled over to Anderson, “You’re alright mate,” he said, “lucky in fact, when we get you out of here, you'll be on the next ship home.”
“I find that unlikely,” Jerry remarked, slotting a charger clip into its rifle.
Harris helped me with the tourniquet, and Anderson stifled a cry, in too much pain to talk back.
“I’ve seen men live from worse.” Harris said in an attempt to reassure Anderson.
“And I’ve seen men die from less.” Jerry said. “Toss of the coin, really.”
Due to the pain, Anderson passed out.
“Shit, that's not good, we're going to have to carry him.” Harris looked to the auto, who had gathered Harris and I’s rifles. “Jerry, grab his arm.”
Jerry made what one could only call a metallic sigh. A rasping of its voice box, mixed with the churn of metal, and the sound of cranks and gears going round inside its throat.
“Fine.”
These stories were the exploration of an idea that would eventually turn into AIFA. See The Making of AIFA for details