Join the new world

Hey guys it's been a rather long time since i filled erepublik up with my stories (almost 100 days) and i keep meaning to get back into it. I've also been promising DakotaBlue a new article for about 2 months and since i finally found the energy i thought i'd write the following short tale.
It's rather rough but i hope you still enjoy it and if i get more energy i'll edit it at some point 😛

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Private Axeell Young covered his eyes as the grenade exploded just ten metres from his position. Dirt blasted into the air and shrapnel peppered his face and hands. Pain seared through his exposed flesh but the injuries were simply superficial and a quick minute exploring his body showed the shrapnel had only drawn small drops of blood on his hands and cheek.

“Get ready for the charge Private.” Sergeant Gilmour thrust the abandoned rifle back into the dazed Privates hand.

“Yes Sarge.” The voice was lost in the sound of more grenades exploding and bullets flying back and forth between the two entrenched lines.

Axeell felt something strange begin to take a hold of his body. His heart slowed, his mind cleared, even the sounds of battle began to diminish and fade into the background of his conscious. The fear vanished and a feeling of calm enveloped his entire being.

“Our father who art in Heaven…”

The prayer came from the soldier on his left. The chanting voice accompanied by tears that dripped slowly from the soldiers face to the dirty boards that covered the trenches floor.

“…hallowed be thy name.”

Axeell felt he should cry too, or pray, or scream. He felt he should feel something, anything. But no. nothing could penetrate his mind, it was clear, it was ready, and it was unafraid. Come what may it was ready.

And then the horn sounded.

The cry went up all along the mile long stretch of trench. Men rose from their prayers, from their final letters home, from their sorrow. They rose with weapons in hand, steel in their hearts and a cry at their lips. They rose and they climbed the side.

Axeell screamed along with the rest of the Regiment, he grasped the cold metal of the ladder, its coolness harsh against the heat of his body. One step and another and then his head was above the trench. And then the enemy opened fire.

The way ahead was as bright as the noon day sun. Grenades exploded in their dozens, countless machine guns opened fire and death visited the men of the British Forces.

Axeell ran, his head bent low, his breath ragged in his chest and his legs pounding across the ground as quickly as he could. Men fell to his left and his right. Some fell screaming as blood pumped out of their bodies and vanished into the ground.

Time seemed to slow as Axeell looked up to find himself within twenty metres of the enemy. A Canadian swung his gun and Axeell felt his legs give way as his mind told his muscles to dive. The Canadian fired as Axeell smashed into the wet mud of no-mans land.

The private could taste mud and bracken water in his mouth but he dared not look up or move for fear of death. The once clear mind was gone, fear had returned and it was not going to move. It crippled his mind, he could think of nothing else but death and his body refused to move.

Axeell lay there for hours as the charge faltered and died in its tracks. He was left alone in front of the enemy. A living man amongst the dead. A Britain amongst the Canadians.