Here a part of the story johan is writing..
The train runs on the infinite lines of steel, as if it was a dark knight rushing onto its enemies, devouring sleeper after sleeper with his blackened steel armor. Blowing steam, venting smoke, and burning cinders spew out of its chimney, like red-hot sentinels guarding the dark soul of this transport to hell. In its wake a small army of goods wagons with open hatches, each of them filled with forty, fresh recruits and two guardsman, to provide the comfort of a bullet for those who desert. This dark knight is but one of many, on its mission to raise an army of tombstones, a new army for a new offensive.
The blackened knight rushes to the west as if the setting sun was his enemy. Far beyond the horizon, miles past the point, where the rails evaporate into distance, towering columns of smoke fill the air, ever rising until they hit the stratosphere and become angry crosses of doom. Slowly the sun sets behind the smoke, as if it were never to rise again, eerie rays of light envelope the cross, creating an unholy heed to the perils at hand. The raging firestorms at the base of each column illuminate the crossbeams of the dark demons of death, lightning-flashes pass through the bodies of these super cells of modern destruction. The procession of wagons speed towards the columns, through seemingly endless fields of waving rye, colored red by the setting sun.
The wind circles my head and blows my hair into my face, my green uniform ripples with each gust of wind, just fresh from training camp I am being send to my demise, into a war that is not my own. Suddenly I am very aware of my own hand that uncontrollably tries to get my hair out of my face. I force my hand down, so I won’t be aware of my nervous tic. Slowly I turn my head to the front of the train, and my hair is blown back, this is the second time I become aware of the doom that’s hanging forcefully over my young live. The moist from my eyes is thrown hard into the corners and the wind takes them on a journey over my temples, into my dark blond hair. A sudden gust of thoughts hits me when I can smell the blazing fires at the horizon, it is not only burning wood, my nose makes out, the smell of something far more gruesome is a stowaway on this terrible wind. Thoughts of fear, anger and despair cloud my mind, with a sudden jerk I let my body fall into the wagon, my mind overpowered by the smell of terror. I feel my shoulders hit the floor planks of our transport, my face holds back just short of the straw that’s meant to keep us warm during the nights. I smell the straw and some other smells I can make out, smells of humans being packed in wagons for days.
For a moment I doze off, for just a moment, just long enough, for my mind to travel beyond the boundaries of our existence, into a time long gone, to a place kept by the enemy for so long. My mind drifts into a time, when only that village existed, that only that village mattered, that only that … I open my eyes, I feel tears swelling, I can’t… anger takes control of me, in my mind I scream a silent curse. I can’t remember her. I feel the wind passing my leg, that’s still standing on the step outside the wagon; I put my palms on the floor boards and push my body upright. My head in the wind again, tears traveling my face, my thoughts dwell on that one girl. No matter how hard I search my memories, I only find my feelings, no image, no voice, no sweet words she may have ever said to me. Nothing to really remind me. If it is not her, or the thoughts of her that make me go to war, nor the great leader that failed to protect us from this onslaught in the first place. If it is not my parents and family, that work far away, safe behind the mountains. If I can’t think of any of this. If I can’t remember how she looks, if I can’t remember the sound of her voice, not even her soft touch on my skin, nor how she smells. Then there is nothing left to die for, in this war.
I feel the soft stinging of the straw I sit on, when I move a little, some of it is blown out of the wagon, into the freedom; I try to follow it with my eyes, and stare into the darkness of the eastern night. I turn my body so I can see back to where we came from, but the straw is taken by the cover of darkness. Suddenly a moment unfitting, when the train passes a lonely dead tree, memories flood my mind, memories of little boys playing around a lonely blooming tree. Slowly I realize, that that actually might be that tree, restless I look around me, staring into the dark night, so I might just find that sign, that I m back in the land of my childhood. Far, far away I make out the faint outline of a forest, black on one side, burning red on the other. Another gust of that foul stench, from the burning city hits me, I turn my face away and when I look up, I see the mingling of bodies of my comrades, which are capable of sleeping at this dreadful hour. Without thinking, without even the slightest thought, my arm reaches for my backpack, the other for my gun. I draw my gear towards me, while staring one of the guards in his eyes, for just a moment, as if I were afraid to give away my thoughts, I do not even dare thinking. Without a thought, without even a choice, my now upright body relaxes and I feel my body sway to my left.
I hear the scraping of my backpack and gun over the wooden floor; I hear the distant rumbling of the engine in front. I feel the dark night envelope me, when the thundering roar of the wind swells in my ears. No choice has been made no thought has been passed, when I feel my leg letting go of the step. For a moment I float in the night, for a moment I am straw in the wind. I feel pain, at first just a little bit of stinging, when my body hits the dirt, dust clings to my sweaty face, stones lash my skin and I become aware of the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Sky stands in for earth and earth stands in for sky, each take turns to fill my view, for a moment I am straw again. I feel stones ploughing deep into my skin, first my head, than my back. Dust fills my mouth, dust fills my eyes. I roll into the rye field and I feel the lashing of rye all over my body, until I come to a halt.
I hear myself groan of pain, I feel the stinging of sweat entering my wounds, but I choose t keep down, for just this moment.
Mon Jul 12, 2010 9:35 pm by 
Subject: Johan his book ^^ 
- is curious to know the rest of the story ^^" -
