STRAIGHT TRENCH UNDER ATTACK

Our captain insisted that the trench needed to be dug in a straight line.
A simple soldier with little military training, my common sense told me he was completely wrong.
Me and the others did the only thing soldiers can do: obey.
For a week we dug a six-foot by five-foot-wide trench, a rip in the earth that stretched half a mile.
In the three meters that I had to excavate, I took the liberty of making adaptations, maintaining a kind of earth wall measuring fifty centimeters on each side, the openings serving as doors to allow the passage.
As for the floor, I left it eight inches higher than the rest of the trench and made it as solid as possible, because I knew the first rain would prove me right.
On the side of the trench which faced the enemy, I erected a small mound to serve as a sort of bench.
Finally, I installed four wooden stakes supported on both sides, which would serve as minimal protection in the event of a cave-in.
We were waiting for the captain's inspection when the rain started and we endured what would be the first and last attack.
With each impact of the enemy's shells, countless soldiers died and I realized that the shock waves did as much damage as the shrapnel.
The side walls I built saved my life.
With the heavy rain, the trench slowly turned into a muddy, deadly pool, but the eight-centimeter elevation I projected allowed me to keep firing straight at the enemy without wallowing in the mud or losing my balance.
When the rain and the attack stopped, we had been practically decimated. The captain suffered minor injuries and was sent home after hearing all sorts of criticism from his superiors.
I'm still in the war. I can say that I really enjoy what I do and I don't seek decorations or power, I just feel satisfied and with the feeling that I was born to face any bloody challenge that requires me to have the acumen to survive.

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