1914

If there was one thing the British soldiers weren't used to in this new environment (and there were plenty), it was the smell.

It was an amalgam of blood, human waste, and the various pus-like byproducts of wounds that went untreated. Treatment wasn't really an option; the dead hung around the bottom of the trench, amplifying the stink. One would think that enough days of fighting would develop some kind of immunity in a soldier's nose. One might as well also say that about his eyes, then. And one can never become immune to seeing a stranger's head explode, no matter how many times their handiwork makes it happen.

However, they all collectively wondered if the Germans felt the same way. They seemed wired differently, a foreign make, who's maker seemed to reside pretty far South of sane. The British could imagine them not being affected at all by the profuse stink behind them, ignoring the clawing regret of murder, becoming well-oiled-warminger-machine-things. The British secretly wanted in on this not-feeling-anything game. As long as it clogged the nose too.

Night fell on the soldiers on the last night of their 2nd week in a row of fighting. They slept in their funk hole on ponchos and dirty overcoats and waterproof sheets and bodies, trying not to dream about war, trying to put a damper on the ringing in their ears, trying to ignore their more shaky friends. In other words, they didn't sleep.

The British drew their weapons when the sun rose, breathing heavy sighs in cadence with their loading. They expected to see the tight-jawed soulless enemy pointed and ready for them many yards away, but something else was popping up from the German trench. Something much less threatening. Something white and billowy.

A white flag was waving. It was Christmas day.

Slowly, the soldiers popped out like gophers, mystified by silence and the smell of normal-people air. They approached one another with dangerous-animal caution, recognizing a blatant culture barrier that they didn't plan on crossing. The generals communicated awkwardly, but they both determined that this would be a day of rest, of recreation, of celebration of the birth of Christ. A brief ceasefire for God.

They fraternized like the oldest friends, realizing they could speak just fine in eachother's tongue. With ease, they asked about people and places in eachother's hometown, feeling the warmth of human contact from a few feet away for the first time since the war began. For a few moments, it felt like the war never began; they were all just meeting beforehand, telling eachother "You know we're not aliens, right?". They were getting acquainted. Impromptu patriotic songs were sung at the foot of their trenches, and flying insults were only jeers, never taken to heart.

The patriotic songs floated around, flying towards the risen Son of God and drifting down to the body piles. Peace on Earth, and goodwill to men.