I was 21 when I started fighting.

I was 21 when I started fighting.

The world was a different place then, or maybe it was just me who was different. I remember the day we enlisted, all six of us, full of youth and eagerness. The sun shone down on the town square, glinting off the brass buttons of the officers' uniforms, and we felt as though we were joining something grand, something far bigger than ourselves.

We were just boys, really. I think back to our laughter, our naive boasts, and our excitement about the adventures ahead. None of us had ever been beyond the borders of our small town, and now we were about to embark on the greatest journey of our lives.

We were young, healthy, and filled with the conviction that we could change the world, or at least that we would play our part in a great and noble endeavor.

There was Tom, the oldest among us at 22, who always had a way of making everyone laugh. He was the leader of our group, the one who convinced the rest of us that enlisting was the right thing to do.

He had a twinkle in his eye and a quick wit that made even the most serious situations seem light. He talked about war like it was a sport, something thrilling and full of glory. "We'll be home by Christmas," he said with that easy smile of his, and we all believed him.

Then there was James, tall and serious, with a face that always seemed to be deep in thought. He was the one who kept us grounded, always reminding us of our responsibilities, of the duty we were undertaking.

"This isn't a game," he would say, even as he packed his bag with the same enthusiasm as the rest of us. But we knew he was just as eager as we were, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

Henry, the youngest at just 18, had barely finished school. He was quiet, shy even, but there was a determination in him that none of us could ignore.

He looked up to Tom like an older brother, following his lead in everything. He was our little brother, the one we all wanted to protect, even though we were all just kids ourselves.

Sam was the joker, always ready with a quip or a prank. He saw the world as one big adventure and approached everything with a smile. "It's going to be the best time of our lives," he would say, and we couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm. War, to him, was just another game, a place to prove our mettle and come out heroes on the other side.

And then there was William, or Will as we called him, who had dreams bigger than the rest of us. He was always talking about seeing the world, about how the war would be his ticket out of our small town.

He wasn't running away from anything, but running toward something, something he couldn't quite name but knew was out there, waiting for him. "This is our chance," he would say, his eyes lighting up at the thought of what lay beyond the horizon.

As for me, I suppose I was a bit of all of them. I had Tom's confidence, James's sense of duty, Henry's quiet determination, Sam's sense of adventure, and Will's dreams of a world beyond our own. Together, we felt unstoppable.

We were going to be soldiers, and that title seemed to carry a weight of honor and purpose that we had never felt before. We were part of something greater than ourselves, something that would make our families proud, something that would give our lives meaning.

The day we left, the entire town came out to see us off. Our mothers cried and our fathers shook our hands with a pride that we had never seen in their eyes before. The younger children watched us with awe, imagining themselves in our shoes one day. The old men who had fought in wars of their own nodded in approval, their eyes misty with memories. We were heroes already, at least in their eyes.

We boarded the train with a sense of excitement that was almost tangible. The steam hissed from the engine, the wheels clanked against the tracks, and we were off, bound for glory. We laughed and joked the whole way, sharing stories of what we thought war would be like. None of us really knew, of course. We had heard stories, seen pictures in the papers, but the reality of it was still just an idea, something distant and abstract.

As the train sped through the countryside, I looked out the window at the fields and villages passing by. It struck me then, for the first time, that we were leaving behind everything we had ever known.

Our homes, our families, the familiar faces and places that had shaped our lives—they were all slipping away behind us, becoming smaller and smaller until they were just a memory. But that thought didn't scare me. If anything, it filled me with a strange sense of exhilaration. We were heading into the unknown, and that was exactly where I wanted to be.

When we arrived at the training camp, the reality of what we had signed up for began to set in. The camp was a bustling hive of activity, with hundreds of men just like us—young, eager, and full of bravado.

The sergeants barked orders, the clatter of boots on gravel filled the air, and everywhere you looked, there was movement and noise. It was overwhelming at first, but also exhilarating. We were in the army now, and everything we did from that moment on had a purpose.

The training was hard, harder than any of us had expected. The days were long, filled with drills, exercises, and endless marching. Our bodies ached, our muscles burned, and by the end of each day, we were exhausted. But there was also a sense of accomplishment in it, a feeling that we were becoming something more than just boys from a small town. We were becoming soldiers.

Tom took to the training like a fish to water. He was a natural leader, always at the front of the line, always pushing himself and the rest of us to do better. "This is what we signed up for," he would say, his face flushed with exertion but his eyes shining with determination. "We're going to be the best damn soldiers this army has ever seen."

James, ever the serious one, focused on every detail, perfecting his form, his aim, his tactics. He was determined to be the best, not for the glory of it, but because he believed that being the best would keep us alive. "You have to know what you're doing," he would say, his voice low and steady. "It's not just about fighting; it's about surviving."

Henry struggled at first, his young frame not yet accustomed to the demands of military life. But he pushed through, driven by the desire to prove himself, not just to us, but to himself. We all helped him as best we could, encouraging him, giving him tips, and making sure he knew he wasn't alone.

Sam, ever the optimist, made light of everything, even the toughest drills. "It's all part of the game," he would say with a grin, even as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He kept our spirits up, kept us laughing even when we were too tired to move.

Will, on the other hand, seemed to grow quieter as the days went on. The excitement that had filled him at the start began to fade, replaced by a steely determination. He no longer talked about the world beyond the war, but focused instead on the task at hand. "One step at a time," he would say to himself, and to us. "We'll get there."

As for me, I found myself caught between them all, feeling their hopes, their fears, their determination. The training was harder than I had imagined, but it was also exactly what I had wanted. 

Each day I felt myself growing stronger, more capable, more ready for what was to come. But there was also a part of me that began to wonder if we truly understood what we were getting into.

The stories we had heard, the pictures we had seen, they didn't match up with the reality of the pain in my muscles, the exhaustion that seeped into my bones, the way my mind began to wander to thoughts of home when I lay in my bunk at night.

Still, we pushed on. The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. We grew accustomed to the routine, to the discipline, to the knowledge that this was now our life. The bonds between us grew stronger as we shared every moment, every hardship, every small victory. We became more than friends; we became brothers, united by a common purpose and a shared determination to make it through this together.

By the time our training was complete, we were no longer the wide-eyed boys who had enlisted back in our hometown.

We were soldiers, ready to face whatever lay ahead. But even then, as we boarded the ship that would take us to the front, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change, that the world we had known was slipping away, replaced by something darker, something we couldn't yet fully understand.

The crossing was rough, the sea churning beneath us as we sailed toward the unknown. The mood among the men was tense, a stark contrast to the excitement that had filled the air when we first left home.

We were no longer talking about the war like it was a grand adventure. The reality of it was starting to seep in, like the cold saltwater that sprayed over the deck and stung our faces.

When we finally arrived, it was night. The sky was dark, the air filled with the sounds of distant explosions and the faint cries of men in the trenches. We disembarked in silence, the weight of what was to come settling heavily on our shoulders. This was it. This was the war we had been so eager to join.

As we marched toward the front lines, the reality of where we were and what we were about to do began to sink in. The smell of mud and blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

The ground beneath our feet was slick with rain and churned earth, and in the distance, we could see the flashes of artillery fire lighting up the night sky.

I looked around at my friends, at the faces that had once been so full of life and hope. They were still there, but there was something else in their eyes now, something that hadn't been there before. It was the same thing I felt growing inside me—a sense of foreboding, of uncertainty, of fear.

We had come here with dreams of glory, of honor, of making our families proud. But as we reached the edge of the trenches and looked out over the endless stretch of no man's land, those dreams began to feel distant, almost childish. The reality of war was something we had not been prepared for, something that no amount of training could have truly prepared us for.

I was 21 when I started fighting, but in that moment, as I looked out over the battlefield, I felt a lifetime older.