My English teacher asked everyone to write a short story.  I asked if I could revise and submit an old short story I wrote some time ago and she said I could.  The following is the result.

Assuming anyone even frequents this section or reads it, please comment.
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No Man’s Land

The dreary battlefield was grim and dark.  Rain came down in sheets and the trenches were knee deep in mud and water. The pitter patter of the rain was a steady rhythm in the gloom of the night.  Bloated corpses pale as chalk roiled with the filth of maggots and bobbed in the wind beaten water.  

Haggard soldiers in rain soaked uniforms caked in blood, sweat and sludge stood about shifting their weight or leaning against the earthen walls of the trench.  Many of them were so tired that they slept while standing.  Now and then a soldier or two would awaken from his slumber with a start at the sound of a distant explosion or reverberation of machine gun fire.  No one got sleep in the trenches.  Sleep was not a planned event nor was it very restful at all.  Sleep came in short bouts and crept up on during brief lulls but they would be wrenched away from their dreamless slumber at any given moment from a loud boom or a rat-tat-tat.
           
The bugles sounded and the call was given.  A patriotic song started up on the phonograph.  Thousands of troops emerged from the Allied trenches running through the debris, rain, and mud straight into an area that had a most fitting name: no man's land.  The enemy guns boomed in the distance and the shells roared as they came overhead, crashing into the mud and exploding into shrapnel that cut into hapless troops.  Countless screams echoed across the muddy fields.

"We'll sing a song, a soldier's song
With cheering rousing chorus
As round our blazing fires we throng
The starry heavens o'er us."
           
They dodged around the wires, caltrops, and mines.  Some weren't so lucky and succumbed to the traps in rivers of blood, choruses of screams, and a spray of rain and mud.  Artillery shells whined as they cut through the air and struck the ground.  Dozens of machine guns were barely heard through the splashing, the steady beat of the rain, and screaming.  Bullets whistled and ricocheted off the barbed wire and bits of debris.  A few found their mark and downed the oncoming troops as they rushed across no man's land.
           
"Impatient for the coming fight
And as we wait for the morning's light
Here in the silence of the night
We'll chant a soldier's song."
           
Lieutenant Corrin leapt over a set of barbed wire and over the writhing bodies of a few soldiers who were missing various limbs and other body parts.  A few desperate bloodied hands tried to grab onto his pant legs as he dashed past.  Corrin responded by tearing the groping hands away.
           
"Out of the way!" Corrin snarled as he continued his mad dash, determined to reach his destination.
           
He nearly tripped as a hand shot out and snatched his left leg.  A bloodied private, no older than sixteen, wept and begged for help.  Lt. Corrin's rifle butt contacted the private's helmet with a crunch.  The boy's body recoiled in pain and fell back into a pool of mud and blood.  Corrin turned and began to run again.  Behind him, a shell exploded and peppered the field with shrapnel.  A severed limb flew past him and embedded itself on some barbed wire but the Lieutenant simply pushed on.

The song was faint as it broke into a chorus and drifted across the battlefield,
"Soldiers are we,
whose lives are pledged to Ireland
Some have come from a land beyond the wave,
Sworn to be free,
no more our ancient sire land
Shall shelter the despot and the slave;
Tonight we man the Bearna Baoghal
In Erin’s cause.
come woe or weal;
'Mid cannons roar and rifle's peal
We'll chant a soldier's song."
           
Bullets whistled and bounced wildly all about him.  A lucky shot grazed him across the right shoulder.  He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as he gritted his teeth and staggered ahead.  Seeing the enemy trenches only a few feet ahead, he hurled himself forward and opened fire on the surprised enemy troops.

"In valley green or towering crag
Our fathers fought before us,
And conquered 'neath the same old flag
That's floating o'er us,  
We're children of a fighting race
That never has yet known disgrace,
And as we march, the foe to face,
We chant a soldier's song."

A path of carnage surrounded him when the smoke cleared.  Corrin crouched behind a pile of corpses for cover as he reloaded and looked himself over for any other wounds.  He saw he had taken a few hits but luckily, his armor had saved his life.
           
Corrin muttered as he wiped some mud off his rifle.  He only had a moment away from the action when his attention was caught by the sound of clinking coming towards him.  His head snapped toward the offending sound and his gaze fell upon a small round metal object resting at his feet.  Corrin squinted at it as his thoughts raced.  
           
Panicking, he snatched it up to throw it back.  Corrin managed to pick it up and lob it back in a fluid motion but he still moved too slowly.  The grenade sailed through the air and exploded insanely close.  The force of the explosion slammed him into the muddy wall.  His vision turned from blurry to a field of black.