The April Fool
April 1st
1916 – Western Front, Sommer Sector
By 1916, the trenches had drained us of everything color, laughter, even fear. Every face looked carved from stone. That’s when I, Private Thomas Finch of the 12th Infantry, remembered what day it was: April 1st. April Fools’ Day.
Back in Liverpool, it meant harmless rubber spiders, jam in boots. But here on the front? Nothing was harmless anymore. Still, I thought, maybe it could mean something. Corporal Henderson had been convinced the Germans were tunneling beneath us. Every night he’d mutter, “I can hear them down there. Digging.” Most thought he was slipping. That gave me an idea.
At dawn, I forged a report fake intel: “Suspected enemy tunnel under Sector D-3. Immediate excavation advised.” Henderson read it, turned pale, and by noon had half the trench digging furiously. No one questioned it if there was danger, we were safer digging than waiting.
By dusk, I planted a crate deep in the trench wall. On it: “Danger – German Explosives.” They found it after dark. Henderson cleared the trench, put on his gas mask, and opened it with shaking hands. Inside? Sausages. Dozens of them, still warm from the mess hall. On top, a note: “April Fools. Bring mustard next time.”
For a moment, no one moved. Then someone laughed. Then more. Even Henderson let out a broken, wheezing chuckle. We roasted the sausages over a candle and passed them around. That night, the war felt far away. The next morning, Miller was killed by a sniper during tea.
That was the balance of it joy for a night, blood by morning. But I still believe that prank mattered. In the thick of mud, noise, and death, we found something that didn’t belong there: laughter. It was reckless, maybe cruel. But it reminded us we were still human. And that, I think, is what fools are for.
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