In 2013, I visited the preserved World War I trenches in France as part of a military history tour. The Somme, Verdun, and other sites of brutal combat hold a heavy atmosphere, laden with the memories of countless soldiers who fought and died there.
One evening, while exploring the trenches at Verdun with a few fellow officers, I felt an overwhelming sense of unease. The air was thick with mist, and the setting sun cast long shadows over the muddy paths. As we ventured deeper into the trenches, I began to hear faint sounds—distant gunfire, the clinking of metal, and muffled voices speaking in French and German.
We stopped to listen, and the sounds grew clearer, as if we were hearing echoes from the past. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a soldier in a tattered uniform, his face pale and eyes hollow, moving slowly through the trench. He seemed oblivious to our presence, focused on some unseen task. When I called out, he turned towards us, but before we could react, he vanished into the mist.
Shaken, we continued our tour, hearing more whispers and seeing fleeting shadows. We later learned that many visitors and locals had reported similar experiences, attributing them to the restless spirits of soldiers who never left the battlefield.