Young Writers Society

This is a story inspired by the first world war with the ANZAC soliders fighting the Turkish. I don't mean this to be racist towards anyone who is Turkish but if it is just tell how and I will change it. I hope you liked it, press like if you like it and feel free to rip this apart!

The bullets had rained down like a giant swarming cloud of wasps, grazing my skin and cascading of our metal hard-hats as we ran through the slush of mud and heavy rain fall of the night before. - You know, here it feels like its too packed with adjectives and what not in a one breath, try dividing it into a bit more side sentences. Otherwise, nice description, just too packed ^^

Mud sloshed over me from head to toe with every movement (I think this could be written a bit better, it just looks awkward), I could feel my uniform clinging to my weary body.
As we ran, I could hear Turkish voices coming from close behind us, their voices were muffled but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were angry. At a nearby bullet shot (Sounds awkward to me, sorry =\ At a sound of a few shots - feels better) , Peter stumbled and I saw that crimson fluid was seeping through the cloth of the camouflage pattern uniform.
- Not bad paragraph at all. I think you could've added a short information about his inner feelings at his moment - anxiousnes, fear, whatever, would make the situation be more than just pictures (imaginery), but also emotions.

The bullet fire had ceased: for now.“I guess the Turks don’t want to waste bullets on us.” I thought quietly, I sincerely hoped that this was true. I reached over to Peter draped his arm around my neck, supporting half his weight (Again, I find this awkward. I rushed to Peter and put his arm over my neck to support him - no need for more details.). I started slowly(To keep in the flow with a fact he is supporting somebody) walking through a maze of trees. Although (even though) the cover was thin, it still was better than out on the open plains as the main battle was taking place back there.
- It's quite similar to the previous paragraph in the problem - you just mechanically tell us that the narrator did something, but he definitely felt something when he saw Peter get shot, when he rushed to him to help him and when he started walking through the maze. You show us pictures and tell us action, but where are emotions, where is the tension? This barely has the tension it can have.

Soon I stopped, panting as I peered through the trees to see over a bank that steeply sloped into a swamp amuck with reeds and willow trees hanging over the banks edge; the Willow’s leaves splaying out in the water (The previous description was still alright to swallow, but this addition just feels out of a place). I sped up and getting through the thick of the trees, put Peter down. (You seem to have made a mistake with the use of times here. I began walking faster and after getting through the thick of the last trees, I put Peter down. I risked a glance sideways at him, I could only see his dark silhouette of a hunched shape; his chest was shaking as he drew one after another rasping breath. He certainly was not well.
- Well you know, when putting somebody down, its natural that one will look at the person he's putting down to not make any mistake and to make it smooth as a shot person is not a joke. What you wrote here just doesn't make sense in this case. I'd try it probably like this : As I was putting him down I witnessed his horrible suffering that deeply shocked me, making me worry greatly about his survival; His breath was shaking, his face was deadly pale and his eyes were faint, staring deep into mine.

"Do you think we got away Cam? I swear those Turks never give up.” Peter asked in a low ragged whisper. I gave another fleeting look at Peter and held (put?) a finger up to my mouth: we needed to be silent.
- The speech here could be fixed a bit using - to show his trouble speaking, his pauses between certain words, don't run away from reality.

My heart fluttered at every crack of a twig or chirp of the owls in the trees up ahead. (Finaly I see some inner emotions showed! Do not forget about the lack of emotions in previous paragraphs!) Then (Then isn't one of a favorite words to use in sudden situations, if you want it to be clearly sudden, use something else than Then. Then is too casual) a Turkish voice caught my attention. “They’re over there!” The man raised a rifle and sighted his target. Bang! A gunshot echoed through the air; I jumped at the suddenness of it.
- Your soldier kind of out of nowhere understood what a turkish man said? In that panic he was, he might have imagined whatever possible, but it'd be just better if you replaced this with a real turkish language. That is not hard to do to begin with, just use google. Nice try to make it shocking and momentary, however, it could've been much better. As about emotions, finally I've noticed some inner emotions! As I said, more of them! Spice up, give us real tension, do not run away from reality, it is much more colorful than your mechanical descriptions at times.

Oh no.“Peter?” - Just one oh no? For his panic, that's quite too casual/calm.
My throat was dry and scratchy and I feared that if I tried to talk, nothing would come out, so, instead of doing the noble thing and picking up my friends body, I just stood up and ran without looking back. Tears I had been holding back were dropping off face as I dodged bullets and only concentrated on reaching my sanctuary - trees.

An ocean of crosses stood black against the pale dawn. The sun was just starting to creep around the edges of night lightening the massive granite angels that frowned upon the wooden stakes in the ground making them looks pathetic and not worthy of marking the death of one’s body. - Too many descriptions packed into one sentence. Too hard to swallow at once, try dividing this. Besides, what's with the sudden jump? Reader will think at the beginning of another paragraph from his runaway, but it's not. Do not make us lose ourselves.

I swallowed, my Adams apple bobbing up and down with the choking sensation at the back of my throat, my shoulder were rounded as if carrying a heavy burden. - Not bad actually.

I smiled feebly at my wife; she had tracks of mascara where she had been crying.
“Now, now, Margaret. Your brother wouldn’t want to see you so upset.” I said.
“Aye, well your one to talk. You were as much his friend as he was my brother,” Margaret said grasping my hand that had been growing cold in the chilly sunless morning. “I know your upset Cameron, but you’ve gotta believe you did all you could for him.” She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I stood back and listened to the distant sobs of people crying and religious folks saying prayers at the so-called graves of their loved ones, now lost to the fruitless cause that is war.
“Mummy, I want ta go play ANZAC’s with Henry and the others, can I go?” Margaret looked down at her son. - Maybe rearrange this a bit? Make it clear it was her son that said this and he said it while doing something, f.e. pleading her mom. Only then she looked down at him.
“Yes, Peter, dear, but be careful! You know how the older boys get carried away.”
“Yes, mummy!” Peter yelled already scampering up a small hill where some other boys were mimicking rifle shots and being shot with imaginary bullets.
“I’m not sure what to think of that game.” I said still staring up to the hill.
“Yes well, they admire their father and Uncle Peter,” Margaret said. “They want to grow up just like you two.”
“Well let’s just hope it’s not the latter then, shall we.” I pulled a bunch of crimson flowers from a nearby garden and placed them in a (You know, you use too many "the", at times they are confusing, they make me search for vase somewhere before, since "the"often means it's been mentioned or is just one in the world world.) vase next to the wooden cross that read: “Peter William Denston. A beloved friend, brother and a soldier who died for his country in the Great War. R.I.P”
“Rest in peace, Peter.” I said as the sun rose above the hills and shone down on the crowded graveyard that seemed to be aglow with the red of the poppies sprouting from the ground.
- Emotions lacking! This doesn't really feel that touching for an end, not at all. You just gave us some words, facts, pictures, but where's the inner dilemma, feeling? Your narrator isn't a cold blooded killer or robot, if you get what I mean.