At ten fifty-five hours sharp Lance Corporal Trumper stood trembling outside the colonel’s tent, almost as fearful of his commanding officer as of going over the top. A few minutes later the company sergeant major marched out of the tent to collect him.
“Stand to attention, salute and give your name, rank and serial number,” barked CSM Philpott. “And remember, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” he added sharply.
Charlie marched into the tent and came to a halt in front of the colonel’s desk. He saluted and said, “Lance Corporal Trumper, 7312087, reporting, sir.” It was the first time he had seen the colonel sitting on a chair, not on a horse.
“Ah, Trumper,” said Colonel Hamilton, looking up. “Good to have you back. Delighted by your speedy recovery.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Charlie, aware for the first time that only one of the colonel’s eyes actually moved.
“However, there’s been a problem involving a private from your section that I’m hoping you might be able to throw some light on.”
“I’ll ’elp if I can, sir.”
“Good, because it seems,” said the colonel, placing his monocle up to his left eye, “that Prescott”—he studied a buff form on the desk in front of him before continuing—“yes, Private Prescott, may have shot himself in the hand in order to avoid facing the enemy. According to Captain Trentham’s report, he was picked up with a single bullet wound in his left hand while lying in the mud only a few yards in front of his own trench. On the face of it such an action appears to be a simple case of cowardice in the face of the enemy. However, I was not willing to order the setting up of a court-martial before I had heard your version of what took place that morning. After all, he was in your section. So I felt you might have something of substance to add to Captain Trentham’s report.”
“Yes, sir, I certainly do,” Charlie said. He tried to compose himself and go over in his mind the details of what had taken place almost a month before. “Once the Verey pistol ’ad been fired Lieutenant Makepeace led the charge and I went over the top after ’im followed by the rest of my section. The lieutenant was the first to reach the wire but was immediately ’it by several bullets, and there were only two men ahead of me at the time. They bravely went to ’is aid, but fell even before they could reach ’im. As soon as I got to the wire I spotted a gap and ran through it, only to see Private Prescott overtake me as he charged on towards the enemy lines. It must have been then that I was blown up by the land mine, which may well have knocked out Private Prescott as well.”
“Can you be certain it was Private Prescott who overtook you?” asked the colonel, looking puzzled.
“In the ’eat of a battle, it’s ‘ard to remember every detail, sir, but I will never forget Prescott overtakin’ me.”
“Why’s that?” asked the colonel.
“Because ’e’s my mate, and it annoyed me at the time to see ’im get ahead of me.”
Charlie thought he saw a faint smile come over the colonel’s face.
“Is Prescott a close friend of yours?” the colonel asked, fixing his monocle on him.
“Yes, sir, ’e is, but that would not affect my judgment, and no one ’as the right to suggest it would.”
“Do you realize who you are talkin’ to?” bellowed the sergeant major.
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” said Charlie. “A man interested in finding out the truth, and therefore seeing that justice is done. I’m not an educated man, sir, but I am an ’onest one.”
“Corporal, you will report—” began the sergeant major.
“Thank you, Sergeant Major, that will be all,” said the colonel. “And thank you, Corporal Trumper, for your clear and concise evidence. I shall not need to trouble you any further. You may now return to your platoon.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Charlie. He took a pace backwards, saluted, did an about-turn and marched out of the tent.
“Would you like me to ’andle this matter in my own way?” asked the sergeant major.
“Yes, I would,” replied Colonel Hamilton. “Promote Trumper to full corporal and release Private Prescott from custody immediately.”
Tommy returned to his platoon that afternoon, his left hand bandaged.
“You saved my life, Charlie.”
“I only told the truth.”
“I know, so did I. But the difference is, they believed you.”
Charlie lay in his tent that night wondering why Captain Trentham was so determined to be rid of Tommy. Could any man believe he had the right to send another to his death simply because he had once been to jail?
Another month passed while they continued the old routines before company orders revealed that they were to march south to the Marne and prepare for a counterattack against General von Ludendorff. Charlie’s heart sank when he read the orders; he knew the odds against surviving two attacks were virtually unknown. He managed to spend the odd hour alone with Grace, who told him she had fallen for a Welsh corporal who had stood on a land mine and ended up blind in one eye.
Love at first sight, quipped Charlie.
Midnight on Wednesday, 17 July 1918, and an eerie silence fell over no man’s land. Charlie let those who could sleep, and didn’t attempt to wake anyone until three o’clock the next morning. Now an acting sergeant, he had a platoon of forty men to prepare for battle, all of whom still came under the overall command of Captain Trentham, who hadn’t been seen since the day Tommy had been released.
At three-thirty, a Lieutenant Harvey joined them behind the trenches, by which time they were all on full battle alert. Harvey, it turned out, had arrived at the front the previous Friday.
“This is a mad war,” said Charlie after they had been introduced.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Harvey lightly. “I can’t wait to have a go at the Hun myself.”
“The Germans ’aven’t an ’ope in ’ell, as long as we can go on producin’ nutcases like ’im,” whispered Tommy.
“By the way, sir, what’s the password this time?” asked Charlie.
“Oh, sorry, quite forgot. ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’” said the lieutenant.
They all waited. At zero four hundred hours they fixed bayonets and at four twenty-one the Verey pistol shot a red flame into the sky somewhere behind the lines and the air was filled with whistles blowing.
“Tally ho,” cried Lieutenant Harvey. He fired his pistol in the air and charged over the top as if he were chasing some errant fox. Once again, Charlie scrambled up and out of the trench only yards behind. The rest of the platoon followed as he stumbled through mud over barren land that no longer bore a single tree to protect them. To the left Charlie could see another platoon ahead of him. The unmistakable figure of the immaculate Captain Trentham brought up the rear. But it was Lieutenant Harvey who was still leading the charge as he hurdled elegantly over the wire and into no man’s land. It made Charlie feel curiously confident that anyone could survive such stupidity. On and on Harvey went, as if somehow indestructible, or charmed. Charlie assumed that he must fall with every pace he took, as he watched the lieutenant treat the German wire as just another hurdle, before running on towards the enemy trenches as if they were the finishing line in some race being held at his public school. The man got within twenty yards of the tape before a hail of bullets finally brought him down. Charlie now found himself in front and began firing at the Germans as their heads popped up from behind the dugouts.
He had never heard of anyone actually reaching the German trenches, so he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next, and despite all the training he still found it hard to shoot on the run. When four Germans and their rifles came up at once he knew that he was never going to find out. He shot straight at the first one, who fell back into the trench, but by then he could only watch the other three take aim. He suddenly became aware of a volley of shots from behind him, and all three bodies fell back like tin ducks on a rifle range. He realized then that the winner of the King’s Prize must still be on his fe
et.
Suddenly he was in the enemy’s trench and staring down into a young German’s eyes, a terrified boy even younger than himself. He hesitated only for a moment before thrusting his bayonet down the middle of the German’s mouth. He pulled the blade out and drove it home once again, this time into the boy’s heart, then ran on. Three of his men were now ahead of him, chasing a retreating enemy. At that moment Charlie spotted Tommy on his right flank pursuing two Germans up a hill. He disappeared into some trees and Charlie distinctly heard a single shot somewhere above the noise of battle. He turned and charged quickly off into the forest to rescue his friend, only to find a German splayed out on the ground and Tommy still running on up the hill. A breathless Charlie managed to catch up with him when he finally came to a halt behind a tree.
“You were bloody magnificent, Tommy,” said Charlie, throwing himself down by his side.
“Not ’alf as good as that officer, what was ’is name?”
“’Arvey, Lieutenant ’Arvey.”
“In the end we were both saved by ’is pistol,” said Tommy, brandishing the weapon. “More than can be said for that bastard Trentham.”
“What do you mean?” said Charlie.
“He funked the German trenches, didn’t ’e? Bolted off into the forest. Two Germans saw the coward and chased after ’im, so I followed. Finished off one of them, didn’t I.”
“So where’s Trentham now?”
“Somewhere up there,” said Tommy, pointing over the brow to the hill. “’E’ll be ’iding from that lone German, no doubt.”
Charlie stared into the distance.
“So what now, Corp?”
“We ’ave to go after that German and kill ’im before he catches up with the captain.”
“Why don’t we just go ’ome, and ’ope he finds the captain before I do?” said Tommy.
But Charlie was already on his feet advancing up the hill.
Slowly they moved on up the slope, using the trees for protection, watching and listening until they had reached the top, and open ground.
“No sign of either of them,” whispered Charlie.
“Agreed. So we’d better get back behind our lines, because if the Germans catch us I can’t believe they’ll invite us to join ’em for tea and crumpets.”
Charlie took his bearings. Ahead of them was a little church not unlike the many they had passed on the long route march from Étaples to the front.
“Maybe we’d better check that church first,” he said, as Tommy reloaded Lieutenant Harvey’s pistol. “But don’t let’s take any unnecessary risks.”
“What the ‘ell do you think we’ve been doin’ for the last hour?” asked Tommy.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, they crawled across the open ground until they reached the vestry door. Charlie pushed it open slowly, expecting a volley of bullets to follow, but the loudest sound they heard was the screech of the hinges. Once inside, Charlie crossed himself the way his grandfather always had when entering St. Mary’s and St. Michael’s on Jubilee Street. Tommy lit a cigarette.
Charlie remained cautious as he began to study the layout of the little church. It had already lost half its roof, courtesy of a German or English shell, while the rest of the nave and porch remained intact.
Charlie found himself mesmerized by the mosaic patterns that covered the inner walls, their tiny squares making up life-size portraits. He moved slowly round the perimeter, staring at the seven disciples who had so far survived the ungodly war.
When he reached the altar he fell on his knees and bowed his head, a vision of Father O’Malley coming into his mind. It was then that the bullet flew past him, hitting the brass cross and sending the crucifix crashing to the ground. As Charlie dived for cover behind the altar, a second shot went off. He glanced round the corner of the altar and watched a German officer who had been hit in the side of the head slump through the curtains and out of a wooden box onto the stone floor. He must have died instantly.
“I only ’ope he ’ad time to make a full confession,” said Tommy.
Charlie crawled out from behind the altar.
“For Gawd’s sake, stay put, you fool, because someone else is in this church and I’ve got a funny feelin’ it isn’t just the Almighty.” They both heard a movement in the pulpit above them and Charlie quickly scurried back behind the altar.
“It’s only me,” said a voice they immediately recognized.
“Who’s me?” said Tommy, trying not to laugh.
“Captain Trentham. So whatever you do, don’t fire.”
“Then show yourself, and come down with your ’ands above your ’ead so that we can be certain you’re who you say you are,” Tommy said, enjoying every moment of his tormentor’s embarrassment.
Trentham rose slowly from the top of the pulpit and began to descend the stone steps with his hands held high above his head. He proceeded down the aisle towards the fallen cross that now lay in front of the altar, before stepping over the dead German officer and continuing until he came face to face with Tommy, who was still holding a pistol pointing straight at his heart.
“Sorry, sir,” said Tommy, lowering the pistol. “I ’ad to be sure you weren’t a German.”
“Who spoke the King’s English,” said Trentham sarcastically.
“You did warn us against being taken in by that in one of your lectures, sir,” said Tommy.
“Less of your lip, Prescott. And how did you get hold of an officer’s pistol?”
“It belonged to Lieutenant ’Arvey,” interjected Charlie, “who dropped it when—”
“You bolted off into the forest,” said Tommy, his eyes never leaving Trentham.
“I was pursuing two Germans who were attempting to escape.”
“It looked the other way round to me,” said Tommy. “And when we get back, I intend to let anyone know who cares to listen.”
“It would be your word against mine,” said Trentham. “In any case, both Germans are dead.”
“Only thanks to me and try not to forget that the corp ’ere also witnessed everything what ’appened.”
“Then you know my version of the events is the accurate one,” said Trentham, turning directly to face Charlie.
“All I know is that we ought to be up in that tower, plannin’ how we get back to our own lines, and not wastin’ any more time quarrelin’ down ’ere.”
The captain nodded his agreement, turned, ran to the back of the church and up the stone stairs to the safety of the tower. Charlie quickly followed him. They both took lookout positions on opposite sides of the roof, and although Charlie could still hear the sound of the battle he was quite unable to make out who was getting the better of it on the other side of the forest.
“Where’s Prescott?” asked Trentham after a few minutes had passed.
“Don’t know, sir,” said Charlie. “I thought he was just behind me.” It was several minutes before Tommy, wearing the dead German’s spiked pickelhaube, appeared at the top of the stone steps.
“Where have you been?” asked Trentham suspiciously.
“Searchin’ the place from top to bottom in the ’ope that there might ’ave been some grub to be found, but I couldn’t even find any communion wine.”
“Take your position over there,” said the captain, pointing to an arch that was not yet covered, “and keep a lookout. We’ll stay put until it’s pitch dark. By then I’ll have worked out a plan to get us back behind our own lines.”
The three men stared out across the French countryside as the light turned first murky, then gray and finally black.
“Shouldn’t we be thinkin’ of moving soon, Captain?” asked Charlie, after they had sat in pitch darkness for over an hour.
“We’ll go when I’m good and ready,” said Trentham, “and not before.”
“Yes, sir,” said Charlie, and sat shivering as he continued to stare out into the darkness for another forty minutes.
“Right, follow me,” said Trentham without warning. He
rose and led them both down the stone steps, coming to a halt at the entrance to the vestry door. He pulled the door open slowly. The noise of the hinges sounded to Charlie like a magazine emptying on a machine-gun. The three of them stared into the night and Charlie wondered if there was yet another German out there with rifle cocked, waiting. The captain checked his compass.
“First we must try to reach the safety of those trees at the top of the ridge,” Trentham whispered. “Then I’ll work out a route for getting us back behind our own lines.”
By the time Charlie’s eyes had become accustomed to the darkness he began to study the moon and, more important, the movement of the clouds.
“It’s open ground to those trees,” the captain continued, “so we can’t risk a crossing until the moon disappears behind some cover. Then we’ll each make a dash for the ridge separately. So Prescott, when I give the order, you’ll go first.”
“Me?” said Tommy.
“Yes, you, Prescott. Then Corporal Trumper will follow the moment you’ve reached the trees.”
“And I suppose you’ll bring up the rear, if we’re lucky enough to survive?” said Tommy.
“Don’t be insubordinate with me,” said Trentham. “Or you’ll find this time that you will be court-martialed and end up in the jail you were originally intended for.”
“Not without a witness, I won’t,” said Tommy. “That much of King’s Regulations I do understand.”
“Shut up, Tommy,” said Charlie.
They all waited in silence behind the vestry door until a large shadow moved slowly across the path and finally enveloped the church all the way to the trees.
“Go!” said the captain, tapping Prescott on the shoulder. Tommy bolted off like a greyhound released from the slips, and the two other men watched as he scampered across the open ground, until some twenty seconds later he reached the safety of the trees.
The same hand tapped Charlie on the shoulder a moment later, and off he ran, faster than he had ever run before, despite having to carry a rifle in one hand and a pack on his back. The grin didn’t reappear on his face until he had reached Tommy’s side.
As the Crow Flies Page 7
