by Peter Albano
Abercrombie gestured to a curtained dugout with a timber roof and sandbagged entrance. “’Ere’s battalion, Colonel ‘Iggins.’
“Thank you, Sergeant. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, saluting casually and smiling. He led the draft down the trench, disappearing behind a traverse.
Pulling the curtain aside, Colonel Lloyd Higgins descended a dozen stairs to a large, smoke-filled dugout. Lit by hurricane lanterns hung from beams, the dugout was furnished with a dozen bunks and two battered trestle tables surrounded by chairs. Field telephones manned by two privates lined a bench against one wall and a wireless was on a stand in a corner with a sleepy operator with earphones clamped to his head slumped in front of it. Maps were tacked to the timbered walls, and a stale blue haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air. Rifles were stacked in the corners and gas masks, haversacks, small arms, map cases, binoculars, and sacks filled with Mills bombs hung from nails driven into the great timbers. Perhaps a dozen men were in the room, four seated on a bunk eating bully-beef stew while another group played whist at one of the tables. A pair of clerks hunched over reports at the other. Lloyd recognized no one.
“Colonel Higgins. Colonel Lloyd Higgins,” came from a corner. A tall, thin lieutenant colonel came to his feet and walked toward Lloyd. It was Tobin Wade. A rugged, athletic man from Blenheim and a graduate of Sandhurst, Wade was perhaps forty. However, he was at least twenty pounds lighter and appeared ten years older since Lloyd had seen him last. Curious eyes looked up at the newcomer.
Wade grabbed Lloyd’s hand with a firm grip and then clasped his wrist with his other hand. “We’ve been expecting you, sir,” he said warmly. “But why, sir? You had a good ‘bivvy’ back in blighty.”
“Musketry, bayonet-fighting, and the lot is bugger all to do,” Lloyd said. “Let the shirkers do it. And daresay, Tobin, you can’t win this bloody war without me.”
Laughing, Wade dropped the colonel’s hand. “Daresay, you’re quite right, Colonel. It’s been a beastly muck without you, sir.” He gestured to a corner bunk. “I’ve saved that one for you, sir, if you want it. Our most expensive accommodations—better than the Savoy.” He smiled slyly. “As you can see, it has an unobstructed view of the ceiling.”
Laughing, the pair walked to the corner and Lloyd dropped his kit on the bunk. Wade spoke in his ear in soft tones. “Introduce you to the staff in a moment, sir.” He clasped Lloyd’s shoulder in a big hand. His voice dropped to a whisper. “There aren’t many like you, Lloyd,” he said. “We need you.”
“Thank you, Tobin.” Lloyd looked around. “I belong here,” he said. And then into Wade’s ear, he said, “I’m home.”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-4976-3524-1
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10014
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PETER ALBANO
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
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