My Brother's War

by Hill, David

  ‘I still—’ Edmund began. Then a cook, a middle-aged man, called to them. ‘Give us a hand with these dixies, lads.’ The guards rose, moved across, and helped heave some of the big pots off the stove. Edmund hesitated, then stayed where he was.

  The cook saw him. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Edmund said. ‘I can’t obey any army order. I don’t mean to be rude.’

  The cook’s face changed. ‘You drink my tea, but you won’t even help with this? Get out! Now!’

  The escort picked up their rifles and led Edmund outside. Their expressions weren’t so friendly any more. ‘Can’t you just help a bloke who needs it?’ one demanded. And ‘His son was killed last year. On a ship that got sunk,’ grunted the other.

  I did help someone who needed it, Edmund thought. Just quarter of an hour ago. But he stayed silent. There were more and more times when things didn’t seem clear, when he didn’t know if he’d behaved the right way. He felt tired and worn-out again.

  Back in the storeroom cell an hour later, Edmund thought of the soldiers and officers he had met in the past months. Those who had shouted at him or tripped him. Those who had given him fruit and chocolate. The Army has good people, he told himself. I know that now. Good people with good reasons for being here, even if I can’t ever agree. After all, William is one of them.

  There was a blanket in his cell now. He wrapped it around himself and sat against the wall. In the distance, the guns muttered. He felt shaky and unwell again, but he tried to recite some of the poems he and Archie had taught each other. What had happened to the other COs? Had they given in?

  The door swung open. Corporal McKean glowered at him. ‘On your feet. Time to see what you’re made of.’

  Yesterday’s sandy-haired major sat behind the same table. ‘You’re being given one last chance, Hayes. I strongly suggest you take it.’ He paused. Edmund said nothing.

  ‘There is ammunition that needs cleaning before it’s taken up to the front. You will clean it.’

  Another pause. Edmund shook his head. ‘I can’t accept that order.’

  The major watched him coldly for a few seconds, then spoke to Corporal McKean. ‘This man is sentenced to three hours of Field Punishment No. 1, followed by solitary confinement. See to it.’

  ‘Sir!’ The corporal seized Edmund’s elbow and pushed him out of the room. Edmund knew what was coming.

  Corporal McKean and three soldiers marched him across the flat area where troops had been drilling the day before. The tall wooden post stood ahead.

  They halted in front of it. ‘Turn around,’ snapped the NCO. ‘Hands behind you.’

  For a moment, Edmund thought of refusing. But it would do no good. He turned so his back was against the post and held his arms out behind him.

  ‘Tie them together,’ the corporal ordered. Edmund felt something around his wrists. ‘Tighter!’ The rope cut into his flesh.

  ‘Now tie his hands and ankles to the post,’ Corporal McKean rapped.

  A soldier muttered, ‘Move back, chum’, and Edmund took half a step backwards until his heels were touching the base of the post. Another rope was passed around his ankles and drawn tight. His bound hands were drawn back, too.

  ‘Higher!’ went Corporal McKean. As one of the soldiers began to say something, the NCO shouted, ‘I said higher! That’s an order!’ Edmund’s hands were pulled up behind him until they were nearly as high as his neck. The pain in his shoulders made him gasp.

  The corporal stood in front of him. The rest of the men stared at the ground. ‘You were warned, Hayes. We’ll be back in three hours. Enjoy yourself.’ He barked a command at the escort, and all four marched away.

  His feet weren’t so bad, Edmund realised. The rope hurt his ankles, but he could shuffle an inch or two. But his arms, twisted up behind him, were already agony. They felt as though they were about to burst out of their shoulder sockets. He tried to move them, slide them down the post. He almost cried out loud as pain surged through him.

  After five minutes, he knew he couldn’t stand it. If he lifted his heels from the ground, the drag on his arms was slightly less. But then his whole body began to cramp and spasm. Every muscle from knee to neck seemed to be wrenching apart. He lowered his heels to the ground once more, and instantly the pain in his arms and shoulders clawed at him.

  He couldn’t feel his hands any longer. The ropes must be cutting off circulation in his wrists. But the muscles of his arms burned with agony. I have to call for help. I have to give in and do whatever the Army orders. He opened his mouth to shout.

  He stopped. That soldier yesterday. He’d endured hours or days of suffering, Edmund thought, and I’m going to give up after just a few minutes? And my letters to Ma. I told her I was going to keep going. Now the test is here; I have to face it.

  His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched. The bones of his elbows and wrists felt as though they might snap at any moment. Fangs seemed to be ripping at his shoulders. Once in a play fight when they were children, William had twisted Edmund’s arms up behind his back, and Edmund had screamed with the pain. This was ten times worse. Even though he tried not to move, hands seemed to grip his body, torturing every part of it.

  He began to count. ‘One … two …’ Up to ten, standing on his toes so the pain beat through his back. ‘Eleven … twelve …’ Another ten with heels down, while his arms tore and throbbed. His neck was hurting too now. So were the muscles of his legs, cramping and burning as he tried to find some relief from the agony.

  There were voices nearby. Corporal McKean was back: the ‘three hours’ was just to scare him and make him give in. No. When he opened his eyes, some troops were crossing the flat ground about twenty yards away, staring at him, muttering among themselves. Edmund tried to lift his head and look back at them, but the pain was too much.

  Somehow time passed. After … he didn’t know how long … his back seemed to have lost nearly all feeling. His arms still hurt so dreadfully that his jaws ached from clenching his teeth together. Will I ever be able to move properly again? he wondered.

  His head hung forward. He didn’t have any strength left to try and hold himself upright. Another voice was shouting orders. Edmund forced his eyes open and saw a group of German prisoners being marched past. They stared, too, fear in their faces. Did they think that this would happen to them? A sudden flash of agony shot through him as he tried to move. A voice cried ‘Ahhh!’ His voice.

  He must have fainted. The next thing he knew, he was hanging forward on the ropes, his entire body throbbing. His arms felt dead. His feet didn’t seem to belong to him.

  Corporal McKean was there, with the escort. It was really him this time. The NCO jerked his head at the other soldiers. ‘Cut him down.’

  The moment the ropes around his ankles and wrists were gone, Edmund collapsed on the ground. One soldier tried to grab him, but he landed face-down, felt the earth in his nostrils and mouth. He couldn’t move, just lay there with arms still stretched out crookedly behind him. The pain was worse than ever.

  ‘Get up!’ The corporal’s voice. Edmund tried to stir, but couldn’t. His arms were dead. ‘Get up!’ Then – ‘All right, you can crawl back to your cell.’

  Another voice spoke. ‘Look at the poor sod, Corp. He can’t do anything.’ Then hands were helping him to his feet. Edmund almost screamed as his arms were lifted over others’ shoulders, and they began to half-carry him across the ground. He glimpsed the face of Corporal McKean, tight and angry, but the NCO did nothing to stop the others.

  They got him into his cell and lowered him to the ground. Someone spread the blanket over him. ‘Poor sod,’ a voice said again. The door closed. Alone on the bare floor, Edmund began to weep.

  He couldn’t sleep that night. Just lying there was agony. Trying to move was unbearable. Sometime he became aware that a mess tin of bread and cheese was beside him. He tried to take a piece, but groaned as the pain shot through him.

 
Outside, something was happening. All through the hours of darkness, he heard the tramp of feet as men marched past. Heavy wheels rumbled. Horses neighed. The whole camp seemed to be moving. But he was in too much pain to care. He lay curled on the cold floor, trying to think of home, and his mother and sister. And of his brother. If William could see him now, what would he say?

  It was raining in the morning. Edmund heard it drumming on the roof of the cell, splashing on the ground outside. He’d finally managed to sit up, lean his back against the wall and drink the now-cold tea that had been standing there. His hands and arms shook so much he could hardly hold the mug. His body felt as though hammers had been pounding at it.

  He half-lifted his head as Corporal McKean strode into the cell. He waited for the insults and sneers. But the NCO just looked at him. ‘Can you walk?’

  Edmund tried to stand, but sagged back. The corporal called over his shoulder. ‘Bring him to the officer.’

  Two different soldiers supported him to the major’s office. His legs could move by themselves, but he reeled and almost fell if he tried to stand.

  The major’s face was still cold. ‘I’m repeating yesterday’s order, Hayes. Clean the amm—’

  ‘No.’ Edmund could hardly believe it was his voice. ‘No.’

  The major showed no expression. ‘Three hours’ Field Punishment No. 1. Take him away.’

  The rain poured down as the escort took him to the post. Edmund could stumble along unaided by himself now – just. By the time they halted, he was already soaked through.

  Corporal McKean spoke. ‘You’ve made your point, Hayes. Obey the order, will you?’

  The wish to give in was so great that Edmund had to close his eyes. But his voice seemed to speak by itself again: ‘No.’

  Again, the corporal looked at him. Then he spoke to the others. ‘Tie him up.’

  Today’s soldiers said nothing. His legs were bound to the post. His arms were hauled up behind him, and he couldn’t prevent a cry of pain. The NCO and escort moved off.

  The pain was different from the first time, deeper and heavier somehow. His body seemed to be dragged at by racks and wheels, wrenching it in all directions. He didn’t try to change his position any longer. Nothing would stop the agony.

  His head flopped forward. Rain drove down on him, poured off his face, streamed down his back. His fever had returned: he felt hot and sick in spite of the rain. Darkness rose in his mind. The world began to fade. Pain still throbbed through him, but it seemed further and further away with each second. Even the rain seemed to fall without touching him. Suddenly, Edmund heard a voice speak quietly inside his head. His own voice. ‘I’m going to die.’

  Then hands were holding him, and other, angry voices were shouting. The ropes no longer bound him. He began to fall forward again, but this time he was seized and kept half-standing. ‘It’s not right!’ a Scottish accent was saying. A different voice shouted: ‘You don’t treat a dog like this!’

  There were soldiers all around him. Wet and dirty, rifles over their shoulders. They looked like the ones of two days ago, back from the front lines. ‘What’s going on?’ they demanded. ‘What the hell are you doing to him?’

  Corporal McKean appeared, pushing his way through. ‘This man is undergoing No. 1 Field Punishment. Stand back!’

  But the soldiers who had cut Edmund down were having none of it. ‘Look at the poor devil! You trying to kill him? It’s not right!’

  The corporal glared around. He turned to the escort, standing nervously behind him. ‘Take the prisoner back to his cell.’

  They had to carry Edmund this time. He had no strength left at all. The other soldiers followed. ‘This what we’re fighting for, is it? … Tie you up! See how you like it!’

  He’d been lying on the floor of his cell for maybe ten minutes, wet, wretched, racked with pain, when Corporal McKean came in once more. He carried two more blankets, which he dropped on the ground beside Edmund. Then the NCO stood looking down at his prisoner. There was an expression on his face that Edmund hadn’t seen before.

  ‘I don’t know what to make of you, Hayes,’ the corporal said. ‘I really don’t.’

  He began to leave, then paused. ‘There’ll be some food in a few minutes. Eat it if you can. Try to sleep. There’s something big going to happen up at the front, and you’re coming up there with us tomorrow.’

  PART 6

  First Attack

  Dearest Ma,

  Another letter inside my head. Another letter I’m glad you’ll never get.

  Dear Ma, I’ve seen terrible things. I’ve seen the bodies of dead men, and other men who wished they were dead. I’ve seen land that looks as though a monster has torn it apart.

  This is a world where humans live like beasts, and where the killing goes on day and night. I never knew some men could do such dreadful things to one another, and I never knew some men could be so kind and brave.

  I’ve done things I never believed I would do. If I ever see you again, I wonder if I’ll be able to tell you about them. I pray you and Jessie are well. I pray William is safe. I believe I will die here, but I hope that you three will someday be together and happy once more.

  Your Loving Son

  Edmund

  Edmund

  He was marched up to the front lines the following night. In the growing darkness, he and Corporal McKean and two soldiers with rifles and bayonets made their way along a rough, shell-holed road and across what seemed to be fields.

  Several times as they trudged on, the cool night was filled with a sickly-sweet smell and they glimpsed dead horses lying among smashed carts. A few shattered walls showed where farmhouses had once stood. Beside one wall were five small oblong mounds of earth in a neat row. Graves, Edmund realised.

  Several times the corporal stopped other soldiers to ask for directions. Then they backtracked, or struck off in a different direction, or went a few yards and stood peering around them in the darkness.

  If he’d wanted to, Edmund could probably have slipped off and vanished from the escort’s sight. But where will I go to? he asked himself. Anyway, I’m not going to run away – I’m not going to let Archie and the others down like that.

  After the first hour, he was too exhausted to run anywhere. Too exhausted to walk, almost. His body still ached from the hours tied to the post. His neck and arms and back felt as though horses had been pulling him apart.

  As the ground became muddier, and they slipped and stumbled into holes, or on greasy duckboards, he could hardly put one foot in front of another. His head was bowed. He plodded on, scarcely noticing where they were, the torn-up ground blurring in front of him. His fever seemed to have returned; he felt sick and giddy. Three times the escort had to stop and wait for him while he hunched over, shaking and gasping. Corporal McKean watched, but said nothing.

  Their feet clattered across more duckboards, covered with rough wire-netting this time. Nails stuck up here and there; Edmund caught his foot on one and stumbled.

  Sometime around midnight, they slumped down on a low bank in the darkness to rest and eat. A few stunted bushes clung to the torn ground nearby. Off to one side, guns thumped and boomed. Flashes of flame split the night for a second. But around them, all was silent.

  Edmund sprawled sideways on the wet earth. He had no food; felt too tired to care. The corporal began to chew on a piece of bread, hesitated, then tore off half and handed it to Edmund. ‘You’re a fool, Hayes. If everyone behaved like you, how could we have an army?’

  Edmund nodded, his neck stabbing as he did so. ‘You couldn’t. That’s the point.’

  The NCO glared at him, then turned to the escort. ‘Come on – on your feet. Get moving!’ As they stood, he pushed another chunk of bread at Edmund. ‘Here – eat this.’

  They plodded on. Another hour – two hours? – Edmund was too confused and shaky to tell – and they made their way down rough steps into a deep trench. Another corporal was waiting for them. Edmund wondered h
ow many officers and NCOs he’d faced since that Monday morning in Mr Yee’s garden. ‘The prisoner?’ asked this one. ‘Bring him along here.’

  They zigzagged their way up the network of trenches. Men were all around them now, standing on ledges, peering through holes in the sandbags stacked along the parapets, sleeping or sitting in recesses dug from the trench walls, squeezing past in the opposite direction, carrying boxes and stretchers. Other troops with ladders or coils of barbed wire inched by. Edmund remembered Corporal McKean’s words from the day before. Something big was about to happen, all right.

  A few men stared at Edmund and his escort, but most seemed too busy or tired to take any notice. The sickly-sweet smell of dead horses hung around the trench, but Edmund knew without being told that it wasn’t horses this time. He thought yet again of William. What had happened to him? Was he … was he still alive? He had to be.

  The new NCO led them through a tunnel, beneath a roof of thick wooden beams covered with earth, and into a big dug-out where dixies steamed on steel bars, over a fire of broken timber. ‘Wait there. I’ll fetch the CSM.’

  Corporal McKean and the others dug into their packs, brought out mess tins, and dipped them into a dixie from which the smell of stew drifted. ‘Tea in the other,’ called out a soldier who was peeling carrots on a grubby table. He looked curiously at Edmund. ‘Help yourself, chum.’

  ‘Go on, Hayes,’ Corporal McKean said as his prisoner hesitated. ‘Get a mug from over there.’

  Edmund hesitated another moment. Did this mean he was obeying an army order? And did he have any right to eat food meant for men who had come here prepared to die?

  Before he could decide, the other corporal was back. Behind him came a burly man with bristling black hair. Corporal McKean and the escort quickly stood, still holding their mess tins.