by Alan David
Eddie reached the café. The top half of the building was aflame, and there was only the ominous sound of burning wood. Part of the front of the café had fallen in.
‘Wally!’ Eddie moved uncertainly towards the door. ‘Wally, where are you?’
‘You can’t go in there,’ warned Smith, coming up, panting hard. He put a restraining arm upon Eddie, who shrugged it off quickly.
‘Did Wally go in?’ Eddie turned to Arthur. ‘Did he go in?’
‘He must have been inside when the bombs dropped.’
Eddie waited no longer. He hurried forward, oblivious of the smoke and the flames and the falling masonry. Fear lay curled icily around his heart. His mouth was dry and his stomach sick with dread. Please, God, let him be all right. He ran in through the shattered door of the café.
The rear part of the building was ruined. The doorway leading into the kitchen was burning fiercely. The floor above had collapsed, and a dozen flickering tongues of fire clung tenaciously to broken beams and woodwork. Smoke was thick and blinding inside the building, and the smell of explosives was overpowering.
‘Wally!’ Eddie stared around wildly. He ran to the corner where the four tables had been, where they had sat only minutes before in celebration. The tables were shattered and broken, two of them overturned in the corner. A khaki-clad leg and a black boot showed from under them in the glaring light of the fire.
‘Here he is. He’s hurt. Arthur, Smith, come quickly.’
Eddie pulled aside two of the tables. An ominous creaking of strained timbers was like a sword thrust across their nerves. Eddie dropped to his knees beside the unconscious sergeant. He pulled aside wood and bricks that half covered his brother. There was blood on the sergeant’s face, and it looked dark and nasty in the half-light. But there was no sign of serious wounds. There was no blood pumping from smashed arteries, no missing limbs. A wave of relief flooded through Eddie and he became calm. ‘He’s only knocked out, I think. We’d better get him outside.’
‘Let’s hurry before the lot falls in on us.’ Smith moved to the sergeant’s feet. ‘Lift him gently.’
Between them. they carried the limp form out to the street. They lowered him gently to the rough cobblestones on the opposite side of the street. Eddie pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe the blood from Wally’s face.
‘He’s got a nasty knock on the head. Smudger, see if you can get hold of a stretcher. The sooner we get him out of this the better.’
Smith nodded dumbly and staggered off. He began to run along the street, calling for stretcher bearers. Arthur dropped to his knees beside Eddie. He pushed Eddie’s hands away from the senseless sergeant.
‘Let me have a look at him, Eddie.’
‘Feel his pulse, Arthur. Oh, God, please let him be all right.’ Eddie squatted back on his heels. He stared down at Wally’s ghastly white face. The sergeant groaned then, and his eyelids flickered. ‘Wally, are you all right? Wally !’
‘Shut up, Eddie. For God’s sake. You can’t help by shouting at him. Look, he’s more badly hurt than you think. His tunic is torn here, and there’s a lot of blood. He’s been hurt in the chest.’ As he spoke Arthur gently unfastened the wounded man’s battledress. The shirt underneath was soggy with blood.
Eddie gazed on helplessly. This was all so unreal. How could it be true? Only a few minutes ago they had been celebrating his birthday. Oh, don’t let him be badly hurt, God, he prayed. Please let him be all right.
‘His pulse is fairly strong. He’s not bleeding so much. He’ll be all right, Eddie.’
The shrill bell of an ambulance cut the paralysis of shock from their minds. Smith was standing on the running board of the vehicle, and he sprawled headlong as it braked to a standstill. A stretcher was lifted from the ambulance and the sergeant was placed expertly upon it. One of the medical orderlies made a rapid examination.
‘He’s badly hurt,’ he diagnosed. ‘Are there any more casualties?’
‘We don’t know.’ Eddie looked at the ruins. ‘No one can be alive in those buildings.’
‘We’d better get him into dock then.’
The stretcher was lifted and slid into the ambulance. The driver and his mate climbed into the cab.
‘Can we come with you?’ asked the corporal. ‘He’s our brother.’
‘Sorry Corp. No can do. Look, we’re taking him to the Aid Post at the end of the street. Walk down there in a little while and enquire.’
‘Thanks, we will,’ said Arthur.
The ambiance turned and moved off. Eddie watched its black bulk fading into the night, and shuddered at the sound of its bell. His brain seemed frozen. He was incapable of grasping the full import of what had happened.
Shock was a buffer to ward off reality until his mind had conditioned itself to the fact.
They were all saber now. Lloyd and Newman came up, and Eddie listened with protesting mind while Arthur informed them.
‘We’ll all go to the Aid Post,’ said Lloyd.
‘What dirty, stinking luck!’ swore Smith. ‘That bleeder was on fire. He jettisoned those bombs.’
‘He crashed,’ said Newman. ‘He hit the deck just outside the village. He was losing height all the way.’
‘Poor old Wally,’ said Arthur. ‘I hope to God he’ll be all right.’
Eddie was silent. He was alone in his thoughts, and was praying earnestly. Dear God, please let him get better. Don’t let him die. Give him a chance and he’ll pull through. I’ll be a good soldier until I die if You’ll let him live. I’m not asking for anything for myself. Please don’t let there be any complications.
They were a silent quartette as they crunched along the rubble strewn street. Shock had sobered them and clamped a bar upon their thoughts. It seemed so impossible that violence could strike at them while they were out of the line. It was a cruel Fate that held them bonded and guided them each to his own destiny. Such was the line of their thoughts, and they were silent until they reached the barn that was serving as an Aid Post.
Eddie turned a haggard face to his comrades after Arthur had gone into the post for information. ‘Go back to the billet and get some sleep,’ he suggested. ‘We may have to wait some time.’
‘I’m staying.’ Smith thrust forward his pugnacious chin, and the others agreed.
Eddie stood silent in the darkness. His eyes were blurred and nausea filled him. His body was trembling. The dying fires of the bombed houses tinged his countenance with hardness, Smith noted, and realised that his friend was forcing himself to be calm with some inner strength.
‘He didn’t seem to be so badly hurt,’ Smith said weakly, and realised how flat and useless was his attempt at reassurance.
They stood then in a silent group. Eddie was not aware of the others while he tried to grasp the thought and the fact of what had happened. Was it true that his brother was lying badly wounded in the Aid Post? The fact stared at him from the compassionate faces of his mates.
Time held no meaning for them. Not one of them could estimate how long they stood there waiting for the corporal to return. To Lloyd and Newman it seemed they stood there forever. For Eddie, time did not exist.
Arthur Rawlings emerged from the building.
‘Well?’ Eddie spoke harshly, with great effort, and his eyes were fierce in the firelight. He stared at Arthur as if trying to will his brother to impart good news.
‘They told me to come back in the morning.’
‘Didn’t they say anything about his condition?’ Eddie grasped Arthur’s arm. ‘They’ve had time to examine him.’
‘He’s got some broken ribs.’ Arthur studied his younger brother’s face. ‘He’s in a bad way, Eddie. They’ve taken my name and company in case we’re wanted before morning.’
‘That means he might die,’ Eddie burst out.
Arthur took his arm. ‘Come on, let’s go back to our billets. We can’t do any good here.’
‘I wouldn’t sleep. Can’t we see him?’
‘He’s unconscious, Eddie. They’ve given him morphine to kill his pain. We’ll come back in the morning.’
Eddie allowed himself to be led away. In the billet he dropped fully clothed upon his bed. After several minutes sickness gripped him. His stomach revolted. He heaved himself up and hastened outside, and in the darkness he hung his head over a fence and vomited.
Wally, he. despaired. Oh, Wally. He lifted his head and wiped his mouth upon the sleeve of his battledress blouse. His eyes were blurred with tears as he looked up at the velvet night sky. Don’t let him die, he prayed. Not on his birthday!
He remained by the fence until he was thoroughly chilled, then shook himself free from his torpor and walked unsteadily back to his bed. He was utterly empty now. In his mind he felt that God would not let his brother die.
His last thought before he eventually slept was that on the morrow his battalion was due to go back into the line.
Chapter Eleven
EDDIE was awakened the next morning by the rough voice of the company orderly sergeant. He lay for a moment regaining his scattered senses, his eyes still closed. He could hear Smith talking softly to Newman, and Lloyd was asking for Corporal Rawlings. Then full realisation returned to him and he sat up and jumped out of bed.
‘Where’s Arthur?’ he demanded.
‘He’s gone to see how Wally is.’ Smith bent and laced up his boots. He couldn’t bring himself to look Eddie in the eyes. ‘He’s been gone ten minutes.’
‘Why didn’t he call me?’ Eddie dressed hurriedly. He didn’t wash or shave, and pulled his beret upon his uncombed head.
‘Put on your web belt,’ called Smith. ‘There’s sure to be an M.P. in the village.’
Eddie hurried out. At least they hadn’t sent for Arthur during the night, he thought. That was surely a good sign. He half thought that he would find Wally sitting up in bed this morning, laughing and talking about how he would escape going back to the front. Broken ribs weren’t so bad, if you remembered wounds like Sid Heywood’s, and others. Broken ribs would heal.
The Aid Post was quiet in the early morning. Eddie saw some fatigue men digging holes in the field opposite the Post, and he realised that they were digging graves. Poor devils, he thought. Now he could feel full pity for the wounded and dead. Death and injury had crept closer to him during the night. It had become more personal. He went into the building. Arthur was standing just inside the door.
‘How is he, Arthur?’
Arthur turned quickly. His haggard face creased into a fleeting smile that quickly vanished. ‘An orderly has gone to find out.’
They stood then in silence, each hoping and worrying, alone in their preoccupation. The orderly appeared. His face was expressionless, his manner detached, remote.
‘You can go in and see him. Who’s this?’
‘Another brother,’ said Arthur.
‘Follow me.’
‘He’s not too badly hurt, is he?’ Eddie could contain himself no longer. ‘You’ve just seen him, mate. How is he?’
‘I only work here,’ the orderly replied. ‘I ain’t the M.O. In here.’
They followed him into a room. There were seven occupied stretchers on the floor, and Eddie stared aghast as he looked round. The orderly pointed to a stretcher as he stepped aside for them to enter.
‘That’s him.’
They crossed the room fearfully and crouched beside their brother. Wally was unconscious. His face was colourless, and the skin looked strangely waxen. For one awful moment Eddie thought Wally was dead. Then he saw the very faint movement of breathing. He stared helplessly. Arthur looked across at him.
‘He looks bad, Eddie.’
‘He’ll be all right. It’s shock that makes him look bad.’ Eddie turned and looked at the orderly. ‘How badly is he hurt?’ he asked. ‘Has he come round yet?’
The orderly’s hard face relaxed for a moment, but hardened again as he spoke. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, chum,’ he said tonelessly. ‘But these are the hopeless cases. There’s nothing anyone can do for them. We’ve doped them up with morphia, and that’s all we can do.’
Coldness settled upon Eddie. He turned back wordlessly to gaze down at Wally. ‘Hasn’t anyone tried to do anything for him? Christ, he’s been fighting for his country for the last four months.’ He could hear his voice, thick and strained, but was unaware that he had uttered the words. It seemed that all his emotions had iced up. It didn’t seem real. Yet he knew it was. He couldn’t cry, and yet he felt that he couldn’t go on without his brother.
‘There’s nothing anyone can do,’ the orderly reiterated softly.
‘While there’s life there’s hope,’ said Arthur, looking up. ‘He’s got the will to live. You’re a heartless devil!’
‘You’d be heartless, too, if you’d handled the cases I’ve had since D-Day. Sure I’m heartless. I have to be or I’d have gone round the bend a long while ago. I’ll go and fetch the M.O. He looked at him when he was brought in. Maybe he can tell you what’s what.’
The orderly went out.
Eddie squatted beside the stretcher. He reached out and touched Wally’s face with a shrinking hand. The skin was taut and cold. He noticed the black stubble pushing through the skin.
‘This is the first morning since D-Day that you haven’t got up early and shaved, Wally,’ he said quietly.
Arthur crouched down on the other side of the stretcher.
‘I can’t believe this is true, Eddie. God help me, I can’t. He’s lying here dying. He would go back to that café. I told him not to go. He went back for his belt. He’s going to die because of a belt.’
The opening door aroused them, and Arthur stood up. He turned as the M.O. and the orderly came into the room.
‘I’m sorry you’ve found your brother in this condition, Corporal.’ The Medical Officer, a major, pressed his finger tips against his tired looking eyes.
‘Isn’t there anything that can be done for him, sir?’ Arthur pleaded.
‘I’m afraid there isn’t.’ The M.O. sighed deeply. ‘This is very hard for you to understand, and I’m sorry I have to tell you, but your brother should be dead now. All his ribs on the right side are broken. His right lung is deflated, pierced in a dozen places. A piece of shrapnel the size of your hand is embedded in his chest, very close to the heart. It’s only a matter of time.’
Every word pierced Eddie’s brain like a fiery dart. A tear ran down his face. He slumped in despair, and gripped the edge of the stretcher. So this was the end. He turned his head. ‘But there must be something you can do,’ he insisted.
‘I couldn’t operate on him now. He’s got no resistance. The shock would kill him. He’s dead now, to all intents and purposes. It’s just a matter of time before his heart stops.’
Arthur bent down again beside the stretcher. The M.O. went out. ‘You heard that, Eddie?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know last night he was so badly hurt.’ Arthur smoothed Wally’s hair back from his forehead. ‘We didn’t do him any good when we lifted him out of the café.’
‘We couldn’t have left him in there.’
Eddie stared fixedly at Wally’s face, as if trying to will his brother to regain consciousness, to will life to remain in the shattered body. It was your birthday, Wally, he thought, and this is the present from Fate. Why should it be? Open your eyes, Wally, and get up. Come with us. Oh, Wally, don’t die!
Time did not exist in this room of doomed men. Death was strong here, gloating over the poor broken bones and shattered bodies, creeping insidiously into the wounds and claiming victims.
Smith came into the room. He stood at the foot of the sergeant’s stretcher and gazed down at the blood-stained blanket, the waxen face. His own expressive face was grim. He looked at the two silent, grieving brothers, and for the first time in many years Smith felt like crying. He blinked furiously. Arthur Rawlings looked up.
‘You want me, Smudger?’
‘Yes,
Arthur. The sergeant-major wants to see you at once.’
‘I’m not leaving.’ Eddie hunched his shoulders. He didn’t even look at Smith, and Smith, looking down at him, saw a stranger’s face, hard and set in grief.
‘Stay here, Eddie. I’ll be back shortly.’ Arthur rose and went out. Smith stood for a moment, wanting to say some-thing to comfort his friend. Then he left in silence, knowing words to be inadequate.
Eddie never took his eyes from Wally’s face. The sergeant was barely breathing. His wavy hair was ruffled and unkempt. On the next stretcher a soldier was dying noisily. The orderly was with him. Then someone came up and crouched down on the other side of the sergeant’s stretcher. Eddie looked up. He recognised Captain Mason, the padre, and looked down again at his brother’s face.
‘There is no comfort like prayer at a time like this.’ The padre reached across the stretcher and touched Eddie’s shoulder. ‘My son, let us pray together now for the soul of your brother, that he may find eternal peace.’
‘I prayed all last night that he would live, but it didn’t do him any good,’ Eddie said bitterly. ‘Now he’s dying. I loved him more than a brother. I loved him more than I loved all of my other brothers put together. Praying won’t help him now.’
‘He is in the hands of the Lord. You must have courage to face the truth. Prayer eases sorrow and lightens the burden of grief.’ His voice took on a deeper tone as he prayed.
‘Teach us, good Lord, to serve Thee as Thou deservest; to give and not to count the cost; to fight and not to heed the wounds; to toil and not to ask for rest; to labour and to ask for no reward, save that of knowing that we do Thy will, through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Make us humble, brave and loving; make us ready for adventure in Thy cause. We do not ask that Thou wilt keep us safe, but that Thou wilt keep us loyal; who didst face and suffer death unafraid and dost live and reign forever and ever. Visit the wounded and the dying here in the time of their passing from pain and fear, and bless them that their sacrifice may be a way of service for their fellows and for Thee.’
