As the Crow Flies Read online

  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