As the Crow Flies Read online

  They both turned to stare in the direction of the captain.

  “What the ’ell’s he waitin’ for?” said Charlie.

  “To see if we get ourselves killed would be my guess,” said Tommy as the moon came back out.

  They both waited but said nothing until the circular glow had disappeared behind another cloud, when finally the captain came scurrying towards them.

  He stopped by their side, leaned against a tree and rested until he had got his breath back.

  “Right,” he eventually whispered, “we’ll advance slowly down through the forest, stopping every few yards to listen for the enemy, while at the same time using the trees for cover. Remember, never move as much as a muscle if the moon is out, and never speak unless it’s to answer a question put by me.”

  The three of them began to creep slowly down the hill, moving from tree to tree, but no more than a few yards at a time. Charlie had no idea he could be so alert to the slightest unfamiliar sound. It took the three of them over an hour to reach the bottom of the slope, where they came to a halt. All they could see in front of them was a vast mass of barren open ground.

  “No man’s land,” whispered Trentham. “That means we’ll have to spend the rest of our time flat on our bellies.” He immediately sank down into the mud. “I’ll lead,” he said. “Trumper, you’ll follow, and Prescott will bring up the rear.”

  “Well, at least that proves ’e knows where ’e’s goin’,” whispered Tommy. “Because ’e must ’ave worked out exactly where the bullets will be comin’ from, and who they’re likely to ’it first.”

  Slowly, inch by inch, the three men advanced the half mile across no man’s land, towards the Allied front line, pressing their faces back down into the mud whenever the moon reappeared from behind its unreliable screen.

  Although Charlie could always see Trentham in front of him, Tommy was so silent in his wake that from time to time he had to look back just to be certain his friend was still there. A grin of flashing white teeth was all he got for his trouble.

  During the first hour the three of them covered a mere hundred yards. Charlie could have wished for a more cloudy night. Stray bullets flying across their heads from both trenches ensured that they kept themselves low to the ground. Charlie found he was continually spitting out mud and once even came face to face with a German who couldn’t blink.

  Another inch, another foot, another yard—on they crawled through the wet, cold mud across a terrain that still belonged to no man. Suddenly Charlie heard a loud squeal from behind him. He turned angrily to remonstrate with Tommy, only to see a rat the size of a rabbit lying between his legs. Tommy had thrust a bayonet right through its belly.

  “I think it fancied you, Corp. Couldn’t have been for the sex if Rose is to be believed, so it must have wanted you for dinner.”

  Charlie covered his mouth with his hands for fear the Germans might hear him laughing.

  The moon slid out from behind a cloud and again lit up the open land. Once more the three men buried themselves in the mud and waited until another passing cloud allowed them to advance a few more yards. It was two more hours before they reached the barbed-wire perimeter that had been erected to stop the Germans breaking through.

  Once they had reached the spiky barrier Trentham changed direction and began to crawl along the German side of the fence searching for a breach in the wire between them and safety. Another eighty yards had to be traversed—to Charlie it felt more like a mile—before the captain eventually found a tiny gap which he was able to crawl through. They were now only fifty yards from the safety of their own lines.

  Charlie was surprised to find the captain hanging back, even allowing him to crawl past.

  “Damn,” said Charlie under his breath, as the moon made another entrance onto the center of the stage and left them lying motionless only a street’s length away from safety. Once the light had been turned out again, slowly, again inch by inch, Charlie continued his crablike advance, now more fearful of a stray bullet from his own side than from the enemy’s. At last he could hear voices, English voices. He never thought the day would come when he would welcome the sight of those trenches.

  “We’ve made it,” shouted Tommy, in a voice that might even have been heard by the Germans. Once again Charlie buried his face in the mud.

  “Who goes there?” came back the report. Charlie could hear rifles being cocked up and down the trenches as sleepy men quickly came to life.

  “Captain Trentham, Corporal Trumper and Private Prescott of the Royal Fusiliers,” called out Charlie firmly.

  “Password?” demanded the voice.

  “Oh, God, what’s the pass—?”

  “Little Red Riding Hood,” shouted Trentham from behind them.

  “Advance and be recognized.”

  “Prescott first,” said Trentham, and Tommy pushed himself up onto his knees and began to crawl slowly towards his own trenches. Charlie heard the sound of a bullet that came from behind him and a moment later watched in horror as Tommy collapsed on his stomach and lay motionless in the mud.

  Charlie looked quickly back through the half-light towards Trentham who said, “Bloody Huns. Keep down or the same thing might happen to you.”

  Charlie ignored the order and crawled quickly forward until he came to the prostrate body of his friend. Once he had reached his side he placed an arm around Tommy’s shoulder. “There’s only about twenty yards to go,” he told him. “Man wounded,” said Charlie in a loud whisper as he looked up towards the trenches.

  “Prescott, don’t move while the moon’s out,” ordered Trentham from behind them.

  “How you feelin’, mate?” asked Charlie as he tried to fathom the expression on his friend’s face.

  “Felt better, to be ’onest,” said Tommy.

  “Quiet, you two,” said Trentham.

  “By the way, that was no German bullet,” choked Tommy as a trickle of blood began to run out of his mouth. “So just make sure you get the bastard if I’m not given the chance to do the job myself.”

  “You’ll be all right,” said Charlie. “Nothin’ and nobody could kill Tommy Prescott.”

  As a large black cloud covered the moon, a group of men including two Red Cross orderlies who were carrying a stretcher jumped over the top and ran towards them. They dropped the stretcher by Tommy’s side and dragged him onto the canvas before jogging back towards the trench. Another volley of bullets came flying across from the German lines.

  Once they had reached the safety of the dugout, the orderlies dumped the stretcher unceremoniously on the ground. Charlie shouted at them, “Get ’im to the ’ospital tent—quickly for God’s sake, quickly.”

  “Not much point, Corp,” said the medical orderly. “’E’s dead.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  “HQ is still waiting for your report, Trumper.”

  “I know, Sarge, I know.”

  “Any problems, lad?” asked the color sergeant, which Charlie recognized as a coded message for “Can you write?”

  “No problems, Sarge.”

  For the next hour he wrote out his thoughts slowly, then rewrote the simple account of what had taken place on 18 July 1918 during the second battle of the Marne.

  Charlie read and reread his banal offering, aware that although he extolled Tommy’s courage during the battle he made no mention of Trentham fleeing from the enemy. The plain truth was that he hadn’t witnessed what was going on behind him. He might well have formed his own opinion but he knew that would not bear cross-examination, at some later date. And as for Tommy’s death, what proof had he that one stray bullet among so many had come from the pistol of Captain Trentham? Even if Tommy had been right on both counts and Charlie voiced those opinions, it would only be his word against that of an officer and a gentleman.

  The only thing he could do was make sure that Trentham received no praise from his pen for what had taken place on the battlefield that day. Feeling like a traitor, Charli