Chapter 10 Holding the Line #2
A bullet whistled by. The man on the ground screamed.
Charlie gripped the arm of the boy closest to him. “What’s your name?”
“Thomas. I mean Fletcher. Private Fletcher.” God, was this the boy’s first battle?
“I’m Private Blair,” the lad on the other side said before pointing to the man writhing in agony. “That’s Gittins.”
The past three years had given Charlie a sense of when a man had a fighting chance. There were a lot of parts of Gittins’ leg outside that should be inside, but he wasn’t past hope. The question was, could Charlie get any of them back to BEF lines?
A clammy hand reached out towards him. “I’ll only slow you down.” For a man who had been screaming only a few seconds earlier, his voice was surprisingly soft.
Charlie took a deep breath and squeezed Gittins’ hand. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He looked Fletcher and Blair over, both of whom were white-knuckling their rifles.
Charlie mentally flipped a coin. “The shelling keeps stopping. I think the German gun is jamming. The next time that happens, we will have a window of a few minutes to make a run back to BEF lines. I’m going to take Gittins’ left side, and Blair, you’re going to take his right.
Gittins, pass out if you can, because this is going to hurt.
Fletcher, I’m going to need you to provide cover for us, in case we run into any German patrols. ”
He met their eyes squarely and let none of his own doubts show through. His fears of machine guns or snipers weren’t worth talking about.
With a nod, Blair reached for his injured friend. “Gittins will make it home. We promised his mum.”
That’s the spirit, lads.
Charlie tucked himself under the man’s left arm. “On my mark, we start to run. Fletcher, you fire back towards that German line. Doesn’t matter where, but make it look impressive.”
The shelling fire continued two, three, four more rounds, when suddenly there was a break in the mechanical thunder. Charlie hoped he was right about the gun. “Go!” he yelled, and they ran out of the crater, hobbling and tumbling across the battlefield.
Charlie and Blair wound up unevenly dragging Gittins forward, their pace slow and clumsy, sliding and slogging through the mud, with Fletcher following behind. Charlie figured that every step they were making forward was one in the right direction.
“Fire, Fletcher, fire!” The sound of bullets began. Charlie had no idea if Fletcher was aiming in remotely the right direction, but any show of force was worth taking.
“I can’t…” Blair was struggling for breath under the weight of his friend.
Charlie didn’t let him finish. “Not far now!”
They must have been quite the spectacle, hobbling their way back to BEF lines, but at least it meant that orderlies were there waiting for them with an actual stretcher for Gittins when they finally slid into the trench.
Only the trench wall held Charlie from sliding to the ground when he knees started to buckle, as the reality of what they had just done sunk in.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Blair retching.
As Fletcher started to move past him, Charlie reached out to grab his shoulder.
“Who was the other body in the crater with you?” Charlie tried to make sure to report the dead when he could, especially when they weren’t able to bring back a body.
The boy wearily looked at Charlie as if he had forgotten how words worked. Charlie was about to give up when Blair answered in a hoarse voice.
“Sergeant Henderson.”
???
The only light in the dark canteen was the golden red of Charlie’s cigarette.
Someone entered. Charlie didn’t bother to turn around to know it was Ned. “With a sniper shot to the chest, he probably never knew what hit him.”
“He’s still fucking dead, though.” Charlie tried to muster more anger into the words. He didn’t have the energy to mourn John Henderson tonight. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.
“I will write to his fiancée this evening.” Ned fussed with one of the gas lamps and a dull ball of light surrounded them. “When was the last time you slept?”
Charlie shrugged. Under the table he fingered the small hole in his uniform trousers. He saw the flash of a knife again. Were there poppy petals on his boot?
“You’ll make the dispatches for retrieving those injured men caught in the crater. That showed a lot of bravery, running into enemy fire to make sure your fellow soldiers were safe. Private Gittins is going to survive, although he will lose a leg.”
“I did what any stretcher bearer would.”
“If you want to see it that way.” Ned nodded towards the bench. “Mind if I sit?”
Charlie could only nod. Beside him Ned pulled out paper and pen and began to write while Charlie traced the hole in his uniform.
???
Dear Miss Townsend,
On behalf of the entire 1st London Territorial, I wanted to express my condolences for the loss of Sergeant John Henderson.
I cannot claim to have known him well, having only spent time with him on the field, but his absence is already felt acutely by the men of this division.
His leadership, right to the end, was fearless, and he embodied all that a country could want from her soldiers; selfless, generous and encouraging.
His memory, of his sense of humour and clear-headedness, continues to guide us in Flanders.
I know that these are empty words of comfort at a time of such profound loss. We share in your mourning.
With deepest sympathies,
Lieutenant Edmund Pinsent, Kensington Regiment, 1st London Territorial
???
Dear Elizabeth,
This is not how I wanted to introduce myself to you. I wish it were any way but this. But I promised John I would stand by him on his wedding day, and if I cannot do that, the least I can do is this.
John didn’t suffer; he would want you to know that.
It was a single shot, and he went quick.
We were able to have a proper Christian burial, with quite a pretty cross that one of the lads fashioned.
The chaplain gave a lovely service. Although, knowing John, I think he would have been more proud of the ‘Irish wake’ we held the night before.
I suspect you already know this, but the thing John wanted most in the world was to marry you. I know he died in peace, because I know he loved you. There is no logic to this war, and I struggle to understand how there can be fairness in a world where he did not return to you.
John always wanted to introduce us because my father owns a hat shop off Marylebone High Street. He said your family wasn’t far from there? On my next leave, I would be honoured to stop by and meet you in person.
With deepest condolences.
Yours truly,
Corporal Charles Villiers, Scottish London Regiment, 1st London Territorial