Chapter 3
From the quartermaster’s hut, they were taken to a barn-turned-office for inspection by their new captain, a white man with golden hair and watchful eyes.
The first thing Ashley noticed upon meeting Captain Henry Davies was how young he looked and how old he seemed, all at the very same time.
She wouldn’t have guessed he was more than a few years her senior, certainly no older than twenty-five.
But what he lacked in grey hair and wrinkles, he made up for with blue eyes more haunted than any ocean and a weary weight about his shoulders that suggested his perfect posture was held up by invisible chains.
“Ashley. Tomasson,” he greeted, shaking each of their hands cordially. “Welcome to the East Surrey Regiment, B Company. Your timing couldn’t be better. We seem to find ourselves desperately short of runners.”
Tom and Ash exchanged nervous glances and then nodded at their new commander.
“Where did you both train?”
“Aldershot, sir,” Tom answered.
“Very good. I was at Aldershot myself not so many years ago.” The captain nodded before skewering Ashley with his piercing gaze. “And you?”
Should she tell him Aldershot as well? What if he asked her some specific question and caught her out in the needless lie? Didn’t he know she’d been practically scooped off the street and plunked down on a ship without further ado?
TomTom nudged her, and she decided it was best, in this case, to tell the truth. “No training, sir.”
“Not your running,” he said with an amused smile. “I meant your military training.”
Ashley licked her lips and glanced at Tom. “So did I, sir.”
“How to clean your gun? Load it? Lace your boots?”
She shook her head, cheeks growing hot under his sharp gaze.
Captain Davies took a deep breath and held it in, as though by letting it out he would deflate entirely. “There were no more trained-up runners in all of England?” he muttered.
Ashley opened and closed her mouth, uncertain how to answer.
“Right. Not a problem.” He lifted his chin, shoving his frustration aside. “Lieutenant Napier will have you trained up in no time. It’s a great responsibility, the role of trench runner. Do you both know that?”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused.
“Of course, you’ll have regular duties—barbed wire repair, night watch, and patrol.
But you must also be ready at a moment’s notice to carry a message in the dark and the rain, through enemy fire.
Who knows—it could be a pigeon or a dog—or it could be you who carries the message that ends this war.
Are you lads prepared to see it through—come what may?
Every night? Every day? Twice on Sundays? ”
“I am, sir,” Ashley said, amazed that her part might be so important, when all she’d set out to do was keep her brother safe.
“Absolutely, sir,” TomTom agreed, sounding equally inspired.
“Good. Borrow maps until we can get you some of your own. Familiarize yourselves with the area. Memorize landmarks, troop positions. I cannot stress this enough.”
They nodded.
“How old are you both?”
“Eighteen,” Ash admitted.
“Nineteen, sir,” Tom replied puffing out his chest just a little knowing he wasn’t quite the youngest of the lot.
“Of course you are,” the captain muttered as someone knocked at the door. “Come!”
The soldier who had led them to the captain’s quarters poked his head in, hair so blonde it was practically white and skin so pale he almost seemed translucent.
“Is this whole God-forsaken regiment still waiting for their balls to drop, Grey?” Davies asked him.
The soldier smiled, apparently accustomed to his captain’s moods. “No, sir. Private Rook is here. Transfer from the Cast Iron Sixth. I believe he’s twenty.”
The captain’s eyebrows lifted with interest, and he waved for Grey to bring the new man in.
“Private Alex Rook,” Grey repeated, handing over his papers.
Rook wasn’t as tall as Tom, but he had a large presence, with his grizzled demeanor, unruly black hair, and at least a day’s growth of stubble on his sharp chin. Like the captain, he seemed both young and old as he strode in with the weariness of a man who’d never known a single day’s rest.
He slid a disinterested glance over Ash and Tom, long, dark lashes shrouding sad, grey eyes, and Ashley’s stomach did a somersault despite his very fine lips pressing together in annoyance.
She caught herself licking her own lips and glanced hurriedly away, eyes forward just like Tom, trying to ignore Private Rook, who had stopped right next to her.
Trying to ignore the way every hair on her arm stood at attention.
He clasped his hands behind his back, and the very air felt somehow warmer than it had just moments before.
Ash took a breath, determined not to salivate over the first handsome bloke she met, not to draw attention to herself, not to give the ruse away.
Could they hear the drumbeats as her heart tried to pound out of its cage to go and meet him?
She couldn’t name it exactly, not then, but something in her pilgrim soul perceived the same in his.
“You were a sniper with the London Rifles?” Captain Davies was asking, looking over Rook’s transfer papers.
“Yes, sir,” Rook answered.
“I’m sorry to pull you away from that battalion.”
“Needs must, sir,” Rook replied with a studied coldness that suggested he too was very sorry about the transfer.
“Needs must,” the captain echoed. “Where did you receive your training?”
“Watford, mostly. And the First Army School of Sniping.”
Captain Davies tilted his head to the side, looking quite impressed. “Hekseth-Prichard’s school?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very good. And you were at Loos?”
A muscle in the soldier’s jaw ticked before he answered. “And Ypres. I’ve just come from Souchez.”
“Near to where the mine exploded last month?”
“Near enough.”
Davies grunted. “Terrible business.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Right, I’ll pair you up with…” Davies paused as though he’d forgotten the other soldier’s name. “Someone,” he finished.
“No need, sir. I prefer to work alone.”
“That’s… unusual, Private Rook.”
“German snipers work alone, sir.”
Davies raised his eyebrows, but Ashley couldn’t decide whether he was surprised by the proclamation or by Rook’s cheek.
“Suit yourself,” he said, then waved a hand towards TomTom and Ash. “While you may prefer to work alone, I shall ask you to take Private Ashley here under your wing. Bit of tutoring on the art of the Lee-Enfield.”
Ashley’s heart all but stopped as Rook closed his eyes, but when he opened them a second later his reply was a curt, “Of course, sir.”
“Excellent. Well, we’ve Brigade Sports coming up, and I believe in the meantime Sergeant Major Chapman and Lieutenant Napier have planned a bit of shooting practice for us all this afternoon. Rook will have you shipshape in no time, Ashley.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Private Rook, I know I don’t need to remind you to have a proper shave so your gas mask will fit.”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Dismissed.”
Ash didn’t know whether to be mortified or delighted by the order to train with the sullen sniper. She only knew she was relieved for the excuse to trail along behind him like a magnet on a string.