Murder At Zero Hour

by Paul Westwood

  Chapter 5

  The Past

  Smythe’s servant was a big corporal named Reese. He was a short man, but his size did nothing to hide his strength. He was bullnecked and had long gorilla-like arms that hung loosely on his sides. His face was craggy, and his lids hung over his eyes like slits. As we walked along the communication trench, he showed little consideration for my rank – perhaps he had a dislike for Americans. Or perhaps he’d taken airs as a result of being in the service of the colonel. Who knew? I just did my best to keep up with him.

  While we crossed over the various hazards of the trench, he warned, “Telephone line low” or “Watch your step.” He left me at the B Company HQ, and I was glad to be rid of him. The headquarters itself was a low, log structure built deeply into the side of the trench wall. After pausing for a moment to gather my thoughts, I straightened my cap and pushed aside the black curtain covering the entrance.

  Around a wooden table, four men were sitting and talking over cups of tea. As they turned to face me, I took in the new surroundings. The room was small with greasy oil lamps lighting the dark interior. The floor was caked with mud with heavy boot prints. Through a short passageway, I could see into a smaller room where a line of four cots were shoved together.

  “You must be Grant,” the captain said to me. “I’m Meadowes.” He got up to shake my hand. He was a tall man, with a stern face and a neatly trimmed moustache. His black hair was tinged with grey. The eyes were circles of exhaustion which seemed to be the case for everyone else here.

  “Glad to meet you,” I replied.

  He pointed to the other men at the table and said, “These three gentlemen are Lyons, Carter, and Prentice. You will be working with them closely, so you will get to know them well.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied with a salute.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the three other lieutenants frown.

  With a shake of his head, Meadowes said, “I have to tell you that discipline is a little more lax here in the trenches. While you’re here, forget everything you learned at officer school. When addressing fellow officers, you can use their names. Save the spit n’ polish for the parade grounds.”

  I nodded, already feeling out of place.

  “You already met your Sergeant Owens at the train station,” Meadowes went on. “He was looking after your platoon until you came along. You’re replacing Lieutenant Billings who was killed here last month. I’m afraid that is fairly common around here.”

  “I shall do my best to stay alive,” I said.

  He put his arm on my shoulder and led me to the table. “Have a seat and I’ll make the introductions.”

  I took one of the chairs and sat down. It was an old rickety thing and felt as if it was going to give way under my weight.

  Meadows remained standing. He said, “This here is Lyons.”

  Lyons was a strong-looking chap with light hair, the pale British skin that was so common, and an open honest face. He beamed at me and said, “Good to meet you.”

  “And this here is Lieutenant Carter,” the captain said.

  Carter was a fine-looking gent with youthful features. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen years. His voice squeaked out, “Hello, Grant.” We shook hands and his grip was weak. He certainly wasn’t the type to inspire confidence.

  “And finally Prentice,” Meadowes added.

  The remaining lieutenant nodded in my direction. He had dark, slicked-back hair and an aristocratic sneer. He would have made an excellent villain for any play or movie. With a dismissive nod in my direction, he lit a cigarette.

  “Don’t mind old Prentice,” Lyons added. “He doesn’t talk to anyone unless they are royalty or rich enough to buy themselves into royalty.”

  Prentice snorted and Carter watched the two with a grin.

  Lyons laughed, “Funny thing is I’m the second son of a duke while Prentice here comes from the merchant class. It all sounds rather common to me.”

  Prentice’s face turned a deep red, and he inhaled his cigarette vigorously. “I would have you know that my father is rather wealthy and could buy your whole postage stamp-sized estate without even breaking a sweat.”

  “I’m sure he could,” Lyons laughed. I noticed Carter was quick to join him.

  “Settle down boys,” the captain interrupted sharply.

  Lyons smiled. “You know as well as I do, Captain, that is an old argument. This is the most awfully boring job at times, but we shouldn’t make a bad impression on our new lieutenant here. How about you, Grant? Any skeletons in the closet you want to tell us about? Around here, we’re always interested in hearing something new.”

  “There’s really not much to say,” I admitted. “I used to work in Chicago. I have a degree in engineering, but it hardly made me any money.”

  “No rich father?” Lyons asked.

  The ever-present sound of falling shells suddenly grew louder, and to my ears, seemed to come closer to our dugout with every passing second. The other men didn’t appear to notice, so I went on and replied, “I’m afraid my father left me nothing. He died a few years ago and left us penniless. My uncle took mother in and sent me off to school.”

  “Ah, the rich uncle,” Lyons said to no one in particular.

  “Well, I for one am glad that you’re here,” Meadowes said. He took off his cap and brushed his thinning hair back. “This may be considered a quiet zone by some, but the Germans still keep us busy. As I said, you’re a replacement for Lieutenant Billings, who got the top of his skull removed by a sniper. I don’t want the same to happen to you, so listen to Lyons and Prentice here. They’re both experienced men.”

  “I will,” I said. What other choice did I have?

  Now the impact of the exploding shells was maddeningly loud, and we had to shout to be heard.

  “I can help too,” Carter added over the din.

  Lyons punched the young man in shoulder here and shouted, “Carter here is our newest lad. Just been here three months, so don’t listen to anything he has to say.”

  The lad shot him a dirty look.

  The shells had passed over us, but still continued to fall unceasingly. But now they were just muffled sounds in the distance.

  Meadowes said, “Also make sure you learn what you can from your Sergeant Owens. He can show you the ropes better than any other.”

  “He seems like a fine man,” I said truthfully. “But I don’t want to be treated any differently than anyone else. I’ll take the risks like any other officer here.”

  “You have the right spirit, Grant. Don’t worry, I will have use for you here no matter what Colonel Smythe may have ordered me to do. There are soldiers to be led and things to be done.”

  I nodded. Since the short time I had met him I was beginning to like this Captain Meadowes. He had a straight forward manner and seemed to act like quite the professional.

  He said to everyone, “Prentice and Carter, I suggest you go about your duties for the morning shift. I have to go meet with Smythe at headquarters and won’t be back until two. Lyons here will show our new lieutenant around and inform him of his duties. For now, I’ve decided to put them on the night watch, so they had better get some sleep.”

  Prentice nodded and left with Carter in tow. The captain poured himself another cup of tea before leaving the dugout.

  Lyons nodded at me and stood up. He had an athletic build, and he had to lean forward in order not to crack his head on the low ceiling. “Well, Grant, I’m surprised.”

  “Surprised by what?”

  “Talk is that the Americans are too cowardly to fight the Boche. I’m glad to see that it is just talk.”

  “I'm not sure about my countrymen, but I was willing to come over and lend a hand.”

  Lyons shook his head. He said, “You may be changing your mind sooner rather than later. Let me show you the trenches and a thing or two to keep you alive.”


  We walked out of the dugout. I followed this veteran’s example as he walked towards the front line in a crouched position. We went over the squeaky duckboards, passing a group of soldiers who smiled readily at Lyons. He gave the men a hearty wave. We soon stopped when we came to the end of the communication trench. We were right on the front.

  The front lines were dug deeply, with wooden slats on the bottom and wooden supports on the sides to hold the sodden dirt back. Taken from a nook, the lieutenant handed me a periscope that was bent at ninety-degrees and was designed to look over the side of the parapet. I gingerly edged it over the side. Across the desolate landscape, I could just make out the German line in the distance. It looked much like ours, with stacked sandbags and wooden posts. Smoke from the cooking breakfast slowly curled up into the sky. Like ours, rolls of barbed wire lay in front of the line. To my eyes, the defenses looked quite impenetrable. I shifted the periscope and took a closer look at the land between the two lines.

  This was No Man’s Land. It was a scarred jumble of stumps, shell holes and what looked to be piles of rags. A closer look revealed that they were rotting bodies. The ground itself had been churned up by countless shells and had turned into brown mud. A few scraggly weeds poked through the dirt. I thought the whole thing was the most disturbing sight I had ever seen, and it wasn't at all what I expected from the newspaper accounts. Not a single movement could be seen, except for the buzzing of the countless flies.

  “What about those men out there?” I asked Lyons.

  “What men?” he asked.

  “I mean, their bodies are there…” my thoughts trailed off, and I gestured toward No Man’s Land.

  He shrugged. “I’d like to get all of them out of there,” he said, and looked away. “But we can't get to all of them.”

  “But how did they get out there?”

  “Some are Germans, and some are ours. They were killed while out on night patrol. It's dangerous out there which is something you will learn soon enough."

  A bullet cracked over my head and made me jump. I nearly dropped the periscope in surprise.

  Lyons smiled and said, “The Germans know we’re here now. Best move along before they call in some artillery and drop some whiz-bangs in our direction.”

  We began walking back along the communication trench.

  “Have you killed any Huns yet?” I ventured to ask.

  He nodded. “I've been in this war for quite a while.” He laughed and went on, “They say I’m blessed with nine lives, but let me tell you it has been sheer luck that I'm still here. I’ll warn you that this may be called a quiet sector, but we see our own bit of trouble every night. We dig further in, fill hundreds of sandbags and go out on patrol to see what they are up to. Fritz does the same thing. Sometimes we meet, and that can be a spot of trouble.

  “When we first dug in here at Deveaux, no one expected the war would last so long. We had no idea we would be living inside the trenches day after day. We’ve been learning as we go along. The French and German trenches are much better than ours, but the British Army can still hold a defensive position like no one else.”

  He offered me a cigarette which I took gratefully. I never smoked that much before, but after these sights, I thought it was a good time to start upping my intake.

  Lyons said, “Tonight I'll give you the guided tour. I suggest we go back and get some sleep until then. We're billeted in an old house in the village. The family left a long time ago, so it's a bit of a mess right now.”

  That night, while we took our nightly shift, Lyons took me under his wing. I also met the company that would be under my command and learned their names as well as I could. They were mostly Welshmen, but we had a mixed lot of new recruits. Our regiment was receiving replacements from Kitchener’s ‘New Army’. They were a good group of men – dedicated even in these bleak circumstances. Perhaps it was the daily ration of rum since the men were always singing old songs and cracking jokes about the strangest of things. I found that living in the trenches requires some sense of humor just to survive.

  After we had made our rounds that night, Lyons warned me about one of the soldiers. He said, “Keep an eye on Corporal Childs there. He’s a bit of a shirker.”

  And the lieutenant was right in that regard. As the nights went on, I saw that John Childs never seemed to lift a finger to help out. Some other man always did his work. Some childhood illness had scarred his face and his dark eyes had nothing but hatred for officers.

  “Then why keep him a corporal?” I had finally asked Lyons.

  He shrugged and said, “Well, he’s right popular with the men since he gets them the little things that they need. And his little cronies make sure he doesn't work. Personally, I think he is a bit of a bully, but he does have certain useful contacts with the black market.”

  “Black market?” I asked in surprise.

  “Sure, there will always be a need for the things the army can’t supply us. We are always short of goods up here in the trenches. Childs has a way of getting us the things we need. That helps morale. If you ever are short of good cigarettes, just ask old John, and he’ll set you up.”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting some Lucky Strikes,” I admitted.

  “That may not be that big of a problem. He could probably get you a pack of German Bulgaren-Helds if you asked him.”

  As the days passed, Lyons taught me art of living in the trenches. That consisted of learning to build the different layers of trenches, the burying of telephone wire and building duckboards to keep our feet dry. Mud was a constant problem - it was unsanitary, not just dirty, and made it easier for trench foot to spread. This kept us busy devising new ways of draining water out of the trenches. My engineering background was useful here, and I made sure that the future frontline trenches were arranged with sump holes to keep it as water-free as possible. Each night my company dug, laid barbwire, built sniper loopholes, and filled sandbags. Building supplies were always a bit short, but we made do the best we could. We had to take out plenty of building materials from the broken homes of Deveaux.

  The shelling seemed constant, accounting for a high number of our wounded. Luckily the Germans seemed to pull back on firing the artillery at night, saving most of their crumps for the daytime. But still, they would fire rifles at us. Lyons explained how they would cut notches on their parapets and fire at fixed locations throughout the night. It was quite random, but still, if you were at the wrong place at the wrong time you would get knocked out for good.

  I remember the first death I saw. It was just two days after I had arrived and some poor squaddie named Thompson got it. A five-nine fell right into the trench and caught him in the open. When I was called in to see, there was nothing there but a few scraps of flesh. It was something else to see, but Lyons just shrugged it off. It was common for the soldiers to be fatalistic, and it was no different for the officers. When your time was up, it was up.

  Each morning, after our shift was done, Lyons and I slogged back to our billet at the village. There we rested as well as we could. Our billet was a small, one-story home, and I was forever ducking my head in order to not bean myself against the beams. At least I had a room to myself, and I enjoyed the little solitude I could get. The house had a small kitchen that spilled over into the sitting room. A sink and stove were there, but the water wasn’t hooked up anymore. At least the pump in the side yard still worked, and the water tasted alright, but a little mineral tang remained that was just rustic charm. There was also a small dilapidated garden out in the back. It was pleasant to sit out there. Lyons, Meadowes, Carter, and even Prentice would join me out there to smoke, have a drink, and talk of anything but the war.

  I found that Captain Meadowes was a fair man and absolutely loved by the men – both officers and the ranks. He viewed the war as any professional soldier did – as a job to be done and nothing else. It turned out that he
was a lifer, having been in the army for over twenty years. He looked after us rookies with a calm hand and never showed his angry side. His morale never flagged, no matter what the weather or conditions. I’m not sure how he handled the strains of his command, but he proved to be an able officer and gentleman. He formed an easy friendship with me.

  At first Prentice treated me with abominable contempt, but as the days progressed, he started to slowly warm to me. I wouldn’t call it friendship, but he started to remark to me on the weather or the conditions of the trenches. To him it was just a professional relationship, but it certainly beat the icy stares of the past.

  Carter acted most childlike and was treated accordingly. However, he never shirked his duties and did as instructed. He needed constant supervision which could grow tiresome. The ranks still loved him like some long-lost son.

  Lyons was the best of all. He was always cheerful and patiently explained my duties to me. He was never condescending, and his friendly smile made him popular amongst the troops. Within just a few days, I felt as if I had a comrade-in-arms who would stick with me through thick and thin. I never had a brother or sister when I was growing up, and few close friends due to moving around as we had when I was young, so it was strange to feel such things towards what was once a complete stranger. They say soldiers grow closer than brothers, and I’m inclined to agree.

  As we sat around the billet, I learned much about his family. I never met an aristocrat before and Lyons certainly tempered my initial judgment of them. Though his father was a duke, they were always short of money. It seemed some ancestor had gambled it all away, leaving only the family home and a mountain of debt. Being the second son had given him little for future prospects, and I think he relished the war since it gave him a chance to prove himself. At least out here he was being useful, instead of idling his hours away dreaming of ways to make it rich. In the trenches, one didn’t think of money - one thought of girls, food and perhaps a moment of silence.

  I almost make my stay at Deveaux seem idyllic, but I can't even begin to tell you the horrors I witnessed. Every day the German shells fell heavily on our position, trying to kill anyone in the lines. Luckily, we designed our trenches to be dug at odd angles, limiting the amount of area the shrapnel could spread. Of course the Huns were constructing their own lines the same way. Even worse were their trench mortars, for these were aimed by the enemy directly across from us. Somehow it seemed more personal than the seemingly random lobbing of artillery.

  But still the rifle seemed the most dangerous to the average soldier. The crack of a bullet passing over the trench was unnerving. The enemy seemed to have excellent optics for their snipers while we had none. During the days, their snipers were kept busy shooting at anything that peeked over our trench walls. The rattling of the bullet against the barb wire was a constant reminder to the soldiers that they were under fire. The only safe way to look over the lines was to use a periscope, but it was great sport for the Germans to try to even shoot those. A good sniper could even hit the mirror of a periscope, frightening the user beyond belief.

  So with all that going on, it was no wonder that the rank-and-file were of the nervous sort. All types of good luck charms were worn, and many a man had a small talisman hidden away on his person. But nothing seemed to help. Every week we had a steady stream of casualties. They were mostly head wounds, and the occasional hand being blown off. Anything that poked above the trenches was fair game.

  One’s senses become acute in the environment of the trenches. The thunder of artillery was ignored, but a sudden noise would have you dropping flat as a whiz-bang came too close for comfort. There was also the fear of the Germans using gas. We had some wretched gas masks that leaked terribly. I decided the best defense against a gas attack was to run for it. It wasn’t cowardice since I had heard enough terrible stories about blindness, damaged lungs, and skin lesions.

  Before I forget, I shall have to mention the loyalty of Owens. He followed me every night and saw that I was well provided for. I began to trust the man implicitly and his stolid presence was a comfort in the most trying of circumstances. He was also one hell of a shot with his Lee-Enfield rifle and spent his few moments of free time sighting it in.

  The sergeant also had plenty of stories to tell of his village and how he would poach right under the gamekeeper’s eyes. The way he told it was always amusing, and it certainly sounded like a peaceful life compared to the mud and blood we dealt with every day. Owens also told me that hills behind Deveaux were teeming with game and offered to take me up there in the future. It seemed like an interesting idea, but it was sometime before we were able to do it.

  The sniping was becoming a constant problem and damaging the morale of my boys. So one day, on my own initiative, I decided to do something about it. When I used to hunt, I would build blinds so the deer would not see me. Perhaps we could do the same here. I told Owens of my idea, and he readily agreed to help out. During the night, using a deep crater halfway inside No Man’s Land, we constructed a hidden sniping location some two-hundred yards away from our line. From there, we quietly built a steel firing loop, using dirt and wood to camouflage the position. When we were done, I cautiously crawled over to look at it from the German side. The firing loop seemed well-hidden, but only time would tell if I was right.

  We left the newly dug position to go back to our lines and watched to see if the enemy had noticed our improved shell hole. The next night, when it seemed our work had gone undetected, we cautiously returned to our blind and settled in for a long evening. Owens was a hunter and knew the importance of being quiet. We spoke no words to each other that night but just spent times taking turns resting and listening. I was fearful of a German patrol coming our way and did not want to be surprised.

  Night in No Man's Land is an eerie experience. One's nerves are as tight as a violin string. From a distance, a dark patch of earth becomes a moving man. The eerie shadows from the German star shells would randomly spring up, adding to the strangeness of our surroundings. It was unnerving, and when it was my turn to sleep, I just fidgeted. My ears played tricks on me. In my fevered imagination, distant artillery became footsteps. So I let Owens sleep again. He nodded at me in the gloom and seemed to drop off right away. He wasn't about to lose any sleep.

  When dawn came, I shook the sergeant awake, and we looked uneasily at each other. Now we were going to get some real work done. After a quick breakfast of iron rations and warm water from our canteens, I took up position in the blind. I inched my way slowly to the top and cautiously looked through the small rifle opening I had made. With my field glasses, I peered through the firing loop and looked across to the Hun line.

  For the first time, I could see the enemy closely. Their cooking fires were smoking, and here and there, a helmet could be seen bobbing up and down. They appeared to be changing the watch, shuttling the night troops away to the rear for a rest.

  A single enemy soldier lifted his head over the trench and looked over the line with a scoped rifle. It was one of their snipers looking to see what our side was up to. I motioned for Owens to hand me my Lee-Enfield. The gun stock felt sweaty in my hands, and I steadied myself with a deep breath. I slowly eased the rifle barrel into the loop. I sighted down the stock and felt my heart thudding heavily as I found the target. The enemy looked sure of himself and completely unaware that he was being watched. I slowly squeezed the trigger and the rifle discharged with a sudden bang. The shot felt true, and I saw the distant head snap back from the impact.

  I slid slowly back into our shell hole, feeling sick to my stomach. I didn’t meet Owens's stare.

  “Did you hit him?” he asked in the faintest of whispers.

  I nodded. I had never killed a man before, and at first the feeling overwhelmed me. But then I realized that this was war. I had to fight in order to survive. Given the circumstances, that German sniper would have easily
pulled the trigger if I was out in the open. But I will admit that I had to hand the next shot over to my sergeant until I could regain my composure.

  We spent the rest of the day in that hole and took turns firing on the Germans. I don’t think they ever figured out where those shots were coming from, since we kept our shots sporadically timed. I would pass by some targets and wait before shooting again. I’m not proud when I say that I may have killed four men that day, but Owens claimed at least five. I will admit that I was relieved when darkness finally came, and we were able to safely sneak back to our own lines.

  Our little experiment with sniping brought me much favor with the ranks. They were tired of having the Boche snipers given free rein and were happy to see the tables turned on the most hated of the enemy. Owens and I were willing to sally forth again, but the Germans must have finally sorted out where we shooting from since that very night our blind was destroyed by a barrage of artillery. The shells swept No Man’s Land, changing the old landscape into something new.

  The word of our accomplishment must have finally made it to Colonel Smythe since I received an invitation to visit him the next morning. After my breakfast, I went and found him there sitting at his table with Wodenhill, who had a faint smile on his face. I admit that toothy grin made me a bit nervous. Anything that he found enjoyable must not be a good sign. Reese was there too, sorting through some papers. He looked repugnant as before and glared at me before continuing his work.

  The colonel and captain were both drinking tea and had jam and toast on their plates. My company had rancid Bully Beef for breakfast and seeing those two enjoy their laid-out meal sickened me. At least Smythe still had the decency to look exhausted by the experience of living in the trenches. After I saluted, he motioned me to sit down at the table.

  “Have some toast?” he asked. A scrape of jelly was clinging to his cheek.

  The food in the trenches had been unusually poor lately, so I gladly took this invitation. I slathered on a thick helping of jam and proceeded to eat without any tableside manners.

  “We heard about your sniping. Using a shell hole in No Man’s Land as camouflage was a fine idea.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied with a voice muffled by the hard toast. It was damn good jelly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wodenhill’s face crack into a malicious grin. I didn’t understand why until Smythe spoke again.

  “Though I respect your initiative, I won’t have you take any unnecessary chances anymore. Before you take any such future endeavors, they must be approved by me.” By the time he had finished, his face was glowing red with anger.

  I came here expecting praise, and not to be thrown on the mat. “But sir,” I protested after I swallowed, “I came here to fight.”

  “And fight you shall,” he replied, “but only when you are ready. You are important in other ways than you think. You are an important recruiting tool to me.”

  “But sir, I came over here to fight,” I repeated myself.

  “In due time,” he said irritably. “But this is a dangerous place for a new officer. You must think of that before you take such risks.”

  I doubted he had such concerns for the rest of the officers underneath him. I didn’t think I could be all that important to him, but what did I know of the politics of recruiting? I gave him a shrug and said coldly, “Very well, sir. You are in command. I shall do as you request.”

  His face softened and he said, “It’s good to see such fighting spirit. Tell me, how are you getting along with your fellow officers?”

  “Lieutenant Lyons and Prentice are very capable,” I replied honestly. “They have allowed Carter and me to survive. And I certainly couldn’t ask for a better commanding officer than Captain Meadowes.”

  “Meadowes,” Wodenhill said softly with a sneer in his voice.

  “The captain may be a good front line officer, but he can also be a royal pain,” Smythe said to no one in particular. “I’m about to issue him an important order. You can carry it to him.”

  I was surprised with the general venom directed to Meadowes. He seemed like a fine man to me, but I knew staff and field officers often had disagreements. I nodded. “I shall gladly take him the orders,” I said.

  “You can tell your captain that I want a heavy patrol sent over to the German lines. There may be a big push coming soon, and I’ve been told that the planning staff wants to know how many Huns are directly across from us. Have him send Prentice over with a few men and take a look.”

  Wodenhill slid the typed orders over to my hand. I took a quick look at it before folding it into my breast pocket.

  Smythe said, “And one more thing, Lieutenant – I don’t want you going along with Prentice. Remember what I said about not taking any risks.”

  “Yes, sir,” I stiffly answered back. I took another piece of toast, wiped some jelly on it and folded it in half. Perhaps Lyons would like to have an extra bite to eat.

  “That is all,” Smythe said with a wave of his hand.

  I stood up, saluted and hurried off to find Captain Meadowes. I found him at the Company HQ, digging through a sheaf of papers.

  He glanced up at me and scowled. “Saw our Colonel Smythe, did we?”

  I handed over the orders and said, “Yes, Captain.”

  “I don't know how we run this war with officers like him and that cretin Wodenhill.”

  I had never heard Meadows speak ill of the colonel before so I merely nodded and said, “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  He read through the orders and made a face. “This will be dangerous work. I would rather have Lyons do it. He's the more experienced man.”

  “Smythe did specify Prentice,” I reminded him. In all honesty, I would rather have seen Prentice get a German bullet than my best friend. I know it was a petty thought, but Lyons was the only true friend that I had, other than Owens, in this forsaken place. It would be rough going if I had to go on without him.

  “Orders are orders,” Meadowes grunted and put the paper down. “Go get Lyons, Carter, and Prentice. We'll have a little talk on the best way to approach this fool idea.”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered back and left the headquarters to round everyone up. I found Prentice doing his morning duty at the front outposts and sent him on his way without telling him anything. I had to go back to our billet to find Lyons. He was in his bedroom, reading through some moldy magazine. I handed him the bit of toast I had tucked away in my pocket.

  He pulled a bit of lint off and said, “Toast eh? A spot of tea would be nice but I don't suppose Colonel Smythe would oblige.” He ate the bread greedily.

  As we walked back to the HQ, I filled him in on my meeting with the colonel and the orders I had delivered.

  “Our Prentice out in No Man's Land? Sounds like a bit of fun. We will give the Boche a little surprise. But you say that the colonel wouldn't let you go?”

  “Yes, he's rather strange about the whole thing,” I replied testily.

  “Hmm, perhaps you remind him of his son or something like that.”

  “I think the colonel would shove his own son into the front lines if it would get him a promotion. He doesn't strike me as the sentimental type.”

  He nodded sagely. “Then he really must want to keep you around for the war recruiting effort. Those American boys won't be joining up if they found out you died here in just a few days. That's hardly enough time to do something heroic.”

  “I haven’t done anything brave,” I said.

  “My best advice for you is to stay alive. You still need to learn that.”

  We walked into the communication trench leading to the headquarters. We found Carter there talking to some of his men. I acknowledged the greetings of the soldiers, and then we hustled him to the HQ. There, Prentice was already poring over the maps with the captain. They were both speaking in those hushed tones of the professional soldier.

  “Very good,
gentleman,” Meadowes said. “Have a seat and we will discuss the best way for Prentice to go forward with this damned patrol.”

  Prentice looked a little sick to his stomach.

  The captain tapped the paper in front of him and said, “I've read over Smythe's orders here and though it’s a fool idea, we may be able to pull it off if we're careful. The Germans think of this area as a quiet zone. Sure, we've sent out a few patrols at night, but we've never broached their lines before. This should be a big surprise since they do not think we have the capacity to do that kind of work. Their sentries may be bored enough not to notice us sneaking up on them.

  Lyons slowly shook his head. “The Boche have more Star Shells then we do. They're always shooting them off at night. It would take Prentice hours to crawl over there unseen.”

  “True enough,” Meadowes admitted. “But do you have any better ideas? I would hate to have his men under their guns for that long of a time.”

  “Perhaps we can rush the line before the Germans know it,” Carter exclaimed but was ignored.

  I was still angry by Colonel Smythe’s rebuke. I wanted to carry my weight in this regiment. “Perhaps we need a diversion,” I blurted out. I felt their eyes turn on me so I went on and said, “Sergeant Owens and I kept them busy the day before with our sniping.”

  “And a good show that was,” the captain admitted.

  “They might be suspecting us to pull the same trick on them again. If I make myself seen on their extreme right, then Prentice can go to the left with his men.” It was a foolish idea, I admit, but as I said, I was feeling angry being ordered not to take any chances.

  “It would be awfully dangerous,” Meadowes said sternly, but I could see he was considering my suggestion. “It would only take a few moments before they would call artillery down on you and blow you to hell and back.” He was a man who rarely swore, and his words caught me by surprise.

  Lyons looked over the map and pointed to the rightmost post on the line. “I think Grant here has a germ of an idea. Perhaps the two of us can make it work. We’ll have to let the Middlesex boys next door know or else they’ll get caught up in the fun. I'll set up a Lewis gun here and call down some artillery to cut the wire across the way. Afterwards, we’ll rake their lines with the gun to keep the Hun’s heads down. We'll throw enough Mills bombs and launch enough trench mortars to keep them interested in us. If we keep up enough firepower, they will think a full scale assault is going on from our side of the trench. With a little luck, Grant and I can keep the Germans occupied long enough for Prentice to get through on his side.”

  “It may work,” Prentice agreed uncertainly.

  “It is worth a try,” Meadowes said. “Let’s go over the timing and your needs.”

  We talked the plan through, made a few calls, pored over our inaccurate maps and made up the roster of men to go with Prentice. Lyons suggested that Corporal Childs go with him.

  He was obviously nervous as he paced the mud-caked floor. “I’m not so sure about taking that infernal corporal. He never seems to pull his own weight.”

  Meadowes grunted. “He’s a shirker alright, but he’s up for a turn on a patrol. If he doesn’t do his duty, then you have my permission to shoot him.”

  Lyons laughed and said, “But just shoot him in the leg and make sure to bring him back in one piece - he has good taste in tobacco.”

  Prentice nodded grimly as if he hadn’t even heard the words. He said, “If you don’t mind, sir, I think I will get some sleep until midnight. I expect the others will be at their post in time for my performance.”

  “They will,” the captain said tersely.

  With those words, Prentice took off to and didn’t even spare us a look back. His shoulders looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world.

  Lyons shrugged his shoulders and left the headquarters.

  I tagged behind him and said, “What do you think of Prentice’s chances out there?”

  Looking back at me grimly, he shook his head. He said, “I wouldn’t give him much chance at all. But he has his orders and he has to follow them even if they mean his death. You and I can only do our best to give him a fighting chance.”

  I found Owens up front, minding my men. I ordered him to help out. We gathered up a Lewis gun and brought it into position on the rightmost firing loop. At the supply depot, I managed to source a few boxes of assembled Mills bombs. Trench mortars were always in short supply, but a dozen were found.

  All the time, Owens was smiling broadly, seemingly itching for a fight. I think we all were looking forward to showing the Germans a thing or two. We’ve been shelled, mortared, and shot at for far too long. Now it was our turn to give some back.

  By the time midnight rolled around, we were in a fine mood. Prentice stopped by to see that we were in position and ready for his patrol. His face was darkened with burnt cork and his breath reeked with rum. The drink seemed to have little effect on him since he was still wound up tight as a drum.

  Lyons slapped him heartily on the back and said, “Be careful out there, old man. I would hate to have you killed – who else can I argue with?”

  “Just do your job,” he replied softly through his clenched teeth. “I’ll be back to make sure you’re kept in line.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said.

  He ignored me and said to Lyons, “Now I have to go and make sure my squad isn’t drunk out of their minds.”

  We then set our watches together and promised Prentice that we wouldn’t start the show for another twenty minutes. I watched as he turned and made his way down the dark communication trench. In the gloom, he quickly receded out of sight like a spirit in the night. I shook my head at the dreadful thought. That could easily be me on that mission facing the chance of meeting my doom. There was no reason to hate any man out here in the trenches, and I felt some shame for wishing the worse for the man earlier in the day.

  The relative quiet of the night was suddenly broken by the howitzers and artillery that we had ordered up earlier. Mind you, the frontline is never quiet since the sound of rifle and falling shells is always constant, but the sudden upswing in volume was startling. I looked at my watch I realized it was time for us to start soon. The shells from the British guns whistled over our heads and marched on towards the Boche trenches. Through our Lewis gun loophole, I could see the brilliant explosions. Even at this range, the sound was deafening, and underneath my feet I could feel the earth give a slight tremble. Shadows from star shells danced about, and the odd light of the exploding shells gave the trenches a surreal look. Owens was shouting in excitement and jumping up to look over the parapet to see the damage we were inflicting.

  I put a hand on his shoulder and continued to watch through our loophole. The enemy’s lines were getting hammered hard by the artillery boys. This went on for quite a while. I’m sure the Germans were having a rude awakening. In a few minutes, it all ended and the sudden silence was surprising.

  “Get on that gun,” I told Owens.

  He nodded and started to squeeze out long bursts of machine gun fire over the enemy trench line. Apparently our shell fire had little effect on them since a few of their rifles began snapping our way. Lyons then opened up a crate of Mills bombs. He grinned at me as he pulled the pin out from one. With a mighty heave, he threw it into No Man’s Land. The grenade exploded with a satisfying bang. He chucked a few more over, and I joined in the fun. It was tricky throwing them – one had to be careful not to hit a length of barbed wire and have it bounce back.

  We went on this way for a good thirty minutes, only taking a break to launch a few trench mortars. I hauled in more belts of machine gun ammunition and broke open another box of bombs. The Huns were certainly interested in our little display of firepower, for more and more rifle shots were coming our way. A few star shells burst over our heads, which only added to the chaos. The enemy even tried a few of their own trench m
ortars, but luckily the mortar is never an exact weapon. But I knew it was only a matter of time before their real artillery began. I was still surprised as the first rounds began to fall in front of us. Lyons tugged on Owen’s shoulder and motioned for him to pack the Lewis gun up. It was time to get out of here before we caught a crump.

  The Boche were in a fury now, and their artillery was beginning to come in thickly. The area around us was blanketed with shells as they tried to zero in our position. Shrapnel began whistling through the air above us, and I knew if I stuck my hand above the trench parapet, it would have been drilled through in a second. We lugged what we could away from the front line, staggering heavily through the communication trench. Breathing heavily, we stopped outside HQ and fell into a fit of laughter. It felt good to be alive, even with my ears ringing like hell.

  Lyons recovered himself and grinned, “Well, Grant, we did the best we could for Prentice. I hope it was enough for the bastard.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure it will be.”

  We sat around at the table and waited for words of Prentice’s success. We sipped some tea that Owens brewed up. I never much cared for the stuff, but the British drink it like water. I wasn’t sure how much of it was actually from tea leaves or was mud. It didn’t seem to matter to the them since they always wanted their tea come hell or high water.

  By this time the German shelling had dropped off. I could only hear the faint pop of the occasional rifle or the ringing sound a bullet makes when it strikes the barbwire. We said little as we waited, but each moment seemed to cloud the air with anxiety. A distant machine gun began to chatter, and the rumble of German shelling started again. Had Prentice been discovered?

  Lyons found my eyes and slowly shook his head in despair.

  Our worst fears were realized when a grubby looking private burst into the headquarters. He was panting from exertion and blurted out, “It’s Lieutenant Prentice. He’s been hit out in No Man’s Land.”

  “Is he still alive?” I asked the man.

  “I think so,” he answered.

  “We have to help him,” Lyons said. “Where is Captain Meadowes?”

  The private shrugged and said, “A few minutes ago, I saw the captain at the front lines.”

  I pushed myself up and said, “I’ll go see what I can do for Prentice. Come on, Owens.”

  “Good chap,” Lyons said. “I’ll see if I can get together some men to help out.”

  We parted our ways. I ran down the lines to the left side of our trenches. Coming to the front, I found the bedraggled remnants of Prentice’s command. They were moaning and complaining like men in their situation do. Rifle bullets were snapping over us, and I had to shout to be heard as the shells continued to fall.

  “Where is he?” I demanded.

  A man I didn't recognize shook his finger in the direction of No Man's Land. “The lieutenant is back by the Boche line, sir. We couldn't make it through the German's wire because our damn artillery didn't do a thing to it. We tried to cut his way through, but it was no use. We were spotted soon enough, and they opened up on us with everything they had. Prentice got hit and told us all to go back without him.”

  “You should have dragged him back.”

  “He was too close to the lines. It was too dangerous.”

  “Damn it,” I swore to no one in particular. I angrily stalked away from the poor beggars and carefully climbed over the parapet using the ladder that had been left there. Owens, bless his soul, followed me without comment. I think the fellow was keen on seeing that I stay alive. We crawled slowly along the open ground, taking cover inside the shell holes wherever we could find them. A few star shells went up, lighting No Man's Land with an eerie light. We jumped inside a shell hole soon enough and listened to the thrum of bullets passing overhead.

  We kept crawling this way, inch-by-inch, until I could just make out the German line. In fact I could swear I could hear the guttural sounds of their language, but it was hard to tell with the sounds of battle. Bullets continued to crack around me, but it seemed that I was still hidden from view since nothing came too close. I didn't know where Prentice was, so I made my way along the Hun line and stopped to investigate every shell hole I came along. I can tell you it was a dreadful experience reaching my hand into those blackened pits. One never knew what horror was waiting inside, and I feared running my hand into a decomposed corpse since it was a popular way to quickly bury the dead.

  I was glad Owens was behind me. This was a frightful position to be in. It seemed like forever when I had reached the right shell hole. I heard the click of a pistol hammer being drawn back. “Prentice?” I whispered.

  “Is that you, Grant?” the voice of Prentice answered back.

  “Yes,” I answered back in relief.

  Owens and I crawled into the shell hole with him. The three of us made for a crowded hiding place. “Where are you hit?” I asked as I put my hands on his body.

  “In the thigh,” he whispered back. “It hurts like hell.” His voice was sounding weaker by the minute. “I'm afraid I can't walk.”

  “Well, you can certainly crawl,” I said.

  A quick search of his leg and I found the wound. The thigh was ripped open with a gaping hole, and it was wet with gore. I slipped off his belt and wrapped it tightly around the top of the leg to make a quick tourniquet. I drew it tight, and he only made a small gasp as the leather bit into his flesh.

  “Now try to keep quiet,” I warned him. “The sergeant and I are going to drag you back and it's going to hurt like hell. Do you understand?”

  He nodded painfully.

  A sudden shower of bullets passed by and another star shell lit up the landscape. How long had I been out here? I looked east, and I thought I could detect a slight lightening of the horizon. I knew we only had a little more time before the sun would rise. It was time to act fast before we were exposed since it would mean instant death. I waited until the flare was gone. I then motioned for Owens to help.

  We dragged Prentice along the ground by his arms. He kept his moans to himself. With his weight, we had to stop and rest every thirty feet to catch our breath. I was amazed by our tortured progress since the enemy never seemed to see us. Perhaps they did see us but took enough pity on the wounded and let us go. The Boche could be funny that way.

  I never felt any fear during this time. I know it seems hard to believe even now, but I swear I am telling you the truth. I was too busy worrying about Prentice to even consider my own mortality. Religion and patriotism become such distant ideals in the face of death. And that is how it is out here in the trenches. You fight and die for your comrades, not for anything else.

  It was with great relief that we finally pulled him into our own front lines. Lyons was there and helped us prop Prentice up against the wall. Dawn had just started to break across the horizon and I could see that the wounded lieutenant had passed out somewhere along our journey. But he was still alive, for I could still hear his breath rasp slowly between his lips. Lyons had already passed the word along, and there was a waiting stretcher party of men to carry Prentice back to the medical station.

  I watched him being carried away and suddenly felt faint with exhaustion. It had been a long night. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week. I leaned dizzily against the parapet wall and slid down to the ground in a daze. Owens remained standing. He was the sort of fellow who never seemed to tire.

  “Good show, Grant,” Lyons said in a low voice.

  However his voice was choked with emotion and I looked questioningly up at him. His face was gray and his lips tightly pursed together.

  “What is it?” I asked when I saw his dire expression.

  My friend let out a big sigh and said, “It is bad news. I'm afraid it's Captain Meadowes. He's dead.”