Murder At Zero Hour

by Paul Westwood

  Chapter 10

  The Past

  Captain Bryant was true to his word. The heavy shelling started the day we arrived back from Paris. The artillery guns behind our position pounded on, creating a maddening din of noise. At first a great cheer went up since across the way, we could see the German lines being battered with a heavy rain of shells. Not a man stirred over there, and we all hoped when the time came to cross over, there wouldn't be anyone left to oppose us. But soon enough the constant barrage began to tell on our own nerves and put everyone in the most foul mood. Out on the front line, we had to shout to be heard and repeat ourselves many times, our voices getting hoarser and hoarser. I could only imagine how the Boche were dealing with it.

  This shelling went on day after day, and I was having more than enough of the noise. With Captain Bryant and his constant drilling of the soldiers, it was with happy heart that I was given a bit of time away from my duties. The morning was clear and since it was good hunting weather, I decided to go out looking for game. Of course I had to bring Owens with me. He practically forced himself to go along. I was in no mood to argue with the man. So we picked up our rifles and headed away from the stench of the trenches and into the wooded hills behind us.

  Before going through the town, we had to walk through the line of artillery. There we could see the men working feverishly away. Sweat was pouring off of their brows as they slaved away, stripped to the waist. Towels were tied around their heads, and they moved like automatons feeding the metallic beasts. Shells were being loaded, the gun pounded away, and the empty shell cases dropped off to the side. Then the whole operation was repeated ad nauseum. Hundreds of casings littered the ground, and men with dog carts were busy moving more shells up. I couldn’t even imagine the amount of explosives we were dumping on those damned Germans. Owens and I did not stop long to watch.

  It was with light heart that we left the village behind us and began to climb into the woods before the distant rolling hills. The sound of the artillery began to diminish somewhat and began to sound like a distant storm rolling in. It was rather pleasant to finally hear the chirp of the birds and see a countryside free of lead and bloodied steel.

  After an hour of hiking slowly upwards, we paused for a rest. I sat down, put my rifle gently on the ground and uncorked my canteen to take a gulp of water. Owens stood and cautiously watched the surrounding woods. He held his rifle at the ready and seemed to be scanning for some unknown enemy.

  “Go on and have a rest, Sergeant. There is no reason to keep any kind of army discipline right now. There is no reason why we should be attacked here.”

  “If you say so, sir,” he said and dropped down on his haunches to dig into his pack. He brought out a tin of peaches which we split. I didn't ask where he got the canned fruit since we hadn’t had any kind of good food for a long time. The sweetness of the fruit tasted good on this hot summer day.

  I noticed that Owens still seemed tense and watched our surroundings carefully. He didn’t look very relaxed at all, so I asked, “Anything the matter?”

  “No, sir,” he said rather too quickly.

  “Are you sure?” I asked in puzzlement. “You just seem a bit on edge.”

  “Old habits die hard, sir,” he said and gave me the briefest of smiles.

  The habits of a poacher, I thought to myself. Not wanting to push the issue, I shrugged my shoulders and let out a deep yawn. The air was clear up here, and I had half a mind to take nap, but the restless nature of Owens finally made me stand up and keep on moving. “Let’s go find us some game, Sergeant,” I said.

  We continued down a rough trail and found some recent deer tracks that we began to follow. It was rough going, pushing through the branches and climbing up to the ridge, but the exercise felt good. As we walked, we kept quiet as we could. Only a few murmured words passed between us. Deer are easily spooked, so I was surprised they would even be about with the crash of the artillery battering away at the silence of the woods. But I suppose even the animals could grow used to the cacophony of our man-made disaster.

  Hearing a rustle of leaves behind us, I stopped and motioned for Owens to be silent. He must have heard the sound before I did since we both turned and raised our rifles in expectation. We waited and I could hear the thump of my heart over the low rumble of artillery in the distance. A rivulet of sweat broke across my forehead, and I blinked heavily as it dripped into my eyes. A nearby tree creaked. The wind gently blew across the treetops. We waited that way for another minute and did not hear another sound.

  Looking back at my sergeant, I saw his face was tight with concentration. I mumbled, “Must have been a falling branch.”

  He slowly nodded and began following me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stop at intervals to look suspiciously behind us.

  The day was turning out to be a warm one, and my wool uniform felt sodden with perspiration. I motioned for Owens to stop and pulled out my canteen. After taking a deep drink, I stopped it up again and dropped to my haunches to rest. My legs ached from our slow climb and it felt good to stretch them out.

  “Do you think we are getting closer?” I asked him in low tones. He had been oddly quiet all morning, not that he ever been the sort to run off at the mouth.

  “You never know with deer, sir,” he softly answered back. “With all those shells going off they are probably a bit spooked. But it is hard to hear anything up here and that could turn out to be to our advantage.”

  “True,” I agreed with him. After another moment, we continued along the ridge.

  There was another faint rustle of leaves and not twenty feet away in front of us, out popped a fawn behind a copse of trees. I raised my rifle in surprise, but did not fire. I heard Owens let out a breath, and I watched as the mother came out. I stayed quiet and watched as they walked out of sight. In the deep green of the forest, they made a beautiful pair.

  “Why didn’t you fire, sir?” the sergeant asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. I really did know, but I wasn’t about to tell him. I realized at that moment that I didn’t feel like hunting game anymore. There was enough bloodshed right now. Why should I add anything more to it? It was a sentimental notion, but it sat hard inside of me.

  “Let’s keep going,” I finally said.

  “I could almost taste that venison,” Owens added as we walked away.

  Hearing him mention it conjured up the smell of cooking for me. I shook it off as the fresh image of the deer came back to me. We walked on.

  The trees became sparse as we reached the top of the hill. The sun shone brightly up here. We both turned and in the distance below, we could see the broken village of Deveaux. No Man’s Land stretched from the north to south horizon and looked like a brown ragged scar against the green fields. Small puffs of smoke showed the location of our artillery firing on the enemy lines. With the aid of my field glasses I could see where the shells were landing and the brown patches of dirt being thrown up into the air. There seemed to be hundreds of shells dropping down. The Germans must be catching hell.

  “Isn’t it a sight?” Owens said in disbelief.

  “It certainly is,” I agreed. We spent another few moments trading my field glasses back and forth as we watched the spectacle below.

  “Poor buggers,” he commented.

  I couldn’t agree with him there. The Huns deserved everything they got. In my book, anything that weakened their defensive line was a good thing. We would need all the help we could get once we jumped the sandbags and entered into No Man’s Land. I frowned at the thought and decided it was time for a smoke. Leaning over to put my Lee-Enfield down on the ground, I felt the momentary sensation of a bullet shattering the air over my head. Then I heard the crack of a nearby rifle shot. In the manner of a practiced soldier, I dropped to the ground and saw my sergeant do the same. A few more shots rang out, throwing dirt up into our faces.
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br />   By nature, Owens was a quick thinker and had dropped only to immediately return fire on our unknown assailant. I couldn’t see what he was shooting at, but I joined in anyways and began peppering the woods below with bullets. I quickly ran through my cartridge of ten. I then loaded quickly. I thanked my lucky stars that my sergeant had decided to go along with me. Owens was being more conservative in his shooting and only emptied his clip by the time I had reloaded mine. I held my fire this time and waited. The only thing I could hear was the distant rumble of the artillery.

  He nodded at me. He reloaded and said, “Bloody hell, sir, that was no German firing at us, it was the sound of a Lee-Enfield.” His eyebrows were knitted together in concentration as he slid forward on his belly. Through the tufts of grass he peered into the woods and shook his head.

  “See anything?” I asked cautiously. I noticed my hands were shaking. I pressed them hard into the ground. I was angry. If I hadn't leaned over at that exact time, I would be dead by now.

  “No, sir. Just a couple of bullet holes in those trees we shot up.”

  We stood up cautiously and began to make our way back down the hill. There was a rustle of movement and some fifty yards away, I saw the back of a soldier running into the thick forest below. I raised my rifle to fire, but the figure disappeared into a thick stand of trees.

  “That was one of ours,” Owens grunted.

  “Could be a German in disguise,” I said, but didn’t believe it myself. What were the chances of that?

  Without any further words, we took off after the man. It was a wild chase down the hill with us sliding through the leaves and dodging past the trees. A good place to break an ankle, but I was angry enough not to care. We caught brief glimpses of our quarry, but never had a chance to take a decent shot. We were then forced to stop at a thick stand of pines since we had lost sight of him. Panting, I began looking over the ground in front of us. Our quarry had either gone to ground or had taken a turn that we missed.

  “Careful now,” I warned Owens. I didn’t want to be ambushed, so there was no reason to rush ahead. Anyways, we were bound to catch the man if he made for Deveaux. After the forest there was no cover left before the village, since it had all been blown to smithereens. Any man crossing that barren ground would be an easy target to find.

  I held my rifle out in front of me, ready to fire at any movement. Owens moved stealthily in front of me and halted every few steps to listen. The air was thick with tension and my hands felt cold, even in the June air. I heard the small crack of a twig breaking and immediately swung and fired my rifle at the sound. That mother deer and her fawn jumped across the path. It took a moment to stop myself from firing on them. My sergeant had fallen to the ground. He was smart enough to know that an errant bullet from me could go anywhere.

  He looked at me and broke into a grin. “Damn girl almost got herself killed.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at our predicament. Here we were - two experienced hunters, who couldn’t even track a running man. The bastard must have taken a turn that we missed and meanwhile, we were busy taking potshots at a deer. I motioned him forward again, and we took off in a run to the bottom of the hill. There was still a chance we could get a good shot at the man once he cleared the open land before the village.

  We breathlessly dropped to the dirt at the edge of the forest and looked over the ground approaching the town. It was once farmland that had been pounded down by months of shelling. I pulled out my field glasses and began going over the broken ground. Owens was breathing hard at my elbow. I could feel him jostle with the bolt on his rifle. I quickly picked up the brown uniform of a man crawling along the old shell holes. He was at least a hundred yards away and would soon be in the safety of the buildings of Deveaux.

  My sergeant saw him too and brought up his rifle. Before he could fire, I said sharply, “Hold one moment before you take the shot. I want to see who it is before you kill the man.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied testily. “There isn’t much time.”

  Our quarry tripped and fell hard onto the ground. He looked back for just a moment in panic and with the help of my field glasses, I would swear it was Corporal Childs. I dropped the field glasses from my face and shook my head in disbelief.

  “Should I fire?” Owens asked impatiently.

  “No, I think we’ll have some questions for our Corporal Childs.”

  “Childs?” My sergeant was incredulous. “I’ll show that blighter the back of my hand,” he spat out.

  I brought up my field glasses one more time to look at the fleeing figure. I was surprised to also see Carter coming down the road. He was walking quickly and looking about in a furtive manner. Did he have a part to play in all of this?