“General wishes to see you, sir.”
“Next time, lead with that,” sighed Archibald, waving the private off as he got to his feet.
Basil’s office was only a few steps down from his own. He could hear work happening elsewhere as he walked. Archibald straightened his uniform and knocked before letting himself inside.
Collins carried some papers out as Archibald came in, closing the door and leaving them alone. Basil sat at his desk, looking unhappy. “Sit, Archie.”
Archibald did so, feeling a frisson of anxiety run down his spine. He folded his hands in his lap. “This is about last night’s conversation, isn’t it?”
“It is. You’re doing good work here, but there is no one I would trust more. You’ll gather information for me and liaison with the French.”
Swallowing around the lump of fear in his throat, Archibald nodded. “I can do that.”
Basil reached out and covered Archibald’s hand with his own. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I know that you’ll keep your head down. I want you to have an aide. Not from here, someone with battlefield experience. I’ve got a list of men who have spent quite a bit of time on the front lines, and they’re all fluent French speakers.”
Archibald took a breath and sat up straight, pulling his hand free. “I won’t let you down, Basil.”
“I know,” said Basil again. He studied his face a moment, then passed over the list. “This has some information, and I have their files here. Let me know who interests you the most.”
Archibald got to his feet. He took the paper and carried it to the window to read it in the light. Amazing how heavy a piece of paper could feel. He studied the names, recognizing a few from reports that had crossed his desk. “Martin, Wilder, and Besette,” he said at last.
Basil pulled the three files from a stack. “Go on and look them over. Whoever you choose will be assigned to you. It’s already being arranged, in fact. You’ll share quarters, and both of you will be exempted from any other duties.”
“I’ll take these and go over them,” Archibald couldn’t help the resignation in his voice.
Basil opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it and nodded. “I’ll await your decision,” he said instead.
“I won’t take long,” Archibald promised, taking the folders and retreating to the safety of his office.
Archibald closed his door and poured himself a drink before settling in his chair. He stacked the papers he’d been dealing with and set them aside, noticing one of the reports had been done by Martin. At least the man had neat handwriting.
He took a breath, ignoring the slight tremble to his fingers. Foolhardy, that he should be so afraid. He had joined the Army, after all, even if Basil had quickly taken him under his wing.
His eyes landed on the casualty summary he’d just been working on. He flipped the paper over, then changed his mind and cleared all the papers to a side table, leaving only the folders.
Archibald opened up the three folders, finding a brief summary of each man’s background on the top. Besette was fully French and had moved to Scotland when he was sixteen. He closed that folder, dismissing him right away. He needed a man who was fully committed to England.
Taking a sip of his drink, he flipped through the other two files. Intake forms, personnel reports, medical records, a few notes from commanding officers, enlistment records… Everything the army knew about these men. Which might mean nothing when they were presented with babysitting a Major.
Archibald shook his head, pushing away a spike of fear and anxiety. He reminded himself that he was going to be doing the same sort of work as he’d been doing here. Basil wouldn’t send him headlong into danger. When they were in school Basil had always been oddly protective of him; when he’d arrived at the farmhouse, that habit had resumed. Archibald never understood why Basil put up with him when so many barely tolerated his presence.
He took a breath and a clean sheet of paper and started making notes. Wilder was young and single. He’d had one older brother who’d been killed two years prior, and he’d left a history course in university to enlist. In his year of service, he’d seen quite a lot of heavy fighting.
Martin had been in the service longer, just over two years. He was nearly the same age as Archibald, with a family at home and a career as a policeman. It seemed he should have a higher rank than Corporal, but he’d been shuffled between units quite a bit. He was a survivor if nothing else.
Archibald sat back and sipped his drink, regarding his notes and the two folders. If he were honest with himself, he’d feel more secure with a man closer to his own age. And a married man was safer than a single one. Besides, it was clear Martin’s units had been having a run of bad luck, even if he’d survived. Perhaps he’d relish a slightly less dangerous assignment.
Nodding to himself, Archibald picked up the folders and headed back to Basil’s office, knocking on the door before letting himself in.
Basil looked up as Archibald stepped inside. “Corporal Martin,” he said, handing over the files. “Please.”
“I’ll take care of it. I know it’s short notice, but a car will be taking you to the front in twenty minutes.” Basil got to his feet and walked around the desk, taking one of Archibald’s hands in both of us. “Be careful.”
“I will. Thank you, Basil.”
Basil squeezed his hand one more time and retreated back behind his desk. “Collins will come to get your reports, at least at first.”
“He’s more than trustworthy,” agreed Archibald. “I hope you will take care of yourself as well.”
“I’ll miss our conversations,” said Basil. “But your work is valuable. Go on; I’ll write to you soon.”
Archibald closed the door as he walked away and climbed up to his room. He surveyed the space and opened his trunk. Twenty minutes wasn’t much time, but there wasn’t much to pack. He made certain all his personal papers went in the trunk with his spare uniforms. He picked up his Webley and checked the sidearm, though he knew it was in perfect working order. That went onto his hip. The unused gas mask went to its proper place, and he put on the helmet.
Glancing in the mirror, Archibald wanted to shake his head at how ridiculous he looked. Like a child going to play war, not a middle-aged man used to confidently walking the halls of government.
But to refuse would be cowardice. Archibald closed his eyes and took a breath. There were many things he’d been cowardly about in his life. A man of his station could nominally get away with a bit more in his personal life, provided he practiced prudence. And yet he’d always retreated from any opportunity.
There was a knock on the door. Archibald opened his eyes and went to answer, expecting a private coming to carry down his trunk. Instead, it was Barclay.
“Heard you were leaving us. We never had a chance to talk last night.” The man’s posture was full of a surety Archibald ached to have.
“I’m afraid I am, Major. I’m needed at the front.” Archibald tried to look stiff and imposing, something he was normally quite good at.
It didn’t seem to phase Barclay at all. The man reached out and wiped some imagined dirt off his chest. “Be careful and come back, all right? I’d rather like to get to know you better.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Archibald shortly, stepping back as he saw a private coming to collect his trunk.
Barclay gave him a smile and moved out of the way, disappearing into the hall.
Perhaps it was good that he wasn’t staying here. Barclay might be a dangerous neighbor indeed. Archibald watched his trunk being carried out and looked around his room one more time.
“You’re leaving.” Louis’s voice was quiet in the doorway.
Archibald turned towards him. “For a little while.”
Louis hesitated, then moved forward to hug him. Archibald was surprised and rubbed his back.
“Be well, mon petit.”
“I will.” Louis bit his lip and pulled out a small medalli
on from his pocket. “Take this, s’il vous plaît?”
“Of course.” Archibald accepted it, seeing the image of the Virgin. He didn’t put much stock in it himself, but he knew Louis did. “Thank you.”
He looked around the room a moment and picked up a fine pen that he’d left on the desk. “Take this?”
Louis smiled and accepted it. “I’ll work on my English. Maybe I’ll write you.”
“I’m sure your father appreciates your letters as well. But I need to go.”
Louis nodded and stepped aside before following Archibald down to the waiting car.
To his surprise, Collins was waiting to drive him to his new assignment. Archibald tousled Louis’s hair. “Au revoir,” he said to him.
Louis nodded and hurried back into the house, rubbing at his eyes.
Collins started the car. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he promised.
“You’ve already got your hands full, but I appreciate it,” said Archibald, settling in as Collins pulled out onto the road. The sensation of being in a car was a strange one, though he’d been in one before.
“The General doesn’t like sending you to the front,” said Collins as they headed towards the distant sound of artillery and gunfire. “But he feels that he must.”
“I know. But I’ll continue my work and hopefully be better able to provide what’s needed.”
“There is some concern that information is being lost between the front and headquarters. Having you should prevent that. And I think he told you, but I’ll be coming personally to collect your reports.”
“He did,” said Archibald. “I do hope you continue to take care of him.”
“I’m glad to do it,” said Collins, glancing at Archibald then back to the road. “He saved my life.”
Archibald blinked. “I didn’t know that.”
Collins kept his eyes on the road. “It was a few years back, just before he made General. I wasn’t his aide, then. But we were both at the front when an attack came. He fought bravely and protected me when I was injured. Once I was out of the hospital, I came to work for him.”
“I’ll do my duty,” said Archibald, as close as he could come to admitting the fear in his belly.
“You’re not an idiot. Listen to those around you, especially your enlisted man.”
“I will.”
As they approached the front, sporadic gunfire began to fill in the space between artillery shells. Archibald took a deep breath and then another, reminding himself that he’d trained for this. He was an officer, and men would be looking to him.
Collins parked at the rear. A private met them, looking thin and worn. He and Collins exchanged a few words, then he picked up Archibald’s trunk and led them into the trenches.
As they walked, Archibald found his eyes drawn to the soldiers they passed. The men walked around like ghosts. The smiles and occasional laughter seemed forced. Their uniforms were stained with mud and God knew what else. They carried their guns with casual ease, clearly ready to bring them to arms at a moment's notice. Conversation stopped as he walked by, and they tracked him with their eyes, clearly weighing him.
The way they looked at him made Archibald feel naked in his crisp uniform, as if they could see right through him. He didn’t doubt that they found him wanting and expected him to be quickly churned up and sloughed into the fields along with so many others. If he had been leading men in battle, that might well have been the case, but fortunately, he had other duties.
The private pushed open a door. The space was dominated by a desk with a smaller table off to one side. Two bunks stood on the far side of the room. Close quarters, but it would be fine. The trunk was set down by the bunks, and the private left them alone.
Collins handed Archibald a sealed letter. “This is from the General. You’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll be back in for your first report, and you’ll get your Corporal soon.”
“Thank you,” said Archibald.
“You’re welcome.” Collins nodded and headed out.
Archibald flinched as artillery landed nearby. At least the bunker seemed as secure as was possible under the circumstances.
There was a knock on the door, and the private returned, bearing a plate. “Figured you might be hungry.”
“Ah, thank you, Private…”
“Higgins, sir.”
“Thank you, Private Higgins. I appreciate your assistance.” Archibald took the plate from him. The private looked amused, but stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Archibald carried the plate to his desk and sat down, poking at the bland meal. May as well get used to it. He took out papers while he ate, getting his desk sorted the way he liked it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad here.
But the artillery shook the ground like ominous thunder.
Chapter Five
Frank awoke at nudge. He looked up at a private he didn’t recognize.
“Corporal Martin?” the man asked quietly.
“Yes,” Frank said, sitting up. The other soldiers slept soundly around him.
“I’ve got new orders for you,” he said, offering Frank a piece of paper.
Frowning, Frank squinted at it. Aide to a Major Blythe, effective immediately.
The private stepped back. “I’ll wait outside while you pack.”
“Thank you.” Frank threw the blankets back and pulled on his boots. It didn’t take long to gather his belongings, but there was one more thing he needed to do.
Careful not to wake anyone else, Frank walked over to Wilson’s bunk and crouched before touching his shoulder.
Wilson woke and looked up at him. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, half sitting up.
“I’ve been reassigned. Working with some Major as an aide. Major Blythe.”
Wilson relaxed. “Sounds safer than here.”
“I suppose we’ll see.” Frank leaned in and kissed him before he could change his mind. “You’ll watch after the others, won’t you?”
Wilson smiled sadly at him. “I will.”
“And be careful.”
Wilson nodded and squeezed his hand. “You, too. Take care of yourself.”
“I will,” Frank echoed Wilson’s own words. He stood and picked up his bag, not looking back but well aware of Wilson watching him walk away.
To Frank’s surprise, Lieutenant Innes was waiting outside with the private. “I understand you’ve been reassigned,” he said, voice carefully neutral.
“Yes, sir, it seems so,” said Frank.
Innes offered his hand. “Good luck.”
Frank shook automatically. “You too, sir. Wilson can do most of the things I was doing, if you need the help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Innes stepped aside so the private could lead Frank away. Frank felt his eyes on him as they went.
The private led him to a crossroads in the trenches and gave him directions for the rest of the way. Frank had only passed through that part of the trenches a few times; it was farther back from the lines and contained mostly higher-ranking officers, so it made sense for a Major.
Frank adjusted his bag and his rifle and set off into the warm morning, passing through others getting a start to their day. Sometimes these trenches could be nearly claustrophobic in their confines, but they were better than the shattered world beyond.
He nodded to a few familiar faces as he passed, though he’d be hard-pressed to name them. So many men had passed through his life in the last two years… and now the platoon was three dozen more. A few, like Wilson, could not be easily forgotten, but he pushed that thought away.
Finding the correct bunker, he knocked, waiting patiently for permission to enter. Anxiety settled in his belly. New assignment, new commander. Hard to tell how such a thing would go.
“Enter,” the man called from inside.
Frank took a breath and pushed open the door. Major Blythe looked up from his work as Frank came in. He was fair-skinned, with red hair just visible under his cap. His
pale blue gaze caught Frank’s attention and made something flutter in his stomach. Frank stood at attention. “Corporal Martin reporting for duty, sir.”
Blythe frowned slightly as he looked him over, but nodded. “Close the door and put down your things.”
Frank tore his eyes away from Blythe’s gaze to close the door, then set down his bag. He quickly glanced around the cozy quarters, seeing the bunks and the small table off to one side. Sharing quarters, then.
“Corporal Martin, I understand you speak fluent French?” Asked Blythe.
“Yes, sir,” said Frank, giving his focus fully to the man sitting before him. “Or oui, I suppose. My mother was French.”
Amusement crossed Blythe’s face, quickly gone. “Very good. As I’m sure you know, you’ve been assigned as my aide, effective immediately.”
“Yes. I helped out my Lieutenant sometimes.”
“Good. You’ll also be running messages for me.” The earth shook as a shell landed nearby. Frank barely noticed. The Major looked uneasy for a moment, then quickly tried to cover it up. Frank wondered just how much time the man had spent at or near the front. Blythe cleared his throat. “It can be dangerous work, but I’m certain you’re up to the task.”
“Yes, sir,” said Frank again, wondering what exactly he was being asked to do.
Blythe looked down at his desk and shuffled through some of the papers. “I’ll let you get settled shortly, but for now, deliver this message to Colonel Adenet. Do you know where to find him?”
“Yes, sir,” said Frank, tucking the message away without looking at it.
“Good.” Blythe took out a pocket watch and glanced at it. “Hurry, please.”
Frank resisted rolling his eyes at the watch and adjusted his rifle before heading back out the door, making sure it was closed behind him. He looked around to get his bearings, then headed off for the French part of the lines.
Mud sucked at his boots as he traveled, moving closer again to the front lines. He passed soldiers going about their day, as intent on their tasks as he was on his. He noticed a chaplain giving some poor bloke last rites while another soldier crouched next to him and held his hand. Lucky to get them instead of being blasted to smithereens or left to die in no man’s land.
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