Jack Lark: Recruit (A Jack Lark Short Story)

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘Please, Jack. I know I’ll be caught if I try it on my own.’ Charlie’s face came close to Jack’s again. ‘Help me.’

  ‘Fucking hell.’ Jack took a deep breath then slipped from under his blanket. ‘Carry your bleeding boots.’ He got to his feet and began to dress quickly and quietly.

  Charlie nodded and started to unlace the boots already on his feet. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

  Jack grunted softly. He did not really understand why he was helping. He knew he should have turned his back and gone back to sleep. But he could not make himself do it. Charlie needed him.

  ‘Ready?’ Charlie stood by his bed, his army boots held together in one hand.

  ‘Wait.’ Jack did up the last of the buttons on his canvas fatigue jacket. He shook his head at Charlie’s impatience. ‘Put your spare fatigues under the blanket. Make it look like you are still in there.’

  Jack saw Charlie’s smile in the thin moonlight.

  ‘You see! I knew you would see me right. I would not have thought of it.’

  ‘No. That’s because you are a fucking idiot who is going to get himself killed.’ Jack still spoke in a hoarse whisper. He did not think Charlie heard him.

  He bundled up his own spare fatigues, pushing them underneath the blanket so that it looked like someone was still in the bed. It would not stand up to anything other than a passing glance, but it was better than nothing.

  ‘Ready?’ Jack asked the question.

  Charlie nodded. He was still smiling.

  ‘Then follow me.’

  Jack led them across the sleeping room. Their bare feet made little noise as they slipped through the narrow gap between the ends of the beds. With only thirteen of them in there, most of the room was empty, and it took no time at all to get into the corridor outside.

  They kept moving quickly and quietly, slipping down the flight of stairs that led to the lower level of the barrack block.

  ‘You all right?’ Jack whispered the question as he brought them to a crouch. He could hear Charlie’s breathing, the rush of air warm on the side of his face.

  ‘Yes.’ Charlie’s voice was tight. Some of his confidence was waning.

  ‘We have to go outside. Put your boots on.’

  It came naturally to Jack to give the orders. Charlie was following his lead instinctively. There was no doubt who was leading who.

  ‘Ready?’ Jack waited as Charlie fumbled with his boots. He gritted his teeth at the time it took as his cack-handed friend struggled with the simple task. The delay set his nerves on edge.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Charlie finished and eased himself forward.

  ‘Shh!’ Jack sensed movement. He looked around for a hiding spot. Urgently he motioned Charlie back into the shadows of the stairs, moving close so they could both disappear into the darkness. The barracks were not lit, but enough of the moon’s light was filtering in to cast an eerie glow into the corridor. They could still be seen if they did not hide away.

  The heavy tramp of sentries’ boots echoed loudly. Jack peered out of their hiding place. The door at the end of the corridor that led to the parade square was open, and he watched anxiously as a patrol of four redcoats marched past.

  ‘What the devil are they doing?’ Charlie pressed his lips close to Jack’s ear and whispered the question.

  Jack shrugged. Charlie’s lips had brushed against the soft flesh of his ear lobe, and he shivered, intensely uncomfortable at the touch. ‘We’d better stay here.’ He said nothing more and shrank back, screening himself in the shadows.

  He waited. The escapade was not so unlike moving around the narrow alleyways of the rookery in the dark of night. Only a fool let himself be seen. In the gloom-filled streets, far from the light of the gas lamps, all manner of men, and women, waited to prey on any soul abroad in the small hours. Jack had learnt how to move without being seen, his nocturnal travels made with the caution learnt from a lifetime living in the dangerous, forgotten streets of east London.

  ‘We should go.’ Charlie was anxious.

  ‘Wait.’ Jack would not let them emerge before he was sure. He stayed put even as he felt Charlie fairly vibrating with tension, like a terrier before a fight. Only when he was sure that no one was close by did he move off. Charlie followed close behind, his hand plucking at Jack’s sleeve. Together they crept to the door.

  Jack eased his head outside. The square was empty. The patrol of redcoats had disappeared. There was nothing and no one to interrupt the quiet of the night.

  ‘Come on.’

  He led them outside. He walked quickly and without bothering to crouch to try to hide away. It was time to move without hesitation, speed now more important than trying to avoid attention.

  The night air was chill and he shivered, the hairs on the back of his arms standing up like so many dutiful guardsmen. They walked fast, the sound of their boots loud enough to drown out the thumping of his heart. Something flashed past their heads. Both men flinched, their progress brought to an abrupt halt as their finely stretched nerves snapped at the unexpected assault.

  ‘Shit! What the hell was that?’ Charlie’s voice broke as he hissed at Jack.

  ‘Run!’ The taste of fear was rank in Jack’s mouth

  They ran, their boots pounding into the ground. Jack felt his breath rasp in his chest, the chilled air painful as he hauled it into his lungs.

  ‘Quick!’ He felt Charlie’s hand claw at him, his fingers like talons digging into the flesh of his arm as they charged across the edge of the parade square.

  They saw the door to the quartermaster’s stores and galloped towards it. Any attempt at being silent was lost in the sudden rush of fear. They ran hard, side by side, the sound of their boots echoing around the hushed barracks.

  They slid to a halt in front of the door. Jack heard Charlie sob with the effort of the mad dash, but there was no time to catch their breath. He grabbed at the handle. To his relief, the door was open, and they both dived inside the moment he snatched it open.

  Something caught at Jack’s feet, and he fell forward. He grabbed at the closest thing in a vain attempt to keep his balance. His hand landed on Charlie’s arm and he held fast, but Charlie was in no position to keep him upright and Jack pulled him down so that they both fell into a breathless huddle, thumping on to the tiled floor of the quartermaster’s stores. The air rushed from Jack’s body but he still had the presence of mind to lash out with his boot, kicking the door shut.

  He did not move again. He dragged air into his lungs, pushing Charlie away. He tried to listen, but he could hear nothing other than the roar of his own tortured breathing.

  Forcing his breath to slow, he concentrated, certain that someone would have seen their mad dash across the square. Still he heard nothing.

  ‘Did we—’

  ‘Hush!’ He silenced Charlie. They were lying where they had fallen, their bodies still half intertwined. He strained his hearing. He could not believe they had made it without being seen.

  Charlie started to laugh. It was infectious.

  ‘Blow me tight.’ Jack kicked Charlie’s legs off his own and hauled himself to his feet.

  ‘We did it!’ Charlie struggled upright and clapped Jack around the back. ‘We only did it!’

  Jack could not hold back his laughter. They had run like frightened nuns. He thought of the creature that had startled them.

  ‘What the fuck was that thing?’

  ‘It was an owl, I reckon.’ Charlie sucked in a great draught of air and managed to bring his laughter under control. ‘By God, it frightened me.’

  ‘Me too!’ Jack laughed again. The tension that had been building since he had taken the first cautious step outside the barrack room was released. ‘Shall we get you out of here, then?’

  Charlie stifled a final smirk. ‘Fine by me. Let’s get this done.’

  The two men picked their way carefully through the tall shelves bulging with equipment. It was not easy to see, the high racks blocking wha
t little light was filtering into the store. They were forced to walk like blind men, their hands stretched out in front of them as they felt their way along. Twice they burst into fits of giggles as they bumped into some unseen object, the farcical nature of Charlie’s desperate escape not lost on either of them.

  It took several long minutes to reach the door Charlie had spotted towards the rear of the stores. Charlie saw it first and strode towards it with relief. He tried the handle.

  ‘Damn thing is locked.’

  ‘Of course it’s bloody locked.’ Jack pushed his friend out of the way. He was not surprised. The door they had used to enter the stores faced the parade square. It was unlikely that any sneak thief would be able to penetrate to the heart of the guarded barracks. This door was different. It faced the rear of the barracks, where the guards did not patrol, and Jack had known all along that it would be locked.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Charlie stood away. ‘Do we break it down?’

  Jack shook his head at his friend’s foolishness. He peered through the glass panes in the door. It led to a yard that in turn led to an alley that followed the back of the barracks. Jack could see little of what was on the other side of the alley, but he was near certain it would be open moorland. The barracks had been built on the very periphery of the town. There were houses near its main entrance, but here at the back it faced out only on to open countryside.

  Satisfied that the exit offered a suitable escape route, Jack turned and walked to the blanket-covered counter where he had signed his requisition form that morning. The side facing into the store was lined with shelves and cubbyholes, and he squatted and began to look for something that would help him.

  He checked each shelf, searching by fingertip. It did not take him long to find what he was looking for. He returned to the door flashing a wide smile at Charlie, who said nothing as he watched and waited.

  Jack took a firm hold of the door handle and got to work. The steel pen was thicker than he would have liked, but its end was thin enough and the lock was a simple one. He worked quickly, holding his breath as he used the trick that he had first learnt as a six-year-old.

  The lock clicked, and Jack turned and tossed the pen back on to the counter. It was a moment’s work to pull back the three heavy bolts that prevented anyone from forcing entry from the outside. He opened the door and stood back.

  ‘There you go.’ He didn’t whisper, but his voice was hushed. Their early laughter and silliness was forgotten. The moment for Charlie to desert had arrived.

  Charlie looked at Jack for a long time. ‘I owe you my thanks. I was right. I could not have done this alone.’ He offered his hand. ‘Thank you, Jack.’

  Jack frowned at such sincerity but took the cold and damp hand held towards him. ‘Don’t thank me. Are you sure you won’t reconsider? As soon as you step out that door, you’re on your own.’

  Charlie took a deep breath. ‘No. I have to do this. Do you want to come? We would do well, you and I. We’d go far.’

  Jack let go of Charlie’s hand and shook his head. He was not tempted. ‘No. I want to stay.’

  ‘You should. You will be good at this, Jack. You are meant for this life. I am not.’

  ‘Then you should go.’ Jack spoke harshly. The air rushing through the open door was cold, and he shivered. He felt the stirrings of anger at the foolishness of what he had done. He indicated the door with his head. ‘Go on then.’

  Charlie nodded once, then slipped through. He moved quickly, his boots loud on the cobbles of the yard. Within a dozen heartbeats he was gone from sight, fading into the night.

  Jack stood back and closed the door, oddly reluctant to shut off the view of the outside. He shook his head at such foolishness and threw the bolts. He could do nothing about the lock.

  He heard the sound of army boots. For a moment he thought it was Charlie and he half rose, his hands reaching to push back the bolts. But the sound came from behind the door that faced the parade ground, and he shrank to the floor, his fear returning. If he were caught in the stores he would be damned as a thief. There could be no defence.

  He crouched low and moved away from the door, merging with the darkness. He would bide his time getting back to his bed, taking no chances along the way. He had done what he had set out to do and helped Charlie escape, but now it was time to shift for himself. Just like it had always been, he had no one to look after. He was on his own.

  Chapter 7

  Jack woke to the first note of the reveille. He was not sure if he had slept. His mind was in turmoil, the events of the night replaying themselves over and over in his thoughts, what rest he had found fitful and disturbed. With the reveille would come discovery, and an accomplice had every right to be scared.

  He moved slowly, keeping his back to the bed next to his own. He sat, his head in his hands, his body tensed and braced for the confrontation that was to come.

  ‘On your feet, you fucking slugabeds. This ain’t no time to be lying in your stinking pit. You know what that call means by now. It means be up and ready to move.’ Corporal Taylor strode into the room, his voice stirring those foolish enough to still be in their beds.

  ‘You and you, take that there pisspot. Tomorrow I want you ready to move without my say-so.’ Taylor breezed through the room, snapping off the instructions. ‘Bleeding hell, but that stinks. Look alive-o, boy.’ He had reached Evans’s bed.

  Jack could not bear to watch. He eased to his feet, keeping his gaze away from the corporal, and moved forward, taking his place at the end of the room.

  ‘You deaf, boy?’ Taylor peered at the lumpy shape lying under the blanket where Charlie Evans had started the night. ‘Why, you little fucking bastard.’

  Jack did not have to be looking at the corporal to know that the simple ruse had been discovered. He kept his gaze straight ahead. He saw the faces of his fellow recruits turn to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed as they realised that something was amiss.

  ‘Where is he?’ The face of Corporal Taylor loomed into Jack’s line of sight. His eyes were bulging with barely contained fury and his cheeks were puce.

  ‘Beg your pardon, Corporal?’ Jack spoke in a monotone. He was sure the beat of his racing heart would reveal him, his guilt plain for all to see.

  ‘Don’t play the fucking innocent with me, boy, or so help me I’ll see you flogged. Where the fuck is he?’

  ‘Where’s who, Corporal?’

  Taylor slapped Jack hard around the face. It was a stinging blow, the open-handed smack cracking against Jack’s cheek. ‘I ain’t fucking asking you twice. Has the little shit run?’

  ‘Dunno, Corp—’

  A second blow connected with Jack’s cheek. The blow hurt, the pain worse now that his flesh was raw. But he had been beaten too many times to whimper at a mere slap.

  ‘Where is he?’ Taylor screamed the question. He was close enough for Jack to feel the splatter of spittle on his skin.

  ‘Is there a problem, Corporal?’ A new voice interrupted the interrogation. A chill entered the room. Sergeant Slater had arrived.

  Corporal Taylor snapped to attention. Jack saw the flash of fear in his eyes. The non-commissioned officer turned smartly on his heel, his body rigid. ‘One of the recruits is missing, Sergeant.’

  Jack felt his own muscles tense as he too straightened to attention, the action instinctive. The other recruits did the same, each man staring ahead and praying he would be ignored.

  Slater sauntered down the narrow gap between the beds. He dominated the cramped confines of the barrack room, looming large, his physical presence terrifying. He said nothing as he approached the empty bed, his thick moustache bristling. He contemplated the pathetic shape under the covers, then he turned and looked at Jack.

  ‘What was his name?’ Slater asked the question gently, his tone nothing but reasonable.

  ‘Charlie Evans, sir,’ Jack replied. He heard the fear in his own voice.

  ‘Charlie Evans.’ Slater repeated the nam
e slowly. ‘Did he run?’

  Jack swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. ‘Don’t know, sir.’ His words came out in a higher pitch, the adolescent squeak of a boy.

  ‘You don’t know.’ Slater’s voice was soft. He nodded at Corporal Taylor, who immediately scurried away, leaving a space between Slater and Jack.

  ‘What’s your name, boy?’ The huge sergeant asked the question before taking a single step towards Jack.

  ‘Jack Lark, sir.’

  ‘Did you sleep well last night, Lark?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Jack’s voice trembled. It took all his strength of mind not to move.

  ‘The sleep of the righteous.’ Slater smiled, then took a second pace. ‘And you heard nothing?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Not even when young Charlie got up? No scrape of the bed. No rustle of cloth. No noise whatsoever?’ Slater moved closer. He was less than two feet away from Jack.

  ‘No, sir.’ Jack felt his arsehole quiver.

  ‘No, sir.’ Slater repeated the words. He stepped forward again, closing the gap so that the toes of his boots were no more than an inch from Jack’s.

  Jack stared straight ahead. His eyes were on a level with Slater’s neck. He watched as the sergeant swallowed, staring at the big man’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Slater still spoke mildly, as if remarking on the weather. ‘Did you help that piece of filth desert?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘We are going to find our dear friend Charlie.’ Slater had lowered his face as he spoke. Jack could feel the wash of the sergeant’s breath, the flow of air warm on the cheek that still stung from the slaps delivered by Corporal Taylor. ‘Do you think we will find him, Lark? Do you think we will be that fortunate?’

  Jack struggled to find breath. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I am glad to hear that. It is nice to hear that you think we know what we are about. Now, you’d better be hoping we do find him. Do you know why that would be, Lark?’