My Brother's Keeper by Tony Bradman Page B

sir,’ said George. ‘There’s definitely a nip in the air.’
    â€˜At least it isn’t raining,’ said the Captain. ‘And Jerry still seems to be keeping his head down in this sector, which is something else we should be grateful for.’
    â€˜I don’t know about that, sir,’ said Alfie. ‘I’d like to see some action.’
    â€˜Quiet there, boy!’ barked Sergeant Jones. ‘Don’t cheek the Captain!’
    â€˜Easy, Sergeant,’ said Captain Wilkins. ‘My superiors at HQ would be pleased to hear him being so war-like. You’ll get your chance, Barnes, but this company has done plenty of fighting, and I’m sure your comrades have told you it was no picnic.’
    â€˜Amen to that, Captain,’ muttered Ernie. George and Cyril nodded.
    â€˜Anyway, you should all be feeling rather warmer soon enough.’ The Captain’s smile returned. ‘I’ve ordered a double rum ration to be dispensed.’
    â€˜Very good of you, sir,’ said George. ‘That should put a few hairs on our chests.’
    Everyone laughed politely.
    The rum ration was doled out each morning, and most of the men knocked back the small tot of foul-smelling, thick black liquid with lots of lip-smacking and gusto. Alfie couldn’t stand the stuff, and wouldn’t touch it.
    â€˜Well, cheerio, we must be on our way.’ The Captain headed along the trench, hopping on the fire-step to avoid the puddle. ‘Make sure the duckboardshere are replaced today, Jones. This mud could be the death of someone.’
    Alfie heard a crack like a firework going off. The Captain crumpled, his knees folding, and he fell headlong from the fire-step into the mud with a wet thud. His helmet came off, and Alfie saw a hole the size of a sixpence in his temple.
    Dark blood oozed from it, and Alfie knew he had just watched a man die.

Chapter Two

The Taste of Bile
    For a moment Alfie could neither move nor speak, his eyes fixed on that bloody hole in the Captain’s temple. There was a swirl of movement and noise in the trench around him, men running and shouting ‘Sniper!’ and ‘The Captain’s been hit!’, and a rattle of rifle fire as somebody shot back at the German trenches. But everything seemed incredibly distant, a strange dream that was nothing to do with him.
    â€˜Alfie, Alfie…’ someone was saying. ‘Alfie, are you all right?’
    Alfie felt a hand roughly shaking his shoulder. He let out his breath with a gasp, not realising till then that he had been holding it in, and managed to tear his eyes away from the Captain. Suddenlyeverything was louder, brighter, more intense, the world snapping into place again. It was Ernie who had been speaking. Alfie glanced round at his friend’s worried face and nodded, still unable to speak.
    â€˜Cease fire!’ yelled Sergeant Jones. ‘You won’t hit the swine anyway.’
    The shooting stopped, silence and stillness descending on the trench, and Alfie took in the scene before him. George and Cyril and several other men were up on the fire-step, Sergeant Jones to one side, everybody staring at Captain Wilkins in the trench bottom. One side of the Captain’s face was covered in blood and the mud under his head was stained scarlet. Lieutenant Reynolds was kneeling next to him.
    â€˜We’d better get the Captain moved, Sergeant Jones,’ the Lieutenant said at last, standing up. ‘Take him to the First Aid Post. We’ll bury him later.’
    â€˜Right you are, sir,’ the Sergeant said quietly. ‘You men there, look lively!’
    Four soldiers from further along the trench came to lift the Captain and carry him away, one to each limb, the Lieutenant following them with his eyes. The Captain looked like a giant doll, limp and floppy and lifeless.
    â€˜Have the parapet checked, Sergeant,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘There must be a