sentence for firing on a superior officer and that was death. Tom knew that there were witnesses and he certainly wouldn’t be able to rely on their discretion. Perhaps Tom’s outstanding war record would make a difference, but Guy was a major and so often these things depended on rank …
Again and again that night, Tom relived the incident. He never once regretted firing on Guy, but his fingers curled round the butt of his revolver and he imagined a hundred times the same incident with a different outcome: Guy struck not in the thigh, but in the chest; Guy not harmlessly wounded, but killed outright.
Tom stayed on duty for the first sentry shift. So much had happened, he needed time to think. Somewhere in the afternoon’s fighting, he had crushed his pack of cigarettes, but he carefully extricated a couple of the flattened paper tubes and delicately reconstructed them into something smokable. He lit up, throat aching for the taste of warm tobacco.
‘Mr Creeley?’
‘Yes?’
By the brief flare of his match, Tom could see a man’s face – silver-haired but young, grey moustache beneath youthful blue eyes.
‘Captain Morgan. Just sent across from the Warwickshires to give you lads support.’
The two men shook hands and Tom handed over the last of his battered cigarettes, lighting it before passing it across.
‘Support?’ said Tom, mumbling through his cigarette. ‘God knows we need it.’
‘Look here. I’ve got some rather rotten news. I’d best spill it. The brigadier wants to sweep the Boche off the salient for good. His idea is, if we can storm their machine-gun posts, we can dare to risk a general assault.’
‘The brigadier is a murderous bloody-minded lunatic’
Captain Morgan laughed, embarrassed at Tom’s bluntness, but hardly denying the charge. ‘Your name came up,’ he said.
‘Came up to do what?’
The captain grimaced. ‘The guns.’
‘To storm their machine guns?’
‘Yes. I think it’s a damn fool idea myself, but the brigadier seems blessedly keen on it.’
‘It’s lunatic.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, old fellow – bearer of bad tidings and all that. The brigadier wanted you to take a dozen men. Use your own initiative on how to proceed, then get started at once. I’ll follow with a full company to support you the moment you’ve put a stop to those guns.’
Morgan handed over a packet containing written orders that confirmed his summary. Tom read the papers, then tossed them away.
‘My initiative? My initiative tells me that the brigadier’s lost his bloody marbles.’
The captain swallowed. Even to a newcomer, it was fairly clear that the brigadier’s orders were virtually impossible to fulfil.
‘I can’t say I don’t feel for you, old man. I’d have put my own name forward, except that I really don’t know the ground here. I must say, I thought the chap who put
your
name forward was a bit of a bounder. It’s not really the sort of thing that one fellow volunteers another fellow for.’
‘Who put my name forward?’
Captain Morgan paused. He had said more than he should and was kicking himself for it. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s really not my –’
‘But you did. Who was it?’
Captain Morgan paused again, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He burned the tobacco down half an inch, then dropped the butt fizzing into the mud. ‘All right, old man. I wouldn’t normally say, but given the circs and everything … It was a chap called Montague. Mr Montague. I didn’t get the first name.’
‘
Mister
Montague?’ Tom was horrified. ‘A subaltern, my age?’
‘Yes. What? You have a lot of Montagues, do you?’
‘Not a major? We have a lieutenant and a major Which one?’
‘Lieutenant, old man. One star on his shoulder, that’s all. Positive sighting and all that. Definitely lieutenant.’
‘His leg? Was he wounded in the leg at all? A bad flesh wound, very recent? This afternoon?’
‘He was sitting down, old
Again and again that night, Tom relived the incident. He never once regretted firing on Guy, but his fingers curled round the butt of his revolver and he imagined a hundred times the same incident with a different outcome: Guy struck not in the thigh, but in the chest; Guy not harmlessly wounded, but killed outright.
Tom stayed on duty for the first sentry shift. So much had happened, he needed time to think. Somewhere in the afternoon’s fighting, he had crushed his pack of cigarettes, but he carefully extricated a couple of the flattened paper tubes and delicately reconstructed them into something smokable. He lit up, throat aching for the taste of warm tobacco.
‘Mr Creeley?’
‘Yes?’
By the brief flare of his match, Tom could see a man’s face – silver-haired but young, grey moustache beneath youthful blue eyes.
‘Captain Morgan. Just sent across from the Warwickshires to give you lads support.’
The two men shook hands and Tom handed over the last of his battered cigarettes, lighting it before passing it across.
‘Support?’ said Tom, mumbling through his cigarette. ‘God knows we need it.’
‘Look here. I’ve got some rather rotten news. I’d best spill it. The brigadier wants to sweep the Boche off the salient for good. His idea is, if we can storm their machine-gun posts, we can dare to risk a general assault.’
‘The brigadier is a murderous bloody-minded lunatic’
Captain Morgan laughed, embarrassed at Tom’s bluntness, but hardly denying the charge. ‘Your name came up,’ he said.
‘Came up to do what?’
The captain grimaced. ‘The guns.’
‘To storm their machine guns?’
‘Yes. I think it’s a damn fool idea myself, but the brigadier seems blessedly keen on it.’
‘It’s lunatic.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, old fellow – bearer of bad tidings and all that. The brigadier wanted you to take a dozen men. Use your own initiative on how to proceed, then get started at once. I’ll follow with a full company to support you the moment you’ve put a stop to those guns.’
Morgan handed over a packet containing written orders that confirmed his summary. Tom read the papers, then tossed them away.
‘My initiative? My initiative tells me that the brigadier’s lost his bloody marbles.’
The captain swallowed. Even to a newcomer, it was fairly clear that the brigadier’s orders were virtually impossible to fulfil.
‘I can’t say I don’t feel for you, old man. I’d have put my own name forward, except that I really don’t know the ground here. I must say, I thought the chap who put
your
name forward was a bit of a bounder. It’s not really the sort of thing that one fellow volunteers another fellow for.’
‘Who put my name forward?’
Captain Morgan paused. He had said more than he should and was kicking himself for it. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s really not my –’
‘But you did. Who was it?’
Captain Morgan paused again, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He burned the tobacco down half an inch, then dropped the butt fizzing into the mud. ‘All right, old man. I wouldn’t normally say, but given the circs and everything … It was a chap called Montague. Mr Montague. I didn’t get the first name.’
‘
Mister
Montague?’ Tom was horrified. ‘A subaltern, my age?’
‘Yes. What? You have a lot of Montagues, do you?’
‘Not a major? We have a lieutenant and a major Which one?’
‘Lieutenant, old man. One star on his shoulder, that’s all. Positive sighting and all that. Definitely lieutenant.’
‘His leg? Was he wounded in the leg at all? A bad flesh wound, very recent? This afternoon?’
‘He was sitting down, old
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