Another inch, another foot, another yard—on they crawled through the wet, cold mud across a terrain that still belonged to no man. Suddenly Charlie heard a loud squeal from behind him. He turned angrily to remonstrate with Tommy, only to see a rat the size of a rabbit lying between his legs. Tommy had thrust a bayonet right through its belly.
“I think it fancied you, Corp. Couldn’t have been for the sex if Rose is to be believed, so it must have wanted you for dinner.”
Charlie covered his mouth with his hands for fear the Germans might hear him laughing.
The moon slid out from behind a cloud and again lit up the open land. Once more the three men buried themselves in the mud and waited until another passing cloud allowed them to advance a few more yards. It was two more hours before they reached the barbed-wire perimeter that had been erected to stop the Germans breaking through.
Once they had reached the spiky barrier Trentham changed direction and began to crawl along the German side of the fence searching for a breach in the wire between them and safety. Another eighty yards had to be traversed—to Charlie it felt more like a mile—before the captain eventually found a tiny gap which he was able to crawl through. They were now only fifty yards from the safety of their own lines.
Charlie was surprised to find the captain hanging back, even allowing him to crawl past.
“Damn,” said Charlie under his breath, as the moon made another entrance onto the center of the stage and left them lying motionless only a street’s length away from safety. Once the light had been turned out again, slowly, again inch by inch, Charlie continued his crablike advance, now more fearful of a stray bullet from his own side than from the enemy’s. At last he could hear voices, English voices. He never thought the day would come when he would welcome the sight of those trenches.
“We’ve made it,” shouted Tommy, in a voice that might even have been heard by the Germans. Once again Charlie buried his face in the mud.
“Who goes there?” came back the report. Charlie could hear rifles being cocked up and down the trenches as sleepy men quickly came to life.
“Captain Trentham, Corporal Trumper and Private Prescott of the Royal Fusiliers,” called out Charlie firmly.
“Password?” demanded the voice.
“Oh, God, what’s the pass—?”
“Little Red Riding Hood,” shouted Trentham from behind them.
“Advance and be recognized.”
“Prescott first,” said Trentham, and Tommy pushed himself up onto his knees and began to crawl slowly towards his own trenches. Charlie heard the sound of a bullet that came from behind him and a moment later watched in horror as Tommy collapsed on his stomach and lay motionless in the mud.
Charlie looked quickly back through the half-light towards Trentham who said, “Bloody Huns. Keep down or the same thing might happen to you.”
Charlie ignored the order and crawled quickly forward until he came to the prostrate body of his friend. Once he had reached his side he placed an arm around Tommy’s shoulder. “There’s only about twenty yards to go,” he told him. “Man wounded,” said Charlie in a loud whisper as he looked up towards the trenches.
“Prescott, don’t move while the moon’s out,” ordered Trentham from behind them.
“How you feelin’, mate?” asked Charlie as he tried to fathom the expression on his friend’s face.
“Felt better, to be ’onest,” said Tommy.
“Quiet, you two,” said Trentham.
“By the way, that was no German bullet,” choked Tommy as a trickle of blood began to run out of his mouth. “So just make sure you get the bastard if I’m not given the chance to do the job myself.”
“You’ll be all right,” said Charlie. “Nothin’ and nobody could kill Tommy Prescott.”
As a large black cloud covered the moon, a group of men including two Red Cross orderlies who were carrying a stretcher jumped over the top and ran towards them. They dropped the stretcher by Tommy’s side and dragged him onto the canvas before jogging back towards the trench. Another volley of bullets came flying across from the German lines.
Once they had reached the safety of the dugout, the orderlies dumped the stretcher unceremoniously on the ground. Charlie shouted at them, “Get ’im to the ’ospital tent—quickly for God’s sake, quickly.”
“Not much point, Corp,” said the medical orderly. “’E’s dead.”
CHAPTER
5
“HQ is still waiting for your report, Trumper.”
“I know, Sarge, I know.”