‘Can you make it back to the trench unaided?’
‘Don’t think so, sir.’
A pause.
‘I’m going to have to drag you,’ Soames says. ‘It’ll hurt like hell, but it’s better than leaving you out here.’
‘It did hurt like hell,’ Mitchell told Blackstone. ‘It took three times as long to get back to the trenches as it had taken to get into No Man’s Land, and every inch was pure bloody agony.’
Blackstone nodded curtly. It was a nod which said that he might eventually show Mitchell some sympathy — but he was not going to show it yet.
‘Who was it who had a quiet word with you when you were back in the trench?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know what-’ Mitchell began.
‘Was it Lieutenant Maude?’ Blackstone demanded.
‘Yes, it was Maude,’ Mitchell admitted.
‘You look like you could use some fresh air,’ Maude says to the two orderlies in the dressing station.
The orderlies look at each other, and then at the officer.
‘We’re supposed to be watching the patient, in case there are any complications, sir,’ one of them says.
‘Did you hear me?’ Maude barks. ‘I said you could use some fresh air. And you could use it right it now!’
Reluctantly, the orderlies step out into the trench, and the moment they have gone, Maude sits down opposite Mitchell.
A smile comes to the lieutenant’s face, though it is totally devoid of either warmth or sympathy.
‘You’ve had a bit of a rough time,’ he says.
‘Yes, sir,’ Mitchell agrees.
‘Would you like a cigarette? I’ll light it for you, if you can’t manage yourself.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Maude lights the cigarette, and hands it to Mitchell.
‘You do realize that Lieutenant Soames saved your life out there, don’t you?’ Maude asks.
So he did, Mitchell agrees silently, but if he hadn’t made me stand up, he wouldn’t have bloody needed to!
‘I can read what you’re thinking,’ Maude says.
‘Can you, sir?’
‘Yes, and you’re quite right. If we were being totally honest with each other, we’d both have to admit that what Lieutenant Soames did out there was a big mistake, wouldn’t we?’
‘It’s not my place to say, sir,’ Mitchell replies cautiously.
‘A big mistake,’ Maude repeats. ‘But you will also admit, won’t you, that despite that mistake, he remains a courageous and gallant officer?’
There is only one permissible answer, and Mitchell gives it.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Private Danvers is dead, and there’s nothing we can do to bring him back to life, however much we might wish to,’ Maude continues, ‘so it’s the living we have to consider now. You wouldn’t want to see the career of a fine officer ruined by one momentary misjudgement, would you?’
‘No, sir.’
Maude nodded, sagely. ‘And neither would I,’ he says. ‘So if anyone asks you what happened out in No Man’s Land — and it doesn’t matter whether that person is an officer or whether he is just an enlisted man — it might be wise not to mention the fact you were standing up when you were shot. Do you understand what I’m saying? What I’ve just done is give you my permission to lie to an officer. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good,’ Maude says. ‘And in return for your cooperation, I will see to it personally that, for the remainder of the war, you are given a cushy billet, and never have to go out on the front line again.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Maude walks to the door, then turns around again.
‘You will remember what I said about telling no one what really happened, won’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That applies particularly to Lieutenant Fortesque. If he questions you — and he is almost bound to — you are to be especially careful with your answer. Understood?’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘He had a point though, that Lieutenant Maude, didn’t he?’ Mitchell asked Blackstone, defensively. ‘Everybody’s entitled to one little mistake, and it would have been a shame if it ruined Lieutenant Soames’ career.’
‘Besides, you were frightened about what might happen if you didn’t cooperate, weren’t you?’ Blackstone asked.
‘It’s never a good idea to cross an officer,’ Mitchell admitted, ‘specially a cold bastard like Lieutenant Maude.’
‘And the idea of a cushy number really appealed to you, because you saw it as your chance to get through this whole bloody war in one piece.’
‘There’s that as well,’ Mitchell agreed.
‘So you agreed to lie.’
‘What would you have done in my place?’ Mitchell demanded.
‘I’d like to think that I would have refused,’ Blackstone said. ‘But I can’t be absolutely certain that I wouldn’t have acted in exactly the same way as you did.’
The reserve trench zigzagged, in much the same way as the front-line trench did, and it was not until Blackstone had turned the first corner beyond the quartermaster’s outpost that he saw Lieutenant Maude.
The young lieutenant was standing in the very centre of the trench, waiting for him. He had no weapon in his hand at that moment, but he was far enough away to have easily drawn his pistol by the time Blackstone reached him.
‘I was rather hoping it wouldn’t come to this,’ Maude said.
They’d been watching Mitchell, Blackstone thought.
He should have considered that possibility.
He should have taken more care.
‘When you’re already in a hole, the best thing to do is to stop digging,’ he advised Maude.
The lieutenant laughed. ‘Au contraire,’ he said, ‘the best thing to do is keep on digging, so you’ll have plenty of space to bury your mistakes.’
‘It’s over,’ Blackstone said.
‘Indeed it is,’ Maude agreed, looking beyond the other man’s shoulder.
And as Blackstone realized that what he should have been wondering was where Soames was, Soames himself swung a sock full of sand and hit the inspector squarely on the back of the head.
TWENTY-TWO
His return to consciousness was slow, erratic and uncertain — like a fire which is catching hold, but may still yet die back.
At first, all he could focus on was the angry buzz which was coming from somewhere in the back of his brain.
Next, he became aware of himself as a physical presence — a presence which, moreover, was sitting down, and did not seem to be able to move either its arms or its legs.
A minute passed, and the angry buzz transformed itself into what he recognized was a stream of words, though each word followed on so rapidly from the one which preceded it that they still meant nothing to him.
Another minute ticked by, and the words — spoken from the bottom of a deep metal jug — began to make sense.
‘What are we going to do with him?’
‘What we have to do!’
And what they have to do is kill me, he thought. Now they’ve gone this far, they have no choice.
He kept his eyes closed, knowing that the moment they realized he was back with them, they would rob him of what little freedom he still had.
‘We can’t kill him. Not like this — not in cold blood!’