Joseph stood in the first paling of the darkness and looked at him by candlelight from the open bunker curtain. He had been so alive only a few hours ago, so full of anger and loyalty and dismay. What had made him throw his life away in a useless gesture? Joseph racked his mind for some sign that should have warned him Mordaff was so close to breaking, but he could not see it even now.
There was a cough a few feet away, and the tramp of boots on duck-boards. The men were stood down, just one sentry per platoon left. They had returned for breakfast. If he thought about it he could smell cooking.
Now would be the time to ask around and find out what had happened to Mordaff.
He made his way to the field kitchen. It was packed with men, some standing to be close to the stoves and catch a bit of their warmth, others choosing to sit, albeit further away. They had survived the night. They were laughing and telling stories, most of them unfit for delicate ears, but Joseph was too used to it to take any offense. Now and then someone new would apologize for such language in front of a chaplain, but most knew he understood too well.
“Yeah,” one answered his question through a mouthful of bread and jam. “He came and asked me if I saw what happened to Ashton. Very cut up, he was.”
“And what did you tell him?” Joseph asked.
The man swallowed. “Told him Ashton seemed fine to me when he went over. Just like anyone else, nervous… but, then, only a fool isn’t scared to go over the top!”
Joseph thanked him and moved on. He needed to know who else was on the patrol.
“Captain Holt,” the next man told him, a ring of pride in his voice. Word had got around about Holt’s courage. Everyone stood a little taller because of it, felt a little braver, more confident. “We’ll pay Fritz back for that,” he added. “Next raid-you’ll see.”
There was a chorus of agreement.
“Who else?” Joseph pressed.
“Seagrove, Noakes, Willis,” a thin man replied, standing up. “Want some breakfast, Chaplain? Anything you like, on the house-as long as it’s bread and jam and half a cup of tea. But you’re not particular, are you? Not one of those fussy eaters who’ll only take kippers and toast?”
“What I wouldn’t give for a fresh Craster kipper,” another sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. “I can smell them in my dreams.” Someone told him good-naturedly to shut up.
“Went over the top beside me,” Willis said when Joseph found him quarter of an hour later. “All blacked up like the rest of us. Seemed okay to me then. Lost him in no-man’s land. Had a hell of a job with the wire. As bloody usual, it wasn’t where we’d been told. Got through all right, then Fritz opened up to us. Star shells all over the sky.” He sniffed and then coughed violently. When he had control of himself again, he continued. “Then I saw someone outlined against the flares, arms high, like a wild man, running around. He was going toward the German lines, shouting something. Couldn’t hear what in the noise.”
Joseph did not interrupt. It was now broad daylight and beginning to drizzle again. Around them men were starting the duties of the day: digging, filling sandbags, carrying ammunition, strengthening the wire, resetting duck-boards. Men took an hour’s work, an hour’s sentry duty, and an hour’s rest.
Near them somebody was expending his entire vocabulary of curses against lice. Two more were planning elaborate schemes to hold the water at bay.
“Of course that lit us up like a target, didn’t it!” Willis went on. “Sniper fire and machine guns all over the place. Even a couple of shells. How none of us got hit I’ll never know. Perhaps the row woke God up, and He came back on duty!” He laughed hollowly. “Sorry, Chaplain. Didn’t mean it. I’m just so damn sorry poor Ashton got it. Holt just came out of nowhere and ran after him. Obsessed with being a hero, or he’d not even have tried. I can see him in my mind’s eye floundering through the mud. If Ashton hadn’t got caught in the wire he’d never have got him.”
“Caught in the wire?” Joseph asked, memory pricking at him.
“Yeah. Ashton must have run right into the wire, because he stopped sudden-teetering, like-and fell over. A hell of a barrage came over just after that. We all threw ourselves down.”
“What happened then?” Joseph said urgently, a slow, sick thought taking shape in his mind.
“When it died down I looked up again, and there was Holt staggering back with poor Ashton across his shoulders. Hell of a job he had carrying him, even though he’s bigger than Ashton-well, taller, anyway. Up to his knees in mud, he was, shot and shell all over, sky lit up like a Christmas tree. Of course we gave him what covering fire we could. Maybe it helped.” He coughed again. “Reckon he’ll be mentioned in dispatches, Chaplain? He deserves it.” There was admiration in his voice, a lift of hope.
Joseph forced himself to answer. “I should think so.” The words were stiff.
“Well, if he isn’t, the men’ll want to know why!” Willis said fiercely. “Bloody hero, he is.”
Joseph thanked him and went to find Seagrove and Noakes. They told him pretty much the same story.
“You going to have him recommended?” Noakes asked. “He earned it this time. Mordaff came and we said just the same to him. Reckon he wanted the Captain given a medal. He made us say it over and over again, exactly what happened.”
“That’s right,” Seagrove nodded, leaning on a sandbag.
“You told him the same?” Joseph asked. “About the wire, and Ashton getting caught in it?”
“Yes, of course. If he hadn’t got caught by the legs he’d have gone straight on and landed up in Fritz’s lap, poor devil.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome, Chaplain. You going to write up Captain Holt?”
Joseph did not answer, but turned away, sick at heart.
He did not need to look again, but he trudged all the way back to the field hospital anyway. It would be his job to say the services for both Ashton and Mordaff. The graves would be already dug.
He looked at Ashton’s body again, looked carefully at his trousers. They were stained with mud, but there were no tears in them, no marks of wire. The fabric was perfect.
He straightened up.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly to the dead man. “Rest in peace.” And he turned and walked away.
He went back to where he had left Mordaff’s body, but it had been removed. Half an hour more took him to where it also was laid out. He touched the cold hand and looked at the brow. He would ask. He would be sure. But in his mind he already was. He needed time to know what he must do about it. The men would be going over the top on another trench raid soon. Today morale was high. They had a hero in their number, a man who would risk his own life to bring back a soldier who had lost his nerve and panicked. Led by someone like that, they were equal to Fritz any day. Was one pistol bullet, one family’s shame, worth all that?
What were they fighting for anyway? The issues were so very big, and at the same time so very small and immediate. of the firing line, are you? You’ve been up here a couple of weeks; you should be in turn for a step back any day. Me too, thank God.”
Joseph faced forward, peering through the gloom toward no-man’s-land and the German lines beyond. He was shaking. He must control himself. This must be done in the silence, before the shooting started up again. Then he might not get away with it.
“Pity about that sniper over there,” he remarked. “He’s taken out a lot of our men.”