Just for once, I’m having a good sleep. Right now, I’m not dreaming of anything special: not the war, not dead babies, nothing, and my soul’s bought itself a welcome bit of peace.
I have good nights and bad nights. Unfortunately, the bad outweigh the good. I’ve heard of other Diggers with the same problems taking to the drink in a big way. It’s got to some blokes so badly, that they’ve topped themselves just for a bit of shush and some shut-eye, the poor buggers. No one I know personally, mind, but you hear stories. It isn’t easy being a veteran trying to get back to normal: you tell people how you’re feeling, and they’ll think you’re either weak, or mad, or both. Just get over it. Best to keep mum: I haven’t told Gracie what the screaming’s about. Killing the enemy isn’t a sin in my eyes, so there’s no need to tell the priest when I go to confession either.
Soon I start dreaming. Not again. In the distance, I hear a roar. It could be German artillery. I thought I’d left it behind, I thought I’d escaped, but it surrounds me. It’s another one of their creeping barrages.
The bastards, don’t they ever take a break?
I feel it rumble like thunder. I scramble down into the bunker like a rabbit down a hole, even though I know it’s not much of a shelter. It’s made of wood, you see, instead of concrete like the Huns’. It splinters under fire. A Hun shell lands on you in one of our bunkers and you’re mincemeat: no one will ever find you. You’ll just fertilise the soil, soak into the mud, and they’ll never even find your dog tag.
The barrage creeps towards the trench. Around me the blokes are nervy but I’m a sergeant, so it’s my job to settle them down as best I can.
‘Get ready, lads,’ I shout. ‘When the barrage stops, get back on that parapet!’
The Huns will be running across no man’s land like a mob of wild cattle.
‘Not yet! Get down!’ The words are still coming from my mouth when Tommy Taylor’s helmet whistles past my ear, the back of his head explodes and I’m covered in his brain. I shrug it off, grip my rifle, and start to yell orders to the blokes.
Something shakes me.
‘The bastards are coming!’ I yell. ‘Get ready!’
Something’s shaking me again. The sun’s streaming into the trench, blinding me. I open my eyes, still yelling. Gracie’s shaking me. My hand’s on her throat.
‘Darl,’ she soothes, prising open my fingers and shifting my hand away from her neck, ‘it’s me. The phone’s ringing.’
‘Phone?’ I reply uneasily, ‘I thought…bloody hell.’
‘I know, love, it’s a nightmare.’
The phone is ringing out in the hallway.
She follows my eyes. ‘Yes, Jack, you better answer it. It’ll be for you.’
I stumble out of bed and down the hallway.
Higgins is at the other end of the line, agitated. ‘Sarge, sorry to wake you up,’ he stammers.
‘Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?’ I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate. ‘No, Sarge, I’m afraid it couldn’t. Joe Riley at the Riley farm has just called in. He’s reported a murder.’