JACK USED HIS elbows to wriggle along the eighteen-inch wide, twelve-inch high tunnel, pushing the enamel spoil bowl before him as silently as possible. The candle was stuck to the bottom of another bowl with its own wax and the flame flickered with every movement, but at least it was still flickering, he thought. He was slithering over rock, jagged from their narrow chisel marks created from stolen cutlery. He clutched the freshly sharpened knife and spoon that the tunnel committee had ‘released’ from the guards’ kitchen store. They were wrapped in cloth so filthy it was as hard as board, but it prevented telltale clinking.
It had been easier working in clay but now they were through that and it could be back to rock, chipping away with sharpened cutlery, using the cloth to muffle the sound. They’d padded the communal mining clothes he’d changed into at the mouth of the tunnel, but nevertheless he and the other five tunnellers had open sores on their elbows and knees.
Jesus. He caught his elbow on the edge of the rock they’d failed to smooth properly in the left wall last week, and it tore through the padding. Well, it bloody would, wouldn’t it? It took more than half an hour to get to the face now that the tunnel extended to 70 yards. The poor air gave the tunnellers only half an hour once they reached it, and then they had to slowly ease backwards to the mouth, but it was a damn sight better than it would have been. The air pump he, Dave and Mart had devised had wiped the smile off the supercilious bastard who had refused to let them fitten up when they had first arrived. Prancing into Aub’s room, he had told him to get his orderlies back to making beds. Major Dobbs was his name, and he wasn’t coming anyway.
Jack grinned now, hauling himself onwards as the tunnel sloped upwards, remembering Aub’s roar as he backed that overfed major into a corner while Jack had sat, hungry and ill, not yet used to his new surroundings. Aub had threatened all sorts of things, making Dobbs drop his bloody book he carried everywhere. He’d blustered and carried on and then Captain Frost and Smythe had entered, and between them they’d lifted the daft bugger out in the passageway and just dropped him.
They’d heard no more.
It had taken a good four weeks to get him, Charlie, Dave, Si and Mart up to full strength, using the escaping officers’ food parcels. The fact that the guards who doled out the goods from the parcels insisted on opening the tins and mixing the contents together on the pretext of searching for hidden escape tools was neither here nor there. He’d become quite used to custard and tinned ham, all chopped up together.
The guards had even done it to the parcels from Easterleigh Hall which had started arriving the moment Evie knew they were safe. Jack forbade them to write that news to Evie or she would come out here and sort ’em out. ‘We must tell her immediately, then,’ Auberon had spluttered, eating with them, as he so often did, along with Smythe and Frost.
Jack took even greater care now, only about five feet from the surface. The officers on the tunnelling rota a month ago had reported that they hadn’t been able to hack through the stone that had blocked their passage. Jack had checked and agreed they should go over the top and boarded the roof tightly. He was on the downward slope now, back to the depth of eight feet or so, where any noise he made would be less audible. The candle was still flickering, so all was well, but the headache was beginning. Mart would be pumping the bellows, taking turns with Dave. Charlie and Simon were on shift tomorrow, but helping Roger today with the work the ‘orderlies’ had been recruited for.
Jack inched forward, the sweat falling into his mouth. He thought of the cans they’d collected while they built up their strength, pinching the empty biscuit tins from rooms, much as they ‘borrowed’ the bed boards from everyone without asking. Secrecy was everything. Only those escaping must know of the tunnel.
He’d shown the toffs how to create an air pipe by linking the cans together and feeding the result with air from the bellows they made from a ‘borrowed’ leather jacket and a few bits of wood. The pilot had never got to the bottom of his loss, and the toff tunnellers had accepted them from that moment on.
It didn’t stop the headaches at the face, because you couldn’t create a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, or good air out of bad, but you could make it possible to continue the tunnel into the rye field. Colonel Mathers had agreed that this was the right place to come to the surface. At that thought Jack increased his pace; within weeks the rye would be the right height to hide their exit, but by Colonel Mathers’ reckoning harvesting would begin within a month. It would be tight, as they only had three hours available in the day and approximately two yards to go. Appel finished at 11 a.m. after which they dispersed, changed their clothes and tunnelling could start. The Germans stopped for lunch from midday to about three o’clock, and the second appel was at four. Jack squinted at his tools. They’d laugh at Auld Maud to see these two little beauties, but with patience, it was surprising what could be achieved.
Finally he reached the face. They’d broken through into clay two days ago, on his shift, so progress was quicker but he had to prop and board tomorrow. What if the roof came down now? What if they hit rock? So near and yet so far? Had Aub had any luck ‘releasing’ any more bed boards?
He filled the spoil bowl, raising his body, easing it under him, wincing as the edge caught at his hip bone, pushing it free of his body, tugging on the rope for Dave to pull it back. There was barely room for the men to reach the bloody tunnel mouth because of the bags of spoil, which were stacked in the cellar. An officer had discovered the disused entrance right at the back under the stage of the concert hall when he’d chased a rat in there, trying to beat it with a broom.
They’d hidden the entrance by ‘borrowing’ a saw from the civilian carpenter who came on a regular basis to maintain the old army barracks. Lieutenant Brothers had cut out several of the wooden boards that lined the back of the space beneath the stage, removed the nails but kept the heads in place so they looked untouched. He’d then replaced the boards, using two bolts on the inside to secure everything in place. Bloody clever, some of these bosses.
They’d be going out during a show, and rehearsals were under way, covering the noise and movements they made. Simon was in it, but an understudy was taking his role on the night so he could come too. Fifteen men would be going, and the tunnel would remain open for another lot to use when Colonel Mathers gave the go-ahead.
Jack felt a tug on the rope and pulled the bowl back. He’d loosened a mass of spoil and his head was splitting. Three more bowls and then his time was up, he’d go back with the last one. He worked on, mentally ticking off the escape requirements. They had their clothes ready, grey, dyed, borrowed where necessary, brought in by the new lot from the Somme. What a bloody disgrace that was, all those lives. He was attacking the face aggressively now as his anger grew, and his doubts. Should he make Charlie stay here? He didn’t want him in the line, not again. But he wasn’t a child and wanted to come.
The bowl was full again. Sent it off. Back it came. One more, and then it was time to go, taking his bursting bloody head with him. He smiled, tasting his dirty sweat. He backed down the tunnel, wriggling, hating the pain, and the bloody rats. He lay down, pressing his head into the ground as one whose eyes had glinted at him from the darkness ran over him to get out of the tunnel first. Bastard. Another one for the lieutenant to chase but they should be grateful to the creatures, because the youngster had realised that the rat had gone somewhere, and had been determined to find out where.
The air was fresher nearer the mouth. Dave grabbed his ankles, pulling as he back-crawled. Jack hauled himself to his feet, taking in deep breaths. Above him he could hear Simon singing, a fiddle playing, feet stamping in time. Mart checked his watch. ‘I’ll go now, man.’ Jack stopped him. ‘No, we’ve run out of time for roll call, but let’s come back tonight, or we’re not going to make it. We can get in here from the orderlies’ quarters. I’ll get Aub to get it past Mathers. We’ll work through.’ He was stripping off the work clothes, shaking his head free of spoil, taking the wet cloth from Dave and scrubbing his face and hands. There must be no sign of what he’d been doing.
Auberon was loitering in the spielplatz. They heard him whistle the all-clear. They came out with blankets and a bucket each. ‘We’re orderlies, after all,’ Jack grinned to Auberon. ‘We’re coming back tonight, or we’re not going to make it.’
‘What route will you take to get there?’ Auberon was pretending to count off the blankets as they walked back to the officers’ huts.
‘Over the roof, it’s easier from our quarters than yours. We’ve been checking it out.’
‘I’ll need to clear you being on night shift with the colonel. But if it’s a go, I’m coming too.’
Jack, Dave and Mart exchanged a look, and shrugged. Charlie ambled alongside, hiding his filthy hands in his pockets. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t wreck the bloody tunnel,’ Jack said.
Auberon grinned. ‘That’s all right then, because of course that’s all I’m interested in, nothing to do with keeping you safe and sound so Evie and Ver don’t tear my head off and eat it. So I’m coming. I’ll find my own way. No me, no night shift. Your decision.’
Jack stopped, the others continued slowly, listening. Auberon waited with Jack, saying, ‘I mean it, Jack. You don’t take risks without me.’ He came that night and worked alongside them, as he had since the tunnel began, and each time it had made the men grin to think of Bastard Brampton’s whelp grubbing in the dirt with them, but each time their respect had increased until any resentment was long gone.
By 4th August the rye was high, the tunnel finished. The first night of the show was scheduled for that evening, and so was the break-out. Auberon had been steadily collecting their escape provisions, to be carried in a sack by each of them. He’d been learning German, and passing on what he could to Jack and the others. Major Dobbs had added himself to the list of escapees at the last minute, which made sixteen. The colonel had been angry, but for the sake of morale he allowed the addition.
Jack felt the tension throughout his body as he made the beds of the six officers he looked after in between his real duties. Charlie, Dave, Mart and Simon did the same. As usual, on the way to appel, Charlie said, nodding towards Roger, ‘Not a bad job, is it, being a batman?’ He added, ‘This time tomorrow.’ He nudged Jack. They’d reached their group, and stood to attention as the Kommandant paced the rows. Next to Jack Simon whispered, ‘We need to talk.’
Jack smiled. ‘You’ll be fine, lad.’ The sun was beating down on them. The weather was perfect for the final surface breakthrough, which he would make. It meant that his group would be the first out. They just had to remember to keep doubled up and run as though there was a Hun on their tail, which there might well be.
Simon hissed, ‘Jack, I’m telling you, I need to talk to you.’
The Feldwebel was on his way. They all stood to attention. Now was not the time to be hauled off on a charge for talking. Jack’s mind was racing. He knew Si didn’t like the dark, had hated the mine. But he had Evie to get back to, and his parents, his duty. He saw Charlie look at Simon out of the corner of his eye, concern on his face.
Jack concentrated on going through everything in his mind. Auberon had given his parole for walks in the village. He’d checked to see how the river could be forded and noted the shallows, marking it on all the maps on his return. Another officer had been mapping the roads out of the village, and noted the farm with the dogs that barked at anyone who passed. Though their parole would be dishonoured if they escaped while holding their parole card, there was nothing to prevent them observing, noting, and ultimately escaping when off parole.
Appel seemed to last for ever, though in reality it was no longer than usual. Colonel Mathers had ordered that no one was to go near the tunnel, so Simon and Jack headed for the quarters they needed to clean. It would lighten Roger’s load, and cut out some of the grumbling, which they’d be bloody glad to leave behind. As they made Lieutenant Brothers’ bed for the last time Jack said, ‘Come on, Si, out with it.’ Simon tucked in the sheet at the bottom. ‘I’m not coming.’
Jack was ready for this. He straightened the sheet. ‘It’s going to be fine, bonny lad. I’ll go in front of you to break us through, and be first out. If I’m seen then you just work your way back. Charlie, Dave, Mart and Aub will be with you. It’s boarded solidly, and there’s a slope up to the surface. Grab the blanket, there’s a good ’un.’
Simon threw it at him. ‘Listen for God’s sake, Jack. I’m not coming. The major makes it sixteen, and that’s not right. I’m giving up my place.’
Jack dropped the blanket on the bed, straightening it as he tried to think. ‘You know that the colonel’s agreed it, so there’s no need to do that. Don’t worry, Dave’s keeping an eye on Charlie, and Mart’ll look after you.’
Simon tucked in the blanket along his side. ‘Oh yes, bloody Mart’s back, so bloody Mart and you work together to make sure the outsider does as he’s told.’ He moved to another bed, drawing up the sheet, then the blanket, tucking them in as Jack stared at him, wanting to kick him from here to kingdom come. Instead he called, ‘Don’t be bloody daft. You’re as much a marra as the rest of us. We’re not kids, we’re trying to get out. You’ll get back to see Evie.’
He walked towards him, but Simon moved to the next bed, straightening it, his back to Jack. ‘We orderlies will be sent back to the mines if we’re recaptured, if we’re not beaten senseless in the first place. The officers will just be given a slap on the wrist and brought back here. What the hell are we doing this for when we can just stay put?’
‘We won’t be caught.’ Jack knew it sounded weak. They could be caught, and what Si said was true, but the alternative was to stay here and be shouted at, stuck behind wire, no rights until the end of the war, and when would that be? Besides, it was what men did, and Grace was there, in France. He wanted to see her, needed to see her, and know she was safe.
‘You’ll see Evie,’ he coaxed, reaching for the broom which stood in the corner. Simon turned, fury reddening his face. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Jack, you’re such a bloody child. So you escape, then you’re back into the war. You won’t be given leave, not for bloody ages. We’ll be in the front line. Do yourself a favour and think beyond the next bloody moment, for God’s sake. I don’t want the war, I want to stay here, where I’ve got a future.’
Jack swept the dust up into the air. ‘Future, here?’
Simon was watching him sweep the same spot again and again, but he had to do something to keep his hands off the little bugger. Simon said, as though choosing words a child would understand, ‘I’m working with a Broadway director’s son. He thinks I’m good, he’ll do things for me after the war. It’s my chance, mine, why can’t you see that? I can move beyond what I am.’
Jack stared down at the clean patch of floor. This man was his marra, but at the moment the two of them were miles apart. He couldn’t understand Simon. ‘What about Evie?’ he said quietly.
‘What about her?’ Simon yelled. ‘Didn’t you hear me? This is my chance.’
As soon as the show began Jack, Mart and Dave with Charlie and Auberon wriggled their way down the tunnel, practically naked, to avoid their clothes giving them away with grime and rips the moment they encountered anyone on the outside. Jack powered ahead with the tools, while Mart shoved their two sacks of provisions ahead of him, then Charlie, Dave and Auberon did the same, with Auberon dragging the signal rope. The last of the fifteen, Major Dobbs, would use the bellows. Once the surface was cracked and Jack was out without being shot, Auberon would tug on the rope and everyone else would start down the tunnel. Above them the show would go on for two hours. They should all be through by then.
By the time Jack was working at the surface crust he was bloodied, cut and bruised. Everyone would be the same. Jack had created a small hole two days ago, just to confirm that they were breaking through into the rye, and now he worked by feel, his eyes shut as earth and stones first trickled, and then crashed, through. With them came a great gasp of air. Jack waited a moment, and then hauled himself out into the rye, keeping low. He froze, waiting. No shots. He peered back into the hole, gesturing to Mart. The group scrambled out effortlessly, as the tunnel had been designed to slope up towards the surface. Auberon pulled on the rope twice.
The five of them took their escape clothes from their bags, and keeping near to the ground they dressed before setting out to ford the river at the spot Auberon had spied, to the east of the village. It was a warm and cloudy evening, with not too much light from the moon or stars. Perfect. Jack followed Auberon along the channels between the rows of rye. Auberon was using the compass he’d kept in the heel of his boot all this time. They were going to set out in the opposite direction to the one expected, away from neutral Holland, and swing round at the end of two days’ travel.
Jack had told them at lunchtime that Simon had fallen on his sword, and would sacrifice his place in order to allay the suspicion of the Germans, who always attended the concerts.
Mart had said, ‘But that had all been worked out, his understudy was so like him, especially with that bloody great moustache . . .’
‘Leave it,’ Jack had snapped.
Auberon had caught his eye, nodding. ‘His decision,’ he said. ‘He fell on his sword, that’s what we tell Evie.’
Jack thought of Simon warbling, as the owls hooted, and the wind rustled the leaves and the rye, but pushed him from his mind. They must not get caught. They were needed to replace the poor buggers who were face down in the mud at the Somme.
The group of five walked west for two days, and then turned north-east towards Holland. Within another two days they reached a fork in the country road, waiting while Auberon checked his compass and pointed towards a forested area. ‘We’ll go straight through that, it’ll be safer, and quicker.’ He indicated the clouds that were looming and rolling. ‘We’ll need shelter.’ They hurried through the deluge which began the moment he’d finished speaking, up a lane and veering off across a ploughed field into the forest. Jack hoped the farmer near the prison camp had finished his harvest. It was becoming clear that Germany needed every bit of grain from the look of the civilians they had passed, none of whom had shown the slightest interest in them. The blockade was effective even if there was a stalemate.
They followed a trail into the wood, seeking shelter, as thunder roared above their heads. Dave grabbed a branch and tore it from a pine. The others followed suit, and soon they were huddling together under the shelter they had created. The scent of the needles was calming somehow, and Jack thought of the cedar tree.
He said, ‘Charlie, you’ll share a smoke with us under the cedar tree, lad, before you go on to your home when everything is over?’
‘That I will, Jack. It seems close now, doesn’t it?’
They dug into their almost empty sacks. There was a piece of cheese in Jack’s and two tins of bully beef, the same for the others. They used the one knife, held by Aub, to lever one tin open, and shared it, using their filthy fingers. ‘Evie wouldn’t like it.’ It was Mart saying it this time. It had become almost a mantra. Until the weather improved they talked of home, and sleeping for years. Freedom felt good, Jack thought.
They set out at two o’clock, trying to keep beneath the trees because though the rain was no longer torrential, it was steady. They kept alert and made good time, and at dusk they made camp, tearing branches down again. Mart went west to scout the forest for some idea of its size, Auberon and Jack north and Dave and Charlie east. They gave themselves an hour to return. Mart did not.
Auberon insisted they hid their gear and dismantled the tent in case he’d been discovered, and followed his path west. They found him at the bottom of a worked-out quarry at midnight by the light of the moon. It took all night to bring him to the surface, as they had no rope, and then they carried him back to their gear and re-erected the tent before feeling along his limbs to assess the damage. ‘You’re like a load of bloody elephants, that’s me leg you’re fiddling with,’ Mart hissed. They ignored him.
His femur was broken. Jack thought he knew how to pull it straight. Auberon and Dave held Mart down by his shoulders. Charlie whispered, ‘Are you sure, Jack?’
‘Nope, but what else can we do, lad?’
‘Leave me and get on, that’s what you do,’ Mart told him. Jack hunkered by his head and said, ‘Not again, Mart. Never again.’ He nodded to Auberon and Dave, who strengthened their grip on Mart’s shoulders while Jack whacked his marra on the chin, knocking him out.
Charlie gasped. He gasped again when Jack pulled Mart’s leg just a fraction, but enough for the bone to slip back into place, or so he hoped. He’d done it before in the mine and it had worked.
They splinted the leg, then dug down into the earth for five feet. The soil was friable and dry. They covered the hollow they’d made with pine branches, reinforced by long logs they found and dragged back as dawn broke. They sloped one of the sides, fashioned a stretcher out of branches from the forest and lowered the unconscious Mart into the cave, which was what they’d called it.
Jack dusted off his hands and grinned at the others, who were standing on the lip while he hunkered down beside Mart on the floor of the cave. ‘You best get off now. We’ll follow in a month or two.’
Auberon looked at Jack. ‘By then it will be October, cold, frosty and not a lot of food, if any.’
Charlie gazed around. ‘We’re in a wood, I’m a gamekeeper familiar with the ways of the poacher. I reckon I’m staying and that you, Jack, need to stop making decisions for me. I’m a big lad now.’ He slid down into the cave, dragging his bag behind him.
Auberon said, walking away, ‘I’m on watch and I make my own decisions. I’m a boss, remember.’
Dave just said, ‘Too much bloody talking, bonny lad. Shove over. I’ll take me watch in a couple of hours.’
They waited throughout the rest of August and into September, their beards growing long, wondering if the others had made it, and hoping they’d contact their families for them. They told Mart that they would actually strangle him if he apologised again.
Charlie honed his poacher skills, choosing dry days to snare rabbits and a woodcock, which was bony but tasty. On these occasions, needing to cook, they risked a fire, which burned brightly with little smoke. Only once were they disturbed, hearing guttural voices off to the left, while Aub was on watch to the right. They kicked out the fire and slid down into the cave, holding their breath but what good would that do? The voices faded and Aub emerged from the right, covered in leaves and dirt from digging in under the shrubs. They decided to put two on watch from then on.
Steadily throughout September they had accumulated enough food for two weeks of travelling, and during that time Auberon identified their forest from the map all the escapees had copied from the official one, brought into camp in the lining of a Canadian’s uniform. They agreed the route. By now Mart was able to walk, leaning heavily on a thick pine branch cut down and shaped by Dave. On the night of 30th September they set off. They took turns supporting Mart when the going got tough, leaving the forest behind at the end of the first day, and travelling through the night, guided by Auberon’s compass readings, illuminated by the hunter’s moon. They rested during the day.
After two weeks they reached the River Ems, which ran for two miles on their side of the border. There were barbed-wire entanglements on the riverbank, and guards patrolled infrequently, though one was permanently stationed at the head of the track, which ran to what had presumably once been a ferry point.
Mart said, ‘With the best will in the world, lads, I can’t hop over that canny wire.’ He was thin and gaunt and his beard was long and straggly, but he was not alone in that. They lay in cover, a gully at the side of the bank. Beyond the entanglements, on the other side of the river, the land was flat and exposed. ‘I can’t run either, so at this point, you lugheads, you really should leave me.’ Mart turned on his back and stared up at the sky. ‘Some of us must make it, and we’re so starved it has to be soon, or we’ll all stay this side of the wire for ever, six feet under.’
There was silence as the others stared at the wire, looking along the length of it either way. Auberon whispered, ‘The only gap is at the head of the track and that’s where one of the sentries stands, permanently.’
‘Did you hear me?’ hissed Mart.
Jack said, ‘We need our jackets to sling over the barbs, then we’ll toss Mart.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Auberon. ‘Even if he lands on his bonce, his skull’s so thick it won’t hurt.’
Charlie pointed to the left of them. ‘Look, a rubbish tip from the farmer’s field. I’m going to scout and see what he’s chucked.’
He did so, with Dave. Jack watched them, zigzagging, doubled over, towards the rubbish which none of the others had noticed, so distant was it. A sharp-eyed sniper Charlie was, and a poacher. Jack smiled, and murmured to Auberon, ‘You could do worse than to employ that lad as gamekeeper. He’ll know all the tricks and he’s bloody fast.’
‘My thoughts exactly, Jack.’
Dave and Charlie were at the tip, rooting about. Their journey back was much slower, and they were dragging something. Jack and Auberon kept a lookout for the guards and saw one coming, but the two foragers had seen them too, and fell to the ground. They arrived back with an old torn tarpaulin, which was far better than their jackets.
They waited until darkness fell before Charlie was given a leg up and over the entanglements, then Dave. Jack and Auberon heaved Mart over. He landed in Dave and Charlie’s arms. It was Jack and Auberon’s turn, but Charlie hissed, ‘Get down.’
They didn’t argue, but lay flat on the ground, hoping the tarpaulin wasn’t visible, as the moon was high. They saw what Charlie’s keen eyes had spotted: a guard lighting a cigarette, strolling towards them. Jack saw Dave tense, ready to spring, but a fish leapt from the water, catching the gleam of the moon. The guard stood watching, and smoking, his rifle slung over his shoulder. No one moved. The guard tossed his stub into the river, turned and strolled back towards the track.
Jack whispered in Auberon’s ear, ‘Over you go.’
Auberon shook his head. ‘Boss goes last, Jacko.’
Jack looked at him for a moment, and smiled. Auberon hoisted him up and over. He landed silently, took Mart’s stick and held it over the top of the wire. ‘Jump for it, Aub,’ he whispered. Auberon did so, and Jack hauled him over. After dislodging the tarpaulin they slid down the bank and into the water, swimming as silently as possible, Jack and Auberon dragging Mart. They clambered up the opposite bank, keeping low at the top, then doubled over, going as fast as they could. It took them two hours to reach the border. Again they waited, watching the patrolling German and Dutch guards until they could cross unseen, unsure if they’d be interned by the Dutch.
Once over the border they walked for three days, keeping out of the way until they reached a small town. They cut one another’s beards as close to the skin as possible, with the knife that Jack had used to break through the surface of the field, and dusted off their clothes. Auberon looked at the compass in his hand, then took off his wristwatch and replaced his compass. ‘I’d rather sell the watch,’ he said. He took it into the town while the others waited on the outskirts. He came back with money, a cheap replacement, and food, enough to get them to Rotterdam. They reached it two days later, having jumped a goods train. Exhausted, they trawled the docks, and finally found a ship that would take them to France and the North Tyne Fusiliers.
At the port they reported to the military. After debriefing and form-filling, with Auberon having to write his reasons for surrendering, they were allowed to telegraph home, Mart was checked out and declared fit enough to kill, the MO said, laughing. Mart wanted to kick him in the balls, he told them as they headed for the showers. Jack telegraphed Grace and received a reply from Rouen to say that she was ecstatic. They were given passes to entrain to their regiment’s position, travelling together, then marching with the guns growing louder and louder until they reached Rouen, but there was no time for Jack to see Grace. They travelled further south to Amiens, where C section was in deep reserve. ‘Home from bloody home,’ murmured Mart as around them the guns crashed, the night sky flared with star shells, the ground shuddered. Yes, they were home, and there were only five former comrades to greet them. The rest had perished on the Somme. Six of their fellow escapees had reached safety and were back in the front line. There was no news of anyone else, including Major Dobbs.
Leave was not a possibility. They were not yet ready to be parted and must renew the battle, if they were to hold up their heads.