One Chance
"Hey," a low murmur came through the darkness.
"What?" Walter whispered back in German.
"Are you ready?" the captain held an oil lamp in one hand, raised to his face. It gave him a sallow appearance in the dull yellow light. The dugout, well built of course (the Germans actually planned to stay for a bit where they were, so dug in well, unlike our silly side), and a small raid party of five or so men were gathered into its stuffy interior. With a nod of confirmation from his men, the officer snuffed the flame with his thumb and forefinger. Hiss.
This was their chance, their one and only chance. If it failed...
After separating from the rest of their company, Matt and Walter had ridden to an officer's post in some billets set up in the scattered remains of an old French town. Bunking down in an empty cellar that smelled quite strongly of death, but was empty of German soldiers, the two men snatched a few weary hours of sleep, the rumbling of the guns in the distant. Before the grey light of dawn reached the horizon, they were up and walking away from the town towards the noise of the frontline, on foot, because horses were useless in the mud. The deep rumble became more distinct; made up of whines and howls, piercing shrieks as the shells tore up the earth they landed on. Finally, after fourteen hours of exhausting periods of running and waiting, our friends made it to the communication trench leading on the front line. The artillery bombardment from the enemy lines opposite had ceased and the air hung with the stifling smell of cordite and blood. Raid parties were being sent to fix any holes in the wire.
Squelch! Walter felt his hand plunge into a gooey mass of what he guessed was some poor soldier's bloated abdomen. Shaking his head in complete disgust, he followed on, only just able to keep what ever contents remained in his stomach down. The front seemed quiet in comparison to the wild roar of the big guns. It was difficult to keep close to the boots of the man in front of him, especially since every now and then the earth gave way beneath them, leaving the vile Somme mud to suck on its unfortunate victim.
Suddenly, a blinding red Verey light lit up the desolate expanse of No-man's Land so that it was as bright as day. Still as stone with one eye closed, that's the way it was done. The men froze with fear. A Lewis machine gun barked a few rounds into the night further down the line. Then, like a falling angel, the flare burned brightly and faded, plunging the front into darkness once more.
Walter felt a hand on his shoulder.
"There's a break in the wire twenty metres to the left. It's now or never, and for God's sake don't forget to whistle."
Matt and Walter waited until the other men had disappeared into the muddy darkness in front of them, before rising cautiously to their feet, and, crouching low, making a mad dash towards the break in the barbed wire entanglement. Wriggling like worms through the mud, they slipped and slid until a rather large shell hole swallowed them up. The unnerving staccato of a machine gun rattled over their heads. Splosh! Pfft pfft pfft! Walter blinked as mud sprayed onto his face.
"Phew! That was a close one!" Matt lay next to his mate in the slimy mud. "But I reckon I'm layin' on someone."
Walter stifled a laugh at the thought of what Matt's face must have looked like when he discovered it wasn't only mud he was resting on.
Pausing momentarily, Walter whispered, "It's time. You whistle first. But we gotta be one hundred percent sure they know it's alright. Otherwise we'll be mown down like any other Fritz."
"Sarge! Wake up!" the urgent whisper of a sentry cut through the inky blackness.
"What's up Nipper?"
"There's someone out there. Listen!"
A long whistle floated over the parapet.
"One of ours, I'm sure of it. Give the reply-" but before the sentry could perform his duty, a face hidden in shadow popped over the crumbling lip of the trench. Then, with much cursing and growling, Matt and Walter rolled thankfully into the safety of their own trenches.
"Now look here, kid. Where not the Huns we look like," Matt stood up, whose silhouette looked fearfully like that of a German officer to the bewildered sentry.
"Even though we're dressed like them," Walter added sarcastically.
The sergeant sat bolt upright. "Good Lord! Matthew O'Connor! What in bloody's name are you doin' here?"
"We thought you was long gone!" the young sentry whispered excitedly.
"Will! Long time no see! How are you, mate?" Matt replied perhaps a little too loudly for the frontline trench.
And so the old friends fell into hushed conversation, catching up with all that the other had missed. During this time, Walter had quite promptly fallen asleep, utterly exhausted, cold and muddy, slumped against the fragmented wall of the trench. When Matt tried to rouse him at 'stand to' the next morning, he only received a hard punch on the jaw for being so impertinent. Didn't he know a man needed his sleep?
It was fortunate they were in a relatively quiet part of the lines. The shelling from the night before had been regulatory as was the stand to each morning and evening. Had it been a busier sector of the front line, plagued with ongoing raids and such the like, Walter could easily have fallen victim to the aggressive nature of trench warfare.
Well there we have it...safe and sound (not really though). And what happens next, well, let's see if I can get this next chapter up quicker than this one came along! Just a quick note, some of the dates have been changed around because of my wild imagination. Sincerest apologies and always keep faith (through the muddle of my creation)
A Forgotten One