AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uff, I wrote it! I proudly present part 2 of the German Spring Offensive marathon. I hope by the end of this chapter you will see why going through it all was necessary to get the characters where they are.
All the descriptions of battle and conditions in the hospitals come either from "To the Last Man: Spring 1918" or "The Roses of No Man's Land" by Lyn MacDonald. I seriously recommend her books if you want to read more about WW1, her writing and use of diaries, letters and interviews is amazing.
There is one scene in this chapter which in my opinion is a strong T, but if somebody thinks it warrants an M-rating, please let me know and I will update it.
Reviews, as always, are very welcome and fuel me like nothing else to write faster :)
After they leave Casualty Clearing Station behind, they must march nearly four miles to their new position, where they are expected to make a stand. In normal circumstances they would have been long relieved after five days of near non stop fighting, but what about the current situation is normal? None of them saw a front moving rapidly like this or took part in such a long, chaotic retreat. Even Matthew and those of his men who volunteered with him in August 1914 did not see France until early 1915, long after the stalemate was established and the trenches dug out. What's happening now is all the more terrifying for being unprecedented for them.
Still, for all the fact that no reinforcements are likely to come right away – they can only hope some are actually on their way to do so – they are exhausted beyond belief. To Matthew's tired eyes, they make a sad spectacle. His men are wandering along the road, wearily, in little groups. There is no sort of panic, he is happy to see, and each man still carries his rifle and his kit, but they are dead beat, and utterly fed up. He understands; he does not feel any different.
His chest contracts painfully when he tallies the missing. Roberts, Lewis, MacIntosh, Smith, Kent, Taylor…
Tom Branson.
Last he heard, Tom was helping to evacuate the wounded from the field dressing station to the CCS, but he never got there. Matthew did check – he went over the whole camp, searching for any of his men who might have been detained before they left, but there was no sign of Tom; nobody admitted to seeing him there at all. Whatever happened to him, it must have been on the way. He wonders if they will ever know.
He has no idea what he's going to tell Sybil.
After a while Matthew notices that his own party has been augmented by a number of waifs and strays who are happy to place themselves under the orders of an officer in the innocent belief that he would lead them home. He marvels at their confidence, for he himself has no idea where 'home' is to be found. But he keeps them together and, by the by, when they come to a small quarry by the roadside, he leads them into it, and as the dawn approaches, he sets about organising some kind of defence.
As he finally falls more than sits down to rest, he finds himself haunted by both the events of the last five days and by the sights he encountered on the march. The retreating soldiers were hardly the only people on the road, with a long, unending stream of French peasants trying to escape. Whole families with their farm carts packed with the most valuable of their possessions mingled with the military. He recalls the look of hopelessness on their faces and his heart clenches with compassion, easily imagining people he got to know at Downton in their situation. And so many of the families on the road made only of women and children, the only men old, infirm or mere boys. He shudders, his imagination conjuring a picture of Mary and Mother running away from the oncoming army, each of them carrying a small child, his child, as he is God knows where…
He blinks, shaking the fanciful thoughts off. He is tired, so very tired, no wonder his brain is playing tricks on him. There is no need to imagine Mary running away from bombs and dangers of an oncoming enemy; hasn't he witnessed her doing that very thing just hours ago? He shudders again, the memory all too vivid. He nearly lost her. If that shell fell just a dozen yards to the right, if Mary's car was just a little bit slower, he would have lost her in front of his very eyes. His breath catches and he has to remind himself forcibly that Mary is safe. She got on the last train out; she was evacuated, she should be resting safely now at Amiens. She is still in France, of course, and if things continue to go poorly for the British she might be in danger again, but for now she is out of the direct line of fire or threat of capture and he can breathe easier. As it is, he doubts he will ever see her again, but at least she should be safe from harm. He must believe she is, if he is to be of any use to his men.
He falls into exhausted, thankfully dreamless sleep before William manages to bring him food.
xxx
When Mary, Sybil and Phryne arrive at Amiens, the city is in chaos.
Long of vital importance to the British Army as one of the main hubs through which vital supplies and troops are passing to the front, it's flooded with the wounded, evacuated army personnel of every kind and French refugees. For lack of any orders, the girls accompany their transport of wounded to the hospital and are instantly roped into helping, the place bursting at the seams with soldiers in need of tending and the overworked nurses and VADs desperate for any additional pair of hands. One of them tells Mary that in just the last five days, they had to process between 4,000-5,000 casualties. All the beds have been long taken; by now the stretchers are everywhere and the hospital takes over the nearby house, a proper mansion really. Eventually the garden, the lovely salon and the other rooms are full of these poor boys, covered with mud and blood, lying on the sofas and armchairs, the expensive carpets and even on the grass in the garden when there is no other space left. Mary sees some of them washing the grime off and shaving in the outside artificial pond with goldfish in it. She feels guilty for getting a maid's room in an attic with a real bed to share with Sybil, but there is no way she is going to refuse it.
This whole mass of people cannot of course stay here – not with more of the wounded coming by the hour – so Mary and Phryne are roped into transporting them on a short route between the hospital and the train station. It's just a few blocks, but they make the journey so many times she feels dizzy with exhaustion. When she is finally relieved, she practically stumbles back to the house, too tired to think straight, her arms on fire from wrangling the unwieldy steering wheel as she has been manoeuvring around sharp corners of the city streets.
It is then that the owner of the house, Madame de Bûctot, arrives from Paris, takes one look at the pandemonium happening around her, and goes to open the wine cellar from which she soon produces four dozens of bottles of wine and champagne. Her niece, Miss Evans, working as a nurse herself, helps her with lighting a big stove in the drawing room, and brings salmon mousse from the kitchen. So Mary and Phryne are sitting on a plush sofa, eating salmon mousse and drinking champagne surrounded by soldiers in bloodied bandages drinking wine out of mugs and pots, and it all feels so utterly surreal Mary wonders if she is just dreaming it all. Although she is not sure if her arms should hurt so much if it was a dream.
"We should save some of the mousse for Sybil," she says, looking mournfully at her shrinking portion. She loves salmon and she hasn't eaten anything so good, so much like at home, since she left Downton.
She can't believe it has been just three weeks ago.
"We should," agrees Phryne, her tone equally mournful. She hasn't eaten such delicacies in months.
Feeling very noble and quite lightheaded after all that champagne on practically empty stomach after another demanding day, they do put away a portion for Sybil and climb the stairs to the attic. As she falls gratefully into bed (a real bed again!), Mary wonders what Matthew has to eat with the supply lines all scrambled to hell. She firmly does not allow herself to consider whether he is safe or even still alive. He must be, there is no other alternative she's willing to accept. He must be alright and he will come and find her when all of this is over. She just hopes it's going to be soon.
xxx
It doesn't get over though, it gets worse. The front is getting closer and closer to Amiens, and during the week leading to Easter the city is under orders of evacuation. They can hear the guns from the front in the city centre so nobody is questioning it; the inhabitants and the different army offices busy packing and leaving as fast as they can. Then the Germans start bombing the city from planes and add to the urgency. Sybil, Mary and Phryne get orders to go to the base hospital at Etaples, but they are needed here to help with the evacuation of the hospital and expected to stay until Monday after Easter.
It's Saturday before Palm Sunday when Sybil comes to the attic and climbs into bed with Mary with hollow eyes and streaks of tears down her cheeks.
"Darling, whatever has happened?" asks Mary immediately, wild with concern.
"I tended to a man from Tom's ambulance unit," says Sybil, her voice hitching. "He said he saw Tom taken prisoner."
Mary hugs her, lost for words for a long while.
"Is he sure?" she asks finally. Sybil nods miserably in response, clutching to Mary.
"He was hiding behind some trees further away, but he is sure that it was Tom, and he saw him being led away by the Germans. Oh, Mary, what if something happens to him? You know what horrid stories there are about Germans' treatment of prisoners!"
"We don't know if the stories are true," says Mary firmly although she thinks that most probably are. "You know how propaganda works. It won't be pleasant for him, I'm sure, but I think he's going to be alright. At least he will be out of the war for now."
"Do you really think so?" asks Sybil, her voice childlike and pleading, and Mary shoves any doubts away. Now is not the time for expressing them.
"Yes, I do. He will be alright, you'll see. We will write to Isobel and ask her to make enquiries. You will be able to send him letters and packages."
"But I won't see him until the war is over," says Sybil painfully and Mary feels her hot tears on her collarbone.
She can only hug her tighter.
xxx
Matthew looks at the wasteland which used to be a lush countryside in the Somme valley and swears under his breath. It's literally the last place on Earth he has ever wanted to return to.
William is standing by him, looking around with horrified fascination. When the Battle of Somme was going on, he was still at Downton, polishing silver and serving at dinners. For all he has heard and has lived through himself since then, it's hard for him to imagine the sheer scale of destruction which was responsible for the altered landscape in front of him now.
"We won't be fighting here, will we, sir?" asks Wakefield, equally horrified.
"No, thank God," answers Matthew feelingly. "We just need to cross it to get to our new line behind the river."
Even in daylight, moving across the old Somme battlefield is difficult. There are few landmarks. A few haphazard heaps of rubble or a trace of brickdust among the old shell holes is all that remains to show the location of a village pulverised in the fighting of 1916, and here and there a skeletal cluster of jagged stumps marks the site of a wood. A maze of old trenches litters the wasteland. They are deep and treacherous, festooned with barricades of rusting barbed wire. But the enemy, endeavouring to thrust forward, is encountering the same difficulties. As long as they are careful and fast, they have a chance to get through without getting embroiled in a confrontation they are not presently ready for.
With a sigh, Matthew orders his men to keep going.
xxx
Palm Sunday is a nightmare.
Mary has just sat tiredly to her lunch after helping to bring in a most appalling convoy, most of the men dreadfully wounded and patched up only in most cursory fashion – seems there were no proper dressing station, never mind a CCS where they came from – and the stretchers are in the corridors, under the tables and all over the place. The staff is just beginning to get them to bed and examine them, when the bombing starts.
It lasts for five hours.
The hospital is not the intended target, but the train depot is and it's just a block away. Mary huddles in the basement with Phryne, praying for it to end, and wishing fiercely Sybil was there with them – as doubtful safety as the basement provides, it must be better than being on the upper floors where Sybil and other nurses and doctors are treating the wounded practically in the dark, with just one closely sheltered candle. She knows this is not a battle she's going to win with her sister though.
Here in the basement, without any windows, it is safe enough to have a lamp on, and Mary busies herself with writing to Matthew. She is not sure when, or even if, the letter is ever going to reach him; personal correspondence is definitely not a priority for the army in the circumstances, but she needs to focus on something else than the persistent booms of the explosions and visions of the ceiling and all the floors above it falling down on her.
"My dearest Matthew,
I hope you are well, my darling. I think of you whenever I have a moment to think and often when I should be focusing on other things instead. We are at Amiens now, but it doesn't look likely we will stay here long; it is becoming more dangerous with every hour. Our orders are to go to Etaples on Easter Monday, but with the way things are going I would not be surprised if we are evacuated earlier.
Oh darling, I miss you. I don't regret coming back here – even though I yearn to go home about a hundred times a day – but I so wish we could be together now. Nothing we faced together was half as scary as when I am facing it alone. To see so many wounded while knowing you're somewhere in the thick of it is my daily torture. I know you probably don't have neither time nor opportunity to write, but please do whenever you can.
Sybil got news that Tom has been captured. Better than killed, of course, but she is understandably in very low spirits over it. I've never, in a million years, imagined myself getting so worried over the fate of a chauffeur, and even less consoling my sister over him, but here we are. I admit I am worried and praying he is going to be treated well and get through it safely. I shake my head with incredulity even as I write it.
Please be careful, my darling, and let me know you are well. I wouldn't be able to stand getting such worrisome news about you.
Your worried fiancée,
Mary"
xxx
Matthew does not remember being as astonished as when he is told that a man claiming to be Private Branson from a Field Ambulance Unit and having escaped from the Germans has shown up at their camp and demands to speak with him. Possibly when he first ran into Mary on a battlefield, but this is of course a much happier surprise. He goes to the guard post at once and can't help a wide smile when he indeed finds a very dirty and frantic looking Tom sitting there.
"Matthew! Has Sybil got out? Has Mary?" he asks urgently.
"Yes, Branson, they both did," says Matthew, stressing Tom's surname. They are not alone here and he doesn't want Tom to get in trouble for insubordination just after he miraculously found his way back to them. Thankfully, Tom is an intelligent chap and catches on.
"Oh, excuse me, sir, I forgot myself. My brain doesn't work straight from lack of sleep and food," he says quickly as he visibly relaxes at the news that both girls are safe. "Last I heard there were both at the CCS the Germans who took me prisoner captured mere hours later."
"They both got on the last train out," Matthew assures him again, gesturing for his men to release Tom and sending William to procure some food. "At ease, lads. He's definitely one of ours, I know him from home."
Soon Matthew and William are alone with Tom as he bites with relish into bread and sausage.
"How did they get you?" asks Matthew when Tom had a moment to eat.
Tom laughs quietly.
"Of all the things, it was a flat tire," he explains. "I was trying to get to the CCS when I drove into a bloody pothole and completely busted a wheel. There was no spare, so I had to run on foot, and that's when they caught me."
"And then?" asks William, his eyes round and wide. "How on Earth did you manage to escape?"
Tom swallows a big bite of sausage.
"They led me back to the dressing station, where they were gathering all the prisoners. They kept me there for three days, but they were getting more and more of us, and didn't really have enough guards to watch us properly, so on the third night I and some chaps decided to sneak off. The Jerries found an officers' canteen that day, and they were all having a feast. Seems they are barely feeding them at the Kaiser's army. They sure barely fed us."
"Good," says William vindictively as he hands Tom another sausage which is accepted with alacrity giving further credence to his story. "Not that they didn't feed you or the other prisoners, of course, but that they don't have food themselves. Maybe they will ask for peace soon, before they starve."
"I think they would rather eat our food," says Matthew tiredly, but then prompts Tom to speak. He is also curious how he managed to get back to them. Tom swallows and continues.
"We were mostly lost for two days, hiding from the Germans who were practically crawling all over the place. But one of the chaps was a cartographer, and as soon as we managed to orient ourselves, he led us straight to the bridge over the Somme."
"But it was blown up to stop the Germans," says Matthew with a frown.
Tom nods.
"That it was, but it did not completely collapse. A lorry would not pass, that's true, but a man could climb over what was left if he was careful. And we were very, very careful. Neither of us fancied a swim."
He smiles at their looks of awe.
"Then it was just a matter of stumbling into the British, assure them that we were not German spies before they shot us, and be directed towards our own units. And now to be feted as a returning hero!" Tom grins, raising his half-eaten sausage in triumphal salute.
xxx
It's only when William goes that Tom dares to ask the questions most pressing on his mind.
"Is Sybil really safe? You're sure of that?"
"As sure as I can possibly be," answers Matthew, biting his lip. "I know she and Mary got out of the CCS and boarded the last train to Amiens. But with the front practically reaching the suburbs of it, they might have been evacuated further by now."
"You don't know where they are?"
"No," admits Matthew painfully. "I don't. As you can imagine, personal post hasn't been a priority."
Tom curses, then laughs mirthlessly.
"You know, when I was sitting there as a POW, waiting for the Germans to decide what to do with us, I was tempted to just do nothing," he says conversationally. "I was thinking that spending the rest of the war in Germany certainly won't be pleasant, but at least nobody would be shooting at me anymore."
"What made you run away instead?" asks Matthew, thinking that the answer is rather obvious.
"Sybil, of course," confirms Tom. "I could not stand the thought of being separated from her for months, maybe even years. And yet, here I am, back with the Army, and I don't even have any idea where she is."
"The post will catch on," says Matthew in an attempt to console them both. "And anyway, I am going to write to Mother when we have a calm moment and ask her to convey a message to Mary if she contacts her."
xxx
They successfully defended Amiens and the might of the German offensive moved north, towards Lys, with the evident objective of cutting the British Army from their vulnerable and vital Channel ports: Etaples, Boulogne, Dunkirk and Callais. But it does not mean rest for the troops around Amiens and near the Somme. First of all, enough Germans are still in the area to keep them busy, and what is worse, all the available reserves are sent to the north where the line is in real danger of breaking under the onslaught.
Which means nobody is going to relieve them any time soon, despite them being in direct action since March 21st.
On April 11th, a special order from General Haig himself comes and Matthew reads it to his troops:
"To ALL RANKS OF THE BRITISH ARMY IN FRANCE AND FLANDERS Three weeks ago to-day the enemy began his terrific attacks against us on a fifty-mile front. His objects are to separate us from the French, to take the Channel Ports and destroy the British Army. In spite of throwing already 106 Divisions into the battle and enduring the most reckless sacrifice of human life, he has as yet made little progress towards his goals. We owe this to the determined fighting and self-sacrifice of our troops. Words fail me to express the admiration which I feel for the splendid resistance offered by all ranks of our Army under the most trying circumstances. Many amongst us now are tired. To those I would say that Victory will belong to the side which holds out the longest. The French Army is moving rapidly and in great force to our support. There is no other course open to us but to fight it out. Every position must be held to the last man: there must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall and believing in the justice of our cause each one of us must fight on to the end. The safety of our homes and the Freedom of mankind alike depend upon the conduct of each one of us at this critical moment. Signed D. Haig F.M. Commander-in-Chief British Armies in France, 11 April."
For a long moment after he's done, there is silence.
"106 divisions?" asks Thompson faintly, causing some murmurs among the others.
"Well, less now," says Wakefield, ever the optimist. "We did kill a few."
"They did kill plenty of us," argues Rollins and Matthew has to swallow against the bile brought by that all too true statement. But he looks at his men, all dishevelled and hollow-eyed after weeks of this, all exhausted and yet performing so magnificently, and he knows he needs to tell them something more than the words from a distant general, however moving.
"We all know that the battle is far from over," he starts quietly, immediately commanding their attention. "You all have performed admirably. We did have to retreat and concede a lot of ground, yes, but we did give them hell while doing so. We did keep them at bay until our wounded could be brought to safety. We did stop them from taking over Amiens. Now one more effort is needed. We need to hold this line while the enemy is distracted in the north, to make sure we will not give them an opening here. There are painful gaps in our ranks and we are all conscious of the loss of our dear comrades, but we will get it done. The enemy did suffer heavy casualties too, many at our hands. We will not give up now, when we just need to persevere for a little bit longer until our job here is done."
He sees how their backs straighten and eyes shine with renewed determination, but he only feels more weary.
xxx
Haig's order is of course read at Etaples as well and plastered all over British newspapers, and it only confirms what they are witnessing themselves with the number of casualties coming to them.
Mary has just spent her shift on the worst task possible – taking the dead to the mortuary, a building that is full to overflowing with corpses. There is a shortage of coffins and some bodies lie unburied for many days, making the place nightmarish. To hear on top of that how precarious their situation is, when she hasn't heard anything from or about Matthew since he sent her to board the train to Amiens, is enough to push her into borderline breakdown. She can only endure so much.
She allows herself ten minutes of sobbing in her ambulance before she wipes her eyes and drives determinedly back to write to Isobel and beg her for any news.
She receives the answer two days later, but it doesn't tell her anything new. Isobel reminds her of the backlog of the post and the difficulty with keeping in touch with fast moving troops on the frontlines which seem to change day to day, sometimes hour to hour.
"We must trust that the lack of news is good news in this case, my dear. We can't help worrying, of course, but it won't do anything good to focus on it too much. We must keep busy."
Mary curses as she puts the letter away. It is kindly meant, she knows, and very sensible – what else can they do, really, but what Isobel advises? – but she is busy, busier than she has ever been in her life and it does not help.
She needs to know Matthew is safe. She needs Matthew, period. She can't stand the constant worry and fear, she can't stand missing him so fiercely that it hurts to breathe sometimes.
And there is nothing she can do about it.
xxx
The battle for Hospital Wood starts at 6.30 in the morning.
It is such a violent attack that Matthew soon realises it is going to be impossible to withstand it. The Germans have infiltrated the wood during the night and cut his company in half. He manages to get out of the wood with a group of his men and, splitting up and shooting all the time, they reach the edge of Libermont, which is defended by the 4th Battalion of the French. Here the resistance hardens up, although the shells are simply pouring down on them, causing terrible losses.
Around four o'clock in the afternoon long columns of enemy soldiers start massing in front of Libermont for an assault. Matthew counts sixteen waves of them at least and it takes all he has not to show his growing hopelessness to his men, although he sees from the looks William is throwing at him that he hasn't managed to fool him at least. Very soon it becomes impossible to hold out any longer, and they have to fall back a long way to the other side of the canal. It is at that moment, after over ten hours of fighting, that Matthew starts to feel completely washed out. He manages to send back the remains of his company, but when only he and William remain, he simply collapses among the dead bodies strewing the ground and shallow trenches around them. He knows the Germans are coming and yet he has no strength or will to escape. In fact, he finds to his surprise that he hardly cares. He feels limp as a rag and utterly numb.
"I give up," he says to William, his voice sounding strange to his ears. "I can't go on any longer. Let them capture us and be done with it."
He knows there is something wrong with the things he is proposing, but his tired brain just can't figure out what.
Thankfully, William can.
"What are you saying, sir?" he shouts, grabbing Matthew's arm and dragging him to his feet. "Let them capture us? What if they do us in instead! We have to clear off!"
He pulls Matthew along, crawling across the rough grass and under bushes, and Matthew just lets him, until they end up out of breath on the bank of the canal going to the Somme. There they are spotted as they go across it on a little bridge, but they manage to get away despite a hail of bullets. There are some scraped-out trenches on the other side and William pushes Matthew into one, jumping in after him. In that very moment, the bridge they just crossed explodes – it must have been mined. They stare at each other, wide-eyed, hardly believing they have managed to get out of that alive.
"Thank you," says Matthew faintly. He still feels terribly tired, but that awful numbness which overtook him so completely back there started to recede. Maybe the explosion or the near miss shook him out of it. "I don't know what came over me."
"Don't mention it, sir," answers William with a wry smile, visibly relieved to get his captain back to normal or whatever passes for normal in their situation. "By my tally, it's still me who owes you."
xxx
When they finally get relieved for a few days by the French, Matthew is ready to cry from relief. The fact that the post somehow catches with them and there is a letter from Mary makes him happier than he has been in a month.
He reads every precious word greedily until he has the whole letter committed to his memory. It's weeks old, of course, and he wonders if she has sent any more which are still stuck somewhere trying to chase him all over northern France. He is not sure what the chances are of his response reaching her any time soon, but he sits to write it immediately.
"My darling,
You can't imagine how overjoyed I am to finally hear from you. Or maybe you can, now, when you are reading this letter from me. I am so very sorry not to have sent a word sooner, but as you rightly surmised, I had no way to do it with things hectic as they have been.
We are finally at rest now, and it's been weeks overdue. The men are exhausted beyond belief and so am I, but don't worry, my darling, besides that I am perfectly well. And I have good news! Tom managed to run away from his captors and find his way to us, he is within my sight as I write, playing cards. I am smiling imagining what relief it brings to poor Sybil.
I don't know unfortunately when I will be able to see you and take you in my arms again, but be assured, darling, there is nothing I long for more. When I am finally able to do that, I don't think I will ever let you go.
Your fiance who misses you desperately,
Matthew"
xxx
The sheer size of the base at Etaples is mind boggling. Six kilometres of tents, partially housing multiple hospitals, partially warehouses for all kinds of supplies brought from England, and finally barracks for troops waiting to be assigned to their units or training after recovering from injuries. There is of course a huge railway depot just next to the hospital which is unfortunate when the Germans start bombing it viciously on May 19th.
xxx
"Crawley, where was the hospital your cousins working at evacuated to?" asks Summers, reading a telegram as they sit in a farmhouse which has been temporarily converted into a command post.
Matthew swallows. He doesn't like the look on his face at all.
"Etaples," he says gruffly, feeling himself blanch when Summers curses. "Why?"
"The hospital in Etaples was badly bombed in an air raid last night," Summers says heavily. "The Huns got the VAD quarters too. There is news of numerous casualties."
xxx
A short letter from Mary catches up to him in June. He tears it open with shaking hands and his shoulders fall when he sees the date. She has sent it two days before the first air raid at Etaples, telling him that she and Sybil have settled there.
"Most of the female drivers were relocated to hospitals at the coast, since it's supposed to be safer here than near the front, considering how dynamic the situation is. I am ferrying the wounded between the hospital and the trains now, nowhere near the battlefield, so you don't have to worry about me."
Matthew drops his head into his still shaking hands. He has sent letters to Mother and to Robert, begging them for news, but there is still no response. Judging from the delay in Mary's letter, the backlog in post must be weeks long.
He just doesn't know how he is going to stand it until he knows whether she's alright.
xxx
They were holding the high ground near the cemetery east of Metz, and it was clear that the enemy meant to have it. Matthew and his men were equally determined that he should not. By noon, they have beaten off two strong attacks; by two o'clock they have repulsed a third; and twice, as the enemy fell back to regroup, they have counter-attacked and put his rearguard to flight.
When the time comes for the brigade to retire, the Germans have lost heart. Matthew is able to collect his men in his own time, and march them off unmolested. Their one battalion has held the Germans' advance for almost six hours, and they are very weary as they set out on the three-mile trek across the country to Lechelle. It is five o'clock before Matthew reaches Battalion HQ, temporarily placed in a farmhouse, fervently hoping that the enemy will stay his hand until next morning.
Major Summers takes one look at him and sends him to sleep.
"You go down and have a rest. I'll call you in a couple of hours."
Matthew, too tired to argue, just goes down to the cellar and falls asleep as soon as he lays on a blanket.
Only to be woken up by Summers yelling.
"Matthew, come up! Germans all around us!"
Matthew jumps to his feet immediately, scrambling for his steel helmet and shaking William awake. The farmhouse they are in is in the village of Lechelle, at a corner where the road takes a very sharp bend to the right, and the cellar faces straight on to the bend, with a second entrance directly on the road. Matthew looks up and sees two Germans at the top and one has his arm back, throwing something in. He scrambles up the other staircase, pushing William in front of him into the farmhouse and, just as they get out, the bomb goes off behind them.
Upstairs, Summers has got all the men lining all the windows of the farm and shots are coming at them from all directions. One side of the building is completely dark, so Summers and Matthew, rather incautiously, cross to the moon side to see anything more. Immediately, there is a shot, and Summers is hit with a splinter off the wall.
"We need to get out of here," says Matthew urgently, diving back into the shadows and looking at Summers with concern. "Can you run?"
Summers nods, although with a wince, his hand clutched around a deep scrape on his arm.
"Yes, I'm alright, I can manage. You carry on."
Matthew throws one more concerned look at the major, not fully convinced, but turns to address the men.
"We're all going out through this door here, so follow me, and, when we get to the road, turn left and run like blazes until you get to the first British post and get the warning about the Germans through."
He and Summers go first, the moon too bright for the darkness to offer them much cover, and run into two Germans with rifles and bayonets just behind the corner. Matthew shoots them both on the run, and then turns back to check on his men, only for William to tackle him down to the ground as four rifle shots come straight at them from the ditch on the other side of the road.
Before Matthew gets his bearings, his men deal with the Germans, but his attention is wholly grasped by Summers, lying next to him on the ground and bleeding profusely from his arm and chest.
"Fucking hell," he swears. "I've read about it in books – that red-hot, searing pain in the lungs."
As Matthew stares at him in horror, William pulls at his arm insistently, urging him to get up.
"Sir, the Germans! There are more of them!"
That pulls Matthew out of his stupor and gets him to his feet. In record time, he has groaning Summers on his back, William by his side, protecting them both, as they half run, half stumble through the dark village as fast as they can. Matthew feels Summers' blood trickling down his own neck and prays silently as he rarely had before. When they do reach the British outpost and the first aid station, with Tom and his ambulance at the ready, he falls on his knees in equal exhaustion and relief.
"Take him, Branson," he gasps, trying to catch his breath. "Quickly!"
"And you? Are you sure you're alright?" asks Tom, his eyes wide as he looks at Matthew and it's only then that Matthew realises he is covered in Summers' blood.
"It's all his," he assures Tom roughly. "Just get him some help!"
Tom nods, jumping into the driver seat.
"Crawley," rasps Summers from the back. "Dance with Lady Mary to my gramophone when you can. She deserves to have some fun."
"I will," answers Matthew firmly. "But only when you pick the record."
He thinks that Summers laughs but it's drowned by the noise of the engine.
xxx
When Mary parks her ambulance behind Phryne's at the train depot, Phryne herself runs towards her with a serious face.
"Mary," she says. "I need you to remain very calm."
"Why?" asks Mary.
"The wounded on this transport are mostly from Duke of Manchester's Own."
Mary feels all blood draining from her face.
"Is Matthew...?"
Phryne shakes her head frantically.
"I don't know. I haven't seen him so far."
Mary's eyes go frantically from one wounded to another as they are taken off the train. She startles when she sees blond hair and familiar face, although thankfully not Matthew's.
"Major Summers!" she says, approaching his stretcher and asking the orderlies to take him to her ambulance. "I hope you aren't too badly hit."
She sees his skin, sickly pale except for vivid red spots on his cheeks, and the eyes bright with fever, and with a sickening feeling she doubts he is going to get out of it alive.
"Not too badly," he rasps as she reaches for her own canteen to give him some water which he accepts gratefully. "Just in many places. Bloody Boche put more holes into me than you find in Swiss cheese."
"How's Matthew?" she asks as he is loaded into the car. "Is he here as well?"
Her knees get weak from sudden relief when Summers shakes his head.
"He got me out," he says. "Carried me on his own back. He was perfectly all right when I last saw him."
He reaches for her hand and puts a letter into it.
"It's for my wife, Cynthia. If I don't make it… please send it to her. Maybe even visit her back in England if you'll be so kind. Tell her some funny stories. Just not the one when you met me coming out of the brothel," he winks at her. "I don't think Cynthia would appreciate the humour of that particular encounter, even if I do. I've never seen poor Crawley so red and lost for words."
Despite everything Mary laughs because he is right, poor Matthew probably has never been so embarrassed in his life.
"You will be alright," she says firmly, but takes the letter. "But of course I will, if I need to."
He nods gratefully and closes his eyes.
She is on the road soon after, her ambulance one of the many in the convoy. The night has fallen, it's awfully dark, but she is not at all happy to see the darkness dispelled by the explosion from the falling bombs.
"Not again!" she groans, pushing her car to go faster, hoping against hope that this time the Germans will be mindful of the red crosses on the hospital tents and reaching them will mean safety.
Before she can manage it, one lands just in front of her ambulance, pushing it off the road. That the car doesn't overturn is a sheer miracle, but two wheels are busted instantly. There is no way she can drive further. She thinks about the wounded in the back, about Major Summers who helped to dig her out from the collapsed dugout, who was so kind to her when Matthew was missing, and she gets out of the driver seat, determined to get help.
Only to collapse on the ground with a cry of pain, her ankle, obviously twisted or bruised from being thrown against the metal of the car, giving up on her.
She hisses and curses, but with another look at her truck she starts crawling back towards the road and then to the hospital tents. She will get him help. It's the least she owes him after everything.
There's a lot of exclaiming over her when she finally reaches the gates, but they do send another ambulance to retrieve her wounded.
By the time they bring Major Summers back, he is dead.
xxx
It's mid July by the time the Germans finally concede defeat of their offensive. The British casualties amount to more than 400,000 but they prevailed; the ports are secure, Amiens is secure, and they are getting ready to hit back and hopefully win the war now that the Americans are coming en masse. As Matthew sits in his billet at Amiens, trying to catch up on his correspondence, he hardly dares to hope. The war has been going on for nearly four years; to think that it might end soon, and with him alive to see it, seems too much like tempting fate.
There is a knock on his door and William lets in a soldier Matthew recognises as Summers' batman. He is carrying a gramophone.
"The major wanted you to have it, sir," he says, his voice thick with grief. "Made me promise to give you this record too."
He puts the gramophone on the table and hands Matthew a record in a bright cover.
It is "If you were the only girl in the world". Summers must have heard somewhere about Matthew's memorable arrival at Mary's concert.
He barely manages to thank the man as William sees him out, his eyes clouding with tears. He delicately puts the record down on the table and sits, hiding his face in his hands as the tears just keep falling.
He feels William's hand on his shoulder, his quiet presence by his side, and he weeps for Summers and everybody else he has lost in this hell.
xxx
Matthew blinks when William shakes his shoulder to wake him up, and raises his head from his arms folded in front of him on the table, Summers' gramophone next to him. Crikey, he must have fallen asleep sitting like that while lost in his grief over Summers.
"What is it, Mason?" he asks roughly, his mouth parched.
"I'm sorry to wake you, sir, but I didn't think you would want to wait," answers William, practically vibrating with excitement. "A letter arrived, from Lady Mary!"
Suddenly, Matthew is not at all sleepy as he grasps the envelope from his batman's hand and opens it immediately.
"My darling,
I hope that my letter will reach you soon, wherever you are. I and Sybil have been relocated to Amiens, now that the situation seems to be back under control. I can scarcely believe it after those hellish months, but I have a week of leave now. I could go home, I guess, but I cannot give up hope of seeing you instead. Please, if you got this letter before August, either visit me at this address or write where I can meet you. I would be willing to travel to the Moon to finally see your face after everything that happened.
I am so sorry about Major Summers, darling. I know he was a good friend to you.
Awaiting your answer impatiently,
Your fiancee, Mary"
"She's in Amiens!" he exclaims, hardly daring to believe it. "Mason, my coat!"
He accepts the garment from a grinning William and before he knows it, he's running through the streets. Thankfully he knows the street Mary gave as her address and it's not very far from his billet, just several blocks, really, practically no distance at all…
And there it is, a modest townhouse, its front doors open. Matthew takes two steps at the time as he runs to the second floor and knocks on the door to the flat number 10. It feels like an eternity before they open, but in fact it must have been a minute at most, and finally, impossibly, he finds himself face to face with Mary, his darling, looking thin and tired, but otherwise perfectly alright and staring at him with such depth of emotion in her brown eyes that he is nearly overwhelmed by it.
"Mary," says Matthew hoarsely, unable to find any other words.
Mary's lips tremble, her eyes filling with tears as she stares at him there, in her doorway, alive.
"Matthew!" she cries out as she jumps into his arms, kissing him fiercely. "Oh my God, Matthew!"
He kisses her back, barely noticing that she pulls him into the flat and locks the door, scarcely caring if they are even alone, although some functioning part of his brain assumes so judging from the nature of Mary's welcome as she pushes him against the wall and keeps kissing him passionately or is it him pushing her? He does not know, he hardly knows anything, he just knows that she is here, in his arms, alive and well and so is he and he loves her so terribly much.
It's only when he realises that he has somehow pulled her blouse off her shoulder and is kissing the top of her breasts over her chemise, his body so closely entwined with hers that she can be in no doubt whatsoever just how much he desires her in that moment that a sliver of rational thought returns to his head.
"Mary," he gasps. "Do you want me to stop?"
Mary's nails dig into the skin of his neck as Matthew's teeth nip at her bottom lip, a sharp gasp escaping her as she realises that she really does not ever wish him to stop. This is exactly what she wants. She's been so scared, so worried, for so very long, and now he is here, in her arms, alive and perfect and hers, and the last thing she wants to do is stop and think. So in response, she kisses him in such a way that all thoughts of stopping fly away from his head and then she takes her hand out of his hair and grasps his hand instead, pulling him into her bedroom, and Matthew is not going to protest, absolutely not, and instead helps her to divest him out of his Sam Browne's belt, and his tunic, and then his necktie and shirt and the boots until just his trousers are left and then he turns his attention to her clothes, so very much in the way. He gasps again when he finally sees her naked, because he has been right all the times he was imagining this moment – she is so much more beautiful than he has ever been able to imagine. She is perfect, exquisite, otherworldly. He thinks he is telling her so, in between kissing all that amazing, luminous skin covered in the most adorable freckles, but he's not sure how intelligible he is, distracted not only by his own actions and desire but also by her hands and lips on his skin, making her own discoveries and driving him into madness.
He is not sure when or how they ended up on a narrow metal bed, but he notices when she opens his trousers, although he doesn't say anything, just kicks them off out of the way, and nearly groans at the feeling of his body on hers, skin to skin, lips against lips as they kiss as if they couldn't get enough of each other. There is only Mary, Mary's lips, Mary's body, so close, against him, around him, until he hardly knows where he ends or she begins. For a time, they are gloriously one, inseparable being and then Matthew is feeling ecstasy, joy and love like he has never felt before and he is not thinking at all, just feeling, and what he's feeling is utter peace and perfection of this moment, as he looks into Mary's eyes and sees the same emotions reflected back at him.