“I’ll go,” said Stanley again.
“I need you to take the message and bring the rest of the retreat code back, as quick as you can, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” said Stanley.
Lt. Billings gestured that Stanley should follow him into the bunker, and when Stanley stepped into the shell of mud-capped air, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Had this been before—before he’d met Devon—he might have been pleased with the looks of awe on hisfriends’ faces, and a little cocky that he’d been invited into the bunker for a secret, man-to-man chat with the lieutenant.
With the taste of ash in his mouth, Stanley went up to the table where the map was and waited while the lieutenant tugged at one edge of it. Stanley looked at the map and did his best to pretend he’d never seen it before.
The last time, the lieutenant had been standing with the map in his hand, in the trench, just outside the door of the bunker. Stanley wondered why it was different this time, and why he was so calmly comparing the two, as if it had actually happened, as if he’d actually gone forward in time. But he must have done, otherwise, how would he have all these memories in his head?
There was more at stake. His friends’ lives, the survival of the 44thBattalion, and most of all, being with Devon. It didn’t matter where the memories had come from. Stanley was going to put them to good use for the greater good, and for Devon. For the chance at being with Devon once more.
Lt. Billings tapped the map with his finger, made sure that Stanley was paying attention, then traced the length of a wobbly line.
Stanley knew everything about the map because Devon had shown it to him and explained what everything meant. Even as the lieutenant was talking and pointing, Stanley knew that the dark brown lines were the trenches, and the small green and blue X’s were various weaponry. Green X’s were howitzers, and blue ones were rifles. The one gold cross was for the chaplain’s station, and the circles of various colors indicated the mess area, the latrine, the bunkers for sleeping, the ramps to the supply caches.
“It’s a death sentence, you know that,” said Lt. Billings. “But you need to find the major and bring the code for retreat back or we’re all going to die in this trench.”
With a tap on the map, the lieutenant brought Stanley’s focus to the area in the corner where the major was holed up. Right on the edge of the map was a cross with a faint circle over it to indicate the bombed out church. Nestled beside it was the little cottage whose roof was falling in and whose walls were none too steady.
Stanley didn’t let himself look at that, or think about Devon and the studious atmosphere that Devon had created with his work. Or think of how Devon had fed him and made him feel safe. Or how Devon had looked at him with that light in his eyes, as though Stanley was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.
“Tell him I sent you,” said Lt. Billings. “Here’s your rifle, in case you meet up with any Jerries, and a canteen of water because your mouth will be so dry with fear that you’d drink out of a puddle just so you can spit.”
“Yes, sir.” Stanley took the rifle and slung the band over one shoulder, then took the canteen, which he slung over the other shoulder. Just as he turned to face the open doorway, where his friends were waiting to see what would happen next, he felt Lt. Billings’ hand on his shoulder.
“Follow the length of the trench and stay low along the bottom,” said the lieutenant.
Stanley nodded, though he knew better. Devon had said the damp weather had caused the air to be quite dense, which, in turn, had caused the mustard gas to sink quite low. Stanley had a chance to get to the major, but only if he disobeyed orders. He would go along the top of the trenches, in spite of the risk of gunfire, because if there were any gas in the air, it would tumble to his feet, and he would be impervious to its effects.
He couldn’t tell that to the lieutenant. He couldn’t tell his friends, either, as he stepped out of the bunker and they gathered to wish him well. His body felt numb to their pats of reassurance and to Isaac’s quick embrace. Everything fell silent, as though the sound had been turned down on the radio. A low hum built up in his ears as he bid them all goodbye. He hefted his rifle and began walking along the bottom of the trench.
When Stanley rounded the first curve, he clambered to the top and began to run. Lt. Billings might see him or he might not, but Stanley was too far away for more orders, too far away to be stopped. He was on his own now, running along the top of the trench. The soldiers he passed seemed to understand his mission, that the code for retreatwas being gathered. They fired off shots from their rifles to distract the enemy so that Stanley could keep running without fear.
He ran until his lungs hurt, but with the map in his head, his destination was quite clear this time. He wouldn’t get lost or take a wrong turn because he knew where he was going, knew exactly where the command bunker was, thanks to Devon and his map. Devon, who had unknowingly given Stanley all the information he needed to save every man in the 44thBattalion. It was as if Devon was helping him, and though he was far away in time, his voice was steady in Stanley’s ears.
He ran on, imagining what the war memorial would look like if nobody died. But then he heard the zing of metal in the air and the ripping pop of a canister just above his head.
He looked up and tumbled into a trench. With the next breath he was inhaling it, the acrid taste of chemicals soaking into him from the inside. It burned and filled his body and his lungs, seared his eyes.
Stanley fell to his knees, spitting up, green mucus trailing in the mud as he braced himself with his hands, gasping for air as he sank down into the earth. The blackness took him just as it had before, with hard arms and a fierce intensity, a live thing riddled with animosity and hatred and fear. His whole body cried out with loss. He had failed. Again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stanley awoke with a gasp, inhaling dirt and grass, and found himself face down in a frost covered field, surrounded by white crosses, row on row. There was a barrier of trees that held back the sky, rattling their leafless branches as a wind picked up and whistled through the air. Gray clouds tumbled towards the earth, and it was cold, as cold as the trench he’d fallen into, except he was here, amidst the memorial for the 44thBattalion.
For a moment, he was quite still. He could not believe what had happened. What might have happened. Was he back where Devon was, in that future time? For all he knew, he was years too late or too early, but it seemed to be the same terrain as he’d held in his memories about Devon. Maybe time had granted him the gift of arriving at just therighttime.
Crushed by desperation, he pushed himself to his feet and rubbed his eyes, then bent to pick up his rifle and his canteen. Devon would want to examine them, to include notes on them in his paper, and if the universe were kind, there would be a Devon to give them to. Stanley could watch him examine them with strong and careful hands. His eyes would light up as he talked about them, and then he would look at Stanley and smile.
Stanley took off running, canteen banging against his thigh, his rifle rattling. The cottage was in sight, though it looked silent and still. There was a growing wind that took Stanley’s breath away and seemed to threaten his every step, as if it meant to take him back to the muddy trench and the smell of smoke and death. Back to the war. Stanley ran faster, right up to the door of the cottage.
His heart surging with hope, he raised his hand to knock, just in case it wasn’t Devon inside. The door flew open and Devon was there. He flung his arms around Stanley and pulled him close and hugged him tight.
Stanley quickly propped the rifle and flung the canteen aside and hugged Devon right back. He stood as close as he could to Devon’s body, feeling the heat of him all up and down as warm air drifted through the open door. He squirmed to get even closer, his mouth open with everything he wanted to say to tell Devon how he felt.
“My god, Stanley,” said Devon as he pulled back to look at him, his hands warm and sure on Stanley’s arms.
