He catches me eyeing the papers in front of him – diagrams of what appear to be troop movements, aerial photographs of the German lines, memos with phrases that leap out at me:calculated risk, continuous bombardment, acceptable casualties– and with an annoyed croak, the colonel sweeps the entire collection into a folder, which he thrusts into Beddowes’ hands.
‘So, our hero is returned,’ he says, a smile hitching up the corners of his walrus moustache. ‘Lieutenant Stephen Wraxall, in the flesh. Well, most of it anyway!’ He guffaws, pointing a finger at my absent ear. ‘We have a first-rate fellow here, Beddowes. Mentioned in dispatches. Fought off a Boche raid on his trench almost single-handed. Bagged himself a young Jerry, to boot.’
He laughs again and mimes firing a bullet into my heart. I’m not sure if he expects me to play along and swoon to the floor. All I can picture at this moment is a pair of startled blue eyes and lips murmuring the wordKamerad. Meanwhile the colonel reaches for the tin cup standing at his elbow and takes a long swig. I can smell the brandy from here.
‘Shame about your platoon, though,’ he says, resurfacing. ‘Pretty much wiped out, I hear? Well, well, spilt milk and all that. But let me think. Yes, I knew your CO, didn’t I? Captain Phillip...’ He snaps his fingers at Beddowes. ‘Now what was the chap’s name?’
‘Danvers,’ I murmur.
‘What’s that?’ He glances up from under beetling brows.
‘Danvers,’ Beddowes says quickly before I can repeat the name.
‘Danvers! That’s it. Damned fine soldier. Balliol man. Knew his father well. A pity, but he died honourably, no doubt, and that must be a comfort to his mother.’
I think of the black-edged card in Michael’s mother’s window. Had his sacrifice been a comfort to her? I doubt it. But Gallagher is right about one thing: Captain Phillip Danvers had been a fine soldier. Although a little gruff and world-weary when I met him on my first day at the Front, he had cared deeply for the men under his charge and I had learned more about soldiering from him than from a dozen bullying sergeants at Sandhurst. A shame that I can only think of him now as a shattered figure lying in the snow-spotted earth outside our dugout.
‘Anyway, onward, ever onward,’ Gallagher grunts. ‘We have a batch of ripping new recruits for you, Lieutenant. Fresh boys from Blighty that need taking on down to Maricourt and sorting out. Give him the list, Beddowes.’
The captain takes a neatly-folded paper from his pocket and hands it to me. ‘Your new platoon,’ he says. ‘They’re all here, in Étaples. You’re to travel down with them and see that they’re safely delivered to Captain Gordon Hunter Jackson.’
‘Your new CO,’ Gallagher puts in. ‘Splendid chap. A Scot, I think, but no worse for that. Mild-mannered to look at him, but they say he fought like a tiger at Marne. Old Major Dumfries saw Jackson with his own eyes walk through a blaze of machine gunfire to rescue one of his boys who’d got caught up in some barbed wire. Carried the man back like a babe in arms. Heroes like that saved Paris, you know.’
I do know, I think to myself. But what doyouknow of it, Colonel?
‘He sounds remarkable.’ My gaze returns to the list. ‘So these men are all fresh recruits? And you want them dispatched straight to the Front? No further training?’
Usually any new arrivals would be stationed here for a few weeks, to be ‘toughened up’ by those brutal Bull Ring instructors.
The puffy face on the other side of the desk glares at me. ‘No time for any of that. Big things are in the offing, young Wraxall. All part of the reason I’m up here meself. Meetings with the top brass, don’t you know. Even talk of me having a private chinwag with General Haig himself.’ The old military toad preens at the idea of an audience with the Commander of the entire British Expeditionary Forces. Lost in this daydream, he almost hops out of his chair when Beddowes gives a soft cough. ‘Ah. But that’s need-to-know stuff, and allyouneed to know is your orders. Gather up these men and start south the day after tomorrow. I’ll be joining you as soon as we’re wrapped up here.’
My eyes skate down the list. All unfamiliar names. But then my old platoon had been strangers to me at first. Life in the trenches has a way of forging friendships fast.
‘Let’s hope more than one of you survives this time,’ Beddowes says with a sly smile.
The colonel hasn’t heard the remark but he sees the look on my face. ‘What is it, Wraxall? Something up?’
‘No, sir. Not a thing.’
‘Good, good. Oh, and you might as well select a soldier-servant from that list. Some suitable Tommy to see to your needs at the Front. Get you your grub, wash your uniform, all that sort of thing.’
A soldier-servant. Someone I can keep close by and watch over as best I can. A chance, perhaps, to make amends for those harsh words on the train.
‘I’d prefer a chap I already know,’ I say quickly. ‘Like these men, he’s a private just arrived from Blighty. I got talking to him on the way over and... well... He’s... That’s to say, he’s made a good first impression on me and I think we could get along together very well.’
Gallagher nods. ‘Always important to find a Tommy you can be at ease with. The rest of his duties can be learned on the job, but a good officer always knows when he clicks with the proper servant. All right, what’s the blighter’s name?’
‘McCormick,’ I say. ‘Daniel.’
‘But this is very irregular,’ Beddowes objects. ‘Why not choose from the list? I mean, is the man even in our regiment?’
The colonel turns a cold amphibian eye on his staff officer. ‘If he isn’t, he can be transferred. You’ll sort the paperwork, Beddowes. And you can wipe that silly look off your face while you’re at it. If you didn’t spend half your life pushing paper and licking stamps and instead saw some real action at the Front, you’d understand these things. An officer needs a man he can trust at his side. And our hero here trusts this McCormick. Ain’t that right, Wraxall?’
Trust him? I barely know him. But I’m glad anyway that I’ve managed to rescue him from those sadists who run the Bull Ring.
‘Oh, one last thing before you go,’ the colonel says. ‘Do you still doodle?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry?’
