‘Cheer up, old man, your local knowledge is proving to be in valuable already.’ Crassus began to confer with Savage.
Johnny snatched the wine from Corporal Williams and drank down a good measure as he led him into the next bay. ‘I’m leaving the platoon in your care.’
Williams nodded grimly and took the wine back while Johnny scribbled out a note.
‘You know this is a fool’s errand, sir?’
‘I do rather specialise in them I’m afraid, Williams. Be sure to offer up a prayer for my salvation.’ Johnny said and tried to stamp some feeling back into his feet.
‘I’m more concerned about you cocking things up with the Germans and getting us all killed, sir.’ Williams replied, dropping all pretence of good humour.
‘So am I,’ Johnny agreed, blundering about in no man’s land was a sure fire way of ending any truth. However, if there was going to be a raid, this was the best opportunity Johnny had to warn the Germans.
Communicating with the enemy didn’t appeal to him, but Johnny felt he owed it to them. They’d sent a message over earlier in a dud mortar bomb, warning of their artillery’s plan to bombard them. ‘We don’t want the powder-heads to do it, it isn’t us.’ That simple message had probably saved half his platoon.
'Come on!’ Crassus shouted, coming into the bay.
Johnny climbed up over the top and into the cold darkness of no man’s land. He was filled with a sudden thrill of being in a new strange world. The moon gleamed on lakes of mud and ice around him. In the distance he could see the woods of Ploegsteert, a dark mash of battered shadows.
He heard the men on fatigue and began to limp towards them, the feeling slowly returning to his feet. Johnny swore, Crassus was making a heck of a racket as he followed.
Johnny signalled for his men to return to the trench. If things went wrong, there was no point in them being caught in the open.
He crossed through the British wire and was amused to observe that the battalion scout officer was having some difficulty keeping up. Johnny stopped to take his bearings. He’d never been this side of the wire before and was not entirely sure where to go next.
The wind blew, shaking the German wire and filling the night with an eerie metallic twang. Johnny began to make out the steel pickets the German wire was hung on. They looked strangely human and for a moment he was sure that they were coming towards him.
Johnny heard Crassus crashing about, breaking the spell and began to move forward at a half crouch. He stumbled on something, he couldn't see what it was, but the squeals of rats told him everything he needed to know.
He reached the German wire and began to follow it until he found the gap the Germans had left. Johnny remembered they usually had machine guns covering any openings and carefully lay down. The slime enveloped him in a freezing blanket.
Johnny could hear Crassus and hoped he was making enough noise to draw any enemy fire that might come their way. He began to crawl through the gap. He was only a few yards from the German trenches and could see the glow of a cigarette and hear the sentries laughing. The perfect picture of the truce Crassus hoped to ruin.
Johnny’s reverie was disturbed by a loud metallic twang and a stifled cry. Crassus had got himself entangled in the German wire. The sentries stopped laughing and the unmistakable sound of rifle bolts being pulled back filled the flat landscape.
One of the sentries called out a challenge and with a presence of mind that surprised Johnny, Crassus called back. ‘Don’t shoot. I thought you might fancy a trade, jam, cigarettes, biscuits…’
Crassus continued to list wares he could not possibly have, as he meticulously unpicked himself from the barbs.
Johnny dived into a shell hole. Leaving Crassus in the lurch felt even more disgraceful than what he was about to do. He rummaged about in his pocket for the dud mortar bomb which the Germans had fired over earlier. It was a bugger to open. His gloves were covered in mud and kept slipping off.
Behind him, Johnny could hear the German sentries calling to Crassus. Johnny took his gloves off and found that his fingers were too numb to work. He saw that Crassus had untangled himself. He was nearing the German trenches, waving a tin and calling out, ‘Jam, bully beef, plumb duff, steak and kidney pudding…’
The mortar bomb finally came apart. Johnny put his note inside and closed it. As he lifted his arm to throw, the night exploded in front of him. He was tumbling head over heels, his arm twisted behind his back. Savage was on him.
‘There’s no point struggling, sir. Mr Dawkins has blown your Boche pals to kingdom come. Amazing what you can do with an old tin and some dynamite,’ Savage chuckled to himself.
Crassus slid into the shell hole and Savage handed him the mortar bomb. Crassus took out the note. ‘Good work, Savage.’
Crassus looked down at Johnny, ‘Bravado with the enemy works wonders for morale indeed! You’re in league with the Germans. I can spot a bad one a mile off. I knew you'd try to queer the pitch and all I had to do was give you enough rope to hang yourself. My man, Savage, could track a Boer through the veld. Let alone a third-rate reservist through a few yards of mud.’
Johnny was too angry to respond, with all the noise Crassus had been making he’d forgotten to keep an eye out for Savage.
‘We should get out of here before the Germans organise themselves, Mr Dawkins,’ Savage said.
‘Yes agreed, bring that.’ Crassus
