despite their officers telling them to stand easy, a fusillade of rifle fire sprang up from the trenches until the flying machines evaporated in the early morning light.
A red-eyed Major Davidson confronted Aubrey as he and his friends were going about the practical duty of rebagging the front of his dugout where it had toppled in the mad scramble caused by the cavalry charge. ‘So what are we going to do about this, then? None of my men have had a wink of sleep all night. They were jumpy enough before this nonsense, but now…’
His voice trailed off and Aubrey knew that his men weren’t the only ones who were being pushed to the edge. ‘Miss Delroy here has pointed out some characteristics of the illusions. A competent magician should be able to detect them in plenty of time to warn your troops.’
‘Magician, eh?’ Davidson turned to Stanley. ‘And exactly how many of your spell boys do you have at the front, Stanley? Is it three or four?’
‘We’ve been asking for more frontline operatives for some time now,’ Stanley said. He was both apologetic and unutterably weary. ‘We’re promised that they’ll be here any time now.’
They were interrupted by a band of soldiers limping toward them. The leading sergeant gave Davidson and Stanley an exhausted salute. ‘Major Long’s compliments, sir, but could you spare some men? We’ve been doing it hard up the line a bit.’
The sergeant went on to report about the disaster a little further down the line.
The 4th Foot Regiment had been under siege all night from phantom attacks without the help of magic neutralisers, getting no rest until they realised the attacks never reached them. Time and again, the horses would veer away and retreat just as they came close to the trenches, testing nerves and discipline until a suspicious corporal finally saw them passing right through solid barbed wire. After that they had successfully ignored lines of marching infantry, skirmishers and even a wave of dog attacks.
Then a real attack nearly succeeded in capturing their position.
It was a key location, the intersection of a number of important trenches and supply lines, a slightly elevated knob of land, perfect for machine gun emplacements. Having understood the news that the attacks were illusions, when a company of Holmlanders advanced on the position the order was given to ignore them, especially since they were wearing outmoded uniforms in brilliant scarlet, more suited to a hundred years ago than today.
When the scarlet-clad Holmlanders launched themselves into the trenches and set about with bayonets that were deadly evidence of their non-illusory nature, the Albionites panicked and ran. It was only the efforts of a callow lieutenant in rallying a squad of men and firing by rank back along the trench that drove them off.
It had been a close thing, and a bloody one. After that skirmish, the inability to tell phantom attack from real one started to drive the men mad. Holmland snipers added to the despair, slipping into place during the phantom advances and having great success in picking off any confused Albionites showing themselves.
Davidson took this in calmly, despatching a squad to help, and Aubrey revised his opinion of the man again. He was coping in circumstances for which no military training would have been adequate.
After that, things continued to fall apart. Aubrey found himself assisting Caroline with first aid, with Sophie and George as the other assistants in a makeshift infirmary where three important trenches intersected, half a mile from Major Davidson’s dugout. Caroline had calmly assured the only qualified medic in the area that he was needed elsewhere, leaving the four friends to deal with less urgent cases.
Less urgent cases they may have been, but Aubrey hadn’t known that so much blood existed in the entire world.
Hours stretched out. Amid the noise and confusion, Aubrey and his friends took turns in snatching sleep, curled up wherever they could find a space. It wasn’t comfortable, and was barely restful, but it was better than falling over from exhaustion.
The men were generally stoic, putting up with basic cleaning and bandaging of wounds so they could hobble back to their companies, but occasionally a screamer was brought in. Not necessarily the most badly wounded, screamers kept up a hair-raising cry that could be heard up and down the trenches and did nothing to lift spirits.
Caroline was magnificent. Her orders were calm and never ambiguous. She saw events unfolding before they happened and was able to direct her efforts – and the fumblings of Aubrey, George and Sophie – to the correct patients as they needed it. Soldiers moved in and out of their first aid emplacement like morning commuters at an underground station, coming and going, coming and going, but never slackening until…
Aubrey straightened from knotting a bandage around the leg of a gritted-teeth veteran. ‘Where are the rest of them?’ he said and winced at the pain in his back.
‘We’re done,’ Caroline said. She was washing her hands in a bucket of crimson water. ‘For now.’
Sophie scanned the trenches in each direction. ‘I cannot see anyone coming.’
‘We’re in a lull,’ George said. He peered upward at a sky that was no longer night. ‘And I’m about to say something I never thought I would.’
‘And what’s that?’ Aubrey asked.
George looked glum. ‘It’s morning and I don’t feel much like breakfast.’
49
In a war, bearing stretchers was as vital as firing rifles. Aubrey knew that, but he’d had enough. Not enough of carrying the poor soldier who could bleed to death if George and he couldn’t get him to the field hospital in time, but enough of the appallingness that put young men on stretchers to bleed to death.
The sun, still low in the sky, flashed in Aubrey’s eyes as George and he jogged as smoothly as they could. He couldn’t spare a hand to shade himself, but this was a minor discomfort compared to the patient on the stretcher. On either side, Caroline and Sophie steadied the lad – and that’s all he was – while the red stain spread on his chest. He’d lost consciousness as soon as they set out, which was a blessing, but Aubrey had an idea that jolting was the last thing he needed.
This isn’t good, he thought. The breath laboured in his lungs. His muscles burned and his hands were aching from gripping the handles of the stretcher. This isn’t the way to solve anything.
Seeing the battlefield and observing its furtive, haunted inhabitants, Aubrey had realised that the war had sprung a life of its own. It was a sprawling, greedy monster that was devouring soldiers and machinery and leaving wrecks behind. The allies were doing what they could, but battles couldn’t be won on promises. Any time now, reinforcements were coming. Any time now, the specialised magical help would arrive.
Dr Tremaine didn’t work on an ‘any time now’ schedule. He moved heaven and earth to suit his ends, and he did it when he needed to.
A squad of wide-eyed youngsters hurried past headed for the front, rifles slung on their backs. Each of them had a pack so heavy that it made them run almost doubled over.
Once they delivered the wounded soldier to the field hospital, Aubrey and his friends could continue, making their way back to Divodorum and then across Gallia back home to Albion. They’d be able to give first-hand reports of the front, the deficiencies and snags and where best to help. If nothing happened quickly enough, he was sure that they could use Sophie’s friends in the newspapers to create the sort of scandal that would have politicians scurrying to do something about it – or, at least, to be seen to do something about it. It was a reasonable, clever plan.
He glanced at the almost bloodless face of the boy they were rescuing. His freckles were now standing out starkly against his pallor.
It jabbed at him. While they were safe in Albion, boys like this would be dying. Aubrey would be fleeing danger, but leaving others to take his place.
As fond as he was of his own skin, there was something indecent about such a prospect.
They reached the chaos that was the field hospital just as the Holmland artillery opened up on the trenches they’d left behind. The Holmland Supreme Army Command wasn’t giving the Allies any rest.
‘This is what they must call softening up,’ George said after they’d handed over their burden to real doctors, bloodied and harassed, but with knowledge that none of them had.
‘It would seem so,’ Aubrey said. They found some shade, an obstinate laurel tree next to one of the smaller
