Eleven Eleven - By Paul Dowswell Page 0,18

removed by the burial party as proof of death. Will couldn’t remember which one got taken and which got left behind. But having them separated would be the start of a process that would end with a telegram to his parents. The other would stay there round his neck for the rest of eternity, unless he was blown to fragments by a high-explosive shell. Whenever he found himself thinking like that, he tried to stop it. Think of something nice, he’d say to himself, like his mum’s cooking or Alice.

It was almost light now. Will had such a terrible ache in his stomach. He felt so tight and tense he could barely walk. It was like those dreams where you tried to move but found yourself paralysed. He always felt like this before combat. But then the whistle would blow and the one thing he feared more than being shot by the Germans – being shot by the Military Police – would drive him out on to the battlefield.

The rain had started in earnest. Will began his day soaked and freezing. No wonder they called them ‘the poor bloody infantry’. Things usually got worse around first light when Fritz sent over a few shells. It was all part of the daily routine.

‘Start the day with the prospect of dismemberment,’ said Moorhouse, one of the older soldiers. ‘Set the tone.’ He winked when he said it though. Will was always a bit taken aback by these comments. They called it ‘gallows humour’ apparently.

One or two shells coming over was something he had got used to. But prolonged barrages still frightened him to death. The noise went on for ever, like perpetual thunder. Then your ears would ring for hours afterwards – you could barely hear what people said. This is what it must be like to be deaf, Will realised. He thought of his old grandad. If he ever got back to Lancaster, Will decided, he was going to be a lot more patient with him.

He reached into his pocket for his mother’s latest letter. Although he was pleased to hear from her, what she wrote slightly bored him. He had been mildly interested to know that their Essex Redcomb hens, Sarah, Beth and Caitlin, had been producing at least three eggs a week. But he didn’t really care how much grease his mum had managed to collect from washing-up water to give to the rag-and-bone men for use in the manufacture of explosives. And he gave even less of a fig about the patriotic parish pageant his mum and younger sister were organising for the coming Christmas celebrations. This would be the fifth wartime Christmas. When the war began, they were convinced it would be over by Christmas. Still, at least she hadn’t put any nonsense in about trying to contact their Stanley with that medium she knew down the street. Lillie Franklin had been to see that woman three or four times since Stan died – wanting to know if he was ‘at peace’. It made Will and Jim angry when they heard about it; the woman charged sixpence a sitting, bringing messages from ‘the other side’ – a day’s wages for a load of waffle. Maybe his mum was still going but just kept quiet about it now.

What Will really wanted was a letter from Alice. He had written to her at least three weeks ago and that was more than enough time for her to get his letter and write back. Her last letter had been rather formal too. A lifeless description of a play they had put on for wounded men, which stopped abruptly when she reached the bottom of the page. Maybe the post was having difficulty keeping up with the army.

A couple of runners came up from the rear with flasks of tea and porridge. Just as they plonked the heavy cauldrons down, there came the first unmistakable whine of incoming shells. The men all dropped to the ground, sheltering in the ridges. Will heard the shells land but there were no great earth-shifting explosions – no tearing of the air. Instead, there was a series of jolting thuds that shook the ground, and then the eerie sound of hissing.

‘Gas!’ someone shouted, and the men were thrown into panic. Everyone fumbled for their respirators. The Huns had not sent gas shells over for a few weeks. Will’s unit had got careless. A pair of horses were harnessed close by and their minder was desperately