Eleven Eleven - By Paul Dowswell Page 0,36

finds it funny,’ said Jim brusquely. The soldier’s smirk vanished in an instant.

‘They were the boots they gave out to soldiers in 1914 – the original British Expeditionary Force,’ said Jim. ‘I remember them. Look at the stitching. These fellas were killed at the start of the war – probably retreating back from Mons in the late summer.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he said in despair, looking up to the sky. He turned his back on his men as he tried to stop his face crumpling up. Will felt for him but didn’t dare put a consoling arm on his shoulder. He could see the other men looking uncomfortable. No one liked to see their sergeant so vulnerable. He was a tough bastard, and if he started to go, then what chance had the rest of them?

Jim took a few deep breaths, until he could be sure his voice was steady. Then he said, ‘It’s taken us all this time, and all these blessed dead soldiers, to get back to where we were over four years ago. Don’t know who was luckier – them or us that’s had to carry on fighting . . .’

He turned abruptly. ‘Come on, let’s get the bloody hell out of here.’

They began to walk back west. Jim had his compass out and that gave them a rough sense of the direction they needed to be going in. No one said a word, each of them completely wrapped up in scanning the gloom for movements. But it was difficult to tell whether a shifting branch was caused by a sniper or the wind.

Even though they were tired, the men picked up speed. They were all anxious to get out of the forest with no further casualties. After fifteen minutes, Jim raised an arm to signal a halt. ‘Right, two minutes’ rest,’ he whispered, ‘and then Cowell can take point.’

Cowell nodded. They set off without a word when Jim got up. The rain had stopped at least, but the sky above, as far as they could see through the canopy of leaves and branches, was still leaden.

Will was next in line, with Cowell at least five yards ahead. It was standard patrol procedure. You kept a good distance to make it more difficult for a sniper with a quick trigger finger to pick off a group of men in a few seconds, or to prevent a sudden artillery or mortar shell wiping out the whole patrol.

There were more bodies ahead of them. Five German soldiers – very recently killed, by the look of them. The trees around them were scarred and tattered from shell blast. It was not difficult to see what had happened here.

‘They were probably after us too,’ whispered Jim. ‘No sign of ’em when we came this way before. Wonder if there are any more German patrols?’

Will shook his head and tried to control the terrible anxiety that lurked in his gut. He just wanted to run as fast as he could out of the forest.

As they hurried past, Will looked at the bodies, with their weapons and supplies scattered around them. Two were lying separate from the others. Three had been caught in a tight bunch – maybe they were leaning in to light a cigarette from a single match – maybe they had been having a whispered conversation. Now they lay tangled together. Most were untouched, save for bleeding around the ears or nose. They had yet to take on the stench of death. One, a young soldier close to Will’s age, had a letter poking out the top of his trouser pocket.

Will hated seeing the personal belongings of dead men. The wristwatch, the shaving kit, the comb, the penknife, the mess tin and spoon and fork, and especially the letters from home. These things all had a terrible intimacy – once of great value to their dead owner, now worthless.

As Jim’s patrol hurried on, something stirred in the pile of bodies. The man had heard them coming and, in his haste to hide, had realised the safest spot was in among these dead soldiers. He wondered where his fellow sniper Hoffmayer was, and whether he had managed to add to his total today. They had set off at first light this morning, and had bet a bottle of schnapps on who would claim the most kills by sunset. He’d already caught some fool out in the open, shouting to draw attention to himself. That was too easy. He wondered if Hoffmayer had had