Eleven Eleven - By Paul Dowswell Page 0,42

forest. A short distance away he could see the trees abruptly end and could just make out a wide, flat field ahead.

The outside world was intruding. In the distance he could hear firing and shell bursts. Will lay there for a few more minutes, trying to make up his mind what to do. Eventually, he decided he had to move on. He began to crawl forward to the edge of the forest and peered anxiously out.

Ahead lay flat ground, obviously the scene of a recent battle. There were fresh craters and the smell of explosives and wet earth still hung in the air, along with acrid smoke from the blazing fuselage of a plane. He wondered if that was the one he had seen flying low over the forest earlier that morning. For now he could not see any other soldiers, but he was beginning to feel an overwhelming urge to get out of the forest. The landscape ahead of him was unfamiliar. There was nothing he remembered from entering the forest in the early-morning light. Perhaps this was on the other side? He had completely lost any sense of direction.

He crawled away from the shadow of the trees and into the churned-up ground before him. It was a laborious process, crawling forward like that, but Will didn’t want to stand up. A lone soldier in a field was just asking to be picked off by an enemy soldier – or even a careless one from his own side. It was a pity he no longer had his helmet. That would have made it obvious who he was.

Close to the burning plane he could see a deep crater. Beyond that was a small village. There was a church tower, a manor house and a few buildings. Will decided he would head for that. See what he might find.

It took him ten minutes to reach the crater. He peered cautiously over the lip, then froze in horror. There were two figures down at the bottom, observing him with fearful expressions on their faces. Then an awful stench hit him. Something else was in there – a dead man at the other side of the crater.

One of the two who were still alive was a German soldier. It was at this moment Will realised, with a shiver that went all down his body, he no longer had his rifle. He could not remember where he had left it – probably in the forest when his helmet had been shot off, or close to the edge of the wood before he had crawled out here. There would be hell to pay for that. Throwing away your weapon was definitely a court-martial charge. How he had not noticed until now, he could not understand.

So far he had escaped the horrors of the day and his every instinct told him to flee. But then the German soldier called up, ‘Hilfe!’ and held out his hand. He sounded timid and desperate. Will looked again. He was barely older than him.

The other fellow down there was more difficult to place. The man’s head was slumped forward, but then he jerked it up, as if waking from a nap. He wore the leather helmet and goggles of an airman. It must have been him in that Yank aeroplane.

Will realised at once the two of them were stuck in the mud that oozed thick and black at the bottom of the crater. He didn’t care that one of them was German. He couldn’t leave them to sink and drown, like poor Stan.

He slipped down the crater’s side, but the closer he got the more he could feel he was sinking into the soggy earth. ‘Wait,’ he called. ‘I’ll come back in a minute.’

He heard a voice call after him. ‘Hey, pal . . .’ It sounded weak but panicky, someone who was using their last reserves of strength to beg for help. ‘Don’t go. Stay and help us. Don’t go like the other guys . . .’

Will turned around again. ‘I need a stick – a branch – something to reach you with,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He began to scramble up again.

A shot rang out, burying itself into the wet earth just next to him. Will froze and turned. The one in the flying jacket held a pistol in his outstretched arms.

‘You gotta stay and help us,’ he pleaded. He sounded desperately weary. Will shouted angrily, ‘Why did you shoot