“Do you hear that bloody whistle lads? I hear it, have heard it enough already
Shall we do it one more time, lads? The whistle blows for us. One more time lads! Not for the king- God bless him - or the country. This time we'll do it for the prettiest girl back home. Do you remember her name?
Of course you do. Come on lads…” the sergeant lit a cigarette and climbed the ladder.
The Captain's heart was filled with pride, knowing he had died in the great victory at The Battle of The Somme.
The Great War was over: 1914 to 1916.
II
His father, Major Swan, had given him the name “Manly Sampson Swan”, because he had unreasonably high expectations of him. Captain Manly Sampson Swan had carried that with him for the rest of his life. Sometimes he was glad of it.
Corporal Black had scored a hat trick during the Christmas Truce. That had been the proudest moment of his life.
Things seemed to have been going downhill ever since.
The proudest moment of Captain Swan’s life should have been when he was promoted up from Lieutenant at the age of only 22. But it wasn't.
“There is good news and bad news,” the Colonel told him. “The good news is that you are promoted to Captain. Well done man.”
“What's the bad news, Sir?” he had asked.
“Well the bad news is that the other chap died, isn't it man?”
It was a crisp, frosty morning. The Colonel decided it would be ideal to visit the front. He finished his breakfast of bully beef and rum, then ordered his car.
Close to the third line was a clump of half burnt out trees. The Colonel spotted a young officer sat against a tree smoking his pipe. He ordered his driver to stop and went over.
“What are you doing man?” The Colonel asked.
“Thinking Sir.”
“Thinking about what?”
“The trees, Sir. They have taken an awful beating… Wouldn't it be wonderful if one day they got up and helped us with the war?”
“The trees…” the Colonel paused to think. “Quite right. Please get back to your post, man, after you have finished your pipe.”
“Yes Sir.”
The Colonel continued on his way. Soon he could hear the occasional rattle of small arms fire. Things had been quiet for days. He didn't like it.
“Dearest Manley,
Or should I say Captain Swan?
We were all so delighted to hear of your promotion. I'm so proud of you.
I hope you and your chaps are well, and not too cold. Enclosed are a new pair of socks and a scarf mummy made for you.
Everything is fine at home, the children are enjoying the snow.
Do take care.
Your loving,
Victoria.”
Swan looked up from his letter and saw the colonel standing over him. He stood and saluted smartly.
In his heart, the Colonel thought of Swan as the son he never had (being blessed with 3 daughters) but he would never show it.
After exchanging pleasantries, Swan briefed the colonel on recent events. Basically, nothing had happened for 4 days. The Colonel decided to take action.
Meanwhile, Corporal Black poured his entire days rum ration into his tea and drank it quickly.
Having a little free time, he decided to visit his friend Charlie Stevenson - a snipper currently station on the front.
“You alright mate?” he asked.
“Alright… you got a smoke mate?” Stevenson replied.
Stevenson smoked for a while then decided to talk, “had a bloody awful dream last night mate… was at my post, and it was rough mate. Jerry everywhere… but I was putting them down real easy like. Funny thing was that there was a lady there with me. Jerry corpses were proper piling up, until the lady gets covered in them. Buried under a mound of bodies. But then she bursts up, like a Phoenix…”
Bloody hell mate, not good… What's your body count now?”
“17.”
“A lot. Should I ask the serg’ to give you some leave?”
“No, I'm alright.”
III
Soon, Black had to return to his post. On the way, he almost bumped into an officer at a T-junction.
“Sorry sir,” Black snapped.
“Quite alright…Wait a minute, aren't you the chap who scored a hat trick at The Truce?”
“Yes sir!”
“Look, the Colonel asked me to lead a trench raid tonight and you're just the sort of chap I'm looking for. Could you gather 3 of your best men and meet me here at 2300?”
“Yes sir.”
It's going to be one of those bloody days, thought Black.
2255. Black led Stevenson and 2 Privates (who he knew had been around for over a year) towards the junction. It was bitterly cold with a slight breeze. Black had an axe and as many grenades as he could carry. Stevenson had exchanged his sniper rifle for 2 looted German pistols and a butcher's knife.
Swan and an older officer were waiting for them. Black noticed that both officers had knuckle duster-knives and braces of pistols. Their faces were streaked with boot polish. They seemed to know what they were doing.
For what seemed like eternity, they crawled through filthy mud and under barbed wire.
They had 2 objectives. Objective 1 was to take a prisoner for interrogation. Failing that, Objective 2 was to cause as much damage as possible then retreat.
At the enemy front line they saw a sentry busy brewing coffee. The older officer pounced behind him and knocked him out with his duster. The rest followed him into the trench.
But luck was not on their side. Moments later a relief sentry walked over and called the alarm before taking aim.
“Objective 2!” Swan commanded.
Stevenson instantly shot the sentry between the eyes. A second later, 2 squads of Germans were rushing them. 1 from either side.
Black threw a grenade behind the squad on the left as Swan opened fire on them.
Stevenson and the 2 Privates opened fire on the squad to the right.
The older officer had already been shot in the shoulder. Stevenson caught 2 bullets in the guts and 1 in the neck.
“Retreat!” Swan shouted above the chaos.
Black was the last the leave the trench and left a grenade behind him…
…Which was the only reason why they were able to rush through No Man’s Land and jump into their own trenches. Their men ran to the firing step to check that none of the enemy were following them.
They had all been cut by barbed wire in the rush. One Private had been nicked in the leg by a stray bullet. A medic was called for.
“That didn't go too badly,” Swan managed to say.
“They were damn well waiting for us,”gasped the older officer, as he held a handkerchief against his wounded shoulder.
“Bloody Hello! Stevenson was my mate! He was my last bloody friend!” Black roared out.
He roared out in pain and frustration and against the mindless cruelty of it all.
IV
After 5 hours of sleep, Black was rudely awakened.
“Good morning Corporal. Pack your bag, you're being transferred to the third line for rest. Captain’s orders.”
“Alright, just let me get me tea and rum first.
Black found himself temporarily posted with a Jamaican platoon on the reserve line. This was great. The fellows loved rum and football just as much as he did.
Yet he was relieved, 6 days later, when he was reunited with his own platoon in the central line. However, Captain Swan was the only familiar face remaining. Of all the lads from his factory who had volunteered in 1914, he was the last. There were still lads who he had fought beside once or twice in the last year, but it wasn't the same.
“Good morning, it's the Hat-Trick Chap right?” Swan greeted him.
“Yes sir.”
“I've been thinking, how would you like a promotion to Sergeant?”
“Yes sir… Because of the Hat-Trick, sir?”
“Yes, but mostly because of your actions on the trench raid. I saw what you did as we retreated - saved us all, I reckon.”
“Yes sir.”
“Listen, have a bunch of conscripts arriving tomorrow, need a good chap to lead them…”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, and one more thing. I seem to recall the conscripts are from your neck of the woods… York, right?”
“Yes sir.”
Bloody hell, Black thought as he walked away, what is it about the man that makes me agree to everything he says?
“Do you know my brother Tom?”
“Tom Wright?” Black asked.
“Yes serg'.”
“ He was a good man. Saved my life once or twice. Sorry son, he caught one a month ago.”
“How about my uncle, Jimmy Stone.”
“Was quick and clear for him, son.”
“Jesus.”
“Drink up lads, we need to relieve the men on the parapet in 7 minutes.”
“Can you tell us about that Hat-Trick you scored?”
“ At dinner time, if you really want. Come on lads, 6 minutes.”
9 young men had been posted to Black, mostly good lads aged 18 who would have volunteered anyway. They were placed on the central line where the main work was guarding the firing step and maintaining dugouts. Love s of standing around, lots of digging. They were shelled on the second evening, but they were well protected.
On the 5th day, they were moved to the front line, where life was more dangerous.
V
At the end of summer, Black was given a month leave in Blighty. But that time, only 1 of his squad remained. 3 men were MIA and 4 had been sent home wounded. He and Ted Jones (the remaining man) were to be mixed in with another under strength squad for the same Yorkshire regiment.
Leave in Blighty was a relief for Black. The boat trip across the Channel was a nightmare, but as soon as his boots touched English soil, he smiled.
He spent most of his time with his parents or alone in the pub. It was hard to talk to people.
On 1 lonely pub session the elderly landlord questioned him as he paid his tab, “son, honestly, do you want think we're going to win this war?”
“Well we have to, really, don't we?” Black replied and staggered home.
“By God and Saint George, we will win this war!” Captain Swan raised his 9th glass of rosé to toast his fellow officers.
He was on 4 day leave in a chateau 40 miles from the front. The next morning he would be sent to the front line, he would regret his 10th glass.
Swan sat in the back of the car with a lieutenant who's name he had forgotten. As the vineyards and farm land slowly became more barren and war-torn, his hangover got worse.
As Swan walked towards the front line, the smell of rotten flesh, gunpowder and shit made him physically sick. After vomiting, he rushed to his dugout and found his bat-man. He ordered a strong coffee mixed with a double brandy. After that, he could deal with the world.
Black stood on the brow of a transport ship and smoked. A second troop transport ship was beside him and a destroyer sailed a few hundred yards ahead - which was reassuring.
Still, he would feel safer on dry land- not that he was in a rush to get back to the trenches.
VI
“There are 2 types of people in this world, Private,” Swan had decided to lecture this bat-man over an early breakfast,” those who have already won the war inside their own hearts and those who have not… which are you?”
“I'm English, sir, and we were expected to inspect the front line 3 minutes ago.”
“ Right you are.”
“Good morning Sergeant Black,” said a tired looking Captain Swan.
“Yes sir, good morning sir,” Black replied smartly.
“Are you ready to get stuck into the Hun, sergeant?”
“Yes sir, but I'd rather be having a nice cup of tea and a smoke with my dad, sir.”
“Quite right,” then Swan whispered, “ try to show a bit more spirit In front of the men for God's sake.”
“Yes sir!”
Then the German offensive began.
First a short artillery bombardment, which was worse than usual because they knew that they didn't have time to go in the dugouts. They could only duck on the firing step as bombs rained down. They were lucky, but the screams coming from around the corner told them that others were not.
By the time they thought it was safe to stand up the Germans were already half way across no man's land.
“Bloody Hell!” Black swore and took aim.
“More than I expected,” Swan said, then calmly addressed his bat-man. ‘ Pop to the next line and ask Captain Hogan to lend us a platoon.”
The lad ran off as Swan threw a grenade the drew his revolver.
Black got off a second shot as the Germans swarmed through the barbed wire. Then it was the time of the bayonet and rifle -butt. A chaos of survival instinct.
Swan had taken a bullet to his right arm, dropped his pistol, and was using his trench-knife in his left hand.
Black found himself backed into a corner, trying to hold off 2 of the enemy.
Swan punched an attacker in the face with his duster-knife, then dodged a bayonet thrust.
Moments later Hogan’s reinforcements arrived. The fresh, uninjured men rapidly cleared the trench.
“Well done men…” Swan gasped as he dropped his weapon and held a handkerchief to his wounded arm. Then he noticed that he had been stabbed in the guts - “Medic! Stretcher Bearers!”
Then he passed out.
Black bandaged Swan's arm and stuffed another bandage in the stab wound. After that, he sat down in the mus, lit a cigarette and waited for the stretcher bearers.
It took Captain Swan over a month to recover. He spent the last week of his recovery time learning to shoot with his left hand.
“Right hand will never be quite the same sir, too much muscle and bone damage,” the doctor had told him.
“That didn't stop Nelson,” Swan had replied.
Black met him soon after in the central line.
“Sir, the Colonel told me you would be sent home. Why are you here, sir? Black asked him.
“He told me to go back to Blighty, but I told him I'm too busy,” Swan replied.
The man is insane, Black thought.
After that the men started calling him Captain 3 Balls, which would have made him proud.
VII
Almost winter, hope mam sends me some more socks soon, Black thought as he sat smoking on the firing step of the reserve trench. Then he noticed Swan's bat-man timidly approaching.
“The Captain would like to see in his dug-out,” the man said quietly.
Black followed him into a hole 4 yards wide, 2 yards lond and almost 2 yards high. There were 2 crude, narrow beds and a crate between them which served as a table for an oil lamp, a bottle and a pile of books.
“Good afternoon sergeant,” Swan greeted him.
“Sir.”
“I've been meaning to talk to you for a while… but you know how it is,” the Captain continued.
“Yes sir.”
“You have saved my life twice now…”
“Please don't promote me again sir.”
“No, I wanted to give you this,” Swan handed him a bottle of single malt from the crate table. “Nanna sent it to me when I was in hospital. I was saving it for a special occasion, but I decided to give it to you.”
“Thank you sir… With respect sir, I'd rather drink it with you.”
“Jolly good, quite right man. Take a seat. I don't have any glasses I'm afraid.”
“:Not an issue sir.”
“Dearest Manley,
Hope you are in good health and the war is going well
Thank you so much for your last letter. I know you are ever so busy. The children enjoyed reading it.
I've sent you some tobacco to share with your pals and mummy has sent some chocolate. Uncle Tom sent some brandy.
I think about you all the time. See you in my dreams,
Your loving,
Victoria.”
Manley Sampson Swan did not often cry.
At that time. Black was drinking his tea and rum. The first sip felt like a kiss against his lips. He lit up, then offered a cigarette to the young private who shared his dug-out.
“Cheers serg',” the lad took a drag. “You know, I never smoked before the war. My mam’s going to kill me if she catches me smoking back home.”
“I wouldn't worry about that too much son.”
VIII
“Something big is coming up, you mark my words,” Swan grinned.
“Yes sir. What makes you say that sir?” Black asked.
“All hush hush, you understand man. Between you and me. Something big! Vast amounts of ordinance being moved to the rear lines. Vast! Going to be a hell of a show.”
“Yes sir. Hush hush,” Black replied and tried to ignore the terrible sinking feeling.
Bloody hell. Bloody loud mouth bloody officer. If 3 Balls has told me then he has told everyone. The Hun have probably already heard. This is going to be an absolute bloody nightmare, Black thought as he walked away. Then he lit up.
Somewhere the sun was shining and a bird sang in a tree - somewhere, but not here.
The End.
