Starshine Read Free Page A

Jim caught the NCO’s arm.
    ‘My mate’s behind me, Sarge,’ he said urgently. ‘Don’t part us, there’s a good bloke. We’ve always been together and I sort of look after him, see.’
    For a moment the sergeant paused, then he nodded. He pulled outthe man in front of Jim and pushed him into the line behind Bertie. Then he gestured to the numbered men to fall out and join him and a corporal who was waiting at the beginning of what had once been a sunken road, although shellfire had brought its sides tumbling down, leaving it merely a depression in the ground.
    The sergeant gestured for them to sit, then addressed them in low, urgent monotones. ‘Right, lads. I am Sergeant Jones. I’m goin’ to be your platoon sergeant. Corporal Mackenzie ’ere is goin’ to guide us up to the front. But from what ’e tells me it ain’t much of a front. There’s very little cover up there – just scooped-out trenches only about three feet ’igh, sort of joining up with shell ’oles.’ He sniffed. ‘Seems everyone’s waiting for the bloody sandbags to be shipped over from England. But never mind that.
    ‘Now listen. Jerry doesn’t shell much at night but ’e knows exactly where these support trenches an’ tracks go up to the line, because ’e’s up there on the ’eights ahead of us and can see ’em all during the day. So, whatever you do, don’t show a light otherwise we’ll ’ave bloody great Jack Johnsons – those are ’is ’eaviest shells – down on us like a ton o’ bricks. So definitely no smokin’. We’ve got about ’alf a mile to go an’ we’ll soon be in sniper country. They operate at night, even if the artillery doesn’t. So no noise, keep yer ’eads down an’ freeze when the star shells go up, ’cos that’s when the Jerry snipers will be lookin’ down their sights. Understood?’
    Everyone nodded. Bertie held up a muddy hand. ‘Where are we goin’ to exactly, Sarge?’
    Jones sighed. ‘If I told you Piccadilly Circus, lad, it wouldn’t make much bloody difference, would it?’
    ‘Oh yes. Piccadilly’s in London, isn’t it, Sarge? Me father told me that, anyway.’
    ‘All right, then, sonny. So as not to confuse your father, I’ll tellyou that we’re ’eading for a place that we call Nun’s Wood, although it’s summat unpronounceable in Flemish. It’s almost up on the top of the ridge ahead of us. The Germans ’ave pushed us down that ’ill to this wood – although there ain’t many trees left I’m told – an’ we’re ’angin’ on by our eyelids. A mixed bag up there trying to ’old the line: Jocks, Service Corps blokes, an’ dishwashers. Not many rifles to go round and the corporal tells me that we pushed back the last attack by swingin’ picks and shovels. So the lads there are waitin’ for us to ’elp ’em an’ that’s what we’re goin’ to do.’
    He fell silent and stayed still as a green light soared into the sky behind him, leaving his silhouette – broad shoulders, rifle pointing to the sky and soft peaked cap, jammed squarely onto his head – gradually fading as the flare dropped and died.
    ‘Right. Just one more thing. There are twenty-five of us. ’Ow many Reservists?’ Everyone but Jim and Bertie raised a hand.
    ‘Ah yes, our two Terriers with their bloody muskets, last used at the Battle of Waterloo. Well the rest of you at least are trained soldiers, who have seen service, even if it was a year or two ago. Who’s seen active service, though?’
    Three hands rose.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Boer War, Sergeant. All three of us.’
    ‘Right. Well I know that was no picnic because I was there too. I survived the Kop. But I’ve got a feeling, lads, that this one is goin’ to be a bit different. A bloody sight worse, in fact, because of the guns the Jerries ’ave got: heavy stuff an’ machine guns. Even so, we’ll beat the buggers, but remember – from now on, ’eads down and no talkin’. Lead on, Corporal.’
    They plodded on and Jim