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By Root 2356 0

had given him a waterproof sheet to cover the damp ground. He spread it over the hard dirt, slid himself inside as far as he could. His feet still hung out into the trench, and he thought of the man whose work had created this small sanctuary, shorter, he supposed. The dugout grew narrow and shallow in the back, and he lay with his helmet as a pillow, his face only inches from the dirt above him. He wasn’t usually afraid of tight spaces, but had to fight it now. He kept his eyes closed, annoyed that sleep had not come quickly. The dugout was deathly quiet, the earth around him shielding him from anything that might be happening aboveground. Of course, likely nothing was happening up there. No one would be aboveground in daylight. They had taught him that much at Blighty. This network of trenches faced no-man’s-land, and Duke had told him that the Germans were only three hundred yards away, the only barrier vast thick coils of barbed wire, and, of course, the rifles of the lookouts. There hadn’t been a major assault against these lines in months, and no one seemed afraid that the Germans would suddenly start something. The daily ritual of the shelling was all the war these men were facing now, and yet they were still vulnerable, holed up like rats, dying in their protected places, victims of bad luck. He opened his eyes, stared up into the dark earth. Right here. A perfect tomb.

Every part of him was stiff exhaustion, but still the sleep would not come. He could not avoid thinking about the night before, the awful march, made terrifying by the shelling. The men who had died didn’t seem real to him anymore, names forgotten already. Well, of course. No names. These men don’t want to know, because if you die, they’ll forget you anyway. They didn’t teach that at Blighty: make no friends. Duke seems different. Something in his character, a teacher maybe, eager to help. But how many has he helped, and how many of those has he forgotten? Except for Sergeant Cower. He remembers him, they all do, even the officers. I thought he was such a bastard, loudmouthed and mean. But he was no bastard at all. Just did his job, leading greenies like me to the front. He knew he was dying, and still did his job, sent me off in the right direction. Don’t forget him.

A shock woke him, and he rose up, his face smacking the dirt above him, a small cave-in filling his eyes and nose.

“What? What?”

“Wake up, Greenie. Sun’s going down. It’s your watch.”

He felt hands around his legs, pulling him out of the dugout, blinked through the dirt, saw Duke and the corporal. Behind them, Graves stood with his hands clasped behind him. He said, “Good. Get him up on the parapet. Give him the drill. No mistakes, Private. You learn quickly out here. I’ll be in my quarters.”

The young lieutenant was gone, and Duke pointed back into the dugout, said, “Your rifle, Greenie. Be needing that, you know.”

He retrieved the rifle, followed the two men to the larger space, where the shelf was, sandbags stacked high on one side of the trench. The corporal pointed, and Duke said, “Up you go. I’ll be right next to you.” Both men stepped up onto the parapet, a stiff wide board, three feet above the bottom of the trench. Duke glanced at the nearest opening in the sandbags, said, “Keep your face away from here until it’s full dark. When the snipers can’t see, we’ll put the rifles up into the slots. We hung a few bells out on the barbed wire this week. Some genius at headquarters actually had a good idea. Should let us know if Fritz is trying to do something nasty.”

The corporal was down behind them, said, “You have two hours’ watch, starting at full dark, about a half hour from now. I’ll relieve you for two hours’ rest, then you’re back up again.”

He felt an icy chill, held tight to his rifle, hoped no one could see he was shaking. Duke looked back toward the corporal, said, “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.” Duke looked at him now, no smile on his bearded face. “Right, Greenie?”

He nodded, his throat tight, and Duke reached down, helped another man up onto the parapet.