Early in World War One, a young Canadian soldier is wounded and trapped behind German lines. He uses quick thinking and ingenuity to evade capture, then deeper into enemy territory, he meets a young woman who recently lost her father and brothers to...
David knelt in the shallow shell hole, watching the last of the stretchers disappear down the slope. He bowed his head, replaced his cap and spoke to the two soldiers beside him. "Let's regroup. Make the four platoons into two, then get the men dug in and secure the position. You're the new platoon commanders."
"But we're only privates."
"Yes, and so am I. That's all we've left now. Somebody has to take charge." He pointed toward the German trenches across the slopes to the east. "We're a bit higher than Fritz here, so their gas shouldn't reach us. But to be safe, have the men continue saving their piss."
"Fritz? Who's Fritz?"
"That's the Brits' nickname for the Krauts – the Germans."
"When's reinforcement coming?"
"Captain said tonight." David winced, then looked over his shoulder, down the slope toward Ypres, while he thought. "When the men have been organised, set them to deepening and connecting these craters."
He scanned his scribbled notes to find priorities. "Holmes, when the platoons are sorted, have a few men set up a latrine area. Nothing fancy; we won't be here long. Tompkins, cut me a squad to help the Engineers deploy the barbed wire. I'll show them where at dusk."
A quarter-hour after sunset, David was with the squad twenty yards in front of their position when he heard an incoming mortar whistle down.
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Black. Nothing but black.
Oh, God! I'm blind.
David closed his eyes and drifted at the edge of consciousness. His face felt like it had been ripped off, but the stench of spilt guts and scorched flesh showed his nose still worked.
Realising his face was in the muck, he rolled onto his back, head throbbing with the effort. He opened his eyes again and stared into the blackness. The sky slowly came into focus, and he blinked to clear his vision. The Milky Way. The stars.
I can see. I'm alive. How much of me?
He began a digit check, wiggling his fingers and toes, relieved they were still attached and functioning. Then he tensed. Fuck! Cold, wet crotch.
No! Please, no.
His probing relieved his mind and stirred smells of stale urine as he relaxed and began breathing again. All twenty-one. So, now what?
He tried to remember where he was. Thoughts of the squad laying barbed wire drifted in, so he rolled his head side to side to examine his surroundings and saw scattered bodies. Then pausing his breathing, he listened. Quiet.
