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 as he watched the last of the stretchers disappear down the slope. He bowed his head and shuddered. Then blowing a deep breath, he replaced his cap and spoke to the two soldiers beside him, "Just us, now. Let's regroup. Make the four platoons into two, then protect ourselves and our 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." David pointed to 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 Brit's nickname for the Krauts – the Germans."
"When's reinforcement coming?"
"Captain said tonight." David winced as he looked over his shoulder, down the slope toward Ypres. "When the men have been organised, set them at 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 the whistle of an incoming mortar.
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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.
He rolled onto his back, head throbbing with the effort. Then opening his eyes, he stared into the blackness. The sky slowly came into focus, and he blinked to clear his vision.
The Milky Way. The stars.
I'm alive. How much of me?
He began a digit check, feeling all twenty fingers and toes 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.
Twenty-one. So, now what?
He tried to remember where he was. Thoughts of the squad working with 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.
