Rain Along The Firestep

Chapter 26 - 'The Fusilier'

Zero Minus 30 Minutes

The Fusilier shuffled, slowly, with the rest of his Company along the duck-boards; in order to receive their now, much looked forward to, pre-dawn ration of rum.

The 5th Army, of which The Fusilier's Company was but a minute-part, had thirty minutes before their sojourn out into the maelstrom which was yet to come: precious, valuable minutes; where they might, at least, still be hopeful of survival and to see another tomorrow! Once that whistle blew, such cognisance would be, instantly, dashed; leaving their quiddity then, entirely, at the tender and very-fickle mercies of the fates!

The Fusilier had now, finally, dragged his tired, water-logged feet to the head of the queue to now wave a battered-looking enamel mug at the CQMS and obtain his one sixty-fourth of a gallon of high-proofed, treacly and Army issue rum. Although still very-young, he would certainly value its' fortifying-effects, in helping to cope with what little time there was remaining in the relative-safety of the trench, prior to their then 'going over the top'!

The Fusilier would also certainly need it to give him a little 'Dutch courage'; when the time, finally, came to galvanise those trembling, reluctant legs up the rough-hewn trench-ladder and then, out into 'No Mans' Land'.

Having now received his rum-ration, The Fusilier had squeezed himself into a small-space upon the fire-step and sat down to consume the fiery-liquor, in the company of others from his Platoon. This ritual would be done with respect; as whenever a Tommy took his first sip, no matter how many issues of this 'SRD' rum from its stone-jars he had had, it always brought tears to his eyes!

As he had now felt the back of his head, as well as his throat, burning from his own first-sip of the neat-spirit, The Fusilier paused for thought; where he was now seated, had been almost upon the very-spot where only two-hours ago, one of the new-draft had been shot through the head and killed.

Now thinking about the man; he had been excited as a child at Christmas! The newly-arrived, raw and scantily-trained fusilier had wanted to see what 'No Mans' Land' had looked like before setting-foot in it; but, before anyone had had a chance to stop him from getting a better-view, he had jumped, nimbly, up on a large-pack placed upon the fire-step. The top-half of an eager, inquisitive head now standing proud of the rim of the parapet, he had managed to remain there for a mere five seconds; his eyes not even having had a chance of making any sense of the land-scape before him: before the top of his head had been shot clean-off as though a soft-boiled egg; its top sliced-away, thoroughly, as though by a butter-knife, skull still in its shrapnel-helmet as the egg would in its shell!

This, along with the pulpy reddish-pink brains now dripping from it had fallen, with a dull clang, onto the duck-boards at the bottom of the trench. The body however, had remained utterly and most-curiously, motionless, still leaning against the sandbags and as though glued in situ; that is, until a few seconds later it had, slowly, crumpled in upon its' self like a concertina placed top-end upon the floor before, finally, coming to rest upon mud-spattered, khaki-clad knees. What had remained of the head had then been pressed, sideways and firmly, against the trench wall: as though now listening for sounds it would never hear.

Initially, there was a pause. Then, one of the 'old sweats' had, suddenly, found himself shouting-out 'stretcher bearer!' but, more as a 'Pavlovian' reaction; something really, just to say! His heart had not been in the request, despite its urgency: for everyone nearby knew, this poor lad was already stone-dead!

The Fusilier now turned and looked at the spot on the trench-wall wall where the ruined-head had lain, albeit temporarily, to be certain that none of the brain-tissue, blood or other bodily fluids still adhered to it. Satisfied this not to be the case, he had leaned back, slightly, to rest his own against the damp coolness of the sand-bags and then, wearily, closed his eyes.