Army Of Angels (A Glanny Fan Fiction)

Chapter Ten

Army Of Angels.

Chapter Ten.

June 1990:

"So Frank Collins was the only British troop to be killed in the nineteen fourteen Christmas truce?" He asked tapping the eraser side of his pencil onto a new pristine sheet of paper. I looked at the five sheets that lay on the coffee table. All of them were littered with my words.

"Yes he was," I said. I suddenly remembered another friend of mine dying on the front line. In the trenches.

I liked that bloke. He was funny when he wanted to be and quirky near enough always. He said what was on his mind and wasn't afraid to be open about it. War did awful things to people and for me ... I believe that it was the last straw at that particular time. Again ... This was only a a quarter of what was to come. The fear. The dread. The upset. The love.

January 1915:

It's been quiet for these past few days. Sure it's January the fifth. Just five days into the new year. Maybe they've made a New Years resolution to stop the fighting. Oh I do make myself laugh sometimes. We have more chance of pigs flying to the moon in some rocket we all make stories about before this war ends. I hate to say this but we are in this for the long run.

It seemed like a pleasant day in the trenches. The water was only up to the toe of my boots. The mud wasn't slippery. The sun was hot but there was a cool breeze easing through the air. If I were back at home I'd try and play tennis with my mother on a day like today.

"Man down! Man down!" Someone near the edge of the trench shouted.

I ran forward, my boots sloshing in the little amount of water that was there. Water found its way into my boots and splashed my knees and thigh. I'd have to change my socks after this. We were permitted to change our socks three times each day. This was to reduce the risk of trench foot. A nasty condition caused by too much water in one's boots causing the foot to become infected.

General O'Donoghue was already there kneeling on the ground in the mud. I rushed forward and knelt down next to him.

"What are you doing here Power?" He asked sullenly.

"Helping. Do you want my help or not?"

"I could ask the Commanding Officer to help. Why would I want some reckless private helping?" He asked back. His voice was hard.

"Would a commanding officer close this man's eyes. Would he - oh God - would he cry fresh tears over the fear still etched into this man's eyes. Would he use his own sleeve to wipe the blood from his forehead. Would he take care of this man's body even though he didn't know him? Because I would. Because I will and you really cannot stop me General O'Donoghue," I said.

"You're strong Power. Just remember who you're talking to here alright!" General O'Donoghue said.

So I did all that I said I would. I wiped his forehead clean where the sniper had shot this sniper. Pin-point barrage they call it. I can see why they did this type of barrage. You only do that when you want to take out a particularly dangerous sniper. I recognised this man now. The man that everyone talked about. The deadly sniper assassin.

Earlier today I said to Mark that I had a feeling something was going to happen today. It was too quiet. Too perfect a day for something had not to happen. Something had to juxtapose it. Something had to.

"You ought to be careful about those feelings of yours. Remember Anderson? Best cavalry man one could hope for. German sniper went for his heart and the bullet pinged off of his badge on his shirt. Another soldier went for his hat ... Well I should say head but all they managed was his hat. He was particularly fond of that hat. I'd have been more fond of my head really. You know this pretty face and all," he said and made me laugh, drawing a few stares. No one laughed in the trenches. Not really.