When Shadows Fall (3 page)

“Lieutenant!” Timmy’s voice howled from somewhere.

Mercifully the darkness took him.

The grey morning horizon was smeared with ugly tendrils of smoke. Adam sat up on his bed in the Advanced Dressing Station and gazed through the window at the pastureland surrounding Hamel, a small village in the Somme valley. Carts groaning on their axles, laden with ammunitions and engine parts, boxes of biscuits and tinned spam, coils of telegraph wire, and caged hens, cluttered the main road. Beside a small chateau a goat picked at the stubbly grass, tied to a wooden stake by a limp brown rope. Adam grimaced at the stoic application of the animal to its endless routine. The blithe ignorance that a beast possessed—perhaps it was an advantage that it had over man. To the east artillery spewed flames and death. The window shook slightly.

There was a knock on the door. A woman peered inside.

“Nurse?” Adam enquired.

“Lieutenant, there’s a young man who wants to come in.”

“Who is he?”

“A private, sir. Apologies, I know this is an officer’s ward. He said his name’s Timmy Hannigan and that he’s one of your men.”

Adam cleared his throat with some difficulty. “Yes. Send him in.”

“I’ll fetch you water first, Lieutenant.” The nurse opened a cupboard and retrieved a mug from the mismatch of ointments, field dressings, gauze sponges, and brandy bottles. She filled the mug from a flask and placed it by Adam’s bed. “You know, there’s something I hadn’t mentioned, Lieutenant. When you were brought here the other night, after the shelling, it wasn’t a stretcher that carried you. Hannigan did. By himself.”

Adam turned his eyes up to her. “Carried me? Little Timmy carried
me
?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

“Well, that beats all.” Adam yawned and stretched. “So young Hannigan’s after saving my life yet again. Go on, then. Let the boy inside.”

Timmy came in, peeking around the long tent, helmet clutched between his hands. The nurse directed him with a nod, and he approached Adam’s bed.

“Lieutenant,” he said shyly, “how are you feeling?”

“Excellent,” Adam lied. “So I hear gratitude is in order. Again. The nurse says you carried me back here.”

“’Twas nothing, Lieutenant. I saw you fall under that shell. You would have been an age waiting for the stretcher.”

“That’s a good mile walk, by Christ. And I’m somewhat bigger than you, to say the least. How did you manage it?”

Timmy grinned. “’Twas nothing, Lieutenant.”

“Well, how are you? How are things back at the line?”

Timmy fidgeted with the helmet in his hands. “Bad enough. The German guns are still going, and word says we’re going to have to pull back west to Amiens before the day’s out. Jerry’s blood is up, and he’s coming after us.”

“Is he now?” Adam sat up and glanced round the ward. “Then I’d better be about my feet again. Can’t spend the rest of the war lying amongst these complainers.” Though his body protested, he already yearned to be back at the front. The ward was the last place a soldier wanted to be.

“You should rest, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks for the advice, Private, but I’m fine. I’m getting bored, in fact. Nurse!”

She turned to him from where she was cutting bandages at a nearby table. “Yes?”

“When can I be back out?”

She pursed her lips dubiously. The object, indeed the instruction, was to get wounded men patched up and returned to action as quickly as possible. Even when it went against better medical judgement.

“Not today, I’d imagine. That’s a nasty gash on the side of your head. Tomorrow . . . maybe.”

“Good.” Adam winked at Timmy. “Don’t look so worried, Private. You’ll not have to take on Jerry without me.”

There was a muffled thump and the window shook again. Timmy flinched.

“Calm down, Private,” Adam chuckled. “That artillery is a good three miles down the line.”

“Sir,” Timmy began, “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Of course. I can hardly say no after you saved my life twice in one night.”

“I-I have something, sir. A diary. I’ve been keeping a record of my time here.” From the folds of his jacket he produced a small, tattered book. “Silly, really. I just wanted to show me mam when I got home. They censor all the letters, as you know, sir. At least they can’t censor my diary.”

Adam looked at the work in question. “Not silly at all, Private. I’ve seen you scribbling away on it many the night. Lots of fellows do.”

Timmy took a deep breath. “I’d like you to give it to my mother, Lieutenant. Promise me you will.”

“Me?” Adam frowned. “Why would I give it to her? Give it yourself.”

Timmy looked close to tears. “I’m worried I might not make it, Lieutenant. I’ve had some bad dreams of late.” His hands were trembling. “But if I give it to you, I know it will get there. Please, Lieutenant, you have to promise me.”

Adam felt a prick of annoyance. He pushed himself higher on the bed and flicked a hand. “Nonsense talk, Private. We’ll both be going home—and soon, too. This war will finish up in a few months, one way or another.”

“Please!” Timmy suddenly leaned towards him, and there was a frantic look in his eyes. “I beg you, Lieutenant. Please promise me you’ll give it to her.”

Adam swallowed hard. Reluctantly, he reached for the diary. “All right, Private. If it will shut you up, I promise. But I can also tell you for certain, you’ll be able to deliver this diary home by yourself. You’ll see.” He placed the diary on top of the haversack by his bed.

Timmy sat back, looking relieved. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you.”

The nurse gave a discreet cough in the corner. Timmy looked around.

“Ah. I’d better be going, Lieutenant. They don’t normally allow the ranks in here.”

Adam clapped his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Private. Tell the platoon to expect me. We’ve a bit of work to do yet, so let’s look sharp about it.”

“Yes, sir.” Timmy stood up, saluted Adam with a smile, then turned and left the ward.

Adam glanced towards the diary. He sighed and kicked the blanket off his legs. “Tomorrow I’m out of here,” he told the nurse. “No ifs, no buts. My lads need me.”

As it happened, the nurse had little choice.

The following day, every single man and youngster was retreating westwards as fast as he could manage. After Russia’s surrender, the German army was able to move a large number of its divisions from the eastern to the western front. The overwhelming might of America’s war machine was imminent in Europe, but Germany was determined to wipe out the Allied resistance before it ever arrived.

The bombardment that began on 21 March, launched from the Hindenburg Line, inflicted over a thousand casualties upon the First and Second Dublin Fusiliers in the space of just ten hours. The bodies of men and horses lay scattered about the trenches, their collective stench overpowering even the best applications of chloride of lime disinfectant. By the following afternoon, taking advantage of the fog and the general disarray, German stormtroopers advanced deep into British positions and the British front line quickly collapsed.

With his concussion settled and his head bandaged, Adam joined the retreat westwards to Amiens, mingling in with a steady stream of bruised, beleaguered soldiers and creaking gun wagons. A stubborn mist still cloaked the landscape, obscuring visibility, but the distant crump of artillery fire was enough to remind them of who was following their trail.

Amiens lay in the basin of the River Somme, its canal running all the way to the English Channel. Parts of the old town still wallowed amongst swampland, but the centre was dominated by broad boulevards, cathedrals, and shops. Amiens was also a vital railway junction, crucial to whichever army controlled it.

The streets were now flooded with British, Australian, and Canadian troops. Adam made enquiries about his superior officers and was shown to a hastily formed command post at the edge of the town. It looked to be a granary of some sort, dark and dank and illuminated only by a few oil lanterns on a long teak table. The private at the door gazed blearily at him as he peered inside.

“Lieutenant Adam Bowen,” he introduced himself. “I’m looking for my platoon. I understand Captain Blevins is inside.”

“Sir.” The private saluted and stood aside to allow him entry.

Several heads were bowed over the table. Fingers stabbed at lines on maps, voices growled and recriminated. The place stank of animal feed, tobacco smoke, and sweat. Adam stood patiently to the back until a head lifted and he was recognised.

“Bowen? Jesus, Lieutenant, where have you been?” A man of about Adam’s age approached. Captain Blevins was slightly shorter than Adam, white-skinned with hair of mousy red. His blue eyes strained from his skull as though he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Took a knock on the first night of the bombardment, Captain,” Adam apologised. “I was taken back for dressing and only got out this morning. We’re on the run, I take it? Where’s my platoon, sir?”

Blevins glanced back to the table, to the hunched figure of Colonel Mallory, his whiskered countenance glowering over the maps. “Yes, we’re on the run, and I haven’t the foggiest what’s going to happen next. I’d say he doesn’t either. But I’m going to send you back to work, Bowen, if you’re up to it.”

“Damn right I am, Captain.”

“Your platoon is in Villers-Bretonneux. If the Germans get hold of that town, they’ll bomb Amiens to ruins. I gather that the Australians are getting ready to put up a stand, and your lads can give them a hand with it. Jerry’s kicking the stuffing out of us at the moment.” Blevins sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “Get over there, Lieutenant. For God’s sake, tell your boys not to let us down.”

“I’ll need a new rifle and some ammunition, sir. And another helmet.”

“Go to stores. The cattle byre, that is. Next door.”

“Sir.” Adam saluted and left the room.

He hitched a ride on a cart transporting mounted machine guns towards Villers-Bretonneux. About twelve miles from Amiens, it was a cramped little commune surrounded by woodland and razed pasture. Adam clambered off the cart outside the town hall and walked east of the village to where a stone bridge forded a river. Another enquiry led him to his platoon, encamped amongst a bundle of farm outhouses.

“You lazy lot,” he thundered, spotting a gaggle of familiar bodies sitting on wooden crates, eating and smoking. He concealed his relief at finding them and shook his head. “A disgrace, you are. What’s this? The seaside on a summer’s day?”

They stared, smiled, and hopped to their feet, crowding towards him.

“Lieutenant, you’re alive!”

“Welcome back, Lieutenant!”

“We thought the Hun had seen to you, Lieutenant. Those nurses must have patched you up good.”

Adam snorted and took a seat on a munitions box, laying his rifle by his feet. “The Hun had better try harder than that. I hear you’re building defences out here.”

One of them, freckle-faced and lean, told him, “The Australians have taken over the show for now. We’re just waiting for orders. How are you feeling, sir?”

“I’m good, Rourke. The captain says we’re to give the Aussies a hand, but I’ll have to speak to their officers first. Tell me, any lunch going about?”