Read Online Lord of the Nutcracker Men by Iain Lawrence - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Iain Lawrence
Ads: Link
white light flared brighter than the sun, I thought. Not thirty yards away, there were Germans swinging their machine guns from shadow to shadow, just waiting to see a movement. I pressed myself down behind one of those sleeping men.
Well, something must have drawn the Germans' attention, for a gun swung toward me. I heard the sound of it, that awful mechanical chatter. Then the mud started to bubble close at my side. A second gun found me, and a third. They crossed to meet me like spotlights on an actor. And I did my best—believe me—to act very still.
I pressed myself against that sleeping man. I had my hand on his ankle, my head on his thigh. And I saw his uniform—or the tatters of it—and knew the man was German. In life, he'd done his best to kill me. But now, in death, he hid me and he sheltered me. I don't know if you'll understand this, but I felt a kinship with him, Johnny. It seemed to me, hunkered down there—frozen with fright— that he had gone beyond the battle, somehow. That he was content to lie there in a land that belonged to no man, and offer protection to anyone who needed it.
The flare fizzled out. But another burst behind it. The Germans kept shooting, and our own guns opened up, the bullets whistling past above my head. But the sleeping man kept me safe, until the darkness came and I carried on. I rolled away from him and wormed my way toward the wire.
We reached the German trench that night. We bombed it, and even brought back a Hun for a prisoner. There wasan extra tot of rum for all of us when we dragged him in from no-man's-land.
This morning, when I stood at the parapet, I looked for my sleeping friend. And the funny thing is that he wasn't there. It's possible that the bullets shifted him about, or the ground collapsed around him. But I like to think that he had done his job and moved along. To where, I can't imagine.
You will find, enclosed, a new soldier for your army. I'm sorry, but I didn't have time to paint him.
All my love,
Dad
Of all the letters that Dad had sent, this one was my favorite. I listened to it smiling, my eyes open but seeing my own little battlefield, my trench full of nutcracker men. I felt as though I was fighting the battle side by side with my dad, that we were going together across noman's-land. His raid was so close to the one that I had imagined that the letter might have been sent by my wooden soldier.
“Well, open your parcel,” said Auntie Ivy.
I had almost forgotten that I held a new man in his wrappings. “It was just like that in the garden,” I said.
“Like what?” she asked.
“The raid.” I tore the paper. “I was playing with Sarah, and we had a raid just like that, just like Dad's.”
“I'm sure it's
all
the same,” she said. “Your trenches, your bombs.”
The package fell open and the soldier slid out.
“Oh, my,” said Auntie. “I don't care for that.”
The figure crawled on all fours, one hand reachingforward, one leg dragging behind. Carved from pale wood, unpainted, he seemed utterly weary, as though he could hardly move another inch. But there was a feeling of strength in him too, so I could look at him and
know
he'd keep going.
“Oh, my,” said Auntie again.
Then I saw what shocked her. It was the soldier's face. Below his carved hat, there
was
no face. Instead, the soldier had the broad and flattened muzzle of a bulldog.
“Poor James,” said Auntie. “Oh, your poor father. What did he see out there in the trenches?”
The little dog-faced soldier wasn't ugly. He looked rather brave to me. “I think he's going forward against the Huns,” I said. “I think he's going to carry on no matter what goes wrong.”
“Well, I don't want to look at him,” she said.
I picked up the figure. “I'll put him in the line.” “Just take it away.” She shook her hands, as though it was a spider that I held. “Just take it away.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
I went out the back and found Sarah waiting by the wall. I
Well, something must have drawn the Germans' attention, for a gun swung toward me. I heard the sound of it, that awful mechanical chatter. Then the mud started to bubble close at my side. A second gun found me, and a third. They crossed to meet me like spotlights on an actor. And I did my best—believe me—to act very still.
I pressed myself against that sleeping man. I had my hand on his ankle, my head on his thigh. And I saw his uniform—or the tatters of it—and knew the man was German. In life, he'd done his best to kill me. But now, in death, he hid me and he sheltered me. I don't know if you'll understand this, but I felt a kinship with him, Johnny. It seemed to me, hunkered down there—frozen with fright— that he had gone beyond the battle, somehow. That he was content to lie there in a land that belonged to no man, and offer protection to anyone who needed it.
The flare fizzled out. But another burst behind it. The Germans kept shooting, and our own guns opened up, the bullets whistling past above my head. But the sleeping man kept me safe, until the darkness came and I carried on. I rolled away from him and wormed my way toward the wire.
We reached the German trench that night. We bombed it, and even brought back a Hun for a prisoner. There wasan extra tot of rum for all of us when we dragged him in from no-man's-land.
This morning, when I stood at the parapet, I looked for my sleeping friend. And the funny thing is that he wasn't there. It's possible that the bullets shifted him about, or the ground collapsed around him. But I like to think that he had done his job and moved along. To where, I can't imagine.
You will find, enclosed, a new soldier for your army. I'm sorry, but I didn't have time to paint him.
All my love,
Dad
Of all the letters that Dad had sent, this one was my favorite. I listened to it smiling, my eyes open but seeing my own little battlefield, my trench full of nutcracker men. I felt as though I was fighting the battle side by side with my dad, that we were going together across noman's-land. His raid was so close to the one that I had imagined that the letter might have been sent by my wooden soldier.
“Well, open your parcel,” said Auntie Ivy.
I had almost forgotten that I held a new man in his wrappings. “It was just like that in the garden,” I said.
“Like what?” she asked.
“The raid.” I tore the paper. “I was playing with Sarah, and we had a raid just like that, just like Dad's.”
“I'm sure it's
all
the same,” she said. “Your trenches, your bombs.”
The package fell open and the soldier slid out.
“Oh, my,” said Auntie. “I don't care for that.”
The figure crawled on all fours, one hand reachingforward, one leg dragging behind. Carved from pale wood, unpainted, he seemed utterly weary, as though he could hardly move another inch. But there was a feeling of strength in him too, so I could look at him and
know
he'd keep going.
“Oh, my,” said Auntie again.
Then I saw what shocked her. It was the soldier's face. Below his carved hat, there
was
no face. Instead, the soldier had the broad and flattened muzzle of a bulldog.
“Poor James,” said Auntie. “Oh, your poor father. What did he see out there in the trenches?”
The little dog-faced soldier wasn't ugly. He looked rather brave to me. “I think he's going forward against the Huns,” I said. “I think he's going to carry on no matter what goes wrong.”
“Well, I don't want to look at him,” she said.
I picked up the figure. “I'll put him in the line.” “Just take it away.” She shook her hands, as though it was a spider that I held. “Just take it away.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
I went out the back and found Sarah waiting by the wall. I
Similar Books
