Read Online The Penguin Book of First World War Stories by None, Anne-Marie Einhaus - Free Book Online Page A

bottle, the conscientious Baron was drearily bowed asleep over masses of Situation Reports, Ration Indents, Casualty Reports, and letters from and to relatives of men killed. Baron’s kindliness and paper fever involved him in long carefully docketed correspondence with the relatives of the dead; once, five minutes before zero hour, 4 Ellerton had found him in a dugout agitatedly explaining by letter to an indignant parent why the pocket-knife was missing from the effects of a man killed two months before.
    â€˜Why don’t you lie down, Baron? You’re worn out, old man, and you’re only nodding asleep there. Chuck that silly bumph, and go to sleep.’
    Baron sat up with a jerk.
    â€˜Wha’s time?’
    â€˜Two o’clock.’
    â€˜Tch, tch! And I
must
get all this done before dawn!’
    Ellerton knew it was useless to argue further, and slowly got into his equipment. As he shut the door, he saw Baron was already beginning to nod again.
    And Baron was not the only one who was tired. The whole battalion was tired, tired to a mortal indifference. The last newspapers they had seen, dating from the end of October, informed them they had won splendid victories. It was, of course, interesting to get news about this big war which was going on, but they were too much absorbed in their own job, and far too tired to give much attention to it.
    The cold wind smote Ellerton’s cheek as he stumbled wearily along, with a weary, silent runner behind him. Overhead a wasted-looking moon sagged westwards, encumbered by heavy clouds. Ellerton was leg-weary, body-weary, mind-weary, heart-weary, so sick of the war that he had ceased to think about it, and simply plodded on, resigned to an eternity of trench duty, hopeless about the infernal thing ever ending. Even the sudden return to open warfare, even the large map outsideDivisional Headquarters, almost daily marked with new bulging advances in blue pencil, failed to alter him. Shut inside the blinkers of duty as an infantry officer, his intelligence was dead or somnolent – he almost believed Baron’s imbecility about having to get to Berlin, which was only Baron’s conscientious feeling that the routine even of war must be carried out to the end predetermined by ‘the authorities’. Who the devil are ‘the authorities’, though, Ellerton reflected as he stumbled along? God knows. Anyhow it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not a button. And talking of buttons, I must tell that idiot, Fen-church, that he forgot again to sew that fly-button on my slacks…
    He came to the first of the three sentry positions, established about fifty yards from the main road. Damn funny, not having any trenches; so awkward and unprotected. The sentries, too, felt awkward without the customary fire-step and parapet… You never knew what might happen with the old Boche. Yet it was very quiet, unbelievably quiet. But for an occasional Very light and a little artillery fire to the left they might have been on night ops. in England.
    â€˜Anything to report, Corporal?’
    â€˜No, sir, all quiet, sir.’
    â€˜Let the men rest as much as you can.’
    â€˜Very good, sir.’
    â€˜You know we’re being relieved to-morrow?’
    â€˜â€™Eard that tale before, sir.’
    â€˜Well, there’s another division bivouacked just behind us. Captain Baron saw one of their officers at Battalion HQ. I think we’ve earned a few days’ rest.’
    â€˜Men are worn out, sir, and them iron rations…’
    â€˜I know, I know, but they’ll get hot food to-morrow, or the QM shall perish…’
    â€˜Very good, sir.’
    â€˜Good-night, Corporal.’
    â€˜Good-night, sir.’
    Undoubtedly it was amazingly quiet. Ellerton peered through the dim air – not a light, not a bullet, not a shell, not a sound from the German army. A surprise attack pending? Or had theyretreated faster than ever,