Free Everyone Brave Is Forgiven by Chris Cleave Page B

unstrapped his pack, settled it on the slope, then took Duggan under the arms and heaved him clear of the water.
    “There,” he said. “Are you all right?”
    “As an actor? I’m truh . . . tremendous.”
    “Where’s your pack?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Where’s your gun?”
    “It’s called a ruh . . . rifle, Heath. You should know better.”
    “Where the hell is it?”
    The gale moaned above the lip of the draw.
    “I duh . . . I don’t know. I’m suh . . . suh . . . sorry, Alistair.”
    “Don’t be, you fool.” He put himself between Duggan and the wind.
    “The suh . . . sergeant major kicked you out too, I suppose?”
    “Something like that.”
    “He really is an abysmal buh . . . bastard. I could have him buh . . . barred from every club in Soho.”
    Alistair helped Duggan to a sitting position. “Can you stand?”
    “I can tuh . . . try.”
    Alistair held him until the feeling came back into the man’s legs and he could stay up on his own.
    “Sh . . . shall we go?”
    “If you think you can walk?”
    “It muh . . . might not exactly be what you would call muh . . . marching.”
    “You must just do your best. Here, hold my arm.”
    They struggled to the lip of the draw. The wind rediscovered them and sent them staggering until they found their balance and leaned in to it.
    “Don’t get separated!” shouted Alistair. “I’ll never find you again!”
    “Have you your cuh . . . compass? I’ve luh . . . lost everything.”
    Alistair felt for it on the lanyard around his neck, and brought it before his face. “I can’t see it.”
    “Then how do we nuh . . . know the way?” shouted Duggan. “It’s dark as muh . . . miners’ lungs.”
    Alistair yelled into his ear. “This wind is southwest. Barracks are more or less west, I think. If we keep the wind on our left, between our nose and our shoulder, I think we can get ourselves there.”
    They struggled forward, with the gale contesting every step. Their saturated clothes clung to their skin, making another resistance to be fought against. The sodden ground sucked each footfall down and hated to let it rise. They persevered for an hour, then two, with Duggan’s hand growing heavier all the time on Alistair’s shoulder. Alistair took the windward side and sheltered the man all he could, but Duggan began to fall silent.
    Alistair was weakening too. From the darkness before them came strange colored flashes, which might have been real or might not. Fragments of songs and advertising slogans played in his ears, so clear that it was hard to believe he was not hearing them. Brylcreem your hair—she likes it that way. He shook his head to clear it. Lovely day for a Guinness. He forced himself back into the reality of it: wind on his left cheek, guiding Duggan over the worst of the uneven ground. For a while it worked. He raised one boot, then the other, then one boot, then the other, then They’re jolly well taking daily Bovril .
    A gust caught him in the face and snapped him awake. He found himself motionless, with Duggan leaning against him. He didn’t know how long the two of them had been standing like that, asleep on their feet. He shook Duggan alert and called a rest, and the two of them ducked into the poor shelter of a hillock that they sensed rather than saw. They put their backs to the slight slope and drew up their knees. Now that they had stopped, the cold was frightening.
    “Duggan?”
    There was no answer.
    Alistair shook him. “Duggan! We can’t sleep. We’ll fall unconscious.”
    A short pause. “Well, that would nuh . . . never do. What would the suh . . . sergeant major do without us?”
    “He’d probably be court-martialed for leaving us out here.”
    “Then I’m temped to die just to spuh . . . spite him.”
    “That’s the spirit that will win us the war.”
    “How fuh . . . far now, do you think?”
    Alistair thought about it. His best guess was