Free The Fallen by Tarn Richardson Page A

we?” the Sergeant Major enquired, addressing the leading Priest, and then wondering nervously for a moment if word of his own little foray into the local town with a couple of his men whoring and drinking before the big push east had found its way back to the officer’s mess and drawn Priests to investigate.
    â€œLong time on the road as well,” the Priest replied joylessly, his stubble the same jet-black as his eyes, and the Sergeant wondered what calling could had driven the Priests to have agreed to visit this ungodly place.
    Hard men. That was the Sergeant’s immediate impression of them, men not to be crossed. Men who would stop at nothing to answer their God’s goals, no matter what the cost. Equally though, he supposed no harm could come of having Priests uttering prayers behind their backs as they climbed into the heights of the Italian-Slovenian border with the weight of the Austro-Hungarian army against them.
    When the Sergeant Major had been first told of the plan, to drive east into the impenetrable heights of the Carso towards Monte San Michele, he had erupted with uncustomary derision, knowing that it would be madness. These northeastern border mountains, which now surrounded the Third Italian Army, were long known to provide Italy with both a shield against invaders and a wall to check their own ambitions of expansion. He knew any assault up them would be carnage.
    â€œThis one,” the Priest said, indicating the youngest soldier they flanked. “He is to go with that unit.” The Priest pointed towards a group of soldiers who had risen as one when the new recruits had arrived. He took the Private by the arm and urged him towards his new platoon.
    â€œI beg your pardon?” asked the Sergeant, stepping into the Priest’s line of sight. “I’m the one who decides who joins which unit.”
    â€œNot this time,” replied the Priest, producing a piece of paper from thedepths of his robe and pushing it into the Sergeant’s hand. The soldier’s eyes caught sight of the signature and at once he blanched and nodded.
    â€œVery well” he said, stepping back. “And are you intending to stay?” The Sergeant’s tone had changed instantly to one of subservience.
    The question seemed to surprise the Priest. “Of course! We intend to ascend the Carso with them! Our prayers, we hope, will be heard and answered for swift victory.”
    â€œWell, all seems to be in order,” muttered the Sergeant, handing back the paperwork, having looked no further than the signature upon it. After all, that was all he needed to make him realise this was not an appointment he should question.
    â€œGood,” nodded the Priest, taking the sheet from him. “I thought it would, with orders from Commander-in-chief Cadorna himself. Make sure the soldier remains with that unit. Do not let him leave it, not under any direction.” The Sergeant nodded. “You will not want Cadorna to know his own orders have not been followed to the letter, will you? Now,” he went on, looking over the massed ranks of infantry spread out across the stunted grass of the scorched mountainside, the endless, unmoving lines resembling bodies laid out in an open air morgue, “Where can we find lodgings? We need nothing extravagant. A little privacy will suffice.”
    The Sergeant pointed weakly to an officer’s tent on the side of the ridge, standing empty as it had done for the last few days, ever since it had been erected. He supposed that would suit their needs. Few officers had risked coming into the front line from the lower valleys, even though the enemy was still miles away, high up in the crevices and ravines of the Carso, waiting for the Third Army itself to come to them.
    â€œBut sir,” the Sergeant Major added quickly, his confidence still dented by the image of his unflinching and ruthless Commander-in-chief’s signature, “surely