a group of virgins? He sighed again and, picking up the wooden spoon, placed a small amount of it in his mouth. With a mighty effort, he started to chew.
It might be a potato stew , he thought after a moment. And maybe some meat as well. He stopped chewing, and swallowed quickly. Meat! he thought again. What kind of meat? He inspected the bowl, stirring the contents up and checking the bit of gristle he had managed to find. Beef , he thought, thatâs got to be beef, probably the testicles or some other offal . But he was hungry, very hungry, he realised. In fact, he couldnât remember the last time he had eaten; he thought it might have been a packet of crisps on the morning of the patrol. Morning! What time is it now? What day is it now? Do they have days here? Tommy thought. Am I going mad or something?
âSod it,â he said, and threw the rest of the stuff down his throat.
âMy, whoâs a hungry boy, then?â came a voice from the tent flap. âDonât forget to stop at your fingers, what.â
Tommy looked up and saw Lieutenant Rayner standing by the tent entrance. He smiled and licked the spoon. âNot too bad actually when you donât think about whatâs in it.â
âFood of the gods, Iâm sure.â The Lieutenant limped over to his bed and climbed onto it. With an exaggerated sigh, he collapsed back onto the roughly stuffed pillow. âThat, my fine fellow,â he said âwas an awful lot of work just to have a shit.â He rolled onto his side and faced Tommy. âFeel any better, Mr Dead and Gone to Hell?â
Tommy placed the bowl on the little stool next to his bed, swung round and sat on the edge. âYou can take the piss all you want, Maurice, but I know what my eyes are telling me, and theyâre telling me that, unless Iâm dead, Iâm asleep and dreaming. If Iâm not dreaming, then Iâm as mad as a box of frogs, and if Iâm not mad, then Iâve gone back in time, for what reason I couldnât tell ya. Personally, my moneyâs on the dreaming.â
âWell, I donât care for any of those scenarios.â Maurice leaned up on his elbow, âBecause, Thomas, if you are dead, then Iâm a ghost, if you are dreaming, then I donât exist, if you are insane, then I am just a figment of your overactive imagination and if you have indeed gone back in time, as you say, then I have already lived this life and I am, well, already dead!â He smiled at Tommy. âSaying that, though, at least I get to live again. Even in your mind will do.â
Tommy sat thinking for a moment. What if Maurice is right? As insane as it sounded to Tommy, what if he had gone back in time? He looked over at Maurice, then looked around the tent, and thought, How could this be a dream? Itâs so real! He had never had a dream like it; in fact, he couldnât recall ever having a dream and realising it was a dream at the same time. Can you even do that?
âWhy the bloody hell would I have gone back in time? What possible reason would there be for that to happen? No, no, Iâm obviously dreaming or something, because, you know what, I can feel pain. How can you feel pain when youâre dead? Eh? Tell me that, then, Maurice.â
âYou can feel pain, old bean, because you are indeed alive! As we sit here debating on the whyâs and wherefores of heaven and hell, your heart is pumping blood to that close approximation you call a brain. You are also, I might add, breathing. You have just eaten some of that slop, for goodness sake. And believe me, if you werenât real, I would be the first to tell you.â With that, he leaned down from the bed, picked up a wooden bowl and threw it at Tommy, catching him in the leg.
âOw! Why did you do that?â exclaimed Tommy. âThat bloody hurt!â
âAha!â shouted Maurice. âYou can feel pain, you are alive and I am a genius, as I