Free Blackstone and the Great War by Sally Spencer Page B

Then he’d pick up his boots and start cleaning them himself.’
    â€˜Tell me about the days leading up to his murder,’ Blackstone said.
    â€˜We were in the trench,’ Blenkinsop replied, as if he couldn’t understand why the question was even being asked.
    Blackstone sighed again. ‘Did anything unusual happen?’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜Did something happen that stuck in your mind?’ Blackstone asked – with more hope than expectation. ‘Something that wasn’t quite normal?’
    Blenkinsop thought about it hard and long.
    â€˜Well, there was that argument he had with the other officers in his dugout, if that’s what you mean,’ he said, finally.
    â€˜What argument?’
    There are two reasons why an unexpected visit of the three lieutenants to the dugout makes Blenkinsop nervous. The first reason is that officers always make him nervous – even the ones he only knows by sight, and who have never got their sergeants to shout at him. The second reason is the hard and unyielding expression on the faces of the three young men as they look at Lieutenant Fortesque.
    One of the officers glares at Blenkinsop’s clumsy attempt to salute, then says, ‘Get out, you snivelling little bastard!’
    Blenkinsop knows this is not protocol – that the only person who is supposed to order him about is Lieutenant Fortesque himself – but he still finds himself scurrying for the door like a frightened rabbit.
    Once out in the trench, he doesn’t know what to do. He suspects the officer intended him to get well away from the doorway, but he is reluctant to go too far from the dugout in case one of his tormentors spots him and something unpleasant happens. So he stays where he is, trembling at the thought of the officer’s wrath, but comforting himself with the knowledge that if it gets too bad, Lieutenant Fortesque will step in and rescue him.
    At first, all he can hear from inside the dugout is a low murmuring, but then one of the voices is raised – and that voice belongs to Lieutenant Fortesque.
    â€˜It was wrong – I can see now that it was wrong – and I’m going to come clean about it,’ he says.
    â€˜Now you really don’t want to act too hastily, do you, Charles?’ says a second voice, and Blenkinsop thinks that while the speaker is undoubtedly angry – and perhaps even threatening – he also sounds rather worried.
    â€˜You can’t talk me out of it,’ Fortesque tells him. ‘The chances are, I’ll be killed in the offensive tomorrow – but if I’m not, I’ll take that as a sign that I should stand up like a man and confess.’
    â€˜Have you thought about the consequences?’ asks the second voice.
    â€˜I have.’
    â€˜They’ll strip you of your commission.’
    â€˜They might do worse than that – they may send me to jail. But it doesn’t matter – I’m still going to do what’s right.’
    â€˜And what about us?’ the other man demands. ‘Have you thought about that? It will ruin us, too.’
    â€˜I know,’ Lieutenant Fortesque says, ‘and I’m very sorry for that. If I could find some way to spare you all, while doing the right thing myself, I would. But there is no way.’
    â€˜What happened after that?’ Blackstone asked.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Blenkinsop said. ‘The sergeant spotted me standing there, told me I was an idle little bleeder, and ordered me to go to the reserve trench and fetch the rum ration.’
    â€˜Were the three officers still there when you got back?’
    â€˜No, they’d gone.’
    â€˜And how did Lieutenant Fortesque seem?’
    â€˜He was sitting at his table with his head in his hands. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him, and he said there was nothing anybody could do. I think  . . . I think he knew he was