Free Black Hand Gang by Pat Kelleher

stuttering. It seemed as if a load had been lifted from him. Atkins had never known Ginger without his shell-shock.
    "Paradise? You mean - "
    "We're dead. Yes. Look. The guns have stopped. This isn't the Somme. This isn't France. It's heaven," Ginger sighed. "It's heaven..."
    "Valhalla," said Pot Shot, nodding in agreement.
    "You what?" said Jessop.
    "Valhalla. Norse heaven of Viking warriors."
    "Well, that's us, though, ain't it, warriors? That's us," said Lucky.
    "Blimey you're a regular fount of knowledge, Pot Shot. I'm surprised you can get your head inside that battle bowler of yours," Gutsy said.
    Atkins felt the great weariness that he had been holding at bay descend on him. It was as if the weight of his mortality was slowly crushing him, as if the mere thought of an end had robbed him of the tenacious will to cling on at all costs. Was this it then? If it was over, if it really was over, if he really could just stop and give in -
    "There's just one thing bothers me," said Half Pint, scratching his head after a few seconds thought.
    "Oh aye, what's that then?" said Jessop. "You found a problem with heaven, have you?"
    "Well, there's no way they'd be lettin' Porgy through the pearly gates for a start."
    Me, neither , thought Atkins.
    It was all very well the chaplains preaching for victory and devoutly citing that the murder of a Hun was a good thing, but they were hollow words if your conscience was pricked by other matters.
    Porgy inclined his head, pursing his lips as he nodded. "Man's got a point," he said.
    "I'll say," said Gutsy, "All those saintly, virtuous young ladies and Porgy? Might be his idea of heaven, but it'd be their idea of hell."
    "Don't blaspheme," said Ginger. "Look at it. How can it be anything else? Where did you ever see such beauty on earth?"
    "Where's the Padre? He'd know," said Lucky.
    "Well, if this is heaven he ain't going to be too happy about it," said Half Pint.
    "Why?"
    "He'll be out of a job, won't he?"
     
    Seeing that the gas was now blowing away, Jeffries eagerly pulled the stifling hood from his head as he stood ready to receive his god with expectations of the glory and power due to him. So he was perplexed at his deity's absence and the idyllic sights surrounding them confused him. But beyond that that there was a growing anger. What had gone wrong? He had said the words perfectly , hadn't he? Yes, he must have. He was sure he had. He ran through his preparations in his head. He had been painstaking in their groundwork. It had taken months to put this plan together based on years of meticulous research. There was only one conclusion he could come to; he'd been cheated. At the moment of his greatest triumph, somehow he'd been cheated. He shook his head slowly, uncomprehensive as anger burned deeply within him until he was consumed in a wave of rage and vitriol.
    "No!" he roared, throwing his helmet to the ground. "No!"
     
    Sergeant Hobson stormed over to 1 Section. "You lot! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"
    "Nothing, Sar'nt. We're dead," called Porgy.
    "You're not bloody well dead until I tell you you're dead!" snapped Hobson. "Now pick your kit up and follow me."
    Atkins smirked at Porgy, who shrugged. "Well, it's something to do until Saint Peter shows up and demobs us," he said.
    "Don't believe in heaven, anyway," said Pot Shot casually. "Opiate of the masses an' all that."
    "Opiate of the masses, that you readin' again, is it?" retorted Gutsy.
    "Opiate?" said Jessop thoughtfully. "No, wait lads, he could be onto something. That would explain it. What if ol' Fritzy-boy, is using some sort of experimental opium gas what got through our respirators? This, this could all be a giant illusination. You know like them Chinky opium dens they have in that fancy London?"
     
    Everson felt disconsolate. Since the gas cloud cleared and the astounding change to the landscape had revealed itself he began to feel power dripping away from him. It was all he'd wished for, for