Free Black Hand Gang by Pat Kelleher Page A

months, yet now he was not yet ready to relinquish it so easily. Not until he was sure that it was over, that they were all safe.
    "You men!" he called, brandishing his Webley in their direction. "Pick up your weapons!" They ignored him. "Pick up your weapons!"
    It was as if, in the absence of an enemy, he'd lost all authority. Isn't that what he wanted all along? To shed the burden? It was the same along the entire front. Men had cast their rifles aside, sat down and were breaking out their iron rations and singing sentimental songs, sharing out the smokes, waiting... waiting for something. Nobody seemed sure what, but whatever it was, it wasn't a subaltern with a pistol.
    "It's a higher authority we answer to now, mate," one brazen private told him, jerking his chin towards the distant hills. "If we're dead then the only route march I'm doing is through the pearly gates. Fag?"
    Perplexed, Everson shook his head. Seemingly bereft of purpose, he wandered out along the wire entanglements that marked the British Line. Men lay where they had fallen, sobbing and crying in pain. Some were being tended to, some being ferried away on stretchers. If this was heaven, why were there still the wounded and suffering? Would heaven allow men to suffer with their guts hanging out? What kind of god was that?
    He caught sight of 1 Section being herded towards him like wayward sheep by Sergeant Hobson, before he went to round up the rest of the scattered platoon. Everson addressed one of the men.
    "Jellicoe?"
    "Sir?"
    "I don't know what the hell is going on here, but the last I heard we were attacking the German positions in Harcourt Wood."
    "Wood seems to have gone now, sir," chimed in Hopkiss.
    "Thank you, yes, I can see that, Hopkiss, but the point remains. Until we know what we're dealing with here I would prefer --"
    An unearthly howl cut through the valley, echoing off the hillsides. As one, the Section raised their rifles, eyes surveying the landscape. Around them men started and turned to listen, uncertainty clouding their faces. Some began gathering their discarded equipment, looking expectantly towards the officer.
    "What the bloody hell was that?" said Everson.
    "It came from that forest, sir," said Jellicoe.
    "Right. Yes," said Everson, feeling a resurgence of purpose and responsibility, "Jessop, stay here with your section, I'll tell Hobson to rally the Platoon and pass on any orders." He turned to address the other men. "The rest of you men get back to your platoon's trenches and stand to! Until we know what's going on I think we must remain on our guard."
     
    As platoons of men slunk back to the trenches, overhead, Atkins heard a faint, familiar drone. High above he spotted two aeroplanes, each vying for an advantageous position from which to attack. One succeeded in manoeuvring above the other for a split second before it began descending in a slow smoky spiral. Atkins watched it drift down like a leaf until it was lost from sight behind the peaks of the newly risen hills. A high gust of wind had caught the untethered and slowly deflating German kite balloon, carrying it further and further away over the hills, buoyed aloft by swift currents of air.
    A spatter of machine gun fire jerked him back to reality, if anything they were experiencing could be said to be reality. Another burst. And another. The field of fire swept across No Man's Land. Tommies fell. Men scurried for cover and dived into shell holes with shouts of alarm and dismay.
    "There!" said Gazette, spotting the muzzle flash of the machine gun as it fired off another burst. "It's a Hun sap."
    They barely had time to follow Gazette's stare towards a fortified shell-hole before the Maxim fire swept towards them. The Section scrambled for the cover of a shell hole, bullets spitting into the mud at their heels as they ran. As they threw themselves into the mud-filled pit a roar filled the air as the great ironclad bulk of HMLS Ivanhoe reared up out of a dip in front of