Free Black Hand Gang by Pat Kelleher Page B

them, like some great blind creature emerging from the primordial slime. It crashed down heavily, placing its metal carcass between them and the raking German machine gun. Atkins heard the bullets raining against the hide of the motorised beast.
    Slowly its great six-pounder gun turned toward the emplacement. There was a brief pause before the gun fired. The machine gun emplacement erupted in a geyser of dirt and sandbags; smoke and screams filled the air as munitions went up in a series of secondary explosions. A ball of flame bloomed briefly within the remnants of the emplacement and mud and hot metal rained down, clinking dully against the armoured hulk.
    Mercy banged on the side of the boojum. "Ere, conductor! Any room inside, it's ruddy raining out here!"
    The Tank gave no indication of human occupancy although, in reply, its motorised growl rose in pitch as if in recognition. Gears ground as the left hand track remained still and the right hand track spun slowly, swinging the tank away from them as it continued it halting, lethargic advance.
    "Christ that was close. Bloody boojums, though, eh, Only?" said Mercy cracking a grin and slapping Atkins on the back.
    "Right, you lot!" bellowed Sergeant Hobson herding the rest of the scattered platoon towards them. "Take a dekko and see how far this mud pie of ours goes. We also need to make sure Fritz hasn't got anything else up his sleeve. One other thing. Nobody steps off this mud until further orders. Got it?"
    "Yes Sergeant!"
    "Right. Move out."
    Atkins fell in with Mercy and Gazette with Jessop taking the lead. The initial eerie tranquillity had now been shattered, spurring the growing sense of unease he felt at their surroundings. Along the line several other platoons were being ordered to move forward through the shell holes towards where the German lines should have been.
    They came across the remains of an aeroplane lying on its back, its wheels splayed in the air. It was one of theirs, the Royal Flying Corps roundel clearly visible on the fuselage. The front was covered with mud, the remains of the propeller splintered as though it had ploughed head first into the mud before flipping and coming to rest. Oil leaked onto the ground from the engine, turning the mud beneath it to a thick black viscous puddle.
    "Only, check the pilot blokes," Jessop said, looking around warily.
    Atkins passed his rifle to Porgy and got down on his hands and knees to crawl under the upturned machine. The observer was upside down in his cockpit, his head tilted back and his face planted in the mud. Atkins tried to push him up to relieve the pressure, but realised his efforts were futile. He was dead. Atkins moved towards the pilot. He crawled over the plane and let out a startled cry when his knee went through the doped cotton with a pop.
    "Sorry, nothing! My fault," he called out to reassure his startled fellows. "Hang on chum, we'll get you out."
    Once Atkins had wriggled through the snapped spars and wire he found that the pilot had fallen out of his cockpit and lay in the small crushed space between machine and the upper wing, his neck broken. Awkwardly, Atkins shuffled out from under the shattered plane. As he did so he spotted a line of bullet holes stitched across the fuselage.
    Atkins shook his head at Jessop.
    "Both dead. Pilot's got a broken neck. Looks like the other one was drowned in the mud."
    "Nothing we can do here, then," said Jessop. "Ginger, Mercy, get those bodies out then salvage the guns and collect whatever ammunition you can from the plane. The rest of you spread out and move on."
    Porgy had been looking at the rear of the aeroplane. "Look at this, lads. What do you make of that?"
    The tail had vanished, not ripped off or shot through, but simply amputated by a clean cut. Atkins looked around but could see no sign of the missing section.
    There was a dull snap as Ginger and Mercy tugged at the body of the observer and dragged him from the rear cockpit.
    "Careful, you