Pat Kelleher - Black Hand Gang

A soldier with a bandaged head caught Edith’s attention, or rather, his grin did. She beckoned him over. He shuffled over humbly, steel helmet in hand, dirty bandages covering his head, and sat down on an ammunition crate.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he said. “We don’t ever get nurses this far up the line. I must have died and gone to heaven,” he said.

“Any more talk like that and you’ll wish you had,” she said firmly as she began unwinding the bandage from around his head. She gently eased the dressing off his wound. He winced. Edith uncovered the now scabbing furrow on his temple. The wound, at least, seemed clean.

“My name’s George. George Hopkiss, but my mates call me Porgy,” he said. “Guess why?”

“I can’t imagine,” she said, keeping her business-like demeanour, working intently on his wound, feeling herself blush.

“Kiss the girls and make ’em cry, don’t I?”

“Well that’s not much of a recommendation, is it?”

“Do you fancy walking out with me down Broughton Street tonight?”

“Shhh. Or Sister will hear!”

“She can come too, if she likes,” he grinned.

“Now, now I’ll have none of that. I’ll have you know I’m a respectable lady.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“I was a debutante. I was presented at Court before the war.”

“You don’t say! Cor, That’s as good as Royalty to me. Fancy!” said Porgy amazed, trying to turn round, but she took his head in her hands and gently, but firmly turned him back to face front.

“Oh yes,” she said as she carried on cleaning the burned and torn flesh. “So don’t forget with whom you’re dealing! I have friends in high places,” She dabbed the iodine on and Porgy stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” she said. She wondered if it sounded too playful and improper.

“I knows me place,” he said, touching his forelock, mockingly. Edith gently pushed him on his shoulder.

“ You . Now you’re teasing.”

“Nurse Bell!” barked Sister Fenton. “When you’ve quite finished fraternising with that jackanapes there are other men waiting for your attention!”

Edith felt her face burn as she reached for a gauze pad. “Hold this,” she told him as she placed it over his wound.

“Sorry, Miss,” said Porgy. She began wrapping crepe bandage around his head. “Not too much,” he said, “otherwise I won’t be able to fit me battle bowler on.”

“I’ve a feeling your head’s way too big for it anyway,” she said with a smile. “Away with you.”

EVERSON REACHED THE makeshift Headquarters. It was dug back into the side of a trench; all salvaged beams, corrugated iron and tarpaulins. News of the death of the Major hadn’t taken long to filter down through the Company and the men had taken it quite hard, especially as the next in command was Captain Grantham. To be truthful he didn’t have much faith in the new Skipper himself. Captain Grantham shouldn’t even have been at the Front. He’d had some cushy job back at Battalion, but he’d probably whined and groused about a Front Line position, wanting to see a bit of action just so that he could say he’d been there before returning to his nice desk job in the rear. Now, for better or worse, they were stuck with him.

“Is this it?” Everson asked, stepping inside and looking around despondently. “Is this all of us?”

It was dispiriting how few officers were left. There was Slacke, the Company Quartermaster Sergeant, Padre Rand and Captain Lippett, the MO and Captain Palmer of D Company. Jeffries was sat on a wooden chair, slouching with his legs stretched out in front of him, his chin resting on steepled fingers, glowering blackly, lost in thought. His eyes flicked up as Everson entered, but seeing nothing to interest him, lost focus as he turned back to his own contemplations. Grantham looked up from talking to a Royal Flying Corp officer and an officer with Machine Gun Corp insignia on his uniform.

“Everson,” said Captain Grantham. “I’m afraid so.”

The Flying Officer looked young, even to Everson. He had blonde hair and there was something about the double breasted tunic and that RFC wing on the left breast that just looked so — dashing. Everson felt a pang of jealousy. Here he was caked in mud, dog-tired and aching to his very bones and here was a handsome young man seemingly unmarked by the terrors of war; an ‘angel face’ he believed they called it.

“James Tulliver, RFC,” he said, turning, extending a hand and jerking his head in Jeffries’ direction. “Who’s that louche chap over there, I’m sure I know him. Hibbert, is it?”

“Jeffries, Platoon Commander, 4 Platoon, C Company.”

“Jeffries?” said Tulliver, mulling the name over. “Oh. Are you sure? No, of course you are. Sorry, my fault. Thought he was someone else.”

“I often wish he was,” said Everson.

The other man turned too. Tall and lanky, he had dark circles under his eyes and a greasy pallid look to his skin. His uniform hung on him as if it were a size too big.

“Mathers, Machine Gun Corps, Heavy Section.”

“Ah, the tank commander,” said Everson. “Good show. You saved some of my men out there today,” he added, gripping the proffered hand. He was disappointed to find the grip a little weak and clammy. “So what the devil’s going on, d’y’think?”

“Hmm,” said Mathers. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Sorry. Damned headache.”

“Gentlemen?” said Grantham, bringing the meeting to order. The officers gathered round the rickety table covered with maps. “Casualty Reports?”

“We weren’t up to full strength to begin with. Out of nine hundred and twelve officers and men, we had already lost twelve officers and two hundred and forty eight other ranks to German fire and gas, and we lost two officers and fifty-eight other ranks from shock of transport here. We have a further two officers and twenty seven other ranks killed by those creatures. There are three hundred and seventy wounded, some critically, most walking and nine suffering from severe shell-shock. In short, gentlemen, you’re down to less than two hundred able-bodied men at the moment, barely a Company.”

Seven. Seven officers left , thought Everson.

“We need to get the wounded to a Casualty Clearing Station,” said Lippett, “I don’t have the means to deal with them here.”

“Well, Mr Tulliver here doesn’t seem to think that’s going be, ah, possible,” said Grantham nervously.

Lippett peered at Tulliver from under his eyebrows in a way that reminded Everson of his old schoolmaster.

“That’s right, sir,” said Tulliver. “I’m afraid there is no Casualty Clearing Station to go to. I explained to Captain Grantham earlier, we’re completely cut off. This is all that’s left,” he said, pointing to the pencilled circle on the map. The other officers leaned in to look. “The rest of the area outside the circle no longer seems to exist. You’ve all seen it. What’s out there bears no resemblance to any maps or aerial photographs. It’s as if we’ve been picked up and dropped elsewhere entirely.”

“But the world can’t just disappear!” muttered Grantham.

“Perhaps it didn’t,” said Everson. “Maybe we did.”

“Preposterous!” agreed Lippett.

“You’ve seen it for yourself,” said Jeffries sternly. “How can you doubt it?”

“Some of the men have suggested it’s Paradise,” said Padre Rand.

“Are you trying to say that we’re all dead and this is some blasted afterlife?” said Grantham. Everson tried to ignore the tremor in his voice.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t say so after meeting those hell hounds earlier,” said Mathers.