Page 41 of These Old Lies
“Yes, sir,” Charlie replied, ignoring the flutter of relief in his chest.
To his surprise, Ned held out the remaining half of the chocolate bar. “Peace offering?”
“Thank you.” Charlie’s words formed clouds in the cold. He wasn’t sure how to react, especially since he was about a quarter of an hour away from acknowledging to himself that he had been the idiot.
“Apologies, Charlie.” All the officiousness was gone from Ned’s voice, but he sounded hoarse, as if he had been screaming, or maybe crying. “I was agitated, and I deliberately provoked you. That wasn’t fair.”
Charlie snapped off a piece of chocolate and passed the bar back to Ned. “Night duty does that to a man.” He wanted to match Ned’s attempt to mend bridges, but wasn’t sure how. So he went for a safe response. “Haven’t been sleeping well myself, to be honest. Makes me grumpy.”
“As compared to your normally sunny disposition?” Ned rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “What’s keeping you from the land of nod?”
“Ever shared a dormitory with forty farting soldiers? Half of whom snore like it’s the end of days?” Charlie forced laughter into his voice. The truth was, every time he closed his eyes, his mind became a rotating gallery of maimed men and screaming.
Something of Charlie’s tension must have slipped through his facade because Ned asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
Charlie’s response caught in his throat. Since their drive in the country, when they had talked about the soldiers they wanted to be, a request had been niggling in Charlie’s mind about whether someone could be made a permanent stretcher bearer. Maybe not at the front for three weeks at a time, but Charlie knew there were chaps who went over the top with the express purpose of bringing the injured back to the dressing stations.
Charlie was pretty sure that Ned would know the answers to those questions, maybe even have the pull to make it happen. Charlie opened his mouth and met Ned’s deep hazel eyes. Ned was always so fierce and bold, so willing to make sacrifices. How could Charlie explain to this man the terror of being sent out to kill again?
So instead he asked, “Can you get me a bottle of gin and a feather bed?”
Ned chuckled his response.
A light blanket of snow now covered all of No Man’s Land. It would be gone by tomorrow morning, melted in the morning light, and then trampled and blood-soaked. Right now the landscape looked like a field dormant for the winter. Charlie was struck by the urge to have a snowball fight. He wondered if the Germans thought the same thing.
“I’ve always known who I was, what I was.” Ned didn’t look at Charlie this time as he spoke, but kept staring out at the snow. “Even as a child, before I knew what my cock was for, I still knew that I was drawn to a different beauty than others. It was, in its own way, oddly straightforward. Even knowing others considered my desires an abomination, I still had that foundation.” He paused. “I’ve been told that it’s not that simple for others.”
“I go with a lot of different people. Women and men,” Charlie said quickly. Part of him wanted to try to match Ned’s vulnerability, to share how what was between them felt complicated and confusing and perfect all at the same time. To explain why Charlie hadn’t gone with the blond private, but if Charlie couldn’t even understand it himself, how was he going to explain it to Ned?
“You are not a subtle man, Charles Villiers, especially when drunk. I am well aware of your fondness for amply endowed ladies of the night, and pretty young boys. I’ve never given you an indication that who else you go with bothers me. The question I might have for you is, why doyoucare that I don’t?”
Seeing his own phoniness exposed made Charlie want to shrivel up. “Because I’m an arse.” Charlie glanced over to Ned. “That’s my apology, by the way.”
“Spoken with your typical elegance.”
With the snow gently falling on Ned’s eyelashes, he looked like an angel. Not the kind one sees in Christmas cards, but like the old church paintings at the National Gallery. All strength and control, elegance and grace. Ned was the only one who laughed at all of Charlie’s jokes, who gave Charlie everything of himself when they touched.
Ned wasn’t nothing to Charlie. He didn’t have any chocolate, but he could offer Ned this.
“You should know, there hasn’t been anyone else. Only you since St. Riquier. So don’t feel like you need to take another to bed just to provesomething to me.”
Ned’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t betray anything more. He passed Charlie the last piece of chocolate. They ate the squares in silence, the snow still falling gently around them.
???
Charlie didn’t really have vivid memories of the spring of 1917. He knew he marched places, fought in the attempts to seize yards away from the enemy. Managed to stay alive. Failed to sleep. Still kept drinking, but at least didn’t get caught again.
One memory he would always keep, however, was the First Battle of the Scarpe in April. Or rather the late afternoon of the battle.
The first days of the battle had gone well, they had managed to actually pry some land out of the hands of the Germans—the village of Feuchy, a stretch of the Hindenburg trench line. In one daring morning, the London Scottish and the Kensington Rifles managed to overrun a hundred German troops, capturing a machine gun and a thousand yards.
Then it went to shit.
The enemy regrouped, or the plans didn’t reflect the land in front of them, or mistakes were made. Perhaps all of it. In any case, waves of men went down in a hail of machine gun fire and the Germans surrounded them from all sides.
Death hung in the air. There were none of the normal jovial heroics from those about to go over the top. The never-ending rhythm of shelling and guns shattered any sense of safety the trench provided. Orders had gone out to be ready for an attack at any time. Rumours flew that the line had been broken, that the Germans were minutes away, that another mustard gas attack was imminent.
For the first time in over a year, Charlie found himself hurling into a corner. In a detached way, he was surprised. He had thought he was past fear. Apparently not.