B00D2VJZ4G EBOK by Jon E. Lewis Page B

back, biting the ends of his grey moustache, the mud dripping from his puttees.
    We ate the breakfast he had brought, filled our water bottles with the cold tea that was over, and asked him when he thought we would be relieved.
    ‘Can’t say,’ he replied. ‘Won’t be before this afternoon, anyway. And cookie’s got a touch of nerves, so I’ll bring you along some grub when I get the chance. Captain wants you to keep a sharp look-out from this sap-head, and you’re not to leave it on any account.’
    ‘Right-o! Pop. Kiss the captain for me,’ Kendall answered, and we watched Sergeant Popple down the sap, his back bent low, and carrying the empty dixie.
    ‘Some say, ‘Good old Pop!’’ I ventured.
    ‘Some don’t so say,’ Kendall replied with gusto.
    The afternoon turned in an hour from sunshine to rain. A wind sprang up, a regular gale, and from over the German lines heavy clouds rolled disgorging torrential rains. Dinnertime had long since passed and Sergeant Popple had not brought us any. We were hungry as we stood in the lee of the firing-plate, which, sand-bagged on the other side. except for the peep-hole, formed the sap-head. So we munched the few scraps of hard biscuits that were left and took draughts from our cold tea.
    At six o’clock we tossed for sleeping. Kendall won, and, tucking himself well into the corner of the fire-step; with his waterproof sheet pegged to the sand-bags so that his head and body were completely covered, he tried to sleep. I heard him muttering to himself every now and then; he cursed the conditions, the rain, the lice and, above all, the relieving party that had not arrived. But it was evident he would not be able to sleep. He was already wet through from the thighs downwards as I was.
    ‘Thank your lucky stars you’re not out here,’ I said, as I heard the scratching of his lighter and knew, although I could not see, that he was going to light a cigarette. He did not reply, but started cursing again.
    The rain came down still heavier and the wind swept it across the open, washing the trunk of the tree on our right – such a tree; dead, shell-torn, barkless!
    Night came. We continued to take turns at resting on the fire-step; one resting, the other standing at the far corner and looking out over the lines into the darkness, which was relieved now and again by a fizzing Verey light. At midnight our artillery made a show and the Germans replied vigorously. In No Man’s Land as we were, it was comparatively safe, though the shells screeching overhead in both directions were particularly nerve-racking in our exhausted state.
    Kendall cursed the relieving party again and again for not coming. All that night he cursed them venomously; for no one had been to see us, to bring food, and our biscuits and cold tea were long since finished. We no longer attempted to rest. Drenched to the skin and painfully in need of sleep, we propped ourselves up on the fire-step or in the trench, now a quagmire. And Kendall’s obsession, the relieving party, soon made it impossible for him to stay on the lookout. And as for me, every stake in No Man’s Land turned into a stalking German after a momentary stare, and I would have to look away and blink before the Germans would revert to stakes once more.
    After stand-to on the following morning we were relieved. Dog-tired and hungry, we returned to the front line, where only the minimum of sentries were on duty owing to the shortage of men. We were given hot tea, bread, and bacon, and we went down a dug-out to sleep.
    Soon – it seemed about five minutes afterwards – we were roused again and placed on sentry duty in the front line. Perhaps our periscope was a little too high, for Jerry paid some invidious attention, so with the dirt showering all about us we lowered it for a while.
    After two hours Corporal Simpson brought two men to relieve us. I was looking through the periscope at the time and Kendall, who sat cleaning his rifle, was the