Tell Tale: Short Stories

“Once you go over the top, you need only remember one thing,” Oliver instructed them. “If you don’t kill them, as sure as hell they’ll kill you. Think of it like a football match against your most bitter rivals. You’ve got to score every time you shoot.”

“But whose side is the ref on?” demanded a young, frightened voice.

Oliver didn’t reply, because he no longer believed God was the referee and that therefore they must surely win.

* * *

The colonel joined them just before the kickoff and blew a whistle to show the match could begin. Captain Jackson was first over the top, leading his company, who followed closely behind. On, on, on, he charged as his men fell like fairground soldiers beside him, the lucky ones dying quickly. He kept going, and was beginning to wonder if he was out there on his own, and then suddenly, without warning, he saw a lone figure running through the whirling smoke toward him. Like Oliver, the man had his bayonet fixed, ready for the kill. Oliver accepted that it would not be possible for both of them to survive, and probably neither would. He held his rifle steady, like a medieval jouster, determined to fell his opponent. He was prepared to thrust his bayonet, not this time into a horsehair bag while training, but into a petrified human being, but no more petrified than he was.

Don’t strike until you see can the whites of his eyes, his training sergeant had drilled into him at Sandhurst. You can’t be a moment too early, or a moment too late. Another oft repeated maxim. But when he saw the whites of his eyes, he couldn’t do it. He lowered his rifle, expecting to die, but to his surprise the German also dropped his rifle as they both came to a halt in the middle of no-man’s-land.

For some time they just stared at each other in disbelief. But it was Oliver who burst out laughing, if only to release his pent-up tension.

“What are you doing here, Jackson?”

“I might ask you the same question, sir.”

“Carrying out someone else’s orders,” said Gruber. “Me too.”

“But you’re a professional soldier.”

“Death doesn’t discriminate in these matters,” said Oliver. “I often recall your shrewd opinion of war, sir, and looking around the battlefield can only wonder how much talent has been squandered here.”

“On both sides,” said Gruber. “But it gives me no pleasure to have been proved right.”

“So what shall we do now, sir? We can’t just stand around philosophizing until peace is declared.”

“But equally, if we were to return meekly to our own side, we would probably be arrested, court-martialled, and shot at dawn.”

“Then one of us will have to take the other prisoner,” said Jackson, “and return in triumph.”

“Not a bad idea. But how shall we decide?” asked Gruber.

“The toss of a coin?”

“How very British,” declared Gruber. “Just a pity the whole war couldn’t have been decided that way,” added the schoolmaster as he took a Goldmark out of his pocket. “You call, Jackson,” he said. “After all, you’re the visiting team.”

Oliver watched as the coin spun high into the air and cried, “Tails,” only because he couldn’t bear the thought of the Kaiser’s image staring up at him in triumph.

Gruber groaned as he bent down to look at his emperor. Oliver quickly took off his tie, bound the prisoner’s wrists behind his back, and then began to march his old schoolmaster slowly back toward his own front line.

“What happened to Brooke?” asked Gruber as they squelched through the mud while stepping over the bodies of fallen men.

“He was attached to the Royal Naval Division when he last wrote to me.”

“I read his poem about Grantchester. Even attempted to translate it.”

“‘The Old Vicarage,’” said Jackson.

“That’s the one. Ironic that he wrote it while he was on a visit to Berlin. Such a rare talent. Let’s hope he survives this dreadful war,” Gruber said as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“Are you married, sir?” asked Oliver.

“Yes. Renate. And we have a son and two daughters. And you?”

“Rosemary. Just got married when the balloon went up.”

“Bad luck, old chap,” said Gruber, before taking his former pupil by surprise. “I don’t suppose you’d consider being a godfather to my youngest, Hans? You see, I consider it no more than my duty once the war is over to make sure this madness can never happen again.”