Dragged into Darkness by Wood Simon

Author:Wood, Simon [Wood, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2009-07-16T04:00:00+00:00

ACCEPTABLE LOSSES

The landing craft bobbed clumsily on the waves. The damned things were so unstable when they didn’t have a full accompaniment of men to act as ballast. Captain James Clelland’s six-man team was no substitute. The ride back would be better. The boat would be full.

They were half a mile out and Clelland could see the carnage on the beach. He didn’t want to look at it or think about it. There would be plenty of time for that when they arrived. There would be sights and sounds that would eat through his soul for a lifetime. He leaned on the side of the boat and stared into the sky, ignoring the flotilla of boats approaching the beach in a fan formation.

Puffy white clouds passed gracefully across the sky. He was astounded by how similar the clouds were to those back in England. Somehow he expected them to be different, at least exotic. Clouds from the North Pacific should have been different. He didn’t know how or why, but they should have been. Floating on the wrong side of the sky maybe, he thought. He could have watched the clouds all day but the stink was invading his nose. The beach was close.

“Right, kit-up everyone,” Clelland ordered.

“Make way for the Lord Mayor’s Bucket Boys,” Sergeant Williams announced in a pompous, officious voice.

Clelland hated the term that had attached itself to his men like a limpet mine. It had started in the mess hall after their second or third mission. The problem was the phrase was too apt. The real Lord Mayor’s Bucket Boys picked up horseshit after the annual procession. His Bucket Boys picked up something different after the battles were waged. The stench of what they handled was no less disgusting, and most couldn’t stomach the work. Turnover was high. His men always had a choice, of sorts. He didn’t. He was Oracle’s right-hand man. He was the only man perfect for the job.

Clelland tied a handkerchief around his head, over his nose and mouth. Others did likewise. The Lord Mayor’s latest Bucket Boy pulled on a gas mask. After a couple of trips, the mask wouldn’t be necessary. The stench would offend, but not disgust. A handkerchief, scented maybe, was all that was needed for a Bucket Boy.

Clelland tapped the private with the gas mask on the shoulder. “Take off the mask,” he told him.

Confused eyes stared back from behind the mask.

“Take off the mask, soldier. That’s an order.”

The private did as he was told. “Sir, the stink?”

“Harris, it’s in your best interests to keep the mask off. You’ll throw up.”

“But if I have the mask…”

Clelland raised a hand to silence the lad. Hysteria was creeping into the private’s voice. “You’ll vomit. If the stench doesn’t do it, the sight will. So, it’s better to vomit with the mask off than on. Then you won’t have to breathe in the stench of your own spew. So, keep the mask off.”

Williams, not wise-cracking for once, nodded. The Australian knew better than most.

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