Follett, Ken - The Century Trilogy 01 - Fall of the Giants by Follett Ken

Follett, Ken - The Century Trilogy 01 - Fall of the Giants by Follett Ken

Author:Follett, Ken [Follett, Ken]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780525951650
Publisher: Dutton Adult
Published: 2010-09-15T05:00:00+00:00


{ III }

Private Robin Mortimer was angry. "This is fucking stupid," he said when they heard the crackle of machine guns. "We should have gone over in the dark. You can't cross no-man's-land in broad fucking daylight. They're not even laying down a smoke screen. It's fucking suicide."

The men in the assembly trench were unnerved. Billy was worried by the fall in morale among the Aberowen Pals. On the march from their billet to the front line, they had experienced their first artillery attack. They had not suffered a direct hit, but groups ahead and behind had been massacred. Almost as bad, they had marched past a series of newly dug pits, all exactly six feet deep, and had worked out that these were mass graves, ready to receive the day's dead.

"The wind is wrong for a smoke screen," said Prophet Jones mildly. "That's why they're not using gas, either."

"Fucking insane," Mortimer muttered.

George Barrow said cheerfully: "The higher-ups know best. They been bred to rule. Leave it to them, I say."

Tommy Griffiths could not let that pass. "How can you believe that, when they sent you to Borstal?"

"They got to put people like me in jail," George said stoutly. "Otherwise everyone would be thieving. I might get robbed myself!"

Everyone laughed, except the morose Mortimer.

Major Fitzherbert reappeared, looking grim, carrying a jug of rum. The lieutenant gave them all a ration, pouring it into the mess tins they held out. Billy drank his without enjoyment. The fiery spirit cheered the men up, but not for long.

The only time Billy had felt like this was on his first day down the mine, when Rhys Price had left him alone and his lamp had gone out. A vision had helped him then. Unfortunately, Jesus appeared to boys with fevered imaginations, not sober, literal-minded men. Billy was on his own today.

The supreme test was almost on him, perhaps minutes away. Would he keep his nerve? If he failed--if he curled up in a ball on the ground and closed his eyes, or broke down in tears, or ran away--he would feel ashamed for the rest of his life. I'd rather die, he thought, but will I feel that way when the shooting starts?

They all moved a few steps forward.

He took out his wallet. Mildred had given him a photo of herself. She was dressed in a coat and hat: he would have preferred to remember her the way she had been the evening he went to her bedroom.

He wondered what she was doing now. Today was Saturday, so presumably she would be at Mannie Litov's, sewing uniforms. It was midmorning, and the women would be stopping for a break about now. Mildred might tell them all a funny story.

He thought about her all the time. Their night together had been an extension of the kissing lesson. She had stopped him going at things like a bull at a gate, and had taught him slower, more playful ways, caresses that had been exquisitely pleasurable, more so than he could have imagined.



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