Shoulder the Sky (Electronic book text)

CHAPTER ONE It was shortly after three in the afternoon. Joseph Reavley was half asleep in the April sun, his back to the pale clay wall of the trench, when he heard the angry voices. They be moi boots, Tucky Nunn, an you know that well as Oi do Yours be over there wi holes in em It was Plugger Arnold, a seasoned soldier of twenty, big-boned, a son of the village blacksmith. He had been in Flanders since the outbreak of war in August. Although he was angry, he kept his voice low. He knew it carried in the afternoon stillness when the men snatched the three or four hours of sleep they could. The German trenches were only seventy yards away across this stretch of the Ypres Salient. Anyone foolish enough to reach a hand up above the parapet would be likely to get it shot. The snipers seldom needed a second chance. Added to which, getting yourself injured on purpose was a court-martial offense. Tucky Nunn, nineteen and new this far forward, was standing on the duckboards that floored the trench. They were there to keep the mens feet above the icy water that sloshed around, but they seldom worked. The water level was too high. Every time you thought it was drying out at last, it rained again. Yeah? Tucky said, his eyebrows raised. Fit me perfect, they do. Didnt see your name on em. Must ave wore off. He grinned, making no move to bend and unlace the offending boots and hand them back. Plugger was sitting half sideways on the fire-step. A few yards away the sentry was standing with his back to them, staring through the periscope over the wire and mud of no-mans-land. He could not afford to lose concentration even for a moment, regardless of what went on behind him. Theys moi boots, Plugger said between his teeth. Take em off yer soddin feet an give em back to me, or Oill take em off yer and give yer to the rats Tucky bounced on the balls of his feet, hunching his shoulders a little. You want to try? he invited. Doughy Ward crawled out of his dugout, fully dressed, as they all were: webbing and rifle with bayonet attached. His fair-skinned face was crumpled with annoyance at being robbed of any part of his few hours of sleep. He glared at Joseph. Thou shalt not steal. Isnt that right, Chaplain? It was a demand that even here in the mud and the cold, amid boredom and sporadic violence, Joseph should do his job and stand for the values of justice that must remain, or all this would sink into a purposeless hell. Without right and wrong there was no sanity. Oi didnt steal them Tucky said angrily. They were . . . He did not finish the sentence because Plugger hit him, a rolling blow that caught the side of his jaw as he ducked and struck back. There was no point in shouting at them, and the sound would carry. Added to which Joseph did not want to let the whole trench know that there was a discipline problem. Both men could end up on a charge, and that was not the way for a chaplain to resolve anything. He moved forward, careful to avoid being struck himself, and grasped hold of Tucky, taking him off balance and knocking him against the uprights that held the trench wall. The Germans are that way he said tartly, jerking his head back toward the parapet and no-mans-land beyond. Plugger was up on his feet, slithering in the mud on the duckboards, his socks filthy and sodden. Good oidea to send him over the top, Captain, where he belongs But not in moi boots He was floundering toward them, arms flailing as if to carry on the fight. Joseph stepped between them, risking being caught by both, the worst part of which would be that then a charge would be unavoidable. Stop it he ordered briskly. Take the boots off, Nunn Thank you, Chaplain, Plugger responded with a smile of satisfaction