The Burning Shore

What is happening now, Papa? it is the death-throes of the German army, the comte explained, the last thrashings of a dying giant. But do not worry, my little one, the British will soon invest their positions. We have nothing to fear. The thunder of the guns rose to a crescendo and was heightened by the din of the British counter-barrages as they sought to destroy the German counter -attack that was massing in the front-line trenches facing the ridges.

It sounds just like last summer. Centaine stared with foreboding at the stark outline of the chalk ridges upon the horizon. They were blurring slightly before her eyes, shrouding in the haze of shell-bursts. We must do what we can for them, she told A

We have to think of ourselves, A

Centaine remembered clearly the fighting of the previous summer, but what she witnessed now shocked her afresh.

The highway was choked, filled from hedgerow to hedgerow with the tides of war, flowing in both directions, piling up and intermingling and then separating again.

Down from the ridges came the human detritus of the battle, torn and bloody, mutilated and bleeding, crowded into the slowly moving ambulances, into horse-drawn carts and drays, or limping on improvised crutches, borne on the shoulders of their stronger fellows, or clinging to the sides of the over-crowded ambulances for support as they stumbled through the deep muddy ruts.

In the opposite direction marched the reserves and reinforcements moving up to help hold the ridges against the German assault. They were in long files, already worn down under the weight of equipment they carried, not even glancing at the torn remnants of the battle which they might soon be joining. They trudged forward, watching their feet, and stopped when the way ahead was blocked, standing with bovine patience, only moving forward again when the man ahead of them started.

After the initial shock, Centaine helped A

There was not nearly enough, she could feed only one man in a hundred. Those whom she picked out as being in greatest need gulped down the soup and wolfed the bread.

Bless yer, missus, they mumbled, and then staggered on Look at their eyes, A

Centaine drew them out of the stream, and she held the mug to the lips of the armless soldier.

You are a good girl, he whispered. Do you have a cigarette? I'm sorry. She shook her head and turned to rearrange the bandages over the other man's eyes. She had a glimpse of what lay beneath them, and she gagged and her hands faltered.

You sound so young and pretty- The blinded man was about the same age as Michael, he also had thick dark hair, but it was clotted with dried blood.

Yes, Fred, she's a pretty girl. His companion helped him to his feet again. We'd best be getting on again, miss.

What is happening up there? Centaine asked them.

All hell is what is happening Will the line hold? Nobody knows that, miss, and the two of them were washed away on the slowly moving river of misery.

The soup and bread were soon finished, and they wheeled the cart back to the chAteau to prepare more.

Remembering the wounded soldiers pleas, Centaine raided the cupboard in the gunroom. where the comte kept his hoard of tobacco, and when she and A

There is so little we can do, she lamented.

We are doing all we can, A

At last, well after midnight, A

Standing over the stove, Centaine cocked her head as she heard the distant roar of engines.

The airplanes! she cried. I forgot them! They will fly without me today, that is bad luck! Today there will be many suffering from bad luck, A

Halfway down the lane Centaine straightened up from the handle of the cart. Look, A

Trenches. Centaine found the answer to her own question. Trenches, A

Because, Centaine hesitated. She did not want to say it aloud, Because they are not going to be able to hold the ridges, she said softly, and both of them looked up to the high ground where the shellfire sullied the bright morning with its sulphurous yellow mists.

When they reached the end of the lane, they found that the roadway was clogged with traffic, the opposing streams of vehicles and men hopelessly interlocked, defying the efforts of the military police to disentangle them and get them moving again. One of the ambulances had slid off the road into the muddy ditch, adding to the confusion, and a doctor and the ambulance driver were struggling to unload the stretchers from the back of the stranded vehicle. A

The doctor scrambled out of the mud.

Well done, he panted. He was bare-headed but his tunic sported the serpent and staff insignia of the medical corps at the collar, and the white armbands with the scarlet crosses.

Ah, Mademoiselle de Thiry! He recognized Centaine, over the wounded man on the stretcher between them. I should have known it was you. Doctor, of course- It was the same officer who had arrived on the motor-cycle with Lord Andrew, and who had helped the comte with the consumption of Napoleon cognac on the day that Michael crashed in North Field.