Chapter 5 Part II Verses 13-18

Nine months later, on August 10, 1916. Allen and Tom are both alive and unharmed.This is the bright side. Meanwhile, the war continued.The Battle of the Somme is gaining ground.Hundreds of thousands of British casualties have been recorded over the past six weeks.So far Tom and Allen's battalion had been out of action, but this happy respite was coming to an end.Their battalion would attack the next day.This battle will be the most difficult experience for both of them.Casualties are sure to be high.Most likely huge numbers. This is the bad side. And, in a sense, it's not like the two of them survived unscathed.They didn't, and they couldn't.No one survives long in a war zone.Nerves will break down.Humanity will disappear.The spirit will be lost.

Of the two of them, Allen was the more affected.He takes care of his men with all his might and often puts too much pressure on himself.He's so serious it's hard to relax.He smokes.He drives.He wrote home. And he met a girl. This girl, Lisette, was pretty, dark-haired, smiling, and kind-hearted.They met by chance in a village called Saint-Thérès-Dahna (they called it "Saint Tess"), seven miles from the front.Allen was assigned to live there.She is the daughter of a local farmer.Once, after a heavy rain outside, he took her home.They ran into her family's farmhouse, drank some coffee together, and talked and laughed for a while.Later she invited him again.Then he was invited again.After three times, he began to understand.He undressed in her cabin, feeling both excited and equally embarrassed.Then they make love.Ellen remained at St. Tess for another two weeks, and they met nine more times, eight of which they made love to.

＊＊ The night before the attack, the battalion took shelter in the ruins of a village.The officer's canteen was a destroyed basement. Two rows of gasoline tanks were neatly arranged on both sides of the door, and the size gradually decreased, which was as high as a person. Tom is Tom.He is still so handsome, handsome, unruly, and brave.But as time passed, he became darker and darker.He was lounging against the cellar wall, barely protected by the parapet of sandbags in front of him.He picked up a flint and steel and threw it outside the sandbag. "It's nice to die here," he commented.

"Please!" Allen jumped up to find a piece of wood to wave away Tom's ominous words.There was an abandoned wooden box next to it. Allen broke off a piece and handed it to Tom, who touched it absently.On one side of the box was written in English, "Shell Gasoline".Tom nodded at the line and smiled. "Good choice." "Let's go there right away, shall we?" Ellen said. "I mean, as soon as the war is over. No delay at all." He meant Persia, of course. Tom smiled and shook his head. "What?" Allen asked defensively. "You can't go back to Mobil, can you? God knows, I can't stand working for someone else's company."

Tom smiled again, kindly this time. "That's not what I mean, man. I mean... Listen, you don't think we'll both get through this, do you?" Tom said quietly, almost to himself. "After all, bad things happen all the time." "Please, Tom!" "If I would die, I'd do it like a lunatic and get some Germans to back me up." "Don't say that, don't even think about it." Tom shrugged. "I didn't always think so. This whole war was so stupid that I didn't see the point in fighting hard except to have self-respect to defend, and I don't see it now," he said. He flicked his purple and white medal thoughtfully, and then his tone changed again, "If I am killed, can you promise to do your best in Persia?"

"certainly." "Drill. If there's oil, you'll find it. If not—then at least you tried." "Together we will find oil." "Perhaps you are right. In life or in death, my soul will be there. But you must promise, brother, your most solemn promise." "I promise." "And don't give that stuff to a bunch of dumb portfolio guys. I mean, you might have to do it later, but don't do it right away. Find the oil first." "Oil is found first, as long as manpower can be done." Tom nodded solemnly in acceptance. "Very good, good brother."

He said it like he was saying goodbye. The whole camp set off at eight o'clock that night.Its goal: to launch a full-line attack on the enemy's front line. It was dark outside, the rain was pouring, and the ground was in terrible condition.On three occasions, enemy fire forced the entire company to take cover behind all available cover.Every time the artillery fire ceased, the company would move on, leaving behind a handful of wounded soldiers.On one occasion, Allen was hit in the shoulder blade by a small quill-shaped piece of shell casing.A sergeant lying beside him in the ditch pulled out the shrapnel with his thumb and forefinger and threw it aside.Neither of them commented on it, and didn't even think about it five minutes later.

They reached their assigned location shortly after midnight.Everyone began to eat the rations in the backpack, and was allowed to rest until four o'clock. The rain is getting heavier.Time passed slowly. At four o'clock there was a loud bang from the British guns behind them, and they heard a storm of shells fall on the German lines.They listened in silence: half rejoicing at the thought of what the shells had done to the enemy, the other half terrified at the imminent counterattack of the same offensive.Allen stayed with his men.Although Tom is nearby, he is not different from staying on another planet, because Alan knows nothing about him.

Half past four is approaching.The rain is easing, and the eastern horizon is tentatively glimmering.Allen's eyes were fixed on the glowing numbers on the watch, and his other hand kept drawing circles.Finally it was half past four.Allen raised his hand and waved: Forward. His men began to advance.For a few seconds there was silence—a beautiful silence.Then, three signal flares were ignited almost simultaneously in the German assault position.The signal flare confirmed the German guess.First there was the sound of sparse rifles, then the deafening sound of machine guns, and then the overwhelming sound of shells.Even the air is melted.They were deafened by the sound of the guns, and felt as if they were walking in silence.

Allen saw the soldiers around him stick to their posts, just like they had been trained.Not in groups, so that flesh and blood do not become easy targets for German gunners.But they seemed to have walked into a gust of wind, bent over, their heads almost touching their feet. He was looking at them when one of them was shot in the chest, gave a soft "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"The other man was bent over and appeared to be tying his shoes, but he fell forward on the ground, his face was a bloody mess.Alan watched all this in shock.His platoon was destroyed, and his beloved men were killed, who valiantly held out to the last.

Yet they still move forward. ＊＊ Allen had no recollection of the next few hours.It wasn't until noon that the situation really became clear.The attack was largely a failure.The British army paid a huge price to cut off a large area of ​​the German front line.The hostile artillery fire from both sides clamored at each other.The trenches collapsed and broke, and both sides tried to rebuild their defenses in the chaos. The day passed. The unknown casualty list is simply staggering.More than half of Allen's men either died or were injured.So were all his sergeants.So did Major Fletcher, whose left arm was blown off by shrapnel.He was found sitting upright in the mud, with his arms between his legs, repeating, "My poor children, my poor children..." No news from Tom. The fighting continued for another two days and nights.Allen was exhausted beyond his capacity.Finally, he was allowed to rest. The approval came in the form of German mortars, which came through the air and looked like a trash can flying in the air, but it was a trash can with great destructive power.The shot exploded 12 yards from the undefended side of the parapet.Afterwards, Allen recalled seeing the flames of the explosion before the shrapnel hit him, though he suspects the details of the explosion he depicted were purely imaginative. That's the way it is. Firelight—and then silence.No pain, no slow slipping into a coma.It's just black in front of my eyes.Complete darkness. Still no news from Tom. Allen woke up in a tent full of iron beds and soldiers.The tent stank, filled with the smell of stale air, mixed with the smell of blood, iodine, and dirty clothes.People around Allen and in other tents and distant huts groaned and shouted in their sleep. Allen stretched his body carefully.He felt an indescribable pain.Although he couldn't feel that anything was hurt or missing, Allen knew that the wounded often didn't realize how badly they were hurt.He squirmed on the narrow bed, trying to reach his feet under the rough army blanket with one arm.His body was so stiff that the movement made him breathless.But he finally managed to put his hands on his toes.Nothing at all. He lay back on the bed again, temporarily satisfied. Those in the "dying ward" often had red tags tied to their feet, noting their condition.He doesn't seem to have that thing on his feet. He fell asleep. At dawn, he woke up again.A major doctor from the Royal Army Medical Corps was touring the ward. "Am I hurt?" Allen asked.His mouth moved awkwardly—even his jaw hurt like hell—and the words sounded like foreigner English.The doctor put his hand on his pulse, and the pressure of his thumb brought a pain, and Allen could feel the blood rushing up and down his arm. "Injured? Yes, that's why you're lying here." The doctor's thumb rested on Allen's wrist for a while. "You were hit by a shell. You had cuts and abrasions all over your body and needed stitches in a few places. But these were external injuries. We also don't know what internal injuries there would be. Death. You'll have to lie here for at least twenty-four hours. If there's nothing wrong with it by then, we'll send you to a general hospital. But I don't want to see you on the front line again. Understand Yet?" Allen nodded.He felt a burst of relief, even an urge to giggle.He buried his head in the pillow to muffle all sound, and the doctors and nurses left quietly, too busy to check on him. Two men from the Royal Scottish New Army Battalion took Alan to hospital.Allen wanted to thank them, but couldn't find the right words.He fell into bed and slept for 6 hours.After waking up, he ate something, drank some water, and tried to fall asleep again. He can't sleep. His emotions were blocked, like a flood blocking its way with dead wood, boulders, and landslides.He was filled with an indescribable sense of loss.He thought about his dear comrades, about Major Fletcher, about how everything was different from before.He also kept dreaming about Tom.He asked the nurses if they knew whether Lieutenant Cleary was alive or dead.They don't know. He lay in the hospital for three days.As far as his own health is concerned, he already knows perfectly well that he will not die or become crippled.Doctors advised him to rest and concluded that he would make a full recovery. Allen is not as sure as they are.He had never felt this way—or felt nothing like this.He eats (not much) and drinks water (lots).Sixteen of the twenty-four hours he slept, passed out, or dozed off.He has a clear mind, or so to speak, at least he can correctly answer the doctor's questions: name, military rank, place of birth, unit.But his feeling was gone, whether it was a physical feeling or a psychological feeling.His whole body seemed to be soaked in anesthetic, and the effect of the anesthetic had penetrated into his heart. Then, one morning, he woke up suddenly.For the first time in a long time, the various images floating in his consciousness were fixed on two people: Tom and Lisette.He had to know whether Tom was alive or dead.He had to see Lisette. He climbed out of bed, put on his clothes, walked out of the ward, fell down four times, and clung to the hospital walls like a drunk.He happened to meet a transport captain with whom he had dealt before, and begged his permission to drive him to St. Tess. Everything has changed in the village, and there are light wounded everywhere.The Lincolnshiremen and London Irishmen who had been stationed there the other day had either gone to fight or died, or disappeared.Now it was all unfamiliar voices: red-cheeked boys from the Bulls and Bucks Light Infantry, and a company of well-dressed Canadians.A herd of cows broke into an apple orchard, and some Canadians tried to scare them away by smashing green, hard apples on their bellies. Allen sat down on the square in the village.It was as if his body had been dismantled and reassembled.He was approached by a man in a major's uniform: a handsome officer with a haggard, tired face, and his face lit up when he recognized Allen. "Ellen, man! Thank goodness! What the hell are you..." "Excuse me, sir," Allen muttered, "I know...?" "Ellen, it's me, Guy. Your brother." "Guy! My God! You look..." "Are you all right, man?" "It's fine, it's fine, just a little dizzy. How are you?" "Allen, you're in the hospital, aren't you? Are you hurt?" "Almost." Allen raised his hand and waved it down again, "Bang!" Guy looked his brother up and down for any obvious injuries.Apart from a few brightly colored bruises, he didn't appear to be doing much. "Thank goodness you're all right! I'm dying. The staff can't get any news, I just know that your men were the first to take the brunt of the fire. I heard you were wounded, but the medics don't know where you are , not to mention your situation." Two brothers embrace each other.Looking back on the incident afterwards, Allen was sincerely surprised at the warmth Guy brought. "What about Tom? How's Tom? Where's Tom? Don't tell me—" "Alan, man, nothing happened to Tom. He broke into the German front—unlike most of his men—and while the Germans fought back hard, he stayed in his little trench. He was rescued three days ago without any injuries. He went crazy and asked about your condition." "Thank God. Thank God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You said he was hurt? How bad? How..." "No, not a bit hurt, I told you." Allen frowned, as if to argue with him.His heavy panting hurt his lungs. "Don't you think you should still be in bed?" Guy said. "How the hell did the doctors let you out?" "The whole platoon is dead? Poor platoon!" Allen became very depressed, and he began to recall the names of Tom's soldiers. "I'll take you back." "No injuries? Not at all?" "Typical servant's son, huh? No, not at all, not even skinned. It's back now." Allen felt relaxed for a while, and giggled, but his emotions were still confused.Although he was laughing, he could cry at any moment. "Sounds like he's a hero again. You must be glad to see him. Very happy. Very - very happy. "Yeah," Guy agreed nonchalantly.Tom had done well in the fierce fighting of the past four days, but on the day he returned to the rear he had a quarrel with one of the Commodore General's aides, which undid much of his success.Tom was furious at the massacre he had experienced and scolded the high command for the crime of massacre.He more or less called Haig a murderer.It was Guy's meddling that saved Tom from serious doctrinal trouble. "He's a big ass, that guy. Look, man, you look awful. You don't think you're the best—" But Allen's mood suddenly became high-spirited. "You're the idiot, the goddamn idiot. What's worse, a million times worse, is that you're an idiot on staff." Guy's voice tightened.He could see that Alan was a little out of his mind, but Alan was touching dangerous topics. "Ellen, that's enough—" "Damn staff. Like Tom said. Damn, evasive, cowardly, hiding in the back, damned staff—" "Shut up!" Guy grabbed his brother's arm and tried to drag him back to the village. "I'll take you home. You need to—" "No, I won't go back." His ears were buzzing, and his eyes were dim.He knew that as long as Tom was alive, the whole world would be all right.Indulging in the joy of this recognition, he suddenly thought of Lisette and wanted to see her urgently.He pushed Guy away with both hands. "Don't touch me. I'm going to see someone...I have to go." Guy looked at his brother with sudden comprehension, "You have a girl, don't you? You?" "I have a little girl, her name is Sue," Ellen sang, "it's not Sue, she's Lisette." He mumbled, waving to the Lisettes' cottage . "Lisette, Lisette." "The farmhouse? The one with the red gables?" Guy's voice was half urgent, half disbelieving. "The farmhouse over there." A pleasant smile slowly spread across Guy's face.He let go suddenly, and Allen staggered and almost fell. "Then go, go." "I'm leaving." "Go to your precious Lisette. You will find how precious she is. Her and your dear brother." Guy accompanied Allen two hundred yards to the farmhouse.Before he was halfway there, Allen lost the desire to go there.He wants to see Tom, he wants to sleep. "Lisette will be there for me in the morning," he sang. But Guy has made up his mind.Alan started to stumble and Guy picked him up, eager to get Alan to the farmhouse door.He managed to lean Allen against the post, and then he walked away, saying, "Go ahead, go in. You're going to be a surprise. I'll see you later, man. Bye." The door to the farmhouse was never locked, so Alan went in by himself.The room is very warm, and two yellow cakes are gradually losing heat on the sideboard.Lisette was not there, probably gone out.Allen was too happy to think.He is safe.Tom is safe.Nothing else in the world matters. There is some cold coffee in the jug.Allen drank his coffee.The aroma of coffee stirred his memories. "And the damn coffee." -Major Fletcher--the shiny boots on the case--the ape-like arms--"keep my head from getting blown off"--then what Gone: a poor fellow with his left arm between his legs, and the whole company died before him. Allen lifted the veil and ate a piece of cake.The cake tasted so good that he devoured it before realizing that a cat was also devouring it.He chased the cat away and put the gauze cover back on.There were sounds from upstairs: the creaking of floorboards and a burst of laughter.Of course!What an idiot he is!Lisette was upstairs, of course.why not?It is morning.And what better place than in bed? Allen walked upstairs, using his hands and feet to prevent himself from rolling down the steep stairs.The laughter sounds louder now. "Lisette?" Allen hopped along the corridor and crashed into a door. "Lisette?" The voice stuck in his throat.There was not one person lying on the bed, but two.Lisette, and Tom lying beside her, naked and relaxed. A moment of silence.All three were stunned.During that short period of time, nothing was said, no damage was done, and no life was destroyed. But the moment didn't last. Allen became emotional again.An indescribable anger surged through him. "You bastard!" he screamed, "you dirty bastard!" Allen threw himself on Tom, fists raining down, but the fists were out of focus with the hot tears of rage.Tom defended.Despite all his strength, Allen was tired and weak, and his lungs were in desperate need of air.Tom slid off the bed and grabbed at his clothes while trying to dodge Alan's punches and kicks.He didn't fight back. "You bastard! You stole everything I valued! Lisette is my everything! All I want is Lisette." "Ellen, man - calm down - I didn't know you'd be back." "Alan, stop talking, calm down! (Original text in French - translation notes)" Lisette cried in horror, begging them to calm down. "Everything that matters." "Come on, bro, you can still have her. She's still yours. I don't—" "I don't want to have her just because you said I can. I don't want to..." Alan's attack is no longer lethal.Tom struggled into his pants, holding Alan at a safe distance with his strong right arm.Lisette helped him as best she could. "Guy's out there, isn't he? Why didn't he stop you? He knows I'm here." "Guy? He knows, oh yes, he knows. He carried me here. Carried me. So I can know what you are. I know now. Know." Allen leaned against the plastered wall to stabilize his body.Although his face was bruised and purple, the adrenaline had given him more self-control than he had just been with Guy.His extreme shock and nervous breakdown were no longer so obvious.Tom easily mistook him for someone who was frustrated but in control of his behavior. "I mean," said Alan, as clearly as possible, "Guy has been right about you all along. You have some merit, no doubt about it, but you are still the son of a servant. Please get your hands off my girlfriend and get out of here." "Alan, please, be careful what you say. You can't take back what you say, you know." "Alan, please calm down, I'll make you some coffee, and I'll explain to you." Lisette begged Alan to calm down, but the situation was far out of control. Allen tried to pull out a pistol, but just as he pulled it out of the holster, it hit the barrel and the gun fell to the ground with a "snap".Tom snatched the gun and threw it through the window and into the cow trough below. Alan stumbled to the door and leaned against the door frame, "Guy is my brother. You are the son of a servant who fucked my girlfriend." He shook his head, "By the way, I will never have sex with you." You're drilling in Persia together. Why would I do that? As far as I know, the tenure belongs to the Montagues. It doesn't belong to the mess." He staggered away, slipped on the fourth step of the stairs, and rolled all the way down.He dragged himself back to the village, found an empty bed, threw himself on it, and fell asleep within three seconds of his head touching the pillow. Here's where things get weird. He slept soundly.No dreams, no pain, no screaming, no sleep talking.It's a strange thing to sleep like this when the whole world is falling apart. Tom buttoned his shirt.His face was ashen, his hands were shaking constantly. "I didn't know you were friends," Lisette said, regretting. "I didn't know...he's a good guy, and I really respect him." "Don't worry. It's not your fault," Tom said in French, then English. "Damn, I didn't know him at all...Damn, damn." Tom sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to calm down.Guy is my older brother.You're the son of the servant who fucked my girlfriend.He tried to put the words out of his mind, but Alan's words were too heavy to be easily forgotten.I will never drill a well in Persia with you.Why should I do that?As far as I know, the title to the land belongs to the Montagues.It doesn't belong to those who mess around.Tom breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down.Allen was shocked.Allen was frustrated.Allen was talking nonsense— "Is he okay?" Lisette interrupted his thoughts. "Look, he's just come back from the war, it's been terrible, he's more sensitive the more he relaxes, and with girls, he's never—well, I think before you, he hasn't—" "No, absolutely not. I taught him how to do it." "Damn it!" Tom exasperated with guilt.He knew that Alan and Lisette were on good terms, so he had always avoided going to Lisette.But the past three days have been like hell.Tom knew that Allen was injured, but, like Guy, he kept asking where Allen was and how he was doing.When he finally heard that Alan was fine, he was greatly relieved.For some strange reason, Tom came to Lisette as if obsessed, because she was another person with whom Ellen was closely related.He looked for her everywhere, until he found the kitchen.He wasn't trying to sleep with her, but Tom wasn't a strong-willed guy in that sort of thing, and Ellen was lying safe in the hospital anyway, so it didn't matter too much.He should think twice. They were silent for a moment.Then Lisette kissed Tom's earlobe.He smiled and stroked her shoulder. "Do you have many other men?" he asked. She flicked his arm lightly, "Chchon." Pig. "to be honest?" "A few. A few." "I guess, for the money?" "Generally. But not with him, absolutely not." "And me?" She shook her head. "He doesn't know a thing, . . . Listen, I'll give him time to recover. Explain to him. I'd better not come to you again. If it would break Ellen's heart, then I wouldn't come to you again. "What does that passage about brothers mean? Are you brothers?" Tom explained briefly, then concluded, "Guy's his blood brother, but I'm his real brother. He knows it. He absolutely, absolutely knows it." "Is everything going to be okay?" Tom nodded, kicking his bare feet on the unpainted floor.He was mad at himself for being stupid, but he was furious at Guy for starting it.Anger burned inside him, hot and dangerous. "Huh? Is everything going to be alright?" Tom sighed heavily, "Yes, it will be fine." Once again, he was wrong, very wrong. This seems to have become inertia. Day two: August 19. Tom returned to the trench when the battle started again.He was reporting the situation to the brigade staff officer. He was sleep deprived, sweating profusely, and his whole body was covered in blood and dirt.The sound of gunfire interrupted their brief talk.Tom begged to go, received a blunt "Good job, Cleary," and strode to the front. It was a rough day, like the first cold day of autumn, with heavy rain soaking everything and the air being bitterly cold.A wicked breeze blew gun smoke across the field until everything was bathed in a pale green mist that smelled of smokeless ammunition.It was slippery on the wet chalk.The uphill path and the bottom of the trench became a sewer of rain, mud, rats, and blood. Quickly but cautiously Tom climbed up the trench.He passed two men who were digging to repair a collapsed parapet, and another man who was loading a Lewis machine gun into a trench.Tom charged forward, too fast around the corner, and ran right into Guy, who was coming fast from the other side. It was a great coincidence: not that they shouldn't have met, but that they shouldn't have met in the trenches.As a staff officer, Guy almost never entered the forward position, let alone in such a difficult time of combat.But Tom remembered that the division's telephone exchange had been completely destroyed in the earlier bombardment, so he figured the division staff must be anxious to get reliable information on operations. Private Hempliswaite, armed with a Lewis machine gun, and Privates Jones and Callaher, mending trenches, all witnessed what happened next.The two officers had a violent quarrel.The older officer tried to fight his way, but the younger officer blocked him with his body, pinning him against the parapet of the trench.The sound of bullets muffled their voices, but it was clear they were shouting at each other. The young officer began to punch the other man with heavy, powerful fists, and the man raised his arms in front of him in defense.The older officer kept trying to break through.He did not take any measures of force against the young officer. Then something happened. These three people's description of the facts is absolutely unanimous.The young officer drew his pistol.He pointed the gun at the other man's head.The older officer stepped back in a gesture of surrender.The young man was still yelling at him.He looked extremely angry.Then the young man lowered the gun and aimed it at the other man's crotch, or thereabouts.He shot.It was definitely a deliberate shot fired at close range.A bright red rose print appeared on the khaki jacket.The older officer jumped back as the bullet struck his thigh.The young lieutenant put his gun back in its holster, gave the older officer another savage look, and ran off to the front.Black blood slowly seeped into one of the trouser legs of the older officer. That's the way it is. Tom ran away along the trench.Guy wobbled away to the other side.His face was as pale as a bed sheet, and his expression was startled, angry and frightened. The fighting continued fiercely until dusk. In some blood-stained places lay too many dead or dying.The air was also heavy with gunfire and bullets.For the first time since arriving in France, Tom hoped that he could get shot and return to England, away from the war. Night fell. Tom took his post at the sentry post, praying that the Germans were as exhausted as their opponents.He was craving some whiskey, but was glad he couldn't find alcohol.This night, he really wanted to get drunk.But tonight, the last thing he needed was a dull head. Guy made him feel furious. fury.Instead of venting his emotions, the events in the trenches increased his anger.He shot Guy, but he didn't kill him.Tom's rage still hadn't been vented, but Guy could -- and probably would -- court-martial Tom for his actions.There is only one sentence for shooting a superior officer, and that is the death penalty.Tom knew there were witnesses, and he knew he must never rely on their judgment.Maybe Tom's great military exploits would help, but Guy's a major, and things like this usually focus on rank... Tom thought about it again and again that night.He didn't regret shooting Guy at all, but as he ran his fingers over the barrel of the gun, he imagined a hundred different endings to the incident: Guy was shot not in the leg, but in the chest; Guy was shot in the chest; Yi was not slightly injured, but died on the spot. ＊＊ Tom was on the first shift.With so much going on, he needed time to think.During the afternoon's fight, one of his packs was crushed, but he carefully picked out two squashed cigarettes and carefully restored them to a flammable appearance.He lit the cigarette, his throat aching with the craving for the tobacco. "Mr. Cleary?" "Ok?" In the brief gleam of the match Tom saw the face of a man--silver-haired, but young, with blue eyes and a gray beard. "I'm Captain Morgan, and I've just been sent from Warwickshire to support you." The two shook hands, and Tom lit the last broken cigarette and handed it to the man. "Backup?" Tom muttered, smoking a cigarette. "God knows we need support." "Look, I've got some pretty bad news, and I better tell you. The Brigadier General wants to send troops to wipe out the Germans from the salient positions once and for all. His idea is that if we can raid their machine gun posts, We can risk an all-out attack." "The Commodore is a mindless madman murderer." Captain Morgan smiled awkwardly at Tom's bluntness, but he did little to refute the accusation, "Your name has been brought up." "Bring it up for what?" The captain grimaced. "Machine gun." "To raid their machine guns?" "Yes, I personally think it's a stupid idea, but the commodore seems to be enjoying it." "So stupid." "I'm terribly sorry, man—you're right on the gun. The brigadier told you to take a dozen men, figure out a course of action in your own head, and get going. As soon as you take out those machine gun posts, I'll take the A whole company is going to support you." Morgan handed him a bag of information, and the written instructions inside confirmed his words.Tom read the papers and threw them aside. “我的头脑？我的头脑告诉我准将已经他妈的失去理智了。” 上尉咽了口口水。即使一个新来者都清楚地知道，准将的命令是根本不可能做到的。 “我不能说不同情你，老兄。如果不是因为我真的不了解这儿的地形，我会自告奋勇地站出来。我得说，我觉得那个推荐你的人实在是有点过分。这种事真的不应该推荐别人上。” “是谁推荐的我？” 摩根上尉顿了顿。他已经说了不该说的话，恨不得把自己的舌头咬断才好。“听着，我什么都不该说的。真的不是我——” “可你已经说了。是谁？” 摩根上尉又顿了顿，深深地吸了一口香烟。他将烟吸到只剩半英寸，然后把烟头扔到泥里，烟头发出一阵嘶嘶声。“好吧，老兄。正常情况下我是不应该说的，可是考虑到现在的情况……是个叫蒙塔古的家伙。蒙塔古先生。我不知道他叫什么名字。” “蒙塔古先生？”汤姆惊呆了，“一个中尉？跟我差不多大年纪？” “对。怎么？你们有很多个蒙塔古吗？” “不是一位少校吗？我们有一个中尉和一个少校。是哪一个？” “是个中尉，老兄。肩膀上只有一颗星。我绝对没有看错。绝对是中尉。” “他的腿呢？他的腿有没有受伤？最近才受的皮肉伤？今天下午？” “他坐在那儿，老兄。我没看见他的腿。不过，如果他受了那样的伤，是不是应该呆在医院才对？我想，如果是那样他就不会坐在准将身边了。” “对，我想也不会。”汤姆的震惊无法用语言来形容。德军有两个机枪哨位。其中一个位于一个很深的弹坑里，垒有沙袋，而且周围有严密的铁丝网。另一个哨位则是德军经历长久战斗以来几乎没有受损的枪位之一。那个哨位是由混凝土筑成的，厚达十英尺，周围竖着钢筋。对它们发起进攻无异于自杀。而这是艾伦想要的结果。比起他即将面临的死亡可能——汤姆对此已经确信无疑——更让他震惊的是这是艾伦想要的结果。 摩根看着汤姆，眼里有着深深的同情。在临时的胸墙外面，大概两百码远的地方，白色的混凝土机枪哨位在月光下泛着白光。“我真的很抱歉，老兄。希望你拥有英国人最好的运气。” "thanks." “我没什么可做的，是不是？你有什么需要吗？” 汤姆摇了摇头，“就是……听着，出于我不能解释的原因，下午推荐我的人是谁，这对我来说非常重要——重要得我无法形容。你十分肯定那是蒙塔古中尉？” silence. 很远处几枚炮弹轰然作响，随即回应地响起步枪的“哒哒”声。 “听着，四年前我在桑德霍斯特军官大学呆过，去年升的上尉。我知道什么时候向什么样的肩章敬礼，知道什么样的肩章该向我敬礼。我百分百地确定，老兄。对不起。” 汤姆点点头。 两人又握了握手。“我最好还是别再耽误你的行动。”摩根开始向外走去。一道亮光射往天际，悬挂片刻，又慢慢落下。黑暗的战壕被它的光芒照亮。 “等一下，上尉。”汤姆喊道。 “嗯？”摩根转过身。 汤姆把压扁的烟盒递出去，“这盒烟被我压碎了。你身上有没有带烟？” 摩根摸了摸上衣的口袋，找到一包没有拆封的英国烟，只是先前在雨里沾了点潮气。“拿去吧，老兄。别客气。” 我们是新军的成员。 我们不会作战， 我们不会开枪， 那我们有什么用呢？ 可是当我们开进柏林， 德国皇帝会说， Hoch, hoch, mein Gott! 新军的成员 是多么的优秀啊。 这首歌诸多版本中的一种就像某种美妙的气味一样从泥泞的防空洞楼梯上飘出来。防空洞是从德军那儿夺来的。就防空洞本身而言，它非常的牢固，而且很舒适。在短暂的停顿之后，这首歌换成了其它更忧伤的歌。 汤姆艰难地咽了口口水。在直接面对着即将死亡这一现实时，他长久以来那种无忧无虑的态度开始离他而去。他不想死。他热切地想活下去。也许活过这晚，第二天他就会被送上军事法庭。可他不在乎。他想活过这晚。接下来的事以后再碰运气。 但死亡还不是最糟糕的。艾伦才是。艾伦·蒙塔古从全世界所有人中推荐了他去执行这次任务。汤姆知道自己不该跟莉塞特上床，可艾伦的回应是如此冰冷地充满杀机。这是艾伦最糟糕的一面：睚眦必报。这是作为贵族子弟的艾伦：势利，自以为是，令人厌恶。 汤姆觉得自己就像是闯进陌生领域的陌生人。 他沿着防空洞的台阶走下去。下面挤满了三十个人，当天的战役使他们筋疲力尽。在这三十个人当中，只有三四个还有力气唱歌，而且那是因为防空洞里没有足够的空间让所有人都躺下去，甚至是坐下去。 他们看见汤姆脸上的表情，安静了下去，马上就明白了。醒着的人将睡着的人摇起来。防空洞里变得活跃起来，他们或是斜靠着墙，或是坐在粗糙的凳上，或是坐在地上。防空洞里点着两盏德军的乙炔灯，空气里充满了厚重的油烟，非常混浊，但是很温馨。有两只耗子坐在角落里咀嚼着什么。 “举起你们的右手，小伙子们……右手，汤普森，不是两只手。” 他们沉默地照做。 “现在，有孩子的人把手放下。” 还有十六只手举在空中。 “有老婆的人把手放下……我说的是老婆，阿普尔比，不是临时跟你上床的姑娘。” 十只手外加阿普尔比：十一个人。 汤姆点点头，“你们过来，其他人继续。”一片沉默，只有他们在爬过彼此交换位置的时候发出的低声嘀咕。（“抱歉，伙计”，“慢点，你踩的是我的手”，“早知道我就娶了那老女人”……）最终那十一个人走到汤姆面前——确切地说，是十一个男孩，因为他们的平均年龄肯定低于二十一岁。汤姆接到的命令是带上一打人，可他决定不服从命令。就算是五十个人也干不掉那两挺机枪，如果他让自己的双手沾上不必要的鲜血，那他真是罪该万死了。汤姆从上衣兜里拿出十一根火柴，将其中两根的火柴头掰断。他把火柴混在一起，然后握在手里，将火柴的后半截露在外面。 “每人抽一根。” 每人抽了一根，有两个抽到了没头的火柴：一个长着黄棕色的头发，非常粗壮，脸上有着很自信的表情；另一个是典型的从城里来的新兵，营养不良，身体很矮——甚至不足五英尺四——长着一张苍白的长脸。汤姆不认得他们。因为人员伤亡，连里从其他营调来了增援人手，都是汤姆不认识的人。 “对不起，伙计们，我还不知道你们的名字呢。” “斯廷森，长官。”黄头发的小伙子说。 “哈德威克，长官。他们都喊我矮子。” “那你希望我喊你什么？” “我想还是喊我矮子吧，长官。听上去已经很顺耳了。” 汤姆点点头。他从兜里拿出摩根的那盒烟，给他们一人发了一只。三个人都把烟点着。 “现在，我有个好消息要告诉你们俩。我已经选中你们参加一次任务，这次任务非常艰巨，非常危险，可它会为你们每人赢得一枚荣誉勋章，以及大量的假期，只要我能安排妥当的话。下面就是我们要做的……” 艾伦在疼痛中醒来。 某个地方存在着危险；甚至是恐怖。 他抓过手枪，将枪口对着黑暗。他沉重地呼吸着，侧耳倾听，随时准备开枪。什么声音都没有，只有远处连续不断的炮声。Half a minute passed.艾伦试着想起这是什么地方。 他摸索着周围。他正躺在一个铁床架上的草席上。 他想起来，这天盖伊跟他在一起坐了一会儿——或者是之前那天？他仍然头晕目眩，想不起来。他能听到身下的草席发出沙沙声，还有窗外村子里的细微声响：一头马正在吃草，一个技工正试图发动一辆摩托车。他摸到一根火柴，将它点着，然后找到一根蜡烛点上。 他环顾着小屋四周，看看有没有什么危险。什么都没有，他拉上保险栓，把枪放下。 但是清醒并没有带来安宁。他的心跳仍然高达每分钟一百二十次，那种可怕灾难的感觉仍然挥之不去。他本想将之归罪于梦境，可他一觉无梦，而且在他醒来之后这种灾难感愈发强烈。 艾伦想起了他和汤姆的争吵。痛苦和愤怒涌遍全身。汤姆对莉塞特的征服就像是一种深深的、刻意的侮辱。虽然艾伦在攻击汤姆的时候已经神智不清，但他仍然非常生气。可怒火很快就过去了。那只是一次争吵。汤姆会向他道歉，而且是真心诚意的。艾伦会收回他所说过的话，而且他也会真心诚意。争吵算不了什么。 艾伦的心脏因为其它原因而狂跳，某种更糟糕、更永恒的东西。有那么片刻，他无法理解。然后他明白了。 Tom! 汤姆出事了。 艾伦从床上跃起，找到裤子，四处摸索他的靴子，但没有找到。他记得盖伊把靴子拿走了，试图阻止他四处乱走，不过下面的马房里有一双农民穿的鞋，那就足够了。他抓过上衣，找到鞋子，跑到街上。他的身体还是很虚弱，尤其是他的肺部，不过他的协调能力已经好多了。他慢慢地走到负责运输的那名上尉的办公室里，希望能借到一匹马。 上尉正弯腰忙着纸头工作，低声地发出诅咒。他抬起头，绽出一丝微笑。他很喜欢艾伦。 “嗯嗯，晚上好啊，长官。”他漂亮地敬了个礼。 “什么？”艾伦说过，下意识地回了一个礼。 “我说，你最终得到了该有的奖赏，”上尉说道，“绝对是该你所有，我得说。” 艾伦低头看了看肩膀。他睡了一觉，起来的时候就变成了一个少校。他困惑地摇了摇头，“我穿了我哥哥的外套，我也不知道是怎么回事，我猜是他拿错了我的衣服。听着，能借匹马给我吗？我明天早上还回来。” 上尉吹了声口哨，叹了口气，看了看他那没有止尽的征用表——不过十分钟不到，艾伦就已经备好马，小跑着穿过黑暗，向前线奔去，向汤姆奔去。 子弹扫射过来的时候，突然而又喧闹。机枪离他们只有三十英尺远。借着暗淡的月光，汤姆看见勇敢的斯廷森被一阵弹雨击中，几乎尸骨无存。几秒钟之后亮起的炮火清楚地照出矮子哈德威克栽到地上，双腿被鲜血淋漓地炸断。炮火持续着。汤姆拿出一个手榴弹掷了出去。 那是他记得的最后一件事。 艾伦听到了枪声。枪声持续了只有一两分钟，然后就停止了。马抬着头，侧着身子，在泥泞的路上开始打滑。他把受惊的马系到一个被炸的树桩上，步行继续前进。几天的战斗下来，战壕里一片混乱。地面被炸得乱七八糟。战场上散发着尸体和炸药的气味。 他急急地沿着脆弱的战壕往前跑着，因为胸墙太过脆弱，所以他一直猫着腰。他没有在借来的鞋子上裹上绑腿，所以鞋子里很快就沾满了泥沙。他的协调能力和体力都比之前要好；只是肺部的情况还很糟糕。 他来到汤姆的营地，在那儿听说了这个可怕的坏消息。他听说了准将那致命的指示。他听说汤姆带着两个人爬进了无人地带。听说在半个小时的寂静之后，德军突然开火。听说靠得比较近的那个混凝土机枪哨位也开火了。听说三个人都已失踪，假定死亡。