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"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. She had kissed his peter, and then asked him to do the equivalent to her. Even better, she had shown him how to do it so that it made her cry out in ecstasy. At the end, she had produced a condom from her bedside drawer. He had never seen one, though the boys talked about them, calling them rubber johnnies. She had put it on him, and even that had been thrilling.
It seemed like a daydream, and he had to keep reminding himself that it had really happened. Nothing in his upbringing had prepared him for Mildred's carefree, eager attitude to sex, and it had come to him like a revelation. His parents and most people in Aberowen would call her "unsuitable," with two children and no sign of a husband; but Billy would not have minded if she had six children. She had opened the gates of paradise to him, and all he wanted to do was go there again. More than anything else, he wanted to survive today so that he could see Mildred again and spend another night with her.
As the Pals shuffled forward, slowly getting nearer to the frontline trench, Billy found he was sweating.
Owen Bevin began to cry. Billy said gruffly: "Pull yourself together, now, Private Bevin. No good crying, is it?"
The boy said: "I want to go home. "
"So do I, boyo, so do I. "
"Please, Corporal, I didn't think it would be like this. "
"How old are you anyway?"
"Sixteen. "
"Bloody hell," said Billy. "How did you get recruited?"
"I told the doctor how old I was, and he said: 'Go away, and come back in the morning. You're tall for your age, you might be eighteen by tomorrow. ' And he gave me a wink, see, so I knew I had to lie. "
"Bastard," said Billy. He looked at Owen. The boy was not going to be any use on the battlefield. He was shaking and sobbing.
Billy spoke to Lieutenant Carlton-Smith. "Sir, Bevin is only sixteen, sir. "
"Good God," said the lieutenant.
"He should be sent back. He'll be a liability. "
"I don't know about that. " Carlton-Smith looked baffled and helpless.
Billy recalled how Prophet Jones had tried to make an ally of Mortimer. Prophet was a good leader, thinking ahead and acting to prevent problems. Carlton-Smith, by contrast, seemed to be of no account, yet he was the superior officer. That's why it's called the class system, Da would have said.
After a minute, Carlton-Smith went to Fitzherbert and said something in a low voice. The major shook his head in negation, and Carlton-Smith shrugged helplessly.
