Page 14 of The Unknown Birds

Ash nodded, and when it was her turn again, he mouthed, Both eyes open. And though it felt like the most unnatural thing in the world, she wrenched her eyes wide, jammed the butt into her armpit, took a deep breath and fired—flinching at the last minute in anticipation of the almighty bang and recoil.

The sergeant major rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhausted. “Again.”

Ashley reloaded, risking a glance at Rook, afraid to see his disappointed glower, but he unfolded his arms to give her a small thumbs up, and she turned more confidently back to the target.

For a moment she closed both eyes, breathing deeply, before hefting the gun up for another go, recalling the feel of Rook’s strong arms around her as he moved her hands to the proper positions. Then she opened both eyes, braced herself, and fired. This shot finally pierced the outer ring, and the whole first line erupted in a cheer that made the rest of the platoon crane their necks, expecting to see a perfect bullseye.

“We’ll make a marksman of you yet,” Chapman said, slapping her wretched shoulder.

Ash couldn’t help her grin as she headed towards the back of the line once more, and when she caught Rook’s eye and the smug expression on his lips, she burned with pride, warm in her belly and spreading all the way out to her toes.

Chapter 6

Normandy, June 1916

The First Battalion of the East Surrey Regiment had been in France for almost a year by the time Ashley and Tom joined their number. The other pair of runners, like most of the brigade, were tired and hardened and a little bit skeptical of newcomers.

“Good timing you two have,” grumbled a boy with reddish hair called Robin Blake. “We’ve only just come out of the trenches. This here’s the longest rest we’ve seen in months.” Blake had a pointed chin and a pinched expression that perpetually looked as if he were sucking on a lemon, his face wrinkled up as though the sour taste were burning his beady eyes. “And don’t get used to the tents either.” He gesticulated wildly as he spoke, motioning towards the canvas tents where they’d all been sleeping.

“Aye, we’re living like kings at the moment,” another runner, Cooper, confirmed before spitting a sunflower seed shell on the ground. One of the few Black soldiers in their unit, Cooper had played football for The Arsenal in North London before his number came up, and he was always keen to race, though Blake would claim his running was too elegant.

“Like some kind of lady,” Blake relentlessly teased.

“To impress the ladies, more like,” Cooper countered.

Ash laughed along with the rest of them, but a slight sheen of panic broke out on her brow. She’d never been accused of being too ladylike, but would something in her run give her away?

“What’s it like? The trenches?” TomTom asked them, raking a hand nervously through his hair so it stood up in the front.

Blake and Cooper shared a look, and then Blake shrugged one shoulder, seeming torn between wanting to scare them and wanting to look brave and unbothered.

Ash felt sick to her stomach.

“Mostly it’s boring as hell,” Cooper finally said.

“Till it’s not,” Blake added, and Cooper nodded in sober agreement.

Tom’s face had gone very pale, making his freckles stand out all the more.

Grinning, Cooper slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry about it, mate! It’s good for you—gets the blood pumping, hey?”

“Not worried,” Tom assured him, causing Blake to roll his eyes in Cooper’s direction.

“Course you’re not,” Cooper agreed. “If anything, be worried about the Brigade Sports. It’s us against the Queens, the Buffs, and the Kents.”

“Those are other regiments?” Ash asked, and Blake scoffed at her obvious ignorance.

“You know it, Ash,” Cooper confirmed. “We’ll take first and second of course,” he said gesturing to himself and then to Blake. “But there’s no reason you two can’t take third and fourth.”

“I’ll be first. You’ll be second,” Blake argued, and Cooper just laughed at him.

“Is it only a few races?” Ashley asked.

“It’s all the races,” Cooper explained, ticking them off on his fingers. “Hundred yard, three hundred yard, quarter mile, half mile, whole mile. Three legged. One with a sack.”

“There’s shooting competitions as well. You’ll be sure to take first in those,” Blake sneered at her.

Ash resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at him and glanced at TomTom. He was smiling now, no trace of his anxiety about the trenches. “Not a bad way to spend the war,” he laughed.