Page 18 of The Unknown Birds

“Wasn’t me,” Stew protested, scrambling to find the edges of the tent in pitch darkness.

“Oy,” TomTom yelled, and before Ash could reach for his shadowed form, her legs were pulled out behind her and the darkness turned even darker as a scratchy sack was yanked down over her head.

She sucked in a breath, swallowing her own scream.

It smelled of damp earth and bile, and when she tried to pull it off, her arms were pinned to her sides, and she was jerked to her knees and then her feet.

She gasped and struggled against her unseen captors, as a rifle butt prodded her in the back, urging her forward.

Shouts and muffled groans came from her friends, and she could feel the slaps and flying elbows as they fought. A low growl and then a snarl from Max were followed by a whimper.

“It’s all right, Maxie, stand down,” Stew chirruped, more worried for his beloved dog’s safety than his own.

Shouldn’t there have been snipers and sentries posted around the perimeter of their camp? How did this unseen enemy get through? Ash had read enough stories about the way German soldiers treated POWs. When they went to castrate her, would they laugh at her deception before having their way? Or would they cut her stem to stern and feed her to the hungry creatures in their own kennel?

After several minutes stumbling, Ash tripped into the back of another lad, who grunted but held his tongue. Then strong hands forced her to her knees once more before finally ripping the sack off her head.

She blinked in the moonlight filtering through trees. They must have been brought to the wood that bordered their training fields, and their captors—not German at all, but a handful of British soldiers. Ash recognized one as Simmons, the straw-haired private from the Buffs who tried to trip her before they ran the mile.

“Welcome to hell,” a big, ginger lance corporal growled. “You’re not ready for it.”

“Been here the whole time, Reid,” Blake protested.

“Do not interrupt me, Private,” Lance Corporal Reid screamed in his face, spittle flying so far it hit Ashley on the chin.

“You think you’re something special on account of you run so fast? Runners need eyes in the back of their heads,” Reid went on, beginning to circle Ash and her friends as they shrank into a tight huddle.

“Eyes in the front and sides, too,” Simmons cut in. “Where are your eyes, runners? We caught you far too easy.”

“They were begging for capture,” a third soldier agreed.

“Piss off, all of ya,” Blake said. “Buffs lost fair and square.”

The fourth soldier, another private, slapped Blake hard across the mouth and Ashley winced.

“Think this place is an adventure?” Reid asked.

“It ain’t,” Simmons told them.

“Think this war is an adventure?” the third man asked.

“It’s just fucking war,” the fourth replied.

“The man beside you may change, but the battle drags on and on,” Simmons added almost sadly.

“You may think being a runner is your chance to be a hero, but heroes get their pals killed,” Reid said in a menacing way that made Ashley shiver.

“Do you want to get your pals killed?” Simmons asked her, and when she shook her head, he opened his mouth wide in a wolfish grin.

“You may think being a runner entitles you to special treatment,” Reid said.

“Extra rations,” Simmons cut in.

“You’re wrong. All you’re entitled to is extra danger,” Reid shouted. “Assignments that’ll make you piss yourselves.”

“Don’t piss yourselves, ickle babies,” Simmons taunted, grinning even broader than before. “Speed won’t be enough to see you through, and if you fail, we go down too.”

“Strip,” Reid ordered. “Now. I outrank you, and I want to see a pile of uniforms at my feet in the next twenty seconds, and that means your knickers as well, ladies.”