Page 39 of The Unknown Birds

TomTom’s stomach growled again and Stewart threw him a hard tack biscuit. Max watched it sail in an arc over her head, and she whined, swishing her tail, but didn’t snatch it out of the air like she wanted to.

“Good girl,” Stewart told her, and she yipped.

Lieutenant Napier ducked his head inside and looked around at them. “Private, why isn’t this dog in the kennel?” he asked Stewart.

“Och, sir, she’s only a wee baby,” he said, though the dog was at least two years old and long since weaned.

“Isn’t that all the more reason she should be with the other dogs?” Napier asked, uncertainly.

“But, sir,” Stew protested. “She was crying for her mother.”

Blake snorted, and even Ash tried to suppress a smile.

“Why’s that funny?” Napier asked.

“Stew thinks he’s her mother, sir.”

“Someone has to train her up proper!” Stew protested.

Lieutenant Napier looked a bit baffled. “Yes. Well. See that she stays out of trouble. I don’t want to hear about chewed-up boots or missing rations. Mother,” he added, and they all burst out laughing as he stepped back into the trench hollering for Private Rook.

Napier liked to pretend he was full of bluster, but Ash suspected deep down he had a soft heart.

“Rook, you’ve a four-day pass to leave,” Napier called, his voice echoing down the concrete trench, and they all turned to peer out at the sniper.

“Sir?” Rook asked.

“You’ve been here two years and never applied for leave. Should’ve had one months ago, but I expect it got lost during your transfer.”

“Yes, sir,” Rook replied uncertainly.

“Go to London. Sit in a bath for three days drinking proper tea. I don’t care what you do. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Get some rest. That’s an order,” he added before continuing on his way down the trench like some kind of Father Christmas.

The sniper looked as stunned as Ashley felt when he glanced towards the dugout.

“Lucky bastard,” Coop teased.

Rook shrugged. “See you next week, I suppose,” he told Ash.

Her heart sank as she watched him go. She hadn’t realized how much safer she felt having him on duty nearby until he was walking away from his post. She wanted to go running after him, to tell him to fly safe and take very good care.

Fortunately, Max chose that moment to plop down in her lap, keeping her from exposing herself most foolishly, and she squeezed the dog tight, burying her face in Maxie’s soft warm fur and praying for Rook’s safe and speedy return.

Chapter 13

Pas-de-Calais, November 1916

By November, the fighting at the Somme had finally ended, and the Surreys were sent to rest in billets near the town of Albert, where huts of corrugated iron had been used to construct permanent barracks. Ashley hoped they would protect them from the worst of winter’s chill better than tents.

The first night, however, B Company crowded into a barn to watch Oliver Twist projected on the wall in living motion.

Ash wanted to savor every second, grabbing the shred of normalcy with both hands and pretending it was real, but smothered by the warmth of too many bodies and Rook’s heady bergamot scent, she drifted off to sleep before Oliver had even been introduced to Fagin, and she slept through fitful dreams.

The next day, the lads wanted to go into town, and so with Sergeant Major Chapman’s blessing, off they went—the runners and Ash, with Rook and Dusty in tow, as Max trotted along at Stewart’s side.

Cooper and Tom were fairly jubilant over the outing, but an eerie sort of stillness penetrated the ravaged town and settled into Ashley’s bones. After months of fighting, Albert looked completely different than when she and Tom had first stepped off the train, and yet there were markers that reminded her she’d seen it all before.

Even the boys grew solemn when they passed the basilica. Where the once-proud golden statue of Mary had raised the Christ child to the sky, now the holy figures swooped at an alarming angle, frozen mid-dive towards the earth.