Page 7 of The Unknown Birds

“Yes, sir,” Ashley replied.

“Sir,” he laughed. “I love getting new recruits.”

Next he handed each of them a steel-brimmed helmet with a leather chin strap.

“Tin hat. Won’t do much good if you stick your head above the bags, mind.”

Then he offered Charley a long gun like the one Tom already carried. “Rifle and bayonet. Don’t”—He snatched the gun and dagger attachment back when she reached out—“try to use them until you’re shown how.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a nod. “I mean, I understand,” she added, and he relinquished the heavy gun, which she nearly dropped the moment he let go.

“Identity discs.” He checked the stamp on one before handing a pair to Tom and the other set to Charley. She slipped the long string over her head so the green octagonal disc hung at her chest, and she held the red one out where she could read it.

No longer Charlotte Elizabeth or even Charley, she was Private Ashley of the First Battalion now.

Chapter 3

Normandy, June 1916

From the quartermaster’s hut, they were taken to a barn-turned-office for inspection by their new captain, a white man with golden hair and watchful eyes. The first thing Ashley noticed upon meeting Captain Henry Davies was how young he looked and how old he seemed, all at the very same time. She wouldn’t have guessed he was more than a few years her senior, certainly no older than twenty-five. But what he lacked in grey hair and wrinkles, he made up for with blue eyes more haunted than any ocean and a weary weight about his shoulders that suggested his perfect posture was held up by invisible chains.

“Ashley. Tomasson,” he greeted, shaking each of their hands cordially. “Welcome to the East Surrey Regiment, B Company. Your timing couldn’t be better. We seem to find ourselves desperately short of runners.”

Tom and Ash exchanged nervous glances and then nodded at their new commander.

“Where did you both train?”

“Aldershot, sir,” Tom answered.

“Very good. I was at Aldershot myself not so many years ago.” The captain nodded before skewering Ashley with his piercing gaze. “And you?”

Should she tell him Aldershot as well? What if he asked her some specific question and caught her out in the needless lie? Didn’t he know she’d been practically scooped off the street and plunked down on a ship without further ado?

TomTom nudged her, and she decided it was best, in this case, to tell the truth. “No training, sir.”

“Not your running,” he said with an amused smile. “I meant your military training.”

Ashley licked her lips and glanced at Tom. “So did I, sir.”

“How to clean your gun? Load it? Lace your boots?”

She shook her head, cheeks growing hot under his sharp gaze.

Captain Davies took a deep breath and held it in, as though by letting it out he would deflate entirely. “There were no more trained-up runners in all of England?” he muttered.

Ashley opened and closed her mouth, uncertain how to answer.

“Right. Not a problem.” He lifted his chin, shoving his frustration aside. “Lieutenant Napier will have you trained up in no time. It’s a great responsibility, the role of trench runner. Do you both know that?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused.

“Of course, you’ll have regular duties—barbed wire repair, night watch, and patrol. But you must also be ready at a moment’s notice to carry a message in the dark and the rain, through enemy fire. Who knows—it could be a pigeon or a dog—or it could be you who carries the message that ends this war. Are you lads prepared to see it through—come what may? Every night? Every day? Twice on Sundays?”

“I am, sir,” Ashley said, amazed that her part might be so important, when all she’d set out to do was keep her brother safe.

“Absolutely, sir,” TomTom agreed, sounding equally inspired.

“Good. Borrow maps until we can get you some of your own. Familiarize yourselves with the area. Memorize landmarks, troop positions. I cannot stress this enough.”