Page 73 of The Unknown Birds

It was a German soldier singing to them across No Man’s Land, a carol for a carol. And he wasn’t alone, for his comrades lifted their voices in harmony as well.

Ash looked around at all her friends and fellows, surprised to remember the enemy could worship the same God, to remember they too longed for home and family tonight. Though she assumed every voice was male, she could hear Frau Wintter’s steady contralto, and she couldn’t help forming the words with her own lips.

As if by magic or some sign from above, when they sang the words, “Gott hat den Himmelsthron verlassen, und muß reisen auf der straßen,” God has left the throne of heaven and must walk upon the road, the clouds and smoke gave way to moonlight, shining bright as the star of Bethlehem, lighting up the whole of No Man’s Land as though lighting the way for God Himself to walk between the trenches.

“Cap?” Rook whispered, his posture stiffening as he peeked through the loophole, and Captain Davies came over for a look, followed closely by the lieutenant, who shooed Rook out of the way.

Tom and Ash risked a peek over the bags to see several German soldiers clamber out of their own trench still singing. Apparently unarmed, some carried candles, and others, bottles of liquor.

“Likely a trap,” Hawkins scoffed. “They are known to be ruthless.”

“Perhaps,” Captain Davies replied. “But I’m not sure even Germans would waste good drink. Not at Christmas,” he added, slapping the lieutenant on the back. “Hold your fire, Rook.”

Rook nodded and stepped back so the captain could climb over the parapet while everyone watched closely with bated breath.

“No man is to leave this trench, not one of you,” the lieutenant hissed.

Ash and Tom stood tiptoe on the fire step, knowing full well the Germans could shoot them between the eyes if they’d a mind to, but watching all the same as both commanders made their way to the middle of the neutral zone.

She had never admired anyone more in her life.

The German commander extended his hand, and Captain Davies shook it warmly in both of his. Then he was yanked into an embrace, and the German turned to face his own trench, arm raised.

“Ready weapons,” Hawkins warned, but it was a needless order. Rook’s rifle was already trained on the German’s head.

Still, no shots rang out, no bullets riddled their brave captain. Instead, a cheer went up from the enemy line, and then both commanders swung around to face the British.

Lieutenant Hawkins was breathing fire, but what could he do?

Captain Davies offered his counterpart a drink from his own flask, and Ash and her companions let out a cheer before spilling over the top despite the lieutenant’s spluttering.

They rushed into No Man’s Land the same way they raced into battle: pushing fear and doubt aside, relying on adrenaline to see them through. Once there, however, they became shy and uncertain.

“Frohe Weihnachten,” a soldier no older than Ashley said, offering his hand.

“Happy Christmas,” she replied.

“Prost,” exclaimed another, throwing his arm around his buddy and shoving a bottle in her hand. She nodded and took a swig, surprised by the alcohol’s sweet flavor.

“Cheers,” she told them both, handing back the drink.

There were handshakes and pats on the back as if they were merely old school rivals and not soldiers bent on killing each other for days and weeks and years on end.

Somewhere, deep within the crowd, a voice that could only belong to Rook began to sing “Silent Night,” and the rest of the soldiers quieted down, joining in with their respective tongues.

English, German, and Italian—Ash looked around at everyone singing, different languages but all the same song, and for a moment she couldn’t tell who was on her side and who was on theirs. They were all just people, and she wondered—if they could get the generals in a field together, the Kaiser and the King, singing Christmas carols under a moonlit sky and sharing strong drink that warmed them from the inside out—could the whole thing be over with by Tuesday?

Unable to hold back any longer, Ash found the harmony, finally allowed to sing along with the boys. They lifted their voices together as one, for the men who’d been slain on both sides, for their hopes and aspirations, for their families far away.

And when the song ended and peaceful silence blanketed the battlefield, she felt like weeping—until another roaring cheer went up from the intermingled crowd. Someone had brought out a football just as Rook had suggested.

His hand landed heavy on her shoulder. “Dry your eyes, Little Bird. We need your fleet footwork on the pitch. For England!” he roared, with such gravitas it might as well be the Olympics.

Back home, Ash had always watched the boys play, heartbroken to be excluded. But she was one of them now, and, as with the singing, she finally had her chance.

Cooper scrounged some boards and netting out of the trench to use for goals, and soon they were ready. The Germans were very fit, and they were all much bigger than Ashley, but it was a friendly match and no one tackled very hard. When she slipped and fell after nearly scoring, a German stood over her, offering a hand up, and together they ran back to rejoin the action.

Dusty kept time on the sidelines, while Lieutenant Hawkins glowered at them all from the edge of the parapet, fists shoved deep in his pockets. Opposite him, along the German line, one of their officers glared out in much the same way, arms crossed angrily over his chest. At one point he nodded to Hawkins, who nodded back, each approving of the other’s disapproval. Everyone else, though, lined the makeshift pitch whooping and hollering and cheering the players on.