Page 78 of The Unknown Birds

Ash looked questioningly at Blake, whose lips were drawn. When he didn’t explain, she turned to Stew.

“All-Black regiment,” he whispered.

“But you need me,” Cooper protested.

“I wish it were up to me. They’re apparently in dire straits for want of a good runner.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We both know how that ends, Coop.”

“This is bollocks, that’s what.”

“Yes, Private. This is absolute bloody fucking bollocks,” Captain Davies agreed. Then he put a hand on Cooper’s shoulder and spoke more softly. “I want you to understand, this in no way reflects on your performance here. You’ve been exemplary. And when this is all behind us, I’m not saying I’ll cheer for the Gunners or anything, but I’ll come down to London. Catch a game.”

“We’ll have a drink, you and me.”

“We will,” the captain said, shaking Cooper’s hand. “And Stewart, I collected this at HQ this morning. Max has been awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal for her actions at Ypres.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stew replied gruffly.

Captain Davies nodded, handing him the shiny silver medal on its red and black ribbon and shaking his hand as though it were his own commendation. “It’s a very great honor. Especially for a dog,” he added before leaving them.

“The dog gets a medal, and I’m transferred out,” Cooper grumbled, sitting back down with a huff.

“Hawkins has it in for us all,” Blake told him. “It was only a matter of time before we were split up.”

His voice was raspy, and Ash could only imagine how he must feel. It would be a very hard adjustment for him too.

“Aye, he does at that,” Stew agreed, pinning Max’s ribbon on Cooper’s chest. Then Blake and Coop clasped hands as they always did before each run.

Suddenly, Rook fired into the darkness, three shots, then three more.

“Shine a light,” the lieutenant called, and bright search lights were turned on No Man’s Land until he nodded with satisfaction.

“Well done, Lance Corporal. Maybe you’ll amount to something after all,” he sneered, finally leaving the same way he’d come. “Look alive, Cooper!”

When he was gone, Rook deflated, but he didn’t turn away from his post.

One by one, the others crept near enough to risk a peek of the land beyond before the lights were turned out. Six Germans laid dead inside a crater, while Tom, still on wire duty, tucked himself flat to the ground so as not to be caught in the spotlight.

Ash glanced over at Rook and his jaw was set like stone, except for the muscle, still popping, while the rest of him stood stock still.

“Nothing sporting about picking off drunks as they stumble in the dark,” Rook muttered. “Wouldn’t have done it, ’cept the lieutenant was watching.”

“Have some tea,” Ash told him, offering her mug because he looked like he could cry, and she couldn’t bear it.

“Don’t want tea,” he said.

“Have some anyway. It’s gone cold, but it’ll do you good.”

He didn’t look at her but accepted the proffered cup at her insistence. His eyes widened as the whisky hit the back of his throat, and he took another long swig, draining the whole cup. A faint, sad smile played at his lips when he handed it back to her. “You’re right, Little Bird,” he said gratefully. “Better’n mudder’s own milk.”

It may not have made everything better, but Ash was happy that in some small way she could help.

Chapter 23

London, June 1939