The dugout shook from an explosion and the dirt drifted down from the ceiling. Captain Stewart was jarred from his day dream by the shock. He tucked Kathleen's locket into his tunic. Both lieutenants sat bolt upright. "Damn, that was bloody close," said Lt. Smythe.
Stewart rose and grabbing his Enfield, headed for the door. "I'll check and see how close."
He stepped outside and the air was cooler compared to the stale air of the dugout. He tucked his scarf that Alice had made him into his tunic and shivered. He stamped his feet on the duck boards. Silently he thanked God that the trench was somewhat dry. He took a deep breath and headed along the trench lines. He started carrying a rifle with him about a month ago. It was against regulations but he didn't care. They needed all the fire power they could get.
He came upon two soldiers seated on the fire step. They stood and saluted as he approached. "Sergeant White and Private Jackson, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," they both replied.
"Report, Sergeant.Anything new?"
"As you can hear, sir, they have been shelling the right all day. They just started on the left about an hour ago. They have also tossed a few our way," Sgt. White said clearly.
"Anything from the listening post, Sergeant?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Who's out there?"
"Mathews and Duhon."
"Good men. Keep me updated, Sergeant. Keep your heads down. Carry on," Stewart patted the sergeant on the back as he headed down the trench.
"I'll don't like officers but I'd follow that one to bloody Hell," the Sergeant said to Jackson.
Stewart continued down the trench. Most of the company was in their dugouts but there were a few posted on watch. The report was the same at every post. The shelling increasing off to the left and seemed to be creeping closer. The Captain turned and headed back towards his dugout. As he neared, Sgt. White stopped him and began to report on some activity in front.
Suddenly a tremendous explosion ripped the air. A violent flash and Charles felt himself being flung into the air. Then all went black.
Lord Berwick was walking the grounds of Stanhope, enjoying the early spring air. He loved this time of year. It was the time of renewal, a time when the birds began to sing and the flowers bloomed in a riot of colors. He was accompanied by Alice, his youngest daughter, and she was telling him the latest from her fiancé in America. He worked in the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. and knew all the news. Alice had hoped for a fall wedding and was excited about it, being the last daughter to marry. His Lordship enjoyed these walks with Alice as her enthusiasm helped keep him from thinking about his youngest son.
"Isn't that Buxton headed this way?" Alice said pointing towards the house.
Buxton hurried up to his Lordship and handed him a telegram. Lord Berwick opened it. He read it slowly as the color drained from his face. He read it again.
"Buxton, does anyone else know?"
"No, your Lordship," he replied.
"Please be so kind to tell the family to gather in the Library. I'll speak to them there. You may tell the staff yourself, after I tell the family. Understand?"
"Yes, your Lordship. Right away." He turned and hurried off.
"Father, what is it?" Alice asked, taking his arm.
"Don't tell anyone. It's about Charles. Come, we must hurry."
