Aubrey Owens was lying here somewhere in this abyss of humanity. Howard felt nothing other than pity for the man. Not jealousy or scorn, not anger or derision. He assumed that many men had let such emotions finally dissolve here on the earth between the trenches. Those who clung to such things in their last moments had lost. Aubrey Owens, wretched. A shy man. He’d lived and died alone. His marriage could not have been as he had hoped. His childhood, shot through with a toxic blend of rigid shame and astronomical expectation – both a result of society’s view on the newness of the family money – had choked any genuine chance that he could become a confident husband and loving father.

Mabel. When Howard had left Blackwell, she’d been little more than a baby, just a year old. Podgy knees, gummy smiles. Naturally, not able to do anything for herself; totally dependent and trusting. Now she must be confident on her feet, running about everywhere. Her hair might curl around her neck. She’d be talking. He imagined her asking about her daddy, as one day she surely would. She’d want to know what he’d looked like, and Vivian would show her a photograph of Aubrey; his serious face under the peak of his khaki cap. She’d want to know whether he was brave and how he had died. Aubrey Owens had been a fine soldier. No one had expected that, least of all himself, but he’d showed courage and aptitude. He was a gentleman, and the men liked that. They wanted to be led but he’d also known disappointment and they could sense it. He wasn’t as bullish as some of the other officers. Not soft. They didn’t want that. They didn’t even want understanding, because who the hell could understand any of this? But he had common sense and that they respected. Common sense was often born from compromise. It was a shame that Vivian would not be able to show Mabel Aubrey’s medals. He imagined a girl might like to see proof of her daddy’s success.

Suddenly Howard felt a flicker in his belly and head. Focus. He would find the charred remains of Lieutenant Colonel Aubrey Owens and he would carry the body back to base to be buried. The medals, if they had survived, would be returned. At least he could give Mabel a grave to visit, and Vivian too. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.

It took every ounce of energy he possessed to sit up. He drank some more water, forced down some bully beef, clamping his mouth shut when his gag reaction wanted him to vomit it up again. He looked around. Daylight was nudging through the gloom, giving him some degree of orientation. Staggering to his feet, he set off in what he hoped was the direction of where that particular German shell had whistled through the air and landed. He almost forgot about his burns and bullet wound; the pain simply became a part of him.