It took him about an hour to find the spot. It was a huge scorched area, after all quite distinctive. Black mounds that were once men were dotted about. Several of them had been blown as far as ten yards by the force of the explosion and buried in the scatter of earth. Howard limped towards those half-buried men and swept the earth off their faces until he found the one he was looking for.

Exhausted, he collapsed next to the officer, accidentally bumping up against his hip. Aubrey Owens stirred. Howard moved back, surprised, disturbed. He’d thought the man was dead. He’d been sure he must be. The not deadness of Aubrey was as disquieting as it was miraculous. He carefully rolled the officer on to his back. He looked similar to the other cooked man, the one he had left in the trench. His entire face was an outlandish mass of blisters, taut, raw skin and abrupt areas that were burnt to black holes. His uniform had been scorched away and most of his chest showed similar damage. His skin appeared to be weeping, and well it might. His left hand had petrified into a claw; the fingers on the right hand were still clasped around his gun. Howard marvelled that he had got through the night and not used the gun to shoot himself. He was sweating and shivering at once. Infection had no doubt already set in.

Dribbling water into Aubrey’s mouth, Howard looked about him and considered what to do. He did not trust himself to leave and return with help. What if he got confused again and couldn’t find his way back? He was almost sure of the path back to the division, now that the sky was lightening and the smoke from the gun and shelling bombardment was dissipating. He calculated that it couldn’t be more than a mile or so to the Allied front, maybe less if they had made any progress. He had to believe they had. He crouched down and carefully, as tenderly as a mother picking up a newborn, gathered up Aubrey. The position of his burns meant he couldn’t carry him slung on his back but had to cradle him as a man might carry a bride over the threshold. The exertion required to get to his feet felt inhuman. His back, thighs, shoulders all cried out in furious protest. He staggered like a drunk, found balance and set off.

Aubrey opened his eyes and stared at him. His eyes, so human amidst the monstrous ruin of a face, leaked resentment and curiosity. His voice was not much more than a whisper. ‘Why did you come back for me?’

‘I would try to save any man.’

‘Any of the others I understand, but me?’

Howard couldn’t tell Aubrey he’d come back to bury him; for one thing that didn’t really answer the question Aubrey was asking. Why was he expending all this effort on this man in particular? His lover’s husband.