‘That’s not allowed, sir,’ he said. ‘You have to account for every drop used. They’ll never allow it, not on the enemy. There’ll be hell to pay.’

‘We can use as much ammunition as we like,’ John said. ‘To kill and maim and wound. But not a drop of morphine to help the suffering.’ He opened the first-aid box and pulled out a phial and a syrette. ‘The War Office have got their priorities wrong.’

‘It’s for us, sir,’ the corporal said. ‘The morphine’s for us. If we need it.’

‘But we don’t, do we?’ John said. He felt light-headed, as if the weight of youth was lifted and he had grown up, matured, like the rest of them. He stared at the syrette. He knew the theory – shallow angle, into the skin, squeeze the tube.

‘I’ll take full responsibility for this,’ John said. He walked towards the boy, breaking the seal.

‘Have you ever done this, sir?’ Arthur said.

‘I know what to do.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Arthur said. ‘I’ve done it before. That way, sir, we both stand guilty as charged.’ He took the syrette before John could protest, turned, injected into the boy. ‘He’s probably going to die anyway.’

Arthur left the empty phial on the stretcher.

‘Sir,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to alarm you, but look in the corner over there.’

John followed Arthur’s gaze to the small, oblong object in the corner, its wings folded close to its body. Even from this distance John could see that the safety cap was off and the launcher was fully loaded.

‘Everyone out,’ John said, his voice steady. Don’t panic. He waited until Arthur and the corporal had left. He nodded to the woman and her sleeping son, then crept over to the corner, picking up the anti-tank grenade. He backed out of the room, footsteps seamless across the floor, the grenade at arm’s length, gliding down the steps, into the open. The river was not too far away, a quarter of a mile. Maybe less. Slowly, slowly. He could hear the shouts of his men behind him, but not a word of what they said. Steady, steady. One jolt. Blown to smithereens, meat and bone, minced and shredded. John kept one eye on his destination, one eye on the uneven road. Don’t trip, don’t stumble. Beware the rut ahead, the shell hole. The lights of the truck were switched on, full beam ahead. Don’t move. Stay away.