EATON IS BACK. ROSE IS RUSHING AROUND LIKE HE’S GOT A WASP UP his arse.”

“Any news?” Harry asked.

Will shook his head. “Not that they’re sharing. They’ve all gone into a huddle. Roberts is screaming down the telephone. Cropper reckons we’re definitely going to get sent up now.”

“Jesus.”

Harry looked across the field. There was a lot of shouting going on, and a lot of quiet surveying of the men doing the shouting. The bombardment had begun at first light. The sky had trembled with it, the sound of artillery signaling the start of the attack. Francis, with W Company, had gone up in the early hours of the morning. Harry had sat with Will and watched the light pitch in the sky. The enemy guns had started too. The brothers had hardly spoken, but had smoked their way through a lot of cigarettes. He had felt Will shivering where their shoulders touched.

Greene and Rose were moving around the field now between the improvised shelters, and groups of men were standing up.

“Everyone on your feet. We’re on the move.”

“Any news of W Company?” Will asked.

“It’s chaos up there. A lot of this artillery is falling short. Nobody seems to know whether to move backwards or forwards.” Second Lieutenant Rose shook his head. “The French attack looks like it’s been a success, though, so we’ve got to push on.”

“No news of casualties, then?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.” Rose batted away the midges with his swagger stick. “I’m just ordered to get everyone moving.”

“Buggers are biting,” said Will.

THE SKY FLASHED and boomed ahead.

“Retaliatory bombardment,” Wilkinson said with a nod.

“That’s a big word for you.”

“Heaney heard Roberts on the phone, reckons that they all ended up falling back. Brigade says it has to happen, though. Roberts was effing and blinding when he put the phone down.”

There was a pile of packs by the side of the road. Medical Corps men were crouched over them and turning through their contents. Water bottles and items of clothing were littered about. The wind riffled through the pages of an open book. There were spoons and wallets and shaving razors on the ground. Harry saw a photograph of a small blond girl with a dog and then it was gone on the wind.

“What are they doing?” asked Will. His voice sounded outraged on behalf of the owners of the spoons and the shaving razors. “Whose are they?”

“I’m guessing that their owners are beyond caring.”

Will frowned at Wilkinson.

“I’d be glad to give up shaving. There are some advantages to wobbling off this mortal coil.”