“Loads of this is our stuff falling short,” Yates shouted behind.

They were moving forward faster now. The bottom of the trench was muddy and Harry found it difficult to keep on his feet. There was a sound like a great rending, an enormous noise, like shipyards and foundries and cathedral bells all pushed together and amplified. The ground quaked with it and he felt it vibrate his bones and drum in his diaphragm. It was like the very earth was being torn apart. Above the bass note there were whistles ahead, almost madly shrill, and a rattle of machine guns. Smoke was rising, white and black, and there was a flashing and an acrid smell. He looked back at Will. Harry saw his brother mouthing words but the noise took them away. His eyes said everything, though.

The line ahead was moving at a pace. “We’re going straight over,” Taylor yelled back. “It’s already started.”

They were coming up to the frontline trench now. It was blown out in lots of places. Harry saw newly churned-up earth, dropped rifles, and slumped men. Men were cowering and screaming and crouched over wounds; some were wild-eyed and others were crying. He looked at all the faces, wanting and not wanting to see Francis. The rhythm of the machine guns was loud. He could see the steps where the men ahead were going over. Rose was at the top of the ladder, his arm beckoning on and then diving away. Shells were falling just behind, the earth erupting. Harry was panting now, the rattle and the screaming roaring in his head. He placed his foot on the ladder and realized he was screaming too. He reached backward and gripped his brother’s hand. Will’s hand was shaking, Harry could feel the pulse in his palm, and then their fingers were pulled apart. His heart was in his throat, his throat clogging, choking with it. He stumbled forward into the smoke.

Chapter Seventeen: Harry

Chapter Seventeen

Harry

Guillemont, Somme, August 1921

THE VILLAGE (RAZED TO THE GROUND) WAS FINALLY CAPTURED BY the British in September 1916,’” Harry reads. “‘Today no trace whatever remains of the houses, the sites of which are now indistinguishable from the surrounding fields. The whole area was devastated and is now overrun with rank vegetation. After its capture it was strewn with wreckage of all kinds—stones, bricks, beams, agricultural implements and household furniture from the shattered farms and houses. The fine modern church, Gothic in style, which stood in the centre of the village, has entirely disappeared.’”