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  Long Forgotten

  Trench Raiders Book 6

  Thomas Wood

  BoleynBennett Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Thomas Wood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thomas Wood

  Visit my website at www.ThomasWoodBooks.com

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  First Printing: May 2019

  by

  BoleynBennett Publishing

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  ‘Enemy Held Territory’ follows Special Operations Executive Agent, Maurice Dumont as he inspects the defences at the bridges at Ranville and Benouville.

  Fast paced and exciting, this Second World War thriller is one you won’t want to miss!

  Details can be found at the back of this book.

  1

  The dim glow of the German trench, as the slow-burning candles gradually surrendered some of their light, was not as comforting as it once had been. Neither was the cool chill that had settled over my body, just seconds after sliding into the trench and dispatching of all of the sentries.

  I looked around me, begging anything to jump out at me and, at least for a moment, take away the thoughts of despair and discomfort that had seemed to have settled in my mind.

  The whole front seemed to be on the strictest order of silence that night, as every slight movement that we had made across No Man’s Land had seemed as though it had magnified ten-fold, as we made our way through the mess of corpses and shell holes.

  Despite the silence that encapsulated us all, the tension that loomed over our heads was far more commanding and foreboding than it had ever been previously. It made each one of us feel on edge, the sweat that was dripping down my body more as a result of the anxiety that was surging through my veins, than the physical effort that I had just exerted.

  My gaze faltered as I stared down at the lifeless corpse of yet another young German, who had just so happened to have been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I couldn’t help but mull over how so much of the loss of life in this war had been down to that kind of misfortune.

  There was no real difference between me and the man that had had his head ripped from his torso in the shell hole that I had recently fallen into. I was more than likely no more skilled than he was, in fact, it was probable that he was far more accomplished than me. It just so happened that he had been under the falling shell that had pipped him, whereas I was safe and sound, probably somewhere in my billet at the time.

  As I stared at the corpse of the German boy, whose sad little eyes had already started to shrink back into his skull, I was overcome by an awful premonition, one where I was convinced that my life was about to change drastically at some point that night.

  I did not pay all that much attention to it, as it was a feeling that I had become accustomed to each and every time that I woke up, accentuated by the fact that another trench raid would soon be looming. But it had been the first time that I had felt it out on one of our little excursions.

  There was something deep within my core, that was beginning to scream at me, telling me that this time it was different. This time something would be changing.

  I hoped for a brief moment that it was my own death that I could look forward to, the final cessation of this kind of experience, that I had yearned for not long after I had first endured it.

  I quickly stopped myself and pulled my rifle up into a more commanding position than the limp artefact that it had become, as I stared. I did not want the other men to see me in such a way, as they had already taken notice of the fact that their Captain was increasingly becoming occupied with the matters inside his own head.

  Captain Arnold had become nothing more than a shadow of his former self, the intervening hours between our trench raids spent staring and blinking, as he valiantly fought back the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. It was about the only thing that he seemed willing to fight against nowadays, as he was certainly beginning to lose his once unwavering belief that what we had been doing in this war would be worthwhile.

  Now, it seemed as though all I would have to do would be to offer him something white on a stick and he would walk to the nearest officer he could find to surrender. He had simply lost his will to live but, worse than that, he had lost his will to command.

  “Everyone is in position, Sarge.”

  “Thank you, Parry.”

  Corporal Parry’s large and immersive eyes gleamed as he looked back at me, grateful even for the recognition that I had given him. He was an arrogant soldier and at times I thought it was a misplaced belief, but at other times he had displayed moments of brilliance that even I had not thought of.

  He was a recent addition to our team and one that had not been particularly welcome. He had completed all of the training that was necessary of a trench raider, which had apparently given him some sort of authority over how we best ought to conduct ourselves when out on a raid.

  The fact remained however that, until he had been out with us for the first time, he had never truly been in a close quarter fight before, a fact which had seen many a man perish at his lack of experience.

  His well-presented face and demeanour, as if he was to meet royalty at any moment, could not hide the fact however that there was an inherent vulnerability in his character, one that the oily complexion of his jet-black hair could not prevent from leaking out.

  “This section of the line is now clear, Sarge.”

  I nodded to him this time, to maintain the quietness that was interrupted only by the swishing of kit, and the deep and pleasant tones of Corporal Jonathan Parry.

  I took the opportunity to look around me, at head height this time, rather than staring at the bodies that we had left.

  In some ways, I knew that I should have been comforted by the number of men that were with us on that night, but not an inch of me was taking any pleasure from the fact. We had led more men out of our frontline on that evening, than we had ever done previously before, many of them never having even been in the British frontline trench, never mind the Germans’.

  It was a fact that was concerning us all. I tried to pick out the grease-smothered faces that I knew were part of my team, as I wanted desperately to look into their eyes. I knew that they would be the only ones that I could draw any sense of ease from.

  I was utterly convinced that they were all feeling exactly the same as I was and it was that unity, that shared concern, that I needed at that moment in time. We, as trench raiders, much preferred to work in small groups, where we knew the men intimately and could trust them with our lives.

  As soon as other men, who we had never even seen before, were thrown into the mix, then we slowly managed to convince ourselves that at least one of them would falter and how another could be some sort of a spy.

  In reality, we knew that they were just as good at their individual jobs as we were, and the likelihood of an enemy spy in amongst the ranks was a ludicrous thought, but such is the paranoia of a soldier. Especially one who was sent to the Hun’s lines most nights to find a new way to get himself killed.

  “Everything is in place, Sir. How are you doing?”

  He seemed a little startled at my appearance
, but nonetheless pulled himself out of his latest trance and turned to me.

  “I’m okay,” he mumbled. “Just okay, though.”

  He spoke quietly and faintly, not out of choice it seemed, but more because of the fact that he had become sapped of all his energy and charisma that had fuelled the strong and perfect voice that he had previously possessed.

  “Well, that’s all we need you to be tonight. Then hopefully we can have a break.”

  He looked at me blankly, as if he was trying his hardest to search for my soul, looking straight through the windows that were my eyes. It made me uncomfortable.

  “You should write a letter, Terence. To that girl of yours. I’ve done it and it’s done me the world of good. It’s reminded me that there is a life away from all this.”

  It had made me feel good to even think about it, but the thought of actually responding to another of my sister’s letters filled me with such glee, that I almost felt a bit frustrated that I may well be killed before I would be able to scribble another word.

  Just as soon as I get back. If I get back.

  It had become the mantra that had seen me through the days and weeks since McKay’s trial. I suddenly became quite aware of the way in which I had changed as a person. Not three months ago it had become surviving so that I could get one more sniff of the paraffin, but now, it was merely so that I could respond to the latest letter that I had received from Elizabeth, my dear sister.

  “Do you think we’ll ever get one?” His voice was far more crackled and weaker than it had been just a second before and I was surprised to see that he was not actually crying. It certainly sounded like he was.

  “A what, Sir?”

  “A break.”

  I responded only by hoisting my rifle back up so that it could be more useful to me than simply dragging around at my heels.

  “Two-Pews once said something to me, when we first met one another, that has always stuck with me.”

  My head snapped around, as if I had just heard a Boche soldier attempting to sneak up on us. It was the first time that I had heard the Captain mention Two-Pews, Sergeant Hughes, since he had died. I had begun to think that he had completely forgotten him.

  “I know that you think I have wiped them all from my mind. But I can’t. How can I? Especially Two-Pews. He told me that even if I felt weak, I should display boldness. That way, my men would take boldness from me and I from them. A cyclical nature of courage, almost.”

  My whole body suddenly became warmed, as if Sergeant Hughes was back with us once more, and I had been relieved of the overwhelming responsibility of command that had been thrust upon me since his death.

  “I’ve tried to hold true to that as much as I could. But I feel like I have failed recently. I failed McKay.”

  “We both did, Sir. It wasn’t just you. I should have done more also.”

  He smiled for the first time in weeks.

  “I appreciate the support that you have given me, Andrew. Really, I do. I wanted you to know that.”

  “It is just my job, Sir. I would do the same for any Captain that might come along.”

  He let out a soft snort, “I know, I know. But, to me, you have become more of a friend.”

  I looked at the ground as I could not bear to stay locked onto his gaze for much longer. I was becoming embarrassed.

  “Dornan. Peterson. Sargent. Hughes. I do remember them all, Andrew. How could I forget them? I failed them all. Especially McKay.”

  “We could really do with him tonight, couldn’t we, Sir?”

  “Indeed, Andrew…Indeed.”

  We were in dire need of more men like McKay on that night, men that we knew were hard fighters and ones that would do everything to continue the fight no matter what the odds were. The men that we had brought with us were strangers, we had no idea what they would be like the minute they were called to shoot, or stab somebody.

  Our objective that night was an audacious one, one that needed far more men than a small band of rogues that had caused so much devastation previously.

  This operation needed a finesse about it, one that could preserve the peace for as long as possible, so that our engineers could do what they needed to do.

  We were trying to steal the design of one the most barbaric of weapons.

  Flammenwerfer.

  Flamethrower.

  2

  As the silence was inevitably shattered by a single gunshot, everyone froze as one body. It was the same protocol that was applied each and every time our sacred quietness was destroyed, the heartbeats ceasing, and the breathing put on hold for a few moments.

  Each of us started asking ourselves the same questions.

  Had I imagined that?

  Was it an accident?

  It did not take all that long for our questions to be answered as the second gunshot cracked through the night, the shockwaves almost visible as they soared over our heads. It was the noise that confirmed our worst fears but at the same time fulfilled our wildest fantasies. We were here to put up a fight, and it seemed that that was what we were about to get.

  The first two rifle cracks were quickly followed by the much more commanding and terrifying growl of a revolver, as it spat out four or five rounds in quick succession, which would mean only one thing. Whoever it was that was firing, on whichever side, they were close enough to one another to confidently use their revolvers in the close confines of the trenches.

  As if the race had been started by the rifle cracks, everyone suddenly allowed themselves to breathe once again, their heartbeats thumping harder and louder now that they were demanded to act.

  The cigarettes that had hung loosely from lips were spat out and extinguished on the ground, as rifles were collected, and revolvers whipped from leather holsters.

  Even Captain Arnold, whose eyes still seemed to suggest that he was on another planet, was making for the Webley revolver that was perched in the confines of his brown leather holster. It was a large and fearmongering looking weapon, the Webley, but somehow, in the grasp of Captain Arnold’s behemoth-like hands, it seemed puny, almost comical.

  The rifle in my own hands slipped and tried to pull itself to the ground with every ounce of its might, as if it too had had enough of this war already.

  Come on. I need you for at least one more fight. Then, maybe we’ll get a break.

  The hushed conversations quickly gave way to the unbreakable tension that enveloped us all once again, like a huge, sodden blanket, that was far heavier than it looked. The fear that was etched across every man’s face was undoubtedly magnified by ten times in his own mind.

  Slowly, as if the flowers of war were slowly blooming, the noise of the scuffle up ahead of us slowly intensified, to the point where one rifle crack would quickly interrupt another and cut each other off.

  The few, inexperienced men around us, looked at one another one by one, before turning to the Captain and me, the two figures who had taken command of this patrol, and who they saw as the figureheads.

  Neither of us gave any indication as to what we were thinking. We wanted them to stay where they were and hold their ground. We had to project the image of boldness that Two-Pews had urged Captain Arnold to show however many months ago it was now.

  We had men dotted around the whole of the fire bay that we were in, a few of them perched behind carts and crates in one of the communication lines, readying themselves for a potential attack. They were all good men, with decent intentions, but none of them had come across to me as particularly heroic. Which they didn’t need to be, they just had to be ever so slightly stubborn so as to buy us a little bit of time to get our engineers out. They were far more precious to the top brass than we were.

  There were a few harsh whispers that began to bounce off the parados of the trench as the Captain and I stood and waited to see what would happen next. Gradually, the whispers got louder as the message was passed from one man to the other, before they finally found their intended recipients.

/>   “Runner coming in!”

  The Captain and I looked at each other with a concerned eyebrow each raised in unison, as we began to guess at what it was this man was coming to tell us.

  “Sir, we’ve already lost a few of our men. We are outnumbered. We need to pull back.”

  I knew exactly what Arnold was thinking, but still he looked to me for some advice, just to make sure he was remaining considerate of the wider picture.

  “You cannot fall back yet, Private. There’s still some of you up there offering a fight and we’re in the German frontline, of course you are outnumbered. Hold firm until you are about to be overrun, only then can you fall back. We have a job to do.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  The runner scurried off like one of the many rats who had buried themselves in the walls of the trench system up and down the Western Front, slipping and sliding as he hastily made his way back to his comrades.

  “I sometimes wonder why I am an officer, Andrew,” Captain Arnold breathed, with a despairing smile on his face.

  “Were you not thinking the same thing, Sir?”

  “Of course, I was. But sometimes I think that if it wasn’t for my class, I would be in the same position as the runner and not the one calling the shots.”

  As he spoke, the smile disappeared from his lips and I got the distinct impression that he was in fact being deadly serious. He was genuinely questioning the reason as to why he was in command of these men, when all that he felt he had over them was the fact that his father was a member of the aristocracy.

  “Well, if my mother had married the right man, Sir, then I would more than likely be your commanding officer.”

  “You would have been a General by twenty-five, Andrew.”

  I liked it when the smile returned, it made me feel safe.