5 Months on the Western Front

Chapter 2

The nearest town would have been an hour away, had I walked at least, maybe longer as the storm raged above and I battled against the strong winds. Instead, a passing farmer took pity on me as I trudged down the mud-covered road through the heavy rain, and I reached the town centre in little more than fifteen minutes. It was silent except for the sound of rain striking the ground and the occasional far off rumble of thunder, everyone had hidden themselves away inside. It wasn't long before I was soaked through to the bone and shivering so much my teeth chattered and my hands had gone a worrying shade of pale blue and icy cold. Wrapping my old jacket further around myself, I quickly began to walk, keeping my head down to shield my face from the lashing rain and gaze fixed on the soaking ground.

It wasn't far from the town square to the old army offices. Half derelict, the old brick walls threatened to crumble down onto me as I pulled open the creaking door and the rotting floorboards squeaked noisily with every step I took. Shaking the water from my hair, I looked around, taking cautious steps as I took in the sight before me.

An old man was leant over the desk in the centre of a room devoid of any other furniture, snoring softly with his head hidden in his arms. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I coughed slightly, hoping it would be enough to wake him without having to become more drastic. It wasn't. His snoring continued, growing louder over the roaring rain outside, muffled only slightly by the walls and roof.

Sighing quietly, I stepped further into the room, coughing again; though perhaps unsurprisingly there was still no response from the sleeping man. He wore an army uniform, but one long since out of date, the style old and the fabric worn almost completely through. As I reached the desk, I cleared my throat louder still, gently poking at the papers visible from beneath his arms and head.

He snapped awake in seconds, and his hand straight away grabbed my outstretched wrist before I could yank it away. He shouted and raised from his seat, seemingly unconsciously reacting to his waking by aiming a hit for me. My duck was well timed and his fist went swinging over my head, making a noise that told me all too well how much it would have hurt if he had been quicker to move. His hair was stark white, and face lined with wrinkles, but his reactions and movements were young and I guessed he couldn't be any more than early forties, barely older than my own father. But he looked far worse for wear, it took him a long second to register me and longer still to release my hand and reseat himself.

"Who are you?" He asked slowly and carefully, motioning for the small stool that stood beside me. I took a cautious seat, sitting up straight and trying to ignore my pounding heart and sweaty palms.

"This is the recruitment office, sir?" I checked nervously, still looking around and only mildly conscious of the fact I was dripping rainwater on the floor from my coat. He nodded, looking at me with tired eyes and a small, sad smile on his face, "Good." I nodded, "I'd like to join the army then." Adding a please when his gaze grew sterner and more serious.

"What's your name lad?" He raised one big bushy eyebrow and lined up the papers in front of him, poising to write on them.

"Fredricks, sir." I answered slowly, "Edward Fredricks."

"Is it really lad?" He looked up at me, writing nothing and looking me directly in the eye. I nodded firmly, doing my best not to flinch as his eyes narrow, "Very well then, Edward Fredricks." He wrote something, then looked up at again. I tried to ignore the little voice in the back of my head that was wondering exactly how he could see through eyebrows that size, and smiled to myself, "How old are you?"

"Nineteen sir." I puffed out my chest, and frowning a bit in an attempt to look at least a little more grown, "Just turned it sir." He either didn't look too closely at me, or just didn't mind as he wrote that as well. From where I sat, I had a slight view of the paper, a form which he filled out with everything I told him.

"Got your birth certificate with you?" He asked, holding out a hand in front of him, not even looking up to see if I had one. I felt my mouth go dry, wringing my hands as I desperately tried to find a way to answer him.

"No sir, don't have one" I said as slowly and carefully as I could, taking a deep breath and hoping I didn't appear as nervous. "That won't be a problem will it sir?"

"Nothing I care about." The man shrugged heavily, dropping his voice to a rate he must have assumed I couldn't hear, "None of my business, all these young lads running off to kill 'emselves. Just another two shillings and sixpence." The next time he spoke, it was louder, more like he either wanted or didn't mind me hearing, "How tall are you boy?" I opened my mouth to answer him, sure that adding just a couple of inches onto my height wouldn't make so much of a difference.

"Five foot seven." I told him, raising slightly onto my tiptoes in an effort to prove it to him, despite the fact he still didn't look up from the paper. I knew the minimum height was two inches below my actual height, and a full four below what I actually said.

"Edward," Only then did he look up at me and leant forwards to see my face better. It was only then that I really registered the smell of liquor on his breath and recoiled slightly, "You'll be here tomorrow?" I nodded, "With your bags all packed, ready to go?" Once more, I agreed, "Then good luck boy, you'll need it where you're going.