Chapter 22 The Second Queen's Castle 20

the friendship i experienced Can't be told by the happy lovers in the old songs. Because love is not the union of lips With silky gaze and longing eyes, Through pleasure its ribbons must loose, Instead, it is entangled with the iron net of war and fixed with strong stakes; Bound with the same bandages that bound bleeding arms; Braided from swinging rifle belts. Wilfred.Owen, Apologia Pro Poemate Meo * October 5, 1916 trench of determination France, Somme * There are thousands of weapons here, and Ashley has seen them all.He thought to himself that when these things are in museums in the future, everyone will understand that we are like going back to the Middle Ages.But Ashley had also seen medieval weapons in the Tower of London, and the worst ones were cleaner and better than some of the tools used in this war.

Ashley picked up a bottle of whiskey from the shelf in the air-raid shelter. The shelf was so rough that it was just a piece of wood knocked into the earthen wall.He looked at the label on the bottle, Strathisla, a very good single malt whiskey, no idea where it came from, how could it not be finished by now.He uncorked the bottle and let the aromas waft out, peaty and oaky with a hint of honey.Ashley put the cork back on and put the bottle back in place. The light source in the hole was a candle in an empty wine bottle on the table.There are some wooden boxes beside the table, which can be turned over and used as stools.There are some pictures nailed on the wall, all of which are pictures of female stars cut out from pictorial magazines.Ashley picked up the water bottle and moistened his lips, then took out the pistol from the holster, the greasy black barrel was still warm.He put the pistol on the table without reloading.

There were only two sheets of galvanized iron netting hanging on a wooden frame in the hole, covered with dirty blankets to serve as two beds.Ashley lay down with all his clothes on.The bed was too short, and my feet couldn't fit on the bed frame.He covered himself with his coat and tried to fall asleep. As a child he loved the Tower of London, especially the weapons in it.He remembered being so small that he couldn't even see the hilts of the swords that lined the wall in the armory.He remembered the graceful Toledo swords, the huge German two-handed swords, the gilded French maces, the meteors, war hammers, and morning stars.

Now he was at war, and the German patrols had always loved the knife, and the British, despising it for its crudeness, had chosen an even cruder weapon.Night Raid is the cleanest and quietest way to kill with a knife. Cutting your throat is not the worst way to die. The British like to use sticks, and there are many types.There are wooden sticks filled with lead and metal sticks tied with leather cords.The handle will be equipped with various things, such as empty grenades, huge gears, which can be used to increase the weight of the handle.Inlaid with iron nails, it becomes a mace.These things, in 1525, would have been the tools of the farmers for farming, but later the armor was too hard to cut, and these things became weapons.

We started using maces, Ashley thought, because we fought like rats in the gutter. He thought of brass knuckle rings, the knives with brass knuckle rings in their handles, and the thorns on those knuckle rings.Ashley had seen the faces injured by these thorns, and it was horrible.In addition, there are sharpened shovels and shovels, which the Germans are most fond of.Ashley saw one of his men being hacked with a shovel. He was from Newberry, only sixteen years old, with freckles all over his face. He lied about his age when he joined the army, but when he arrived in France, he proudly declared that he was born in the new century, saying If he was born in an integer number of years, he will have good luck.He was very naive, so simple that he couldn't stand the people in the row swearing all day long, and he even complained to Ashley.A few weeks later a tall German struck the boy with a sharp shovel, from the shoulders almost to the navel.The child lasted almost an hour after being injured, murmuring some incomprehensible words.An older soldier was holding his hand and waiting with him to die.

Ashley knew that there are thousands of ways to die, some are miserable, and some are better than others.It is the luck of the brave to be honorably wounded.Even fools know that it is impossible to save their lives unscathed, and losing hands and feet is much more cost-effective than losing their lives. There are many kinds of guns, howitzers, mortars, and shotguns, which penetrate the soft skin.Shrapnel can hit your face or groin, or blow off your leg or arm in one fell swoop.You could be writhing in the mud with your guts shattered, hot intestines hanging on your arms. Guns are also divided into machine guns and rifles, but no one will be frightened by the sound of gunfire, because they will feel it before hearing the sound of gunfire.Some people feel less anxious as a result.But when Ashley was shot at, he felt his whole body screaming in fright, just waiting for the bullet to strike.If they were going to die, many people hoped to be shot in the head and die with a single shot.If the mother, sister, or lover of the deceased wrote to ask how their man died, you would give that answer.This is the answer they want, so they will believe it.

And the hot gas that blisters the skin, turns the eyes into cloudy balls that see nothing, and makes the lungs bleed and mush.Then you'll be speechless for weeks, rotting to death in your bed. There are also some of the most primitive methods of death, such as burying alive, drowning, and burning.Under the attack of artillery fire, the anti-bunker hole may suddenly collapse and bury you alive, or it may slowly accumulate water and drown you.The two sometimes come together, making it difficult to tell which came first.There was more than one way to burn to death, the worst being the flamethrower, and all soldiers knew how terrible it was, because the wounded screamed and died horribly, and the burnt skin and fat smelled disgusting.Enemy soldiers using flamethrowers will inevitably die even if they surrender, and everyone is happy to kill them.

The mud on the ground sucks you in, drowning boots, guns, horses, love letters, and wounded soldiers you leave behind in retreat.You know in your heart that no one will dig them out in the future, ever. The cruelest are the hands of human beings who wield weapons, those hands that stab bayonets into the heart and lungs, those hands that smash your head, cut your throat, and use all their strength to hurt your flesh and blood.Before Ashley came to France, his impressions of human skin were all related to love, such as a mother holding, feeding, kissing and bathing her child.Otherwise, it comes from the teachings of teachers, the treatment of doctors and the caresses of lovers.Now these people have no grievances or enmity with you, but they come to tear your flesh and blood, it's ridiculous.After coming to Somme, he didn't think about it anymore.

In general, Ashley wants to die by being shot in the head, which is the most mundane way to die.He was most afraid of being injured in the abdomen. Instead of struggling painfully, he would be killed with a single shot.If he was badly wounded, he wished he could still shoot, but it bothered him that he wasn't sure he could, even if he could.He didn't want to whine in front of his comrades, because the toughest officer he'd ever seen whined like a child.Severely injured soldiers are very dangerous. Whether they are officers or soldiers, their wailing in pain is too painful, which will force the brave to go out of the trench to rescue them, and even die.So it's better to bleed profusely, die a quick death, or just grit your teeth and wait for dark.

Three days earlier the Berkshire infantry had attacked the area, and the Germans had responded with heavy artillery and machine-gun fire, and even hand-to-hand combat in the Determination Trench at the end.Since then, many wounded have been trapped in the woods outside the barbed wire fence of the British army, which is no man's land between the two armies.At present, most of the wounded soldiers have been brought back to their respective positions, but there is still one wounded German soldier left there, crying all the time, not knowing what to say.He was still alive, lying twenty yards away from the first line of British trenches.

Ashley was the only one in the team who could understand German, and he had been listening to the wounded soldier for three days. The German was sometimes sane, sometimes babbling, and the rest of the time he was in a coma.Sometimes it's like dictating letters home, telling his wife he's dying; sometimes it's talking to the English, describing the wounds on his body, describing the crater he's in, saying he's running out of water, but if they can drag him back , he can survive.He said he had no enmity with the British, and was even like a brother in God's kingdom.It's a pity that the British could not understand what he said, only that he kept repeating the word Camaraden, which is the German word for friend. So Camaraden became the German's nickname.The oldest soldier in the platoon was a soft-spoken postman named Stewart, who couldn't resist running out at night to get Camaradon back.But under the moonlight, the German army saw him and shot him with a machine gun. He had no choice but to crawl back, not to mention being saved, he was never seen. No one expected that Camaradon survived, not only continued to moan, but also recited the lyrics of pop songs, lullabies and ballads, most often poetry.Camaradon could memorize so many poems that Ashley suspected he might be a headmaster, a professor, or a poet.But the possibility of poets is unlikely.The German could recite whole long ballads, and even an idiot could recognize the rhyme and rhythm.Ashley recognized Goethe's "Mignons Gesang" (Mignons Gesang) and Heinrich.Heine's poems.One morning when he was standing guard, he couldn't believe his ears, because he heard Byron's famous poem "She Walks in Beauty" (She Walks in Beauty), and it was in German, but the German broke down in tears halfway through the recitation . Late last night, when Ashley was on duty, the moaning of the Germans reached a frantic climax. The people sleeping in the trenches thought it was noisy, and some of them told him to shut up loudly, which resulted in protests from other soldiers along the line. Why doesn't this guy die quickly. Why don't you die?Can you put yourself in the shoes of yourself, bleeding out in a bomb crater for three days? I will definitely kill myself. Ashley told them to continue to sleep, and went to the platoon leader Bradley himself, saying that he was going to see Camaraden in no man's land. He is hopeless.You can't save him, and you might be found by the Germans I know.Ashley said: But I can't take it anymore. Ashley slipped his open-toed stockings on his knees and elbows, checked the cartridges in his revolver, and headed north along the ditch towards Camaraden, stepping upon many sleeping wrapped in cloaks in muddy ditches. The soldiers, who were half asleep, groaned, turned over and fell asleep again.Ashley trudged to the nearest ditch to Camaraden. It was called a ditch, but it was actually just a bomb crater, with a sentry and some flares inside.When the sentry saw Ashley, he was startled. He raised his rifle and lowered it again. Thought you were a German, sir, but that man kept talking nonsense so I couldn't hear anything. It doesn't matter. Sir, you understand German, right?What is he talking about now? He wants us to kill him. The sentry shook his head, but Ashley could only see his helmet, not his face, which was hidden in shadow. Sir, he hasn't said anything like that before, has he? right.I want to go.If they don't shoot, you don't shoot; if they shoot, you shoot to the left, eleven o'clock, aim as far away as possible, you hear?I won't go too far. Ashley picked up the kettle, rinsed his mouth, spit the water into the mud, and leaned against the parapet at the shooting position to look out.It was very quiet, and he felt a little wind, but the devastated woods had already lost their leaves, so he couldn't tell. Ashley clambered over the parapet, snaking his elbows and knees over the British barbed wire and into the muddy no man's land with his jaw in the mud.Thirty yards, he crawled for twenty minutes.The stench was strong, and calcium hypochlorite was sprinkled on the rotting corpses.He climbed to the edge of a large crater and rolled in.In the crater was a pile of dead Scottish soldiers in dirty plaid skirts and stockings.Ashley took a short break to study the terrain.The German was still howling, hoarse, and the voice was coming from the right. Ashley crawled for a while, the sound was very close.He fell into another crater.Camaraden's figure was just a few yards away, but Ashley was afraid that he still had a weapon in his hand, so he lay quietly for a few minutes, waiting for the searchlight to shine on no man's land and see the situation clearly. Camaradon is a fat corporal, the infantry regiment he belongs to is known as the forest hunter, and he is good at using rifles.He lay on the ground with a hole in his chest from a shell fragment and his shirt was soaked in black blood.He opened his eyes, looked up at the sky, saw the light of the searchlight disappear into the darkness, held the water bottle in one hand, and scratched the wound with the other. Ashley crawled to Camaraden's side and spoke softly in German.At first he didn't seem to hear it, maybe thought it was a hallucination.Then he gasped for breath, then turned his head abruptly and asked Ashley for water.He said he drank all the water in the crater after the jug was empty.Ashley took the water bottle from his waist and poured water into Kamaradon's chapped mouth. The water flowed onto his face and stained his beard.Camaradon drank wildly and murmured some incomprehensible words. Ashley picked up the German on his back, lowered his body as much as possible, and moved towards the British camp.Camaradon wailed in pain, his blood running down Ashley's neck and into his shirt.He was very heavy, and it was difficult to maintain a squatting position with him on his back, and the mud sucked his feet. Ashley had difficulty walking, and suddenly lost his footing.It took ten minutes just to get out of the crater. The Germans fired machine guns, the British responded with rifles, and then Louis's gun swept past Ashley's right.It was impossible for him to take Camaraden back, but he kept going anyway.Camaraden was talking nonsense in pain along the way. Twenty minutes later, they finally arrived at the crater full of Scottish soldiers.While crawling over the edge of the pit, Camaradon slipped and rolled into the pit, with Ashley pulling his face out of the mud and supporting his body.He lost his mind again and started talking to his wife with muddy face.Ashley cursed in a low voice, and drew out his pistol. He took a step back and pointed the gun at the German's bald head, his hand shaking so much when he fired, the bullet chipped off a piece of the man's scalp, and Camaraden whimpered and raised his hand to block it, as if soft palms could offer nothing Like protection.Ashley leaned over and fired again, the bullet passed through Camaradton's finger and into the eye, bleeding profusely, and Camaradon fell down. Ashley squatted in the crater, waiting for the next flare.German machine guns fired wildly along the horizon, and a few grenades exploded in the distance.Ashley bent over in the mud and spat out his dinner.It was just tinned beef and biscuits anyway, and he couldn't stand those tinned beef and biscuits.Ashley spit out what was in his mouth, drank the water in the kettle, and wiped his face with his sleeve. Ashley waited at the same spot for half an hour, and only after the gunfire ceased did he slowly crawl back to the ditch and roll back to the sentinel. In the bomb defense hole, Ashley lay on his side and took out the letter in his coat pocket.He can memorize the words on the letter, but he is also happy to see the handwriting. □□□ October 1, 1916 dearest The letter was written on the pebbles of Selsey Beach.Without you, London is just a shell, and only the Sussex Downs and the seaside make me feel whole.There is a sound here, not the waves, not the sounds of the sky, some people say it is the gunshots coming from France; it comes from hundreds of miles away, and because of the distance, it has been softened here. At this time, I have to mention that I haven't received your letter for three days. Isn't it selfish?Maybe it's the post office's fault, but if you didn't send it, please do, please?I have always had two places on my mind, and I hope everything is well. One is where you sleep, and the other is the road between the post office and my house. I have collected three-quarters of what you asked for, but I suspect that the torches you speak of are not in stock in the whole of England.The people at the navy and army supply store gave me second-class goods, let's see what you think.But at least the wire cutters were available.I'm heading back to London on Saturday to prepare some surprises, and then the package will be posted, and all the F&M hampers will be eclipsed next to it. Ashley, I cannot allow myself to miss you, because I have wisdom, and patience, and all the other virtues, and because your love refreshes me.I don't wait for you, I don't count the days, I don't count the hours after parting.On the day you left, I wound up the watch so that the hands stopped at 7:30 in the morning, and put it in the drawer.The whole universe, and I, your gentle lover, will sleep peacefully until your return. your Yinmozhen There were footsteps approaching at the entrance of the blast hole, Ashley put away the letter, Jeffries walked in, took off the gas mask bag and tin cap, and hung them on a big nail.Jeffress was the company commander of Company B, and at only twenty-six years old, he was already the oldest officer in the company.He has a blond mustache, but it's so light it's almost invisible.The other officers laughed at him as a German spy. Jeffries put the revolver on the table and called to Ashley: Spy chief, are you awake? Wake up now. Your eyes are always open. I sleep with my eyes open, Ashley said: I only close them when I am awake. Jeffries snorted.Did you catch a mouse today? There are mice, but I didn't catch them.Just heard movement. Jeffries looked at the muddy ground with interest, and sat down on an upside-down box at the table. I heard about you and Camaraden.You are a good person. I shouldn't have gone at all. Ashley lifted off the coat covering his body, got up and got out of bed. It's been three days.Ashley said: He told his wife that he wanted to kiss her well and bring back gifts for her and the children.And he was talking to us, you know what, he said, he'd been to London once, seen Buckingham Palace.One night he was talking to God, I think it was God, and he said he tried his best, but he couldn't.He swore he hadn't killed anyone, only wounded a few. real?I always thought he was reciting poetry Most of the time he is reciting poems.love poems.I think he is reciting it to his wife. Jeffries nodded, took out a leather tobacco case and a meerschaum pipe, packed the tobacco, and lit it with a long match. Ashley added: Later, last night, he begged us to kill him, saying that he knew that one of us could speak German, and that this person had a good heart and would send him to heaven.I always feel like he's talking about me. The spy chief actually feels sentimental for the Germans?I can't believe it. Ashley sat down at the table, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. So I passed by at night.He was awake, but with a big hole in his body, covered in blood, there was no way he could be saved.For three days he drank water from the crater, surrounded by dead bodies.At first he could still talk, so I fed him water with a water bottle and wanted to carry him back.It's a pity that I didn't go far, and I shot him to death when I reached the next crater.The first shot misses, chops off a piece of his head, and it feels like murder. Nonsense, you used to do good deeds. Maybe.But I can't help thinking that in Cressy There was movement on the other side of the table, and they both jumped up.It turned out that there was a mouse on the ground licking the can of stew, and the half of the can was deliberately left to be used as bait.Jeffries grabbed the revolver on the table and fired twice.The large-caliber Webley revolver made a great reverberation and dust in the bunker hole.The mouse slid away along the wall, into the darkness.The two sat down again. I mean, these guys have improved. This can be regarded as natural selection, Ashley said: We will kill those who run slowly, and only those who run fast can survive and reproduce.We should breed these things and have a rat race at Jessen Racetrack. Why not do it here, in Chantilly?Anyway, Ou Lu's horse is not free now, and he has other things to do. Ashley smiled and put the gun on the table. good idea.This will be our legacy to France: a strong mouse, walking like a fly, leaving behind all the elite.Let's build a register of good rat species here. Jeffries took the box from the rack and replaced the two spent cartridges in the gun with new ones. Sorry, Jeffress said: interrupted by that beast, you just said Cressy. Oh, battle or place? battle. The Hundred Years' War? right.Ashley said: Boring things like chivalry have since declined, and the English longbow has mowed away the flowers of French chivalry. Jeffries put the pipe back in his mouth. Too bad we can't reproduce that year. Ashley smiled and said: Yes, but what I just thought of was that after a battle, usually the victor would exchange the captured knights for ransom, but at that time some Frenchmen were too seriously injured, so there was no other way, so the British sent their men to rescue them. They kill.It wasn't supposed to be this way. Jeffries said: If you want to kill, you should do it yourself, and you shouldn't let your men do it. True, but what I was thinking was, the way those soldiers used their knives. Ashley picked up a bayonet from the shelf, and looked at the candles on the table. The knives they use are longer, longer than this one, and very sharp. There is a saying that they are called compassion knives.Armor is too hard to pierce, so lift up the arms of the wounded knights, and drive the knife from the armpit to the heart. It also ended chivalry. Ashley looked at the candlelight reflected on the knife. You know, when I was in Cambridge, I wrote articles because I thought it was so disrespectful. Well, Jeffress said: a knife in the heart, at least a quick death. Jeffries picked up the whiskey from the shelf. Have a drink?It was good wine, and Bennett had brought it back from his vacation. Thanks, no drinking. Jeffries shrugged and poured some into an enamel mug.Ashley was still staring at the bayonet. What do you think it feels like to have a knife stabbed into your body?Ashley said: If people are dying, will it still hurt? Jeffries shook his head, did not answer, raised his glass and took a sip of wine. After a while, Jeffries murmured: This whiskey is really top-notch. Ashley put the knife back on the shelf and sat down.Jeffries struck another match and relighted his pipe. What happened to Camaradon, I'm sorry.Rescuing wounded soldiers often ends up like this.At least everyone can sleep well tonight.Most importantly, you are not injured. probably. Anyway, you really did a good job.