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Sporadic shots from the German line continued to bury themselves into the mud around him.
    "Only! Only, I'm hit," whimpered Porgy.
    Before he knew what he was doing, Atkins was scrambling over the parapet and wriggling forward on his elbows.
    "Come back you bloody fool!"
    Atkins slithered on, the odd bullet whining over his head. He reached Porgy who was lying on his side groaning. He gripped Porgy's hand and pulled, trying to drag him through the mud, but he was too heavy. There only one thing for it. As quickly as he could, Atkins picked him up under the armpits and hauled him backwards, step by muddy step, towards the trench amid the whine and splatter of German bullets. Reaching the sandbags, he tipped the barely conscious Porgy over the parapet and into the arms of his waiting mates, before leaping into the trench after him. Trembling, he sat down heavily on the firestep and watched as Gutsy looked Porgy over.
    "Hell's bells, Porgy you're a lucky one."
    Atkins could see a bloody groove on Porgy's left temple where a bullet had grazed him. "Head wound."
    "Good job it didn't hit anything important, eh?" croaked Porgy.
    "Barely a scratch, y'daft beggar. You'll live."
    Porgy looked up as that sank in and seemed to rally, turning on the sentry loitering off to his side. "All the way to the Hun wire, an ambush by Jerry, and I get shot by my own bloody side!" he growled, attempting to get up, but Gutsy held him down.
    "Och, sorry mate how wis ah tae know? This isnae your section o' the line. You could a been Kaiser Bill hisself fer all I knew!"
    Atkins looked up as a grubby mud-slathered Hobson stood over him. "That," he spat, "was a bloody stupid thing to do."
    "Couldn't leave him, Sar'nt."
    "Quite, right lad," said Hobson, gently patting him on the shoulder.
    As if that were all the permission he needed, Atkins felt great sobs well up within him and his shoulders started to shake.
    "You'll be all right son. You did well tonight. Take Porgy to have his scratch seen to. Don't want him missing out on the fun later, do we? Then go and get yourself cleaned up and get some kip. Big day tomorrow."
    "Sar'nt."
    Atkins and Gutsy made their way along the fire trench, carrying a dazed and bloody Porgy between them, his head now roughly bandaged with a field dressing. They turned down a communications trench and weaved their way to the Regimental Aid Post. The MO wasn't very happy about being woken up, but soon cleaned and stitched the wound before packing them off.
    Atkins went back to the water butts in the support trench to clean himself up.
    Ketch caught up with him.
    "I heard what you did, Atkins," he said.
    "Any one of us would have done the same."
    "But they didn't did they? It was you, weren't it? Bit of a glory hound are we? Your mates might think you're the bee's knees right now, but I know different. You're bad news, Atkins. I'm watching you."
    Atkins was too weary to argue. He crept back into the dugout, crawled under his ration blanket and dozed fitfully as the rats scurried across the floor beneath him.

INTERLUDE 1
     
    Letter from Private Thomas Atkins
    to Flora Mullins
     
    31 st October 1916
     
    My Dearest Flora,
    As I write to you tonight I have no further news of William. Last week, out of the trenches, I tramped around the field hospitals again. I showed his picture about and, though I feared what I might find, I visited the army cemeteries hereabout. I even buttonholed a relief column to ask if they'd seen him. I can bring you no peace, I'm afraid. But do not despair. He may still turn up. It might be that he is only lost and taken up with another regiment, or else been wounded and travelling between hospitals. It is too soon to give up. We must both hope that he will come home.
    Tomorrow we've a mind to go and bother the Kaiser for some sport. We're taking a stroll up to the woods to see what mischief we can make! My only fear is that I shall not see you again, but do not fret for I am determined that I shall . Tell