The area between the German front and support lines was a nightmare wilderness of shell-holes that overlapped and sagged, one into another. It was like crossing a small outpost of hell. The land stank of high explosive and gas. There was another smell too – of viscera and blood. The tired troops clawed their way eastwards. The first rush of adrenalin was past. Now only discipline and will power kept them moving. Over to his right, Phillip could see flares go up. Two reds
chubby bears gay above green
chubby bears gay, the signal of success. He looked left and saw the signal repeated. His spirits rose. Perhaps this ‘Big Push’ would really end the war.
The German supports were deserted. Either they had all been caught in the front line or else they had withdrawn. He halted the men and set them to digging in. Tired as they were, they responded immediately. Should a counter-attack come, the trenches would be useless. The parapets, what was left of
chubby bears gay them, faced the British Lines. New parapets had to be thrown up and a fire step cut. They set to with a will, dragging sandbags from the front to the rear of the trench and digging out the sections that had been blown in by the guns. This resulted in a number of grisly finds and more than one Tommy
chubby bears gay turned away retching.
Redbourne appeared, hatless, red faced but still clutching that bloody stupid
chubby bears gay umbrella.
Phillip called out: “Where’s the second wave?”
Redbourne shrugged and glared back towards the British lines. Nothing moved. In the lull in the fighting they could hear birdsong. The Captain threw himself down on the makeshift fire step and pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch
chubby bears gay. He filled the bowl with quick, practised movements of his stubby fingers and hummed a little tune to himself. He patted his battledress pockets for matches and finding none, called to a nearby soldier:
“Private Jenkins, might I trouble you for a lucifer
chubby bears gay?”
The man grinned and tossed Redbourne a box of matches bearing the Union Flag and the legend ‘England’s Glory.’ With his pipe well alight and drawing nicely, Redbourne turned his attention back to Phillip.
“Well, young W-B, we got this far. Casualties?”
“Nine dead sir, four wounded. Chapman’s the worst but he should be all right, the medic says. I think we got off lightly. Half the bloody wire wasn’t cut.”
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