No tea for Chalky

THE sun warmed his fingers. His hand outstretched as he lay sleeping.
Behind him, beyond the walls, a battlefield, silent in the dawn, dripped blood into the river.
A man rose from the dust and stood facing the sun, a stream of shining urine running down his leg; he stretched, fell backwards and lay still.
Noises, normal noises, so normal I wanted to scream. A thrush whistled, trees creaked and somewhere a wood pigeon bade the world good day, all set to a background hiss left in my ears from the boom, boom, bang rattle of the guns.
I realised I was cold, tried to light a fire, just a small one to make us some tea. I found tinder but my hands shook. The matches broke. One by one my damn hands broke the damn matches with their bloody shaking.
No tea for us then. No fucking tea for Chalky and me.
I heard the rattle of a tank. The sound of a flare hissing its message into the sky – attack it said.
But not to me.
I watched through a hole in the bricks as a wave of men rose from below the horizon. A menacing mass silhouette, all spikes and serrated edges that loomed closer with every second.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too – sang the woodpigeon.
I could make out individual men now.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too
Each had a gun.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too.
Each had a bandolier of bullets.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too.
I squeezed my 6ft frame into a four-foot alcove. Damn my hands.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too.
Now I could see their eyes.
‘Fire when you can see the whites of their eyes’ a line from some Hollywood nonsense came into my head.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too.
Fire – what with? I pointed my two shaking fingers, shaped like a pistol at the enemy and shouted bang.
Tooo, toooo, tooo, too, too
I heard myself laughing at my own joke – bang, bang you bastards. You’re dead.
I turned around.
Saw Chalky.
The sun warmed his fingers. His hand outstretched as he lay sleeping.

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tea, war, pigeon, battle, army, guns, bullets, days, chalky, shaking and meancing