“Above the trench, a rampart had been built out of sandbags – mudbags to be more accurate – and he was gazing through a tiny gap over no-man's-land. Look through anything bigger and a sniper would put a bullet through your eye. Sometimes the men put an old steel helmet on a stick, held it above the rampart and took bets on how long it would be before it was shot. The shortest time Stubbs had seen was three seconds. He saw a movement and fired. The rifle kicked back into his shoulder and immediat...ely his hand moved to the bolt and fed another round into the breech. He fired again. The rat, horribly fat, was knocked backwards from its perch on the back of some poor, sod who had died out there. Stubbs began to look for another one. It was better than doing nothing. Rain ran off the brim of his tin helmet in a near solid waterfall. It fell on his front, his shoulders and down his back. He was wet through, chilled to the bone and could not get any colder. In fact, he had been wet and cold for almost two months now, and had forgotten what it was like to be dry and warm.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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