Umbrella
“Immediately after this Luftie comes back with the order to cease fire themselves – watch hand slim-stroking butterfly feeler, silence – hateful. How many rounds have they loosed? Two-hundred-and-fifty per box, eight boxes each run back from the forward depot, an ammo run every quarter-hour making for thirty-two thousand . . . Am I right, sir? The silence is hateful: Vicky’s nose tilts to the ground – the men swoon as smoke pools, then flows from the battlefield, they are listening to the thud-t...hud-pumping of their young hearts, hearing all their component parts. They are licking . . .
kissing the tarnished casing of lockets, hissing out their own smoke as the blood rush-ush-ushes through their battered ears. The vanguard of defeat has already invaded them fucked-up francs-tireurs who straggle ahead limping, crawling, dragging themselves back into the battle of life . . .
One little Scots gamecock bob-flits-whirrs from shell hole to ditch to tree stump for a couple of hours, before arriving at their position with his kilt in tatters.MoreLess
kissing the tarnished casing of lockets, hissing out their own smoke as the blood rush-ush-ushes through their battered ears. The vanguard of defeat has already invaded them fucked-up francs-tireurs who straggle ahead limping, crawling, dragging themselves back into the battle of life . . .
One little Scots gamecock bob-flits-whirrs from shell hole to ditch to tree stump for a couple of hours, before arriving at their position with his kilt in tatters.MoreLess
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