Chapter Twenty-Seven
Having spent the last hour crawling across the battlefield, expecting at any time to have his arse shot off, Wolk’s tension was high and he could hear little but the blood pumping through his ears. The idea that any noise he made would bring a terminal response from the Germans just feet away was making his imagination run wild. Every shape was an enemy taking aim, and every noise was someone approaching, ready to bayonet him to death.
This all got worse when the sun began to rise and he still had some distance to go. He was now dangerously exposed, so he slid down into a large shell hole, pulled a small mirror out of his jacket’s breast pocket, and angled it in such a way he could see over the dirt lip and past where the listening post lay. It was bright and he squi
