another battle in which people die, and also bradford and davies go on patrol together

"Bertie," he hisses, waving at Cuthbertson, who is still standing in the trench, probably waiting for him to finish up so they can go play cards. "Come up here and tell me what you see."

Cuthbertson sighs, climbs up onto the step next to Bradford, and takes the periscope. A shell whistles overhead, dropping onto No Man's Land in a cloud of dirt and (Bradford fears) body parts.

"What do you see? Is anyone moving out there?"

"I can't tell," Cuthbertson says. He leans away from the periscope, rubs his eyes, and looks through it again. "No. Nothing's moving."

"Except for the shelling, it's been pretty quiet, sir," the sentry says. Bradford gets a better look at him, now that he can. Tisdale, that's his name. Private. "Haven't seen any Huns."

"I should get back to my company," Cuthbertson says. He pats Bradford on the shoulder and slides off the step. "Make sure everyone is ok. I don't think cards are in the offing. You can always leave notes for me at battalion HQ, though." He grins, tips his helmet at Bradford, and walks off.

( Bradford gives the sentry back his periscope. )

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total words: 31,985
note: thanks to the 24-hour nanowrimo write-in and written under the influence of milk tea, cheetos, blond oreos, chocolate chocolate chip cookies, goldfish crackers, and goetze's caramel creams. i made bradford a graduate of king's college, cambridge, mostly because that's where rivers (who treated sigfried sassoon for i guess mental instability) went. and also apparently rupert brooke, war poet. and look, icon! that's bradford. :D

in which there is a lot of mud and water and davies is kind of hit by a shell

Dear Mum and Dad,

I am still alive although very wet. If I knew France would be this miserable I would have brought a good waterproof coat and better boots. The mud gets into everything, even our rations, and you do not want to know what the tea tastes like.

We have seen action, a lot of it. I have been very lucky to not be hurt, except for some cuts on my legs where I was hit with shrapnel. I say this not so you worry but so you know that your boy is still in one piece. I healed well. I have lost some friends, though, other men in my platoon. It is very hard.

( Lt Fiske (my platoon cmdr) was wounded in July but has come back to the battalion )

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total words: 34,049
note: i couldn't talk to my medical consultant (aka dad) before i wrote this, so i have no idea if you can be mostly buried by wet sandbags and bits of wood lattice and oh yeah a lot of mud and dirt and not sustain any broken bones. for the sake of not sending davies home yet we are going to pretend that this is possible.