1917: The War Years, #4

By James Farner

The Great War continues to rage with no sign of abating. 17-year-old Danny Keeton is whisked away from the front and thrust into a position as an assistant to General Camberwell, the man who almost sentenced him to death.

When he overhears two intruders mention the word ‘Munich’ in the middle of the night, Danny has to act. In a fight that could help decide the course of the war, Danny realises his enemies aren’t who he thinks they are.

As he gets closer to the truth, one stunning revelation about his family changes everything. Will Danny be able to do the right thing?

Other books in the War Years series:

1914 (The War Years Book 1)

1915 (The War Years Book 2)

1916 (The War Years Book 3)

Remember to check out my original Made in Yorkshire series, where you can meet the offspring of many of the characters featured here. It all starts with 1964 (Made in Yorkshire Book 1).

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Farner
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516380381

Book preview

Warning

This book will contain large numbers of colloquialisms, phrases, and sayings that apparently make no sense at all. I assure you, I’m not utterly insane. That’s really how some of us speak in Yorkshire.

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Find out what happens to Danny Keeton as soon as you can in James Farner’s Made in Yorkshire the War Years series.

Prologue

Captain Julian Fartown picked up one of the black telephones arranged in front of him. A short call later he took down the person's name and why they wanted to speak to General Camberwell. Flanking his desk secretaries with crisp public school accents spoke into handsets. Maps of Europe covered the walls of General Camberwell's headquarters. Some of them took in the whole of Europe, whereas others concentrated on specific areas. And in the most prominent position, alone, above the mantel with the empty, early Victorian fireplace underneath, the map of the Flanders sector.

Cover me. I need to see the general, said Fartown to nobody in particular.

He knew they would take over his desk and answer the phone. The years had given them heightened chemistry and everyone knew where everyone else would be. It was like watching Blackburn Rovers win the FA Cup again. Every member of the team could predict where the other person was without looking. It was no wonder they were one of the most successful teams in England.

Fartown knocked on the maple-coloured door that opened to General Camberwell's study. He removed his cap and held it at his waist.

Good morning, Fartown. Camberwell twitched his walrus-like moustache. I have received some quite disconcerting news from your office whilst you were away on duty yesterday.

Sir? Fartown's heart sank. He hadn't had time to update himself on what had happened yesterday. He'd returned to the headquarters exhausted and collapsed at his desk.

It seems I requested Private Edward Warren to meet me here, but his commanding officer informed me he is missing and presumed dead.

I haven't heard about that, general.

No, it seems not. Camberwell arched his fingers under his chin. Intelligence says he was killed late last year at the Somme. A most disappointing development.

I haven't heard of him, sir.

Haven't you? I could have sworn you met him yourself. We met at the ball last year, don't you remember?

Fartown remembered the ball the general had gone to. He'd driven him there, but he wasn't allowed to go inside. The general had remarked that someone who hadn't gone to Eton wasn't worthy enough to attend. The castle wasn't anything remarkable. It had a moat running around the bottom, but he'd already forgotten the name of it. Camberwell always forced him to drive to this event or that event. They all ran into a blur.

Afraid not, sir.

Very well. Private Edward Warren was a most intriguing figure. A man after my own heart. A plucky British tommy with the desire to do good for his country. He had no problem speaking with the likes of me. A rare skill to have in someone from a working class background. The truth is, I wanted to reward him. We exchanged letters briefly, but it seems we became disconnected. I wanted to renew our relationship.

Sorry, sir?

In a professional sense. Don't get me wrong. This man was nothing more than your classic peasant class soldier. Ordinarily, I would have referred to him as no more than cannon fodder, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. The way he carried himself and the way he had such confidence in his own skin. It was something I could not ignore.

Fartown's eyes widened. The general almost never spoke positively about soldiers from the lower ranks. If he wasn't outright abusing them, he was insulting them behind their backs. This Edward Warren must have made a big impact.

Nonetheless, I had a position ready for him behind the lines. I had plans to lend him some funds and endorse his business. Apparently, he wanted to become involved in the import export industry. I must admit, I do have some interest there. The shipping of arms forms a significant part of my portfolio, alongside mining and shipbuilding.

Is there anything you would like me to do, sir?

General Camberwell stared off at the ceiling for a moment. Ah, yes. There was a strange soldier he brought with him to the ball. A pale, sickly-looking child. He had nothing special about him, but if he was a friend of Edward's I almost feel in my benevolent heart I should give him an opportunity to prove his worth. I should remember him, and yet I don’t. Do you know anything about who this could be?

I'm afraid not. I was waiting outside in the car.

Shame. Could you bring me a list of the names within his unit? I'm sure I would recognise his last name if I saw it. I'd recognise him anywhere. He looked rather like a squirrel. Barely more than a boy. I was quite surprised he was allowed to fight. Still, it is most likely the best service he could ever hope to give to our great empire.

I'll do it now, general. Fartown turned around, clicked his heels together, and marched out of the room.

When he'd closed the door behind him, he sighed. He'd already had enough of dealing with the general today. For over a month he'd considered handing in his resignation and hoping he would get a transfer to a new location. The fear of being sent to the front line out of spite always stopped him from submitting that final paper. Even the general wasn't as bad as the carnage he'd heard about on the front lines. Numbers from the Battle of the Somme the year before had hit over a half-million men. They'd lost almost 60,000 in the first day alone.

Fartown went outside to the records room. Filing cabinets held detailed records of every man on the Western front. Every general in mainland Europe had a cache of them. With the help of a secretary, he located Edward's unit and began to scan the names. Edward's name had the familiar mark of 'missing' next to it. Picking up the folder, he returned to the general's study.

These are all the names of the men within his unit. They also have the names of those who have been reported missing or killed.

Camberwell ran his finger down the list of names. A few seconds later, he started to tap on a name. Ah, yes, I remember him now. He told me his name. The Keeton family. I recognise the name, for I have met one of his brothers. A captain he is. William Keeton. He is located north of this unit. This Private Daniel Keeton will make a fine addition to my headquarters. We shall see what this working class boy has to offer when he is presented with the chance to make something of himself.

Would you like me to send a message to his commanding officer?

No. Not at all. I believe this is a special task. Go personally and bring him to me.

Fartown left the office biting his tongue. The idea of going to the front to pick up anyone terrified him. He'd heard of more than enough couriers brought down by stray artillery rounds. The reason he'd signed up in the first place was so he could avoid any front line action.

This Daniel Keeton better be worth it.

Chapter One

Keeton, you're on sentry duty tonight, said Sergeant Nathan Dettmer.

Danny Keeton stifled a groan. Yes, Sergeant.

Dettmer stepped away down the trench and started to shout and point his finger at someone huddled in a dugout no bigger than a rabbit hole. He'd led their unit for almost two years now. Their former leader, Sergeant Braddock, was a sadist who had revelled at the chance to make their lives miserable. Dettmer had started out the same. These days Danny tried to keep the peace with him so he would stop sending him on suicide missions. A healthy respect existed between them now, even if they didn't like each other.

You've got a face like a slapped arse, said his identical twin brother Charlie. Something happened?

Aye, him again. He's only gone and put me on sentry duty again tonight. Thought we had some sort of routine with that.

We do. The people he doesn't really like get to do it. The ones he does like never do it. You remember Rodney Chambers? Before he got his head shot off you never saw him on sentry. Don't think he knew how to do it.

Well, I'm not Rodney, am I? Takes the piss this does.

Dettmer marched down the trench again like he'd heard them.

Danny straightened up and prepared for the tongue lashing he was about to receive. Behind him a thin man with the neck the size of a bootlace adjusted his peaked cap with a flash of red on the front. Only captains wore hats like that.

Danny, whichever one is which. Dettmer eyed both of them sitting together. You have a visitor. Charlie, get yourself off.

Charlie rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his rifle a little way away from them.

Dettmer, too, moved away, leaving the captain looking down at him.

Alright?

Don't be insolent, private. I'm a captain.

Sorry...sir.

That's better. My name is Captain Fartown, and I come from General Camberwell's headquarters. I will keep this brief, because I don't wish to spend too much time on the front lines. He wishes you to attend him immediately. Get your things and come with me.

Danny tilted his head. Sorry?

You are leaving the trenches, and General Camberwell wishes to see you. He told me to bring your things. Collect anything you want to take with you, and come with me. I won't tell you again.

Danny didn't understand what was going on, but dove into his dugout anyway. He didn't have much to collect. The only things he kept were a number of keepsakes in a small box. Throwing these into a rucksack, he grabbed his rifle and checked around to see if he had remembered everything.

Where are you off? Charlie moved the curtain they used to keep light inside at night.

That one's a captain. Wants me to go off to the general's headquarters.

Didn't know we had a general.

Aye, we do. It's that one I saw at the ball, and the one that was at my court martial. General Camberwell. Can't stand him. He's a right prat.

I don't get it.

Ask the captain if you want to find out. I don't really get what's going on, either. Don't think I've done anything wrong.

Charlie looked to the curtain and turned back again. You're not going long, are you?

Not a clue. Wouldn't say anything. See you, mate.

Danny left the dugout with his things and followed Fartown through the trench system. They ducked down as they crossed through to the secondary line of British trenches, and finally through to the communications trench. He thought Fartown looked like he was going to wet himself. Every time they turned a corner, or ten seconds passed, he would swivel his head in the direction of the German lines. There was no way he'd spent a day on the front line in his life.

The captain led him through to what he called a 1916 Studebaker car, which he’d parked some way away from the front line. They were still well within range of any German artillery strikes, though. The size of the guns on both sides these days meant a shell could go up into the air and not land for miles. It was how they'd managed to shell Paris early in the war, before they were stopped at the River Marne.

Fartown climbed into the front seat and ordered Danny into the back. The shining black Studebaker car looked more like a coffin on wheels. A pristine silver ornament on the front told him this car hadn’t yet become acquainted with mud. Until he'd joined the war, Danny had never sat in a car. These were luxury vehicles nobody in the Holbeck district of Leeds could ever hope to afford. It would have taken them at least ten years of working hard and not spending a penny to own the paintwork. Holbeck Mill paid nothing more than a pittance for exhausting labour.

Resting his hand on the bodywork, the car threw Danny back into the leather seat as Fartown revved the engine to life and sped away. He didn't lower his speed until they were out of sight of the war zone.

The captain wouldn't tell him where the general's headquarters were. Every time Danny tried to ask him something, he would grunt or dismiss him with a wave of his hand.

The car tossed everything aside as if it were Prime Minister David Lloyd George himself in the back. A convoy of soldiers had to stop at the side of the road to let them through. One horse almost slipped and fell into a shell hole filled with water.

When they made it to the general's headquarters an hour later, Danny was on the verge of falling asleep.

Fartown roused him by pulling open his door, almost making him tumble out onto the mud. They stood outside a house that was moderate by the general's standards. He'd expected to visit some sort of country mansion. This was no more than a holiday home in the Flanders countryside.

Out. And don't speak to anyone unless they speak to you first.

Why, what's wrong?

Nothing is wrong, said Fartown. General's orders. You are to speak to no one, unless prompted. You are also not to touch anything.

Danny scraped the mud off the bottom of his boots on the gravel road and tailed Fartown past the series of military vehicles parked down the side of the house. Soldiers without their guns and jackets in pristine uniform looked at him with almost piteous expressions as Fartown led him past each checkpoint. It was like they'd never seen a man from the front before.

Sit down. Fartown pointed to a spindly wooden chair outside a door.

Fartown knocked and disappeared inside.

Danny took the time to absorb his surroundings. He found himself in a long room with an empty fireplace in the centre of it. Maps of the world plastered the walls. Some of them had coloured pins stuck in them. A map of Flanders had a number of notes in jet black ink on the borders, along with arrows all pointing towards the east.

At least they know which direction they're going, Danny thought.

Men sat at desks typing away on typewriters and writing with fountain pens. None of them looked up at him. A comment sometimes passed across the room, but it did nothing to break up the monotonous sounds of typewriters clicking and pens scratching.

Fartown poked his head around the door. Come in, Keeton.

Danny took off his cap and wiped what mud he could from his uniform. He'd sewn it up so many times it looked like a different garment from the one issued to him in 1914. It was embarrassing to dress like this.

Fartown stepped aside and Danny confronted the sight of General Camberwell sitting behind his desk with a map spread in front of him and a black telephone ringing on his desk. The general's beady eyes followed him all the way.

Private Daniel Keeton, said Camberwell.

Yes, sir. Danny wrinkled his nose at the musky smell emanating from the general's direction.

Leave us, Fartown.

The door creaked closed as Fartown left.

The general assessed him for a couple of seconds before gesturing to the space in front of his desk. There were no chairs, other than the vacant one by the multi-panelled window.

Danny straightened his back and snapped his arms to his side. It wasn’t that he had any respect for this general. He knew people like this fed on their subordinates kowtowing to them. It was much easier to trade a tiny piece of pride to avoid a month’s worth of trouble.

Keeton, I understand you were a friend of Private Edward Warren.

Danny twisted his tongue around in his mouth. We knew each other, sir.

As I thought. Whether you know this or not, I was deeply fond of Edward, and I was saddened to hear of his disappearance. Nevertheless, there is nothing we can do about that. What he did not yet know was, I intended to bring him forward from the front to a position better suited to a man of his talents. Camberwell leaned back in his chair and clapped his hands together. Fate intervened in our best laid plans, however. There is nothing I can do about that. So, it leaves me in a tricky position. I have an open space with nobody to fill it. This may be your lucky day.

Yes, sir.

I wanted to place him in an administrative role by my side. I saw in him a certain talent. Perhaps he had the potential to ascend from his working class existence. Perhaps he did not. But I remembered you from the ball. You are a rather squirrelly little man with potential. I’d like to put that little business with the court martial aside. That is why I would like you to take Edward’s position by my side.

Danny clenched his jaw. The last time he’d seen Edward was during the Somme. He’d tried to kill his son, Jack Warren, and Danny had saved his life. Danny shot Edward in the knee, and left him behind when the Germans overran their hard-won gains. Around the trenches most people suspected the Germans had finished him off for good. Nobody had heard anything from Edward since.

Do you accept? said Camberwell. You may stay here or you may return to the front.

I don’t know, sir.

You don’t know? You don’t know? Are you a complete arse, Keeton?

No, sir.

"Then you are proving me wrong with the way you speak. You are