1918: The War Years, #5

By James Farner

Danny Keeton, now 18, has been promoted and is now responsible for leading his friends into battle. The excitement of rank is immediately tempered with a grim responsibility. The weight of leadership weighs heavily on Danny, until the big push begins and his unit are captured by the Germans.

Forced to toil in the prisoner of war camps in Germany, Danny believes their capture is his fault. Within days, he begins to plan an escape under the eyes of the starving and increasingly desperate Germans.

Will Danny manage to survive until November 1918?

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)

1917 (The War Years Book 4)

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), which you can own today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Farner
• Release date: Oct 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519962218

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 Edward Urwin in my latest series, beginning with Changing of the Guard.

Prologue

She ran her finger down the inside of the glass window. The condensation parted, forming a slit where she could see the outside world. It had rained non-stop for two days now. These were the worst days. So close to the fighting, the weather in Paris would often compare to that at the front. At least she had a roof to hide under. At least she wasn't outside in the mud. The guilt weighed on her.

Coralie Gaillard was on leave from the front. As a nurse, she was able to leave more often than the men. Some men had stayed in the trenches fighting the Germans for years without the chance of rest. She'd seen them herself. They would come to the field hospitals with black marks dancing under their eyes. The little canyons had become permanent features. She could see when the wounds were self-inflicted. British soldiers struck down by British bullets. Getting caught would mean death, but their desperation meant Coralie wouldn't say a word. She understood.

Her boyfriend, Daniel Keeton, had gone as far as to shoot himself early in the war. It had worked. From what he told her, he'd managed to procure a German Luger. When his squadron went over the top, he'd lingered behind and embedded a bullet in his right foot. He'd shown her the scar in detail. On the edge of the foot was a distinctive sign that something metal had penetrated the skin. He'd live with that mark for the rest of his life. All for a chance to go home. He'd never told her why he'd reached the breaking point, and she'd never tried to push him.

Something tugged at the bottom of her dress. She blinked and tore her eyes away from the rain-splashed street. Below her was her nephew Nicholas. His name was Nicholas Gaillard, but because his parents had decided to get married as soon as the war was over he was Nicholas Keeton, just as her sister Amélie was Amélie Keeton.

She stroked the top of his head with a finger. He could walk now. His awkward stance involved holding out his arms like he was clutching the hands of his parents. From time to time, he would fall, only to drag himself to his feet to begin the process again.

Salut, Nicky.

Nicholas responded with nodding and words that sounded like a greeting. He couldn't speak properly yet, with some prodding. but the family could understand what he wanted. His mother, Amélie, seemed to deduce what he meant better than the rest of them. Coralie wondered whether that was common to all mothers.

She could tell Nicky wanted his mother. Amélie had been distant lately. Her fiancé, Charlie Keeton, had neglected to write to her again. Without someone reminding him to keep in contact, he would drop off the face of the Earth. Whenever he did this, Amélie would become distant and bury herself in a dark cocoon somewhere. Charlie and Danny might boast being identical twins, but in many ways they were so different. Coralie was secretly glad she had picked out Danny as hers when she first met him in the Cathedral of Sainte Chapelle in 1915.

Nicholas started to babble and utter various gargles, but she saw the 'ma' in between it all. He sucked his thumb when she smiled at him.

Coralie bent forward to pick him up, but he pushed her away. She giggled and stopped herself. Nicholas preferred to walk whenever he could. He hated being carried and this reminded her of a cat her father brought home for the sisters when they were younger. It would scratch and hiss whenever someone tried to pick it up. It had been a stray at one point and walked with a limp on its back leg. Coralie had always thought its owners abused it as a kitten. It had died six months before the war and both she and her sister had cried into their pillows for days.

Coralie stood at the door of her bedroom and gestured to the landing.

Nicholas responded by leading the way. She would stop whenever he tumbled over, having to squeeze her hands to stop herself from righting him. That always made him cry. He made his way to his bedroom and peered inside. Little wooden blocks littered the floor next to his cot with high bars.

Coralie switched on the light and let him search. On a shelf well above everything else were six children's books Amélie or Jacques would read to him when it was time for bed. She longed to have the chance to do that with her own child. Her chocolate-brown eyes settled on the books for a moment, before the thump of Nicholas folding onto the ground again jarred her back.

Careful, Nicky.

Nicholas shook his head and kept moving. She came to the room where Amélie and Charlie slept. It was once the room Coralie had stayed in. She was slightly older than Amélie, therefore, she got the biggest of the children's rooms. When she became a nurse and left for the front, her parents had let Amélie take over, much to her annoyance. Now she lived in the tiny guestroom. Even Nicholas got a bigger room than she did.

She discovered Amélie sitting by the windowsill looking outwards. An envelope in her hand dangled down the side of the chair. When Nicholas touched the edge of it, she wiped her eyes and lifted her son onto her lap.

He found you, oui? said Coralie.

Oui. Amélie took the rubber teething ring from the edge of the windowsill and offered it to her son. He bit down on it and began to chew.

You have a letter from Charlie?

Amélie's jaw hardened. Non. This is old. He sent this two weeks ago.

Excusez-moi, I did not mean to say that. I know it is hard for you.

Amélie rolled her eyes and patted Nicholas on his soft tuft of brown hair. How do you know how I feel? Danny writes to you all the time. He always does.

That is not true. He forgets sometimes.

Not like Charlie. He only writes when I say things in my letters. Why can he not write to me because he wants to, not because he has to?

Coralie spotted the tears coming again. She had to stop this or Amélie was going to re-enter her favourite pit of despair. Danny has not written to me in a few days, since I have been home. I think he is in the field. You know how hard it is for them.

Hard for them, oui? Why do other men, French and British, still write to their women at home? They find the time to do it, so why not them?

Amélie, I meant maybe they are moving? Maybe they're –

Dead? Is that what you came to tell me? That my family is falling apart already?

Non, non, that is not. They shall not die. They won't. I mean when they go into battle, they do not have the time. They are fighting. Coralie found the words 'battle' and 'fighting' sticking in her throat like a piece of hard toffee. Normally they wouldn't entertain the idea of the twins doing anything other than sitting in a trench cleaning their rifles, playing cards, and writing letters.

Easy for your Daniel.

What do you mean by that?

He is a sergeant. He is in command. He is not the one taking the worst of it. My Charlie is, though. Nicky's father is.

Coralie said nothing. They'd had this conversation before. Amélie would never believe that Danny was no safer than Charlie when battle commenced. What Coralie'd never told her was of the men who died or suffered serious injuries, the ones who led had a far higher turn-over rate compared to the regular troops. It was like the Germans actively searched for these leaders before they turned their guns on the rest.

Is there anything I can do for you, Amélie?

Just go. Nicky will sleep soon. When I came in Papa said he wanted to speak to you.

Coralie bowed her head and closed the door with a soft click. When Amélie had first become cold to her it had upset her. She had pondered why her letters from Charlie came less frequently and why they were shorter and more curt. It wasn't before she understood she was unleashing her stresses on her that she could understand what her sister was going through. She accepted it and moved away. But she believed Amélie would turn back to her old self when the war was over; whenever that was.

Trotting down the stairs, she found their father Jacques in his favourite chair smoking a pipe. The newspaper had pictures of French troops, and the French president George Clemenceau with his great white moustache on the front page. He appeared in the press more than ever now that the Russians had signed an armistice and a war on two fronts became one.

Papa, Coralie said as she approached her father, Amélie said you wanted to speak to me.

Jacques continued to read his paper as if she weren't there. Thirty seconds passed and he finally put down the paper and extracted his pipe from between his lips. He was in shirtsleeves and had them rolled up over his bulky forearms.

Amélie, please sit down. I want you to hear something.

Coralie's eyes widened and she sat down on the edge of the squeaky sofa. It was coming. They had received a letter that would change their lives forever. He didn't know where they would send the King George the Fifth's Death Penny for either of the Keeton twins, but she was sure they would find out about it soon enough. Had it finally happened?

Coralie, I want you to tell me something, and I want you to tell me something now. Have you heard anything from either Charlie or Daniel about their family members in the war?

I know they have brothers.

Oui, but what of them? Do they speak about them?

Non. Never. I knew of their older brother William when I saw Danny, but that is it.

Then I have received a letter from Charlie. He wrote a letter to me personally. You must promise me that you say nothing to your sister. She is not strong like you and any bad word could tip her into a place where we can't help her. She has to remain how she is now, for Nicholas. Do I make myself clear?

Coralie nodded and squeaked out something that sounded like a 'oui'.

Merci. Now, I have destroyed the letter to stop her from finding it, but I was told at the end of last year their older brother William was killed.

Non...

Oui. Charlie has only recently discovered this. He wrote to me personally to apologise for not contacting Amélie. He says he needs time to himself to think, and as a father I can respect that. Charlie will tell Amélie about what has happened in time, but what I want from you is to keep this a secret. I also wanted to warn you that Daniel may decide he wants time to himself. You are a strong girl, and I want you to stay that way. Don't think that Daniel has become tired of you, please.

Coralie nodded at her hands wrapped in her lap. She had noticed how aloof Danny had become in his letters since the turn of the year. The last time she'd seen him at General Camberwell's headquarters he'd come back a different man. Had Danny known then that William had died?

I'm concerned about them both, said Jacques.

Coralie snapped her head up. Papa, please, let me write to him. I will tell him I know. I can stop him feeling that way –

Don't interrupt me. I wasn't talking about how they feel or their mental state. They will be fine. They will have seen enough death in the war by now. Charlie was honest about the reasons for William's death, and that's what worries me about accepting them into my household. William was executed for betraying his country.

Coralie's mouth fell open. Eh?

He betrayed his country. Precisely what he did I'm not sure about, and I'm not sure Charlie really knows. What I do know is he was executed by firing squad, along with a number of his compatriots. I have to think this was something serious considering he was a high-ranking officer with easily one hundred men under his command. The letter told me some of his friends came from the same flock. Another of the traitors was supposedly the son of a general.

You don't think –

Not for a moment, my love. Daniel and Charlie are good men from what I have seen, and I doubt they had anything to do with whatever their brother was doing. But this has me wary. Traitorous blood can run in families. Criminal blood runs the same. Go out into Paris at night and you will see them. They have whole families working as thieves and beggars. You will not want to see what I have seen after a certain hour.

Should I write to Danny?

You may, but keep this a secret from your sister. Jacques lowered his voice. This goes no further. Let Amélie find out herself, through Charlie. It is his responsibility. Remember, one day he will be my son and your brother through marriage. This is his news to break to his future wife. I hope I am making the correct decision allowing them to marry.

May I go?

Oui. Jacques tapped his cheek.

Coralie rushed forward and pecked him on the cheek, before hurrying back to her room. She couldn't believe it. Everything made sense to her now. Everything Danny had done and said since she'd last seen him had a link. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she dropped herself at her desk and tore a piece of paper from the drawer. Checking the ink, she began to write.

Danny's brother, a traitor to his country? She would have never believed it.

Chapter One

He was a commander of men. He was able to lead men across the field and have most of them come back alive. They knew him by sight and by name. It was a position of great respect. At any one time he could be responsible for up to 30 men, many of them older than him. Yet for all he had managed to do in his first month, one problem remained: Charlie.

Danny Keeton had gained his position as sergeant within his company after General Camberwell had rewarded him for his work at the headquarters. The old man wasn't so bad after all. The men listened to him and showed him the proper respect due, but his identical twin brother Charlie wouldn't acknowledge him as anything other than his little brother.

As he walked the line early that morning, with his leather trench coat flapping at his ankles, Charlie was chatting to Jack Warren on the end. Stupid arse probably kissing up to his...

Sighing to himself, he approached his brother and shook his head.

What's wrong, mate? Charlie slapped him on the arm.

Stop talking.

Charlie smiled and shifted his weight to one side. Go on, you get on with your little command thing.

A burning sensation caught in the centre of his chest. Charlie was smart enough to know that he could do anything he wanted without any real punishment. He knew the last thing Danny would do would court-martial him, even though his superior, Second-Lieutenant Bradley Marston, had told him to have the balls to do it many times. He just couldn't.

Stand to, lads!

The line stepped forward onto the fire step and bore their weapons at the early dawn beyond.

Danny wrapped himself tighter in his coat as he stepped behind each man and inspected their stance. This daily ritual rarely yielded anything but bad moods. The manpower situation was getting desperate and most of these soldiers were conscripts brought in with a lack of proper training. They had to learn through combat, and most of them never did.

He occasionally said a word in one person's ear when they slackened their stance, but they otherwise did everything he told him. Even Charlie obeyed during this part of things. He seemed to understand this was necessary for the safety of every man.

After the required time passed, everyone stepped down from the fire step and the day began. Some men stayed on duty as sentries. They would have to stand with their weapons aimed through the gaps between sandbags looking for any signs of an attack. Everyone else would settle into cleaning their weapons, wiping down their uniform as best they could, and trying to pass the time without developing trench depression.

Danny's day was more exciting than most. He would have to send messengers down the line to find out what was going on with each company. Bradley would sometimes visit him and demand an update to deliver to his superiors. The job gave him more responsibility and more work, but he enjoyed it. It was like his mind had switched itself on for the first time in three-and-a-half years.

Danny's mouth turned into a thin line as an unwelcome visitor stepped into his dugout. Sergeant Nathan Dettmer rested his hand on the top of his British Webley MK IV handgun. It reeked of arrogance to Danny. Sergeants weren’t afforded secondary firearms. Dettmer just had friends in the places.

Nathan, this is an unpleasant surprise, said Danny.

The feeling is the same, I assure you. Don't worry, I won't stay here long. Bradley said for me to tell you to place your men on a higher state of alertness. Double sentry duties.

Do you have a note for that? I'm not taking your word on anything again. Not after last time.

Dettmer smiled. That was only a joke. It's something we do with all the new sergeants.

"Oh aye, and you could