"Two wounded, two dead Sir," reported Colour Nulty.

Hartley was studying the dead German, a cigarette between his lips.

"He was a game chap, Sarn't," he remarked casually. "Have to admire a fellow like that, eh?"

"Indeed you do Sir," replied Nulty softly.

"Tried to plug me with his dying breath you know," mused Hartley.

Nulty nodded. Case of 'too late chum' for the German, he thought.

"About the casulaties Sir. McCallion's got a flesh wound but Noble's taken a couple in the legs," he jerked his thumb at the two dead bodies. "Clay and Bramley bought it."

Hartley flicked the cigarette at the bloody lump which had been the German officer's head.

"Carry on Sarn't, you know the form," he said.

Compiled on the basis of service papers for 7/3587 McCallion, Herbert. Rfn. Research at N/A performed by forum member 'Stilleto'. Copies of relevant documents now in the author's possession. Published with permission.

McCallion grimaced as the stretcher bearer tightened the bandage around the deep gash on his arm. The sleeve of his uniform had been slashed from the tunic exposing the wound.

"You're in luck son," mused the bearer. "Round just winged you but your arm is going to be sore for a day or two. Still, you'll have a nice billet back at the base."

"What about Nobby Noble Corp?" queried McCallion.

The bearer shrugged his shoulders: "he's young and fit. I'd say he should pull through but he might lose a peg. C'mon lad, it's a long way back to the RAP."

The Regimental Aid Post would be McCallion's first stop in the casualty evacuation process. Classed as 'walking wounded' he faced a long slog back to the dug-out where the Regimental Medical Officer performed basic first aid before passing casualties on to the better equipped clearing stations further down the line.

As he stumbled across the broken ground, McCallion almost swooned but the bearer, who seemed to be positively ancient to the young rifleman, moved swiftly to steady him.

"Cheers Corp," sighed McCallion. "You blokes have to carry Nobby all the way? You'll be f..ked by the time you get there."

"No lad, we're the forward bearers. We'll hand you over to another squad in a wee while. If we had to go all the way back over this ground we'd be bleedin' dead with exhaustion ... never mind the bloomin' shelling!" smiled the Bearer.

McCallion looked over his shoulder at the smouldering crater which had been Messines Ridge.

"What about me mates what got it up there?"

"Our job is to bring back the living son, those lads will be looked after by the grave registration boys. They'll be moving up with the support troops and the salvage crews."

McCallion could see streams of men moving forward across the scarred ground, many of them carrying tools or boxes of equipment.

Suddenly he heard his voice being called out.

"Bert! It's Willie .. Jesus, are you hit bad?" It was his brother, Willie with the support platoon.

"The corp here tells me I'll be playing the fiddle in no time, our kid," replied Bertie, forcing a smile. "You be right bloody careful up there now. Gerry won't be long in putting in an attack on that ground. Keep your head down, d'you hear me?"

Willie McCallion smiled. Bert sounded alright.

"You'll be chasing after them nurses Bert ... donlt wear yourself out!"

"I'm saving myself Will," replied his brother. "I've been seeing this girl in Ypres and the way things are going there might even be wedding bells. I'll fill you in once I'm back with the mob."

As Bert McCallion wandered out of sight, Willie pondered this announcement.

"Your brother don't half work quick," commented Dai 'Taf' Macallister. "We've only been in this sector for a month and he's getting married!"

Willie shouldered his load of barbed wire and set off again. Married, he thought, the f..king idiot's gettin married in the middle of this bloody mess.

"Horses for courses," he mumbled to himself.