A Crimson Dawn (30 page)

‘Man's right,' someone said, shamefaced at his desperation. They queued up without protest.

Later in the day, the door opened again and a sergeant marched in barking out names from a list for field punishment. Laurie was one of them. He looked at Rab in terror. Rab stepped forward.

‘Where you taking them?' he demanded.

The sergeant shoved him back. ‘Unless you're called, you stay here.'

A dozen men were led away under armed guard and the door locked behind them. The remaining prisoners waited all day for the others to return, or for more to be summoned out, speculating on the fate of their comrades. Outside there were shouts, men running, horses plodding, the occasional whistle. Rab and Ernie encouraged the men to organise the crowded cell into some sort of order, piling straw to one side, away from the slop bucket which had to do for all thirty-seven. Then they sat and Rab encouraged them to talk about their experiences, the decisions that had led them to this point, to draw courage from each other.

Hours later, the orderlies came with more bread and water. Some time after that, the door opened again and their missing comrades were pushed through it. Even in the gloom, Rab could see that Laurie was in a terrible state. The young man staggered in and fell on to the squatting prisoners. He cried out in pain when Rab tried to lift him.

‘Gave him a real going-over,' one of the others panted.

They moved aside, trying to give the returning COs room to catch their breath. They gradually told of their ordeal.

‘Had us running round this field - hands on head - knee-deep in mud - weren't allowed to stop. Kicked and punched if you did. Laurie and the young lads were picked on the most. Fired shots over our heads to keep us moving.'

Rab propped Laurie up as best he could and dripped water on to his cracked lips. He hardly responded. Rab was filled with fury. He got up and went to the door, hammering on it hard.

‘Guard!' he shouted. ‘Open up. Lad needs a doctor.' When no one came, he thumped on it all the more, cursing them in frustration.

All through the night, Rab kept an eye on Laurie, trying to make him comfortable in the dismal cell. When morning came, he dipped his ration of bread in water and fed it to the youth. Laurie choked on the soft food and tried to turn away.

‘You've got to eat,' Rab urged.

Laurie looked at him with hollow eyes as if he were a stranger.

Soon afterwards, the sergeant returned and called out a string of names. Rab and Ernie were among them. He ordered them out of the cell. They refused.

‘Right, get 'em,' the sergeant shouted, and two soldiers hauled Rab to his feet. They dragged him out of the cell. He was almost blinded by the strong sunlight. Across the flattened ground in front, a sea of tents stretched away into the distance. He gulped in the fresh air and noticed the blossom on a tree close to the farmhouse. But the building was derelict, its windows gaping and roof gone. Then he was being shoved forward, his limbs stiff and aching from the hours of confinement.

They were marched at gunpoint to a rough parade ground that had once been a field. Large pools of stagnant water lay in the ruts. The sergeant ordered them to run around.

‘Six times round, hands on heads!' he bellowed.

Some of the men began to jog, splashing through the puddles. Rab and Ernie stood their ground with a dozen others. The officer barked at them to move, then sent his men to force them. They were hit with rifle butts, punched and abused. Still they refused to obey orders.

‘Why you doing the bosses' dirty work?' Rab challenged the guards. ‘We're your comrades, not the armchair patriots who sent you to war - the ones making millions out of this misery.'

‘Shut up!' barked the sergeant, winding him with a punch.

The guards pushed them to the ground, kicked and stood on them, while the angry sergeant ordered them to crawl through the mud. Three men started to move, the others lay where they were.

The eleven resisters, Rab and Ernie among them, were dragged up and pushed at the end of rifles to follow the NCO. They were taken to a crumbling courtyard. A row of crudely fashioned crosses were spaced out in front of them. One by one the prisoners were tied up against a pole, their arms raised to shoulder height and strapped to the crossbars, their ankles bound at the bottom.

‘You think you're Jesus bloody Christ,' the sergeant mocked, ‘so let's see how much you like it now.'

He left them in the warming sun, crucified. It was not long before they were crying out for relief, arms numb. Rab felt sick with the pain in his shoulders, then faint from lack of breath. A private came round and splashed water to their lips. One man screamed out he would do anything they asked, just let him free. The sergeant told his men to cut him down and he was frog-marched away.

Rab heard Ernie trying to speak. ‘Fourth Commandment - Honour - good - men,' he gasped, ‘bow down - to none.' Rab felt a surge of courage at the familiar words. ‘Fifth - do not hate,' Ernie groaned, ‘but stand - up - for rights - and resist – oppression …'

Rab raised his head and strained to see his friend. He had fallen silent, exhausted by the effort.

‘Sixth Commandment,' Rab panted. ‘Do not be cowardly - love justice.'

The sky clouded over. Then a chill wind got up, it darkened suddenly and a heavy shower deluged them in seconds. The guards took cover. When it was over, they came back and cut down the remaining men. Two of them collapsed on the ground and had to be carried away. Rab only just managed to steady himself against the pole, his head swimming. More guards were called on to haul the men away.

Instead of being taken back to the communal cell, they were thrown into a tiny hut, shackled at the ankles and locked in the dark. Rab lay back on the hard earth, his limbs throbbing, ankles and wrists bleeding. They were too exhausted to talk. At some point they were brought water and bread. It was an effort to sit up and eat. The bread stuck in his parched throat like stone. As they lay trying to sleep on the hard ground without straw or mattress, Rab nearly wept at the injustice. Why were the soldiers being so vindictive? Why not just shoot them?

He fell asleep, hearing the whispered prayers of the man beside him. Some time in the night, he was woken by a distant boom. He jerked awake, thinking it was an explosion of gas down the pit and for a moment in the pitch-black had no idea where he was. After that, he could not sleep, plagued with thoughts of home and those he had left behind.

Ernie whispered his name. ‘Rab, you awake?'

‘Aye.'

‘Courage, comrade,' the older man croaked.

‘Why don't they just be done with it?' Rab whispered bleakly. ‘Why torture us first?'

‘They want to break us, lad. They'd rather we gave in than have to shoot us. Don't you see how that would look? Show us up for a bunch of cowards - shirkers - with no real conscience.'

Rab was sceptical. ‘But surely they want to make an example of us - scare others off from doing the same?'

‘Maybe that's what some in the War Office want,' Ernie grunted, ‘but I think the military here think differently. What would you do if you had resisters on your hands - shoot them and make martyrs? That could lead to mutiny. Better to break their spirit and whip them into line.'

‘Aye,' Rab murmured, ‘I see your point. But with a war on, I'm surprised they're going to so much bother.'

‘But that's the reason,' Ernie said eagerly. ‘They've run out of men willing to die unthinkingly for their shabby war. Now they have to convince the conscripts. We're standing in the way of that.'

Rab felt a flare of hope. ‘By heck, we've got them rattled. Few more like us and this war'll grind to a halt.'

‘That's the spirit, lad,' Emie said, gripping his arm in encouragement.

In the morning, an officer appeared. He announced himself as their commanding officer and told them they were to be court-martialled for disobedience while undergoing field punishment. They were led to an outside trough, stripped, told to wash and issued with fresh army clothing. Then they were shackled and taken to one of the farm buildings. Inside a small room, bare but for a table and three chairs, a young officer greeted them nervously.

‘I've been appointed to represent you at your Field General Court Martial,' he told them, going to the table and sitting down. ‘The prisoner's friend. If you want one, that is. I need to take some statements from you - help with your defence.'

He opened an exercise book, pulled out a pencil and looked up expectantly.

‘Our defence is we are conscientious objectors and should not be here,' Rab spoke up. ‘My appeal is still pending. We've been kidnapped by the military.'

The young lieutenant looked at him in dismay.

‘That won't help you here, I'm afraid. I need to say things about your good character - maybe some of you are pillars of your community?' He gave them a hopeful look.

Ernie snorted with laughter. ‘Aye, Secretary of the Chopwell ILP.'

‘ILP?' the officer queried.

‘Independent Labour Party, lad.'

His face fell. ‘You have to call me sir.'

‘We stopped doing that when we left school,' Rab grunted.

The lieutenant ploughed on. ‘You could say something like: you didn't realise it was so serious.'

No one said anything.

‘Or you didn't know what you were doing,' the officer suggested. ‘Promise you won't do it again.'

‘And will the army promise not to beat us and crucify us again?' Rab asked quietly. ‘We've been tret worse than any prisoners of war.'

‘I don't know anything about that,' the soldier said, flushing. ‘I'm trying to help you.'

‘The best way you could help would be to join us,' Rab challenged. ‘Lay down your arms.'

The lieutenant was appalled. ‘You must be mad.'

Ernie said tiredly, ‘Listen, lad, you're wasting your breath. We'll defend ourselves.'

The officer shook his head in disbelief. ‘You don't seem to realise how serious this is. This comes from the top. You could be executed.'

‘We know,' Ernie nodded.

The officer stood up abruptly and seized his book. ‘Why are you doing this?' he asked in bafflement.

‘To stop lads like you losing your lives,' Rab said simply. ‘To stop all war.'

The lieutenant marched past them. He turned at the door. ‘And I always thought conchies were a pack of cowards,' he murmured as he left.

They were taken back to the punishment cell. Soon after, they began to be called out, one by one. No one returned.

‘What d'you think's happening?' Rab asked.

Ernie shrugged. ‘Separating us to break our will, most likely.'

Rab's turn came. He was taken back to the stark farm room and told to stand in front of the table. Three officers sat behind it. One was the rank of major, one a captain and the third, glancing up sheepishly, was the young lieutenant who hours ago had been detailed to defend them. A large manual on military law lay open on the table.

The major started, ‘I'm the president of this Field General Court Martial. Lieutenant Bowler will record the proceedings.'

Rab's name was read out along with the charge of disobedience. The major asked him if he wished to speak.

Rab said, ‘As a CO I don't acknowledge military authority, so your charge is meaningless.'

‘Don't try to be clever,' the major snapped. ‘We are close to the Front line and can ill afford to spare time or men on the likes of you. That is why a Field General has been called. So if you have anything sensible to say, say it now.'

Rab was defiant. ‘I've asked for exemption on moral and political grounds. My case has still to go to appeal. You have no right to try me. This is a mockery of justice.'

The major lost his temper. ‘It's more justice than you degenerates deserve!'

The captain spoke up. ‘Private MacRae, have you any mitigating circumstances? Perhaps you have lost a family member to the war and have acted out of grief, out of character.'

Rab reddened. ‘Aye, I've lost a brother,' he admitted with difficulty. ‘But that just makes me the more determined to oppose this war. I'll not have his death used as an excuse for further bloodshed and vengeance.'

The youug lieutenant kept his head down, recording their words.

‘Your so-called comrades don't feel as strongly,' the captain said with a pitying look. ‘It's amazing how the shadow of execution concentrates the mind, makes men realise just how important life is - how important their families are, their country.'

Rab was contemptuous. ‘I don't believe you.'

The captain gave him a rueful nod. ‘You may be making a pointless sacrifice. But if you show a bit of contrition like the others,' he suggested, ‘we could consider a lesser charge. I urge you to think again.'

Rab kept silent. He would not engage in their games. As Ernie had said, they were trying to break them, sow division among the objectors. The young lieutenant looked up at him expectantly. Rab shook his head.

The major said abruptly, ‘Take him outside while we consider the verdict.'

Rab was outside a mere couple of minutes before he was summoned back inside.

‘We have reached a unanimous decision,' the major said curtly. ‘You are guilty as charged. The penalty for such a grave act is death by firing squad. Your papers will be sent to your commanding officer and to Brigade for comment, but as you have no record of past good service, this is a formality.' He looked at Rab with contempt. ‘The final decision is taken by GHQ and the commander-in-chief, General Sir Douglas Haig.'

Rab felt numb at the stark words. He wanted to ask how long he had to live, but could not utter a sound. Moments later he was being marched from the room and stumbled out into the April sunshine. He was taken to a tiny holding cell in a crudely built line of huts and locked in alone.