Shoulder the Sky Read Online Free

already. He believed in discipline; he knew the cost of cowardice, even one man breaking the line. He also knew what it was like to face fire, to go over the top into a hail of bullets. He had heard the screams of men caught on the wire.
    Joseph turned to Prentice. "It's a pity you won't get to go along the saps some time," he said, his voice drier and more brittle than he had meant it to be. "You could write a good piece about what it feels like to crawl on your hands and knees through a hole in the ground under no man's land, hear the water dripping and the bits of earth falling. A bit close to the rats down there, but it can't be helped. They're everywhere, as I expect you've noticed. Thousands of the things, big as cats, some of them. They feed on the dead, especially the eyes. You want to cover your face when you're asleep." He felt an acute satisfaction as he saw Prentice shiver. "But then you won't be able to go that far forward, will you? War correspondents don't. They'd get in the way. You only have to watch what other men do, and then go off somewhere safe and talk about it."
    "And what do you do? Pray about it, Chaplain?" Prentice snapped. "God Almighty! You're a joke!" His voice was shrill with contempt. "You're no more use here than a maiden aunt in a whorehouse. If your God gives a damn about us, where is He?" He jabbed his hand viciously in the direction of the front line, and no man's land beyond. "Ask him," he pointed at Corliss, 'if he believes in God when he's down one of his saps!"
    "If you had ever been out there at night, when they're shooting, you would know there's nothing else to believe in except God," Joseph answered him with bitter certainty. "If there's any real, physical place to convince you there is a hell, try no man's land in winter. To sit in a nice warm pub with a glass of beer and write stories for the breakfast tables in England sounds like heaven in comparison."
    "Look Prentice began.
    He was cut off by the sergeant. "I think you'd better go back to your pub and your beer, Mr. Prentice," he said in a hard, level voice. "What the captain says is right. And you may be an atheist yourself and believe in nothing at all, but you've got no place coming out here and making mock of other men's faith. When it gets bad, it may be all you've got. But you wouldn't know that, seeing as you aren't a soldier." He was a big man, heavier than Prentice, though not as tall, and he was seven or eight years older, probably nearer forty.
    "Any officer can have you arrested at any time," he went on. "King's Regulations. So it might be a good idea to be polite to the captain, don't you think?"
    Prentice stood facing him, measuring his resolve.
    Joseph waited without moving.
    Prentice retreated, his face tight with anger.
    The sergeant smiled. "Ambulance'll be here soon," he said to
    Corliss. "Take you back to a proper hospital, then Blighty in time." His voice was strong, comfortable, but Joseph knew from his face that he had no inner certainty that the wound was not self-inflicted. He would not report it as such because Prentice had angered him. He was an outsider who had come in and tried to tell him his job. It was soldiers closing ranks against civilians.
    Outside there was a splash and crunch as an ambulance drew up, and a moment later a loose-limbed young man came in. He was sodden wet, and his dark hair dripped down his face. As soon as he spoke it was obvious that he was American.
    "Hi, you got anyone for me, Doc?" He saw Joseph. "Hi, Padre, how's it going?"
    "Fine, thank you, Wil," Joseph replied. "Yes, there's one for you there."
    Wil walked over to Corliss. "Looks like it hurts," he said sympathetically.
    Corliss tried to smile. "Yes, but not too much," he answered, his voice rasping between dry lips.
    Prentice grunted, and smiled sarcastically.
    "That's what everyone-says!" Joseph told him, not bothering to suppress his anger. "If they're dying, they still say that!"
    "But he's not dying, is he,