The Red Baron: A World War I Novel Read Online Free Page B

smile on his face for the first time in months.
    “Won’t matter. Should be quiet for the rest of the day,” Eisen said as he looked to the sky, the afternoon sun giving way to early evening.
    Their march toward the trenches was quiet, Eisen deflecting Manfred’s attempts at conversation. The green farmland around the headquarters morphed into earth rent by war. Shell craters dotted the landscape with greater frequency as they moved west. Dark soil, kicked up by explosions, stained fields like blood splatter.
    They passed through a forest, now nothing more than blackened trunks with little more than stubs for branches. Red poppies sprang from the soil, bits of color across the churned earth.
    Manfred picked up a poppy and examined it.
    “I haven’t noticed these before,” he said.
    Eisen stuck his arm out, his hand halting Manfred’s progress.
    “Quiet,” he hissed. Eisen craned his neck, searching the sky for something.
    Manfred did as ordered. He saw orange-and-red bands of sunset creeping up from the horizon, but nothing else.
    “Sorry, thought I heard an airplane,” Eisen said. “We’re almost to the trenches.” A ripple of distant thunder claps washed over them, the source of the sound far to the west. Eisen continued walking.
    “You’re more worried about an airplane than that French artillery?” Manfred said.
    “Those are French one-oh-five mortars, they can’t range us from here,” he said.
    A gust of wind stole the sound of the distant artillery, and brought with it a smell of rot. The smell reminded Manfred of a wolf-ravaged deer carcass he’d come across while hunting years ago. The deer was tucked beneath a patch of bush, maggots writhing in the flesh.
    “Good god, what is that smell?” Manfred asked.
    “Bodies in no-man’s-land. We’ll have a truce with the French every once in a while to get them, but then some new commander will show up on one side of the lines and put an end to that. Soon as the wind blows strong enough, the truce will come back.”
    Eisen looked to the sky again, and led Manfred into the trenches. “The aircraft are spotters for the artillery. Normally, the barrage is off the first few rounds. We have enough time to get into bunkers, and the guns might never find the right range.” Eisen’s voice shrank and seemed to come from a faraway place as he continued. “With a spotter, the rounds are dead-on almost from the start. I had to dig out two bunkers that took direct hits.” His hand went to the now empty pouch dangling from his belt.
    The trenches were deep enough that Manfred couldn’t see over the top and zigzagged every few yards to stop an invader from shooting straight down the entire length of the trench. The crooked line of trenches would contain the explosion of an artillery shell or hand grenade well enough that a soldier the next section over might survive the blast. Manfred appreciated that Vauban forts, one of the many topics that hadn’t held his interest at the academy, were resurrected for twentieth-century warfare.
    Manfred kept within arm’s distance of Eisen, who navigated the maze of trenches, machine gun nests, and dugouts with ease. Soldiers they passed gave quick nods of respect to Eisen and curious glances to Manfred.
    “What can be done about the spotters?” Manfred asked. A dark spot in the amber sky caught Manfred’s attention.
    “Not much we can do down here. There are a few pilots who can—”
    “What do the spotter planes look like? Is that one?” Manfred pointed to the spot, which had changed into an oblong shape.
    Eisen’s answer was a string of expletives. The lieutenant started running.
    Manfred, caught flat-footed, took off in pursuit. Soldiers across the trench line shouted warnings and ducked into their dugouts. Eisen moved with surprising quickness for such a large man. Manfred managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of him disappearing around a trench wall as the first shell landed.
    His only warning was a sibilant