TALES FROM THE TRENCHES

War is such a bloody deal.

George took a sip of his brandy as he leaned back in his chair. Why is this war a bloody family deal as well? 

He wondered where his cousin Wilhelm was now. Did he visit his German troops on the Front, as George was en route to do himself? Or was he watching from a far distance in a lofty tower?

George swirled his brandy, watching as it clung to the sides of the glass. 

Wilhelm had always been such an addle pate. He scrabbled with the other cousins to establish himself in their hierarchy.  But he always came out of the encounter looking like a fool. 

Nicky on the other hand…

He couldn’t help but smile as his favorite cousin Nicolas pushed Wilhelm to the side of his mind. Things were getting a little unsettled in Russia, but it wasn’t anything Nicky couldn’t handle. 

He would appreciate this brandy, George thought as he examined the rest of his drink. The liquid jumped up the side of the glass as a horn blasted through his reverie. He glanced up.

France was drawing closer through the porthole. George could make out the individual buildings now as the ship drew closer to the dock at Port Boulogne.  A deep sigh escaped his chest. He hoped he was ready. 

George set his now empty glass on the small round table beside his velvet chair as a knock came at the door. One of his aids pushed it open a quarter of an inch. 

“Sir, we need to go over the disembarking procedure.”

He cleared his throat as he straightened the metals on the front of his coat. 

“Of course, Martin. We’ve still kept my trip from the press?”

“Yes, Sir. We aren’t expecting any crowds once we arrive.” 

George nodded to himself as he gazed out the porthole. What kind of a surprise visit would it be if the world knew? And he didn’t want to allow Wilhelm to strike at him out in the open. 

He stood, straightening his shoulders. 

“I’m ready, Martin.”

～ ♚ ～

George didn’t expect the fatigue that gripped his heart once they left the quayside in the royal cars. As he gazed out of the window, the world seemed to bear down on him as war-torn France passed by. 

“What’s queued up for tomorrow?” He tried to hide the exhaustion from his voice. 

“Lunch and a visit to the observation post with Edward,” replied Martin, who was looking over his notes. 

George perked up at the idea of seeing Edward. His son had spent much time at the Front on George’s behalf. It would be good to see him. 

He reminded himself to keep the conversation away from Edward’s personal life. This wasn’t the time for such trivial matters. George was painfully aware of his son’s affairs with married women in Paris. But he would have enough weighing on him without a conversation with Ed about settling down. 

That argument always ended the same.

Children are a wonder, George mused. One minute they hang on your every word, the next they dare to strike out with their own opinions. 

He scratched his ear absently as he watched France fly by his window. He knew he’d done as best by Edward as he could. The rest was in God’s hands now. 

～ ♚ ～

George barely tasted his quail at lunch the following day. He was too busy taking Edward in, who talked in earnest about all he had seen at the Front. His oldest son had grown to be a very handsome lad, with an easy smile and animated hands. Energy and excitement poured from him as he spoke. 

“You won’t believe the brutality of the Germans, father.” Ed’s fingers almost knocked over a pot of jam as he gestured towards the Front in the distance. “They have no mercy. France makes sure to stay ahead of them with evacuations if they advance. Not even the children are safe from those barbarians.”

George nodded absently, examining his son’s demeanor. He hoped Edward was growing the right type of character during his time at the Front. The excitement he wore like a cloak worried George. 

“Let’s see it then,” George said, gesturing towards the Front out the window as his son had. Ed’s head bobbed as he popped up from his chair. 

“Of course, Father. We’ll be going to an outpost overlooking a couple of neighborhoods and up Vimy Ridge.” He picked up his wine glass from the table with light fingertips and emptied it of the last of the local vintage. “You’ll be getting the finest sample of battle a monarch could hope for.”

～ ♚ ～

The visit to Vimy Ridge struck George deep. Most of the fighting had moved on, but German shells still burst in the distance. 

As they watched, George felt guilt settle upon him. A pull to do more. This wasn’t good enough. Gazing from a distance as if they were attending an opera was insulting to the men. 

He needed to see what they were seeing. Feel what they felt.  

“Ed? What would you think about doing something reckless for the men?” George asked his son, cutting him off mid-sentence of some explanation. Edward’s grin brightened the room.

“I thought you would never ask, Father.”

～ ♚ ～

The following morning greeted George, Edward, and their entourage with a soft mist. They left their cars behind as they hiked to the battlefield on foot. 

“Sir, I would advise against this,” Martin pleaded as he stumbled after George through the mud. Sounds of the battle drifted to them from not far off. The aide kept glancing nervously in their direction.

“A good king doesn't ask something of his men he wouldn't do himself” stated George firmly. The group of officers following behind muttered to each other, nodding in agreement.

George squinted through the fog that blanketed the battlefield. He could just make out the trail hundreds of good Englishmen had marched. He paused at the top of the hill, careful to not snag his legs on the barbed wire that ringed the land like a crown.

The echo of warfare was louder up here. He could see muzzle flashes in the distance, and dirt flying into the air from falling mortars.  Broken sandbags littered the ground below, punctuating the craters left by shells. 

George stepped over the wire and headed down into the trench at the base of the hill. 

A horrible smell lingered in the air of the trench as George’s boots slapped against the mud lining the bottom. He walked slowly, taking in the pain and anguish that seeped out of the muddy walls. 

Men had fought for their lives here. They created a human shield to defend England here. 

George blinked hard as his eyes watered. Must be what’s left of some sort of gas, he thought. 

He looked over his shoulder. Several of the officers looked grimly back at him. Edward was gazing up at the sky as German planes passed overhead. 

George gestured to the parapet up the side of the trench. 

“Time to go up and over,” he said. 

“Sir, it’s not so simple to climb a parapet,” one of the officers warned from the back of the group. He pushed forward as if to help. 

“Here, Father,” Edward held out a hand to boost him up. George waved them both away. 

The mud clinging to the stones of the parapet did prove a small challenge. But George had climbed worse in his youth. As his head cleared the edge of the trench, he paused. 

There, a few feet away from his face, the top of a wooden cross peeked out of a shell crater. 

George pulled himself completely up onto the level ground, the others following. He straightened up and dusted off his trousers, his eyes never leaving the cross. 

The men one by one joined George at the edge of the crater, gazing down at the little mound inside. 

Such a sorrow George had never felt before passed over his heart. So many souls had lost themselves to his field of death. He silently saluted the grave. After a moment, he let his hand drop to his side.

“A gallant fellow lies here,” he said solemnly. “It is a pity he has not been identified.”

A shout caused him to glance up. 

A group of British soldiers stood on the other side of the crater, exposed by a shift in the mist. Their faces were masks of shock. 

“Now I know I’m seeing things, lads,” one boy said loudly with a chuckle. The one beside him sent an elbow into his ribs and saluted in George’s direction. George saluted back in response. 

“What is your name, soldier?” asked George to the saluting boy. He almost fell over in astonishment. 

“Gale, sir. Gale Arlington Jr, sir”

“It is a brave thing you’re doing, Arlington. You men honor us all in the fight. Don’t you forget that.” 

Gale nodded hard in response. 

“I won’t, sir.” 

George gave him a tense smile and turned to go. Edward and his entourage followed him, leaving the dumbstruck soldiers behind. 

～ ♚ ～

The nameless grave and the face of the saluting soldier followed George back to England. He thought of them both often when the pressure of war threatened to overwhelm him. 

They were fighting for him. And he vowed as their king to fight for them every minute.