The Eyes of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

side of the tunnel. Smithy’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped towards it. He slowed his pace. Careful and quiet, he crept closer and closer. He swung into the doorway. His bayonet blade blinking bright, yellow lamp light reflecting off it.
    Inside, a man was slumped over a table. He did not move at the sound of Smithy’s entrance. He was face down on the table, a tin plate covered in browning food beside him. The lamp casting the light hung from a wrought iron brace, set overhead in the ceiling. The chamber was a small cell and contained two dirty beds with straw mattresses, yellowed maps of the local area were hanging on the walls. Smithy recognised the dull grey of Jerry uniforms. There was one of their spiked helmets resting on the table too.
    Smithy advanced on the prone man. No movement still. He noticed an empty bottle of wine beside the outstretched hand of the slumped figure.
    Evil bugger’s blind drunk, he thought.
    “Been toasting the Kaiser one too many times, eh?”
    Smithy went up to the man. He took hold of a shoulder and pulled him upright. The head rocked back with a crackle of stiffened cartilage. He looked straight into a face with no eyes. White maggots were squirming in the rims of the empty sockets, disturbed by the sudden light cast upon them. Dried blood was crusted into the hollow of the corpse’s throat. The throat itself was torn open, little more than a ragged hole. The head lolled to one side as Smithy let it go. The tattered sallow remains of a tongue hung from the lipless mouth. He cupped a hand over his mouth, screwing his eyes up, he swallowed hard. Who or what the hell could’ve done such a thing to a man?
    It was like nothing he had ever seen. No story about the Hun that he had heard. He could feel himself shaking violently. He backed away, thinking of running, running away very fast from the horror. The corpse was laughing at him. The light from the lamp overhead stretching and twisting the desiccated shadows of its face. Mocking the man who thought he could escape Death by hiding down here. Here was Death, before him. Death was not waiting for him above ground. It was here. This was its true home. Under the earth with the rats and the maggots.
    Smithy caught his breath. No, that was all nonsense. The lateness of the hour was just stirring up his imagination. There was nothing to fear here. Everything was alright.
    The flickering light glanced off something bright on the table. Smithy reached across and picked it up. It was a glossy sepia photograph. A little girl sitting on her mother’s knee. Both of them were smiling and calm. They were wearing very fancy dresses. Their hair was exquisitely curled. The kind of wife and daughter an officer would have, thought Smithy. Their unseeing eyes stared out from the photograph at a scene that they could never ever imagine. Smithy tucked the photograph into the front pocket of the dead man’s tunic, “There you go, mate, close by your heart where they should be. I’m not one to steal from the dead, even if you are a Jerry. I just hope they never find out you died here, like this.”
    Despite himself, Smithy reached out and squeezed one of the emaciated hands. It did no good, he knew that, but it made him feel better. Smithy looked up at the glowing lamp.
    “Now, who’s been keeping you alight then, eh?”
    Something ancient rustled behind him and drew breath.

Chapter Eight
    “He’s been gone too long. Go and look for him.”
    Wilson looked up as Brookes spoke.
    Well, spoke wasn’t the right word. It was more of a rasping, coming from lungs that were ready to give up. Brookes was forcing them to work, “Go and look for Smithy. I’m not going to last until dawn. I don’t want to die here but I don’t want you both dying too. You both tried to get me out alive. You did your best by me. Go find him,” Brookes was sweating as he talked. Wilson could see the shivers running through him, “I’ll be all right here. Leave me