Loyal Creatures by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online Page B

out of a shaft when the charge blew. That was bad, but nothing like this.
    Me and Daisy were covered with blood and God knows what else.
    Oh Jeez, I thought. What have I done? What if some of this is hers?
    I made myself think clearly. Daisy was still on her feet, so she couldn’t be hurt too bad.
    I got her out of there.
    It was chaos. Some of our blokes from other sections had lost their horses. On the way out I saw a bloke stumbling around in the smoke, uniform half blown off. I didn’t slow down, just scooped the bloke up. Dad would have been proud. He taught me how to grab livestock on the run. I got bronze once in the chook-snatching at the picnic races.
    â€˜Hang on tight, mate,’ I said. ‘Daisy’ll get us back.’
    The bloke didn’t say anything. I glanced at him to see if he was wounded.
    He wasn’t wounded, he was a Turk.
    We looked at each other, me with my arm round him. My first Turk, and I didn’t have a spare hand to kill him.
    I gripped Daisy with my knees. Let go of the reins. Reached into the saddlebag and found the bayonet.
    Before I could use it, the smoke suddenly cleared and bang in front of us was barbed wire.
    Daisy stopped in her tracks.
    Me and the Turk went over her head.
    Crashed onto the sand inches from the wire. Breath knocked out of me, but I managed to roll on top of the Turk and get the bayonet up to his neck.
    He was gripping my wrist.
    I was stronger. And riled.
    â€˜This is for Dad, you murdering mongrel,’ I yelled at him.
    He wasn’t struggling or pleading or praying out loud. Just looking at me. And sort of wheezing.
    He was even older than Dad. And his expression. Sad and disappointed and bewildered all at the same time.
    Dad with the feather.
    I imagined this mongrel at Gallipoli. Squeezing the trigger as Dad came out of the trench. Punching bullet after bullet into Dad’s flailing body.
    I closed my eyes and gripped the bayonet harder and tried to force it into his neck. I screamed at him so loud I could hear myself over the exploding shells.
    But I couldn’t do it.

I thought about leaving the Turk there on the battlefield, but I didn’t.
    He was a prisoner.
    You didn’t abandon prisoners. Rules said you took them into custody. So that’s what I did.
    It’s what Dad would have done.
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ I said to Daisy as I tied the Turk’s hands. ‘He won’t hurt you.’
    She looked like she’d hurt him if she got the chance.
    I dragged him up onto her back and we rode off with my arm round his neck.
    After a bit we caught up with some Welsh infantry on the march. Judging by their sour mugs, they must have been ordered to retreat before they even got to the battle.
    I rode up to one of their officers.
    â€˜Prisoner in your care, sir,’ I said.
    The officer looked at me. Looked at the Turk. Wasn’t pleased to see either of us. But he ordered a couple of his blokes to take the Turk into custody.
    The Turk gave me a look as they took him away. A grateful look.
    I didn’t want to see it.
    After the officer had gone, some of the Welshies came over.
    â€˜Why didn’t you just neck him?’ said one.
    â€˜He was unarmed,’ I said.
    One of the other Welsh blokes pointed to the extra feed bags on Daisy.
    â€˜Nancy horse-holder,’ he muttered to his mates. ‘Lucky the horses need holding. Gives the cowards something to do.’
    Infantry, they were always whingers, miserable plods.
    I was tempted to sort that Taffy plod out. I didn’t. Blokes on the same side punching each other was dopey. I just dismounted and looked the Taff hard in the eyes.
    â€˜My name’s Francis Ballantyne,’ I said. ‘Come and see me after the war and we’ll chew it over then.’
    He glared at me. I didn’t blink. Or give any sign that might lead a pea-brain Taff to think I was lacking in the guts department.
    But somewhere inside me, tiny and trickling,