War Horse by Michael Morpurgo Page A

True, one of them has worked horses on a farm before the war; but to tell you the truth, Herr Hauptmann, I have no one who could manage these two – no one that is except you. You are due to go to Base Hospital on the next convoy ofambulances, but they won’t be here before this evening. I know it’s a lot to ask of a wounded man, but you can see how desperate I am. The farmer down below has several carts, and I should imagine all the harness you would need. What do you say, Herr Hauptmann? Can you help me?’
    The bandaged officer limped back towards us and stroked our noses tenderly. Then he smiled and nodded. ‘Very well. It’s a sacrilege, Doctor, a sacrilege,’ he said. ‘But if it’s got to be done, then I’d rather do it myself and see it is done properly.’
    So that same afternoon after our capture, Topthorn and I were hitched up side by side to an old hay cart and with the officer directing two orderlies, we were driven up through the woods back towards the thunder of the gunfire and the wounded that awaited us. Topthorn was all the time in a great state of alarm for it was clear he had never pulled before in his life; and at last I was able in my turn to help him, to lead, to compensate and to reassure him. The officer led us at first, limping along beside me with his stick, but he was soon confident enough to mount the cart with the two orderlies and take the reins. ‘You’ve done a bit of this before, my friend,’ he said. ‘I can tell that. I alwaysknew the British were mad. Now I know that they use horses such as you as cart-horses, I am quite sure of it. That’s what this war is all about, my friend. It’s about which of us is the madder. And clearly you British started with an advantage. You were mad beforehand.’
    All that afternoon and evening while the battle raged we trudged up to the lines, loaded up with the stretcher cases and brought them back to the Field Hospital. It was several miles each way over roads and tracks filled with shell holes and littered with the corpses of mules and men. The artillery barrage from both sides was continuous. It roared overhead all day as the armies hurled their men at each other across no man’s land, and the wounded that could walk poured back along the roads. I had seen the same grey faces looking out from under their helmets somewhere before. All that was different were the uniforms – they were grey now with red piping, and the helmets were no longer round with a broad brim.
    It was almost night before the tall officer left us, waving goodbye to us and to the doctor from the back of the ambulance as it bumped its way across the field and out of sight. The doctor turned to the orderlies who had been with us all day. ‘See to it that they are wellcared for, those two,’ he said. ‘They saved good lives today, those two – good German lives and good English lives. They deserve the best of care. See to it that they have it.’
    For the first time that night since we came to the war, Topthorn and I had the luxury of a stable. The shed in the farm that lay across the fields from the hospital was emptied of pigs and poultry and we were led in to find a rack brimming full with sweet hay and buckets of soothing, cold water.
    That night after we had finished our hay, Topthorn and I were lying down together at the back of the shed. I was half awake and could think only of my aching muscles and sore feet. Suddenly the door creaked open and the stable filled with a flickering orange light. Behind the light there were footsteps. We looked up and I was seized at that moment with a kind of panic. For a fleeting moment I imagined myself back at home in the stable with old Zoey. The dancing light triggered off an alarm in me, reminding me at once of Albert’s father. I was on my feet in an instant and backing away from the light with Topthorn beside me, protecting me. However, when the voice spoke it was not the rasping, drunken voice of Albert’s father, but