Search for the Sunlight

Back at the plantation, Herbert was struggling to stay upright Under the weight of his bulging lapsack.

Aware of his brother’s plight, and with his roll as gunner in chief redundant for the time being, Harry cast his braces aside, leapt from his podium and ran headlong across the sand to help his brother carry the vital supply of fresh ammunition back to the gully.

Sherlock covered his eyes with his hands. He could hardly bare to look. It was one thing that Herbert had reached the plantation unscathed, but the odds of Harry being so fortunate were slim. With gritted teeth, the officer peeked out from behind his open fingers. At first everything appeared to be fine. Harry was moving fast and upright, but as he neared the plantation he stumbled and fell.

Struggling to his feet, he picked himself up and ran a few more paces then, he fell again. One minute he was up, the next he was down. Up, down, up, down and so it continued until, beside himself with fear and exhaustion, he collapsed in a heap on the soft sand.

“I think he’s taken leave of his senses!” Sherlock exclaimed, turning away from the ugly scene, in despair.

“ More like he’s taken leave of his trousers,” Basil replied. “In the heat of the moment, he forgot to take these,” he added, holding Harry’s over-stretched and tattered vine braces in the air. Together they laughed forgetting, for just a moment, the desperate predicament they were in.