A dugout in the British trenches before St Quentin.

A few rough steps lead into the trench above, through a low doorway. A table occupies a good space of the dugout floor. A wooden frame, covered with wire netting, stands against the left wall and serves the double purpose of a bed and a seat for the table. A wooden bench against the back wall makes another seat, and two boxes serve for the other sides. Another wire-covered bed is fixed in the right corner beyond the doorway.

Gloomy tunnels lead out of the dugout to the left and right. Aside from the table, beds, and seats, there is no furniture save for the bottles holding the candles, and a few tattered magazine pictures pinned to the wall of girls in flimsy costumes.

The earth walls deaden the sounds of war, making them faint and far away, although the front line is only fifty yards ahead. The flames of the candles that burn day and night are steady in the still, damp air…

Captain Stanhope sits at the table, writing on a scrappy, dirt-bordered piece of paper as he sips whisky from a mug. He seems, as usual, tired and irritable, the dark bags under his eyes prominent.

His second-in-command, Osborne, also sits at the table, reading a recently-delivered letting from his missus.

Mason, soldier servant and cook, is in the kitchen, writing down inventory.

The others aren’t anywhere to be seen, possibly on duty or somewhere else up in the trenches…