Spit the Dog looked down at Bob Carolgee’s battered body.
“HHHHOIIIIK-PTTTTT!” he spat.
The guns, the endless German guns, fired their reply.
Why? Why did Bob Carolgees off of Tiswas have to die?
What had he done? Apart from having a rubbish moustache?
“Hold on boys, they’re coming over the top!” Tommy Atkins huzzahed.
The Huns advanced on our guns, Spit took up his position.
“HHHHOIIIIIK-PTTTTTT!” he spat, turning the gatling gun’s handle.
“Give ‘em both barrels, Spit!” Atkins cried!
The Huns lay down like wheat in a field – No Man’s Land awash with intestines.
“That showed ‘em!” Tommy Atkins huzzahed, but then he saw.
Spit lay dying – another casualty of war.
“Oh, Spit,” Tommy wept, “You’ll never see England again.”
Spit looked up at his comrade’s face, and then spat in it.
“HHHHHOIIIK-PTTTTTT!” he went.
Then he kicked the bucket.
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