Bunker 10

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The Christmas tree was taller than a military cadet and just as green. It had been decorated with old fashioned wooden ornaments, wrapped in thick tinsel strands and dotted with real candles in silver holders.

Seven teenagers sat on the dormitory floor in a ring, ignoring the thin line of smoke seeping under the door. Simon and May-Rose pulled crackers. Barn, Cruikshank and Diddy Dave swapped presents. Leslie and Jimmy Hicks had their arms round each other, paper hats upon their heads, pretending to be the King and Queen of Christmas.

“We’ve run out of Coca-Cola.” Barn thumped his chest. “I need more if I’m going to do the biggest burp in world history. And I totally am,” he added proudly.

“You’re gonnae throw up, ya big balloon.” Diddy Dave draped a clump of discarded ribbons over his friend’s head.

“I’ll get the drinks.” Simon pulled himself up, went to the door and opened it.

The corridor outside was filled with oily smoke, thickest where it rolled across the ceiling in black folds, a churning, suffocating beast. Two dead soldiers in British army uniform lay on the ground, staring sightlessly at each other. Simon put a handkerchief over his mouth, stepped over the bloody corpses and went to the canteen. He fetched a bottle of Coke from one of the tall grey fridges and returned to the party. Shutting the door behind him, he handed the bottle to Barn who took a huge swig and grinned at the others.

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