“They’re over there and we’re here. So then we go for un.”
Another half-hour passed. Captain Mayfield appeared. “For Christ’s sake, Smallwood, you ought to be halfway up the ridge by this time.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Smallwood. “Sorry. Come on. Forward.”
The platoon collected its equipment and toiled into action up the opposing slope. Major Bush, the second-in- command, appeared before them. They fired their blanks at him with enthusiasm. “Got him,” said the man next to Alastair.
“You’re coming under heavy fire,” said the Major. “Most of you are casualties.”
“He’s a casualty himself.”
“Well, what are you going to do, Smallwood?”
“Get down, sir.”
“Well get down.”
“Get down,” ordered Mr. Smallwood.
“What are you going to do now?”
Mr. Smallwood looked round desperately for inspiration. “Put down smoke, sir.”
“Well, put down smoke.”
“Put down smoke,” said Mr. Smallwood to Alastair.
The Major went on his way to confuse the platoon on their flank.
“Come on,” said Mr. Smallwood. “We’ve got to get up this infernal hill sometime. We might as well do it now.”
It was shorter than it looked; they were up in twenty minutes and at the summit there was a prolonged shambles. Bit by bit the whole battalion appeared from different quarters. C Company was collected and fallen in; then they were fallen out to eat their dinners. No one had any dinner left, so they lay on their backs and smoked.
Marching home the C.O. said, “Not so bad for a first attempt.”
“Not so bad, Colonel,” said Major Bush.
“Bit slow off the mark.”
“A bit sticky.”
“Smallwood didn’t do too well.”
“He was very slow off the mark.”
“Well, I think we learned some lessons. The men were interested. You could see that.”
It was dark by the time the battalion reached camp. They marched to attention passing the guardroom, split into companies, and halted on the company parade grounds.
“All rifles to be pulled through before supper,” said Captain Mayfield. “Platoon sergeants collect empties. Foot inspection by platoons.” Then he dismissed the company.
Alastair had time to slip away to the telephone box and summon Sonia before Mr. Mayfield came round the hut examining the feet with an electric torch. He pulled on a clean pair of socks, pushed his boots under his palliasse and put on a pair of shoes; then he was ready. Sonia was outside the guardroom, waiting for him in the car. “Darling, you smell very sweaty,” she said. “What have you been doing?”
“I put down smoke,” said Alastair proudly. “The whole advance was held up until I put down smoke.”
“Darling, you are clever. I’ve got a tinned beefsteak and kidney pudding for dinner.”
After dinner Alastair settled in a chair. “Don’t let me go to sleep,” he said. “I must be in by midnight.”
“I?ll wake you.”
“I wonder if a real battle is much like that,” said Alastair just before he dropped off.
Peter Pastmaster’s expedition never sailed. He resumed his former uniform and his former habits. His regiment was in barracks in London; his mother was still at the Ritz; most of his friends were still to be found round the bar at Bratt’s. With time on his hands and the prospect of action, for a few days imminent, now postponed, but always present as the basis of any future plans, Peter began to suffer from pangs of dynastic conscience. He was thirty-three years old. He might pop off any day. “Mama,” he said, “d’you think I ought to marry?”
“Who?”
“Anyone.”
“I don’t see that you can say anyone ought to marry anyone.”
“Darling, don’t confuse me. What I mean is supposing I get killed.”
“I don’t see a great deal in it for the poor girl,” said Margot.
“I mean I should like to have a son.”
“Well then you had better marry, darling. D’you know any girls?”
“I don’t think I do.”
“I don’t think I do either, come to think of it. I believe Emma Granchester’s second girl is very pretty ? try her. There are probably lots of others. I’ll make enquiries.”
