The '44 Vintage

major might have given him about admitting strangers.

The same disquieting thoughts had evidently passed through Audley's head. 'Watch him when he comes out, for God's sake,' he hissed urgently out of the corner of his mouth, shuffling up to Butler's shoulder.

If he comes out, thought Butler, adjusting the angle of the Sten to the observation slit in the pillbox.

From the moment the snout of the man's machine pistol showed in that gap he'd have maybe a tenth of a second if he was lucky. And no time at all if he wasn't.

'Let me go—' Audley cut off the sentence abruptly at the first glimpse of movement in the entrance to the pillbox.

Butler felt his chest swell with indrawn breath; then he saw the soldier hold up a loop of wire, jingling the key and grinning foolishly as he did so.

'Got it, Corporal,' he called out happily.

'I can see that,' snapped Butler ungraciously. 'Get stuck into it, then—I can't stand here all bloody day.'

As the man fumbled awkwardly, one-handed, to insert the key info the lock, Audley moved up to the small gate.

Let me go first— the movement answered the question which had been boiling up inside Butler. So Audley had plans for what he was going to do once he was inside, and it was his plain duty to attract the guard's attention to give those plans their best chance.

The chain rattled loose, freed from the padlock.

'Watch it, Fritz!' Butler barked warningly to Hauptmann Grafenberg.

The German hadn't in fact moved a muscle since reaching his assigned position: he had done his job simply by being there and being so obviously the genuine article. But now he stiffened automatically at Butler's meaningless command, taking the soldier's attention from the smaller gate at precisely the Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

moment when Audley shuffled forwards towards it.

'Keep those arms up—high!' Butler reinforced the warning as Audley turned his unencumbered shoulder to push open the gate, an action which also very sensibly turned his face away from the man on the other side.

'Right, Fritz— jildi, you bugger,' Butler addressed the German again just as Audley went through the gate. He didn't know what jildi meant, but it was his old CSM's standard word for rousing sluggards to their duty and it came to his tongue naturally.

Hauptmann Grafenberg didn't understand it either, but he swayed uncertainly at the sound of it, and the movement was just enough to distract the soldier's eye from Audley as the subaltern began to lower Dr.

de Courcy's body to the ground two yards inside the gate and slightly behind him. Given the choice of watching either a comrade with a wounded civilian or a German prisoner he was instinctively drawn to the known enemy.

'Here, you!' said Audley.

'What—?'

The soldier had no time for a second word before Audley leapt at him. Butler had a blurred impression of the subaltern's large fist coming up from ground level and overtaking his body to connect with the man's jaw with his full weight behind it: it was as though Audley had packed into one blow every ounce of the accumulated anger and frustration he felt at being cannon fodder.

The soldier's legs shot from under him and his body cannoned off the fist into the gates with a force that shook them and made Butler himself wince. The padlock and the machine pistol flew off in different directions, clattering against the wrought ironwork; the man himself bounced off the gates to receive Audley's other fist in the guts.

Butler levelled the Sten through the bars at the two men as they rolled on the ground, but he knew it was no longer necessary: not even Joe Louis could have taken a punch like that and still come up fighting.

The struggle ended before it started, with Audley astride a body which had obviously been unconscious even before he had grappled with it, but which he still hammered at unmercifully.

'Stop it, for Christ's sake—he's finished, can't you see!' Butler cried out. 'Stop it!'

Audley checked his raised fist, and sat motionless for a moment as the dust settled around him, his chest and shoulders heaving. 'Let him be, sir,' said Butler.

Audley lowered his fist slowly—there was blood on it, and he stared at the blood uncomprehendingly.

Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

Butler could hear footsteps behind him. Beyond the gates Dr. de Courcy was on his knees, staring at Audley. Then he got up and put his hand on the subaltern's shoulder.

'That was one hell of a Sunday punch,' said Winston. 'Better him than me!'

Audley stood up quickly. He shook his head, and then stared around him. 'Yes,' he said huskily to no one in particular.

'We got to get moving, Lieutenant,' said Winston.

'Yes—right—' Audley started to wipe his face with his bloodstained hand, and then stopped abruptly.

He looked at Butler, then at Winston. 'Get... his gun, Sergeant. Take off his battle-dress blouse and put it on'—he pointed down at the body without looking at it—'and give the rifle to Dr. de Courcy . . . don't bother about the trousers, no one'll notice—and they're all wearing different bits of uniform, anyway.'

His cheek twitched nervously under its minstrel disguise, but Butler no longer felt like laughing at him.

'The blouse'll be enough—and the beret.'