The '44 Vintage

[David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

morning . . . Willy, this is David Audley, my best French-speaker— and the best-educated officer in the regiment, come to that, I shouldn't wonder, so take good care of him.'

Audley saluted again, and then accepted the major's hand.

'We have met, actually,' said the major. 'But we didn't get round to introductions.'

Colonel Sykes looked at his subaltern inquiringly.

Audley's blackened left cheek could betray nothing, but there was a suggestion of colour in the undamaged right one. 'I'm afraid I nearly b-b-brained the m-major with m-my'—Audley paused as he had done before, as though he could see the words ahead like tests in an obstacle course and was gathering his strength to meet them—'my—my rugby ball.'

'I see.' Colonel Sykes smiled. 'David has a mighty right foot, Willy. He never missed a penalty and the regiment carried all before it back in England—didn't it, David?'

Audley's good cheek twitched. 'I'm a bit... a b-bit out of practice now.' He eyed the major searchingly.

'D'you want me to t-travel light, sir?'

Presumably people with their own twenty-seven-ton transport travelled with more worldly goods than the poor bloody infantry, thought Butler enviously. Then the memory of the blackened Cromwells reasserted itself, and the envy evaporated.

'As light as you reasonably can, David,' said the major. 'Ten days, we're reckoning on. Possibly less.

But we'll be travelling by jeep all the way.'

All the way. Butler packed the words away with the other information he had in store. But all the way where?

'Five minutes, and I'll be ready, sir,' said Audley.

'Right. We'll meet you on the road, at the end of the bridge, then.' The major nodded.

For a few seconds they watched the apparition stride away, then the major turned to the colonel. 'I'm afraid I'm weakening your all-conquering rugby team too,' he said, the regiment's disbandment apparently forgotten.

The colonel was still watching the departing figure. 'No, not weakening it, Willy—finishing it off,' he said softly. 'Young David is the sole survivor, as it happens.'

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

'Hmm ... he looks a bit shaky to me.'

The colonel turned towards the major. 'He's all right.'

'For a holiday jaunt, you mean?'

'I mean ... all right for duty.' Colonel Sykes's voice had hardened. 'I told you I'd given you a good one, and I have. But he's been unhorsed three times in a fortnight, and the last time he was blown clean out of his tank by a Tiger.'

'He's lucky then.' The major's voice was harder too.

'Luckier than the rest of his crew—yes.' The colonel paused. 'But if he reckons he's on borrowed time it isn't surprising. So what I'm relying on you for, Willy, is to borrow him another fortnight with this special operation of yours while I pull a string or two to get him where he can do the job he's best fitted for, with his brains.'

'Uh-huh? Which is some form of intelligence, I take it?' Suddenly the major's voice was soft as silk. 'In which cushy billet he can survive the war to help build a land fit for heroes?'

The silken covering didn't conceal the bitterness from Butler's ear. It might have been his father talking, in a different accent about a different war, but with the same meaning.

'Better him than superannuated cannon fodder like us, Willy.'

The major gave a short laugh. 'Speak for yourself, my dear chap.'

'Very well! Superannuated cannon fodder like me—and a bloodthirsty old bandit like you. We've been on borrowed time since '40. That's what I mean.'

'Hah! And I fully intend to stay on it—that's what I mean—' The major checked himself. 'But don't worry, Chris. I'll try to include your protege in my survival plans. In fact, if all goes well with our little jaunt, I shall be giving him the chance of winning his spurs in the field of intelligence, I shouldn't wonder.'

Butler closed his eyes for a moment and soared away on the wings of his own ambition. They had spoken, had argued and fenced with each other, as though he hadn't existed; as though he hadn't been standing there, three yards away from them, as patient as the ex-German army horse. And in the end he had almost forgotten that he existed himself.

Now he could feel the reality again. The field of intelligence had no particular attraction for him, the Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

only field for a soldier was the battlefield and the only part worth playing on it was the infantryman's—

that lesson from the general he had learnt, and that was the lesson in which he believed totally.

But if there were spurs a French-speaking second lieutenant could win in this operation there ought also to be spurs which a German-speaking corporal could win.

And if there were, then Jack Butler was going to win them.

4. How Major O'Conor set a history test

Butler knew exactly what was going to happen.