The '44 Vintage

Sergeant Purvis shook his head in exasperation. 'I didn't mean that at all, and you know it full well, you stupid Welsh git.' He turned towards Butler. “With the major running things we just don't get caught, that's what I mean, Jack. It was that bloody colonel—what's-'is-name—who started that bloody hare, because he doesn't know any better. Our Willy's always one bloody jump ahead of everyone—the bloody SS included, you take it from me, Jack. Otherwise we wouldn't be bloody here, and that's a fact.'

The chorus erupted again—

'Aye—'

'You're dead right there, Harry—'

'You silly sod, Taf—'

—reassuringly. Butler smiled foolishly, ashamed of his momentary cowardice. Every unit had its Taffy Jones. What he must remember was that every unit did not have its Major O'Conor.

'All right, all right, all right.' Taffy Jones acknowledged defeat. 'In any case, that's not what's really Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

important—not what's really interesting.'

He was changing the subject now the joke had gone sour on him, thought Butler. One beneficial effect of a glass or two of wine was that it sharpened the wits: he could see clear through the little Welshman

— and out the other side.

'What's so interesting?' he asked magnanimously.

'Ah—I can see you know, Jack,' said Jones, first pointing the empty bottle at Butler, then sweeping it round to include the other NCOs. 'But they don't—they haven't thought of it even!'

'And what's that then, Taf?' Someone caught the Welsh intonation, saving Butler from having to reveal that he was as much at sea as the rest of them.

'Why, man—His Majesty's extremely valuable property, of course.' Jones looked round triumphantly.

'What is it that we're going to ... repossess? That's what I'd like to know, eh.'

His Majesty's extremely valuable property . . . the Welshman was right at that—it was interesting. Butler found himself exchanging a glance in silence with Sergeant Purvis, and for a moment it was like gazing into a mirror revealing his own mystification.

Jones's eyes settled on him. 'Now you, Jack . . . you've been with our Willy all the afternoon. So it's wondering I am whether he maybe let slip a little something, eh?'

Butler scratched his head. “Well, Corporal—'

“Taffy's the name, Jack boyo.'

'Taffy . . . well, all he said was we were going to take a castle from the Germans—' he began doubtfully.

'Ah—from the Germans. So we are going to fight them!'

'Not necessarily,' said Sergeant Purvis. 'Could be that they're going to move out and then we're going to move in—before the bloody frogs do, like.'

Jones gestured with the bottle. 'Now, you could be right there, Harry—that fits in with it nicely, that does. If we're not going to have anything to do with the Frenchies, that could mean we're more worried about them than about the Germans—and that also explains why we've to nip in quick-like, before they can do the same.' He nodded at the sergeant. 'Ye-ess, Harry boyo—that would account for it.'

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

Butler frowned. 'Does that mean we may have to fight them?'

'Won't be the first time if we do, Jack.' Jones looked at him seriously. “Terrible funny lot, the Frenchies are— proud, like.'

'But . . . we're on the same side.'

'Oh yes—we're on the same side. But they're not on our side, see. They're only on their side.'

'Like Wales, Taf,' said one of the NCOs. 'You're not fighting for the ruddy English, are you?'

'I am not,' Jones said with a flash of anger. Then he smiled. 'Except that somehow you've got the whole bloody world fighting for you. . . . But I'm right about the frogs. They don't love us, and that's the truth.

Not since we sank those ships of theirs after Dunkirk—in North Africa somewhere.' He nodded, turned the nod into a shrug, and then turned quickly towards Butler. 'And that was all he said, our Willy, Jack?'

'Aye.' Butler concentrated on the valuable property problem. 'Couldn't be a secret weapon of some sort, could it?'

The sergeant pursed his lips for a moment, but finally shook his head. 'No, I shouldn't think it's that. Bit late in the day for secret weapons now . . . and . . . 'certain items of property' was what the man said.

That doesn't sound like a weapon to me.'

'Valuable,' he said too,' said Jones. ' Extremely valuable.'

'Sounds like money to me,' said the man who had ribbed Jones.

'Or gold and jewels,' said a tall, hatchet-faced man. 'Like the crown jewels, maybe. Or old pictures, like they have in the museums—and that sort of stuff. Some of it's worth a fortune—it must be, because they have burglar alarms and people watching over it all the time.'

'Now that's what I call good thinking, Vic.' Taffy Jones produced another uncorked bottle from somewhere and filled everyone's glass. 'Because that's the way I was thinking. See, there was