Also he'd never expected to go into battle discussing medieval swear words, thought Butler with a touch of hysteria. Nothing was as he had imagined it.
The river!
It looked grey and placid, almost oily, what he could see of it, with the shapes on the far side still mist- shrouded. Moored broadside about ten yards out in it was a curious contraption which looked like a pair of small pontoons lashed together and covered with steel strips that reminded him of his old Meccano set back home. More ingenious American improvisation, obviously.
'Come on, Audley,' called an English voice out of the small group of men standing on the contraption.
Another of the soft-capped Americans appeared alongside them, a stocky man with an armful of NCO's chevrons.
'Okay, let's go—follow the tracks, Lieutenant—just keep to the tracks,' said the American quietly.
Audley guided the jeep down towards the water's edge. Suddenly there was a metallic sound beneath them and the vehicle was running as smoothly as on a proper road: the Americans must have laid more of that Meccano under the sand here, right down to the river, where the going would be treacherous . . .
and into it too, by God! thought Butler as the jeep moved just as smoothly through the water.
'That's great'—the American was wading beside them—'now there's a ramp just ahead—you're doing fine.'
The jeep lifted miraculously in the water, and then up onto the pontoon, fetching up against chocks on the far side with a bump.
'Chocks under—okay, take her away!' The stocky NCO grinned at Butler as he pulled himself aboard.
'No sweat, eh?'
The man's quiet confidence and efficiency was infectious: Butler found himself grinning back.
'No sweat,' he said.
Two Americans with wooden poles were pushing the makeshift ferry out into the river. Behind them an outboard motor buzzed into life like an angry bee.
'We just go downstream a piece,' said the American. 'Then you're on your own, soldier.'
Butler stared around him. Obviously they weren't crossing by the shortest route, but that was hardly Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
surprising since the best—or the safest—landing point need not coincide with the perfect cover provided by the dry channel behind the island. Behind him the far end of the island was already indistinct, and he was relieved to see it go. He was still in the middle of a nightmare, but nothing worse could happen in it than had already happened back there. Half his mind was already struggling to erase Corporal Jones from the other half before the reality became indelible.
But it had happened. He stared down at the purple stain on his hand again, wanting it not to be there.
It had happened: he had heard the major—
'I'm not going to ask you what the hell you were doing back there, Audley,' said Colonel Clinton. 'But just don't do it again.'
Butler looked across the jeep.
'No, sir,' said Audley.
Butler stared for a moment at Colonel Clinton, then stared around wildly. The trees on the far side of the river were more distinct now, they were drifting diagonally towards them down the river. Away ahead the bank curved in a great arc as it bent northwards—
The hair on his neck seemed to be moving. All three of them. The sooner the better. All three of them—
Butler seized the Bren gun and slammed back the cocking handle.
'What the hell—?' said Colonel Clinton.
Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
'Christ—a mortar!' exclaimed Audley. 'Christ—'
As Butler fought to lift the Bren to bear on the riverbank downstream the water ahead of them burst into spray and there was a sharp, cloth-tearing burst of noise. The American alongside Butler was slammed into the side of the jeep and then bounced off outwards into the river. The sound of an explosion echoed out of the mist behind them, then another—
The cloth-tearing noise chattered out again, cutting through the sound of the engines above them. The American steering the outboard motor was plucked off the back of the pontoon—one minute he was there in front of Butler's eyes, then he was gone. The craft slewed round stern away from the current, out of control, but the movement brought the Bren to bear on the bank ahead.
Butler loosed off a long burst, then another, hosing down the undergrowth. Something clanged loudly in his ear.
'Get the tiller!' shouted Audley. 'We're drifting towards them!'
Butler fired again—the longest burst he had ever fired from a Bren. The water exploded again, three feet to his
