The '44 Vintage

'Ye-ess ... a downy bird . . . Because even if there weren't any Germans at the Loire crossing when we came over they'll be wondering what the hell happened there by now, with that limejuice strike. So now he's given them the answer—which was us blundering into Sermigny.' Audley paused, staring up at the blue sky above them and listening to the stillness for a moment. 'And now ... if he's the downy bird I take him to be ... he'll ram the answer home with another drop of limejuice.'

They all listened, but there was only an empty silence. 'What d'you think, Sergeant?' said Audley finally.

'Lieutenant'—Winston gave the silence another five seconds—'I think the sooner we crawl our asses out of here the better.'

They crawled again.

But this time they crawled more steadily, and without the hampering Sten, Butler was able to fall into the rhythm of it, timing the movement of his left hand to his right knee, and that of his right hand to his left knee until they became automatic.

Ahead of him the American sergeant moved just rhythmically down the narrow avenue of vines, with their clusters of small green grapes and odd-shaped leaves. He had never imagined grapes growing on small bushes like these, but rather on high trellises like in the Kentish hop fields; nor did the grapes look anything like as juicy as the ones he remembered from Christmas before the war, when they had been one of the extra-special treats—though a treat not in the same class as the orange in the toe of his stocking.

More strange than the grapes were the American's boots, which were queer, high-laced things that reminded him of pictures of Edwardian ladies' boots; and they had no metal studs on their soles—that was why the American Army marched so unnaturally silently, of course—

The boots slid sideways suddenly.

'There's a wood just up ahead,' said Winston.

Audley crawled up alongside them, breathing heavily—that was the difference from being encumbered by the machine-carbine, which outweighed its lightness with its awkwardness, thought Butler charitably.

'Okay. Let's get into it,' said Audley.

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

'And then where?' asked Winston.

That was the question which had been looming in the back of Butler's mind all the time as he had crawled, beyond the immediate problem of surviving.

What were they going to do?

Audley looked up into the sky, as though gauging his position. 'Well ... so far as I can make out, we're southeast of the village— maybe south-southeast—which means this is the wood we came out of, probably.'

Winston squinted towards the sun. 'Yeah—could be.'

'Right ... so if we head due east through the wood we should hit that other road—the one they took?'

Audley looked at Winston questioningly.

Winston nodded slowly. 'Could be, yeah.'

'Then we head south.'

Butler looked from one to the other of them as they stared at each other.

'I get you,' said Winston. 'And then the first Frenchman you meet, you ask if your buddies have passed that way, huh?'

'That's right, Sergeant.'

The American smiled. 'You know, Lieutenant, I kind of thought you were going to say that—I really did.'

'You did?' said Audley stiffly. 'That was clever of you, Sergeant.'

'Sure. You're still the real Chandos Force. All two of you.'

Audley took a deep breath. 'I was . . . very much hoping it would be all three of us, Sergeant. I was hoping that very much.' He took another breath. 'We could use some help.'

The sergeant chewed his lip. 'Yeah, I can see that.' He looked at Butler. 'What d'you think, Corporal?'

Butler's mouth opened. 'Who—me?'

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

Winston gazed at him for a second, shook his head, and then turned back to Audley.

'Okay, Lieutenant,' he said. 'Let's get the real Chandos Force on the road.'

12. How they met strangers in the forest

The drawback of the wood was that it was impossible to move quietly in it.

Once they had put the first belt of trees and bushes between themselves and the vineyard they were able to walk free and upright, and that was a marvellous relief. But the ground was thick with twigs and small fallen branches which crunched and crackled and snapped underfoot until Butler felt that the whole German Army, or at least that part of it which was south of the Loire and hadn't yet heard that the war was almost over, must hear them.

That was a childish imagining, he knew, but it also seemed to affect the others, because they both trod as delicately as they could, and indicated to him that he should do the same. The problem was that it was difficult to keep his eyes on his feet and at the same time avoid the foliage that brushed against his face, something that would normally not have worried him at all but which now became extremely painful.

Try as he would, he could not stop the branches whipping the wounds on the side of his head and his ear: they seemed malevolently determined to draw blood again, so that finally he found himself stumbling along with one hand clamped over the injuries and the other stretched out ahead of him like that of a blind man feeling his way in