The '44 Vintage

soldier who had hurled the grenade at him in the alley.

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

Because that German had only been trying to kill the British soldier who had been trying to kill him.

Whereas Corporal Jones and the machine-gunner beside the Loire had been set on killing him— 944

Butler J, Jack Butler, little Jackie Butler-foim. And for no better reason than because the major preferred certainties to odds. Which made it not war, but plain murder— 'Hey, mac—'

Butler blinked, and found that he'd turned away from the road and was staring fixedly at the dead leaves six inches from his nose. 'Hey, mac—you okay?'

Sergeant Winston had crawled from his position behind the neighbouring tree right up beside him.

He stared at the American. 'It's Jack, not mac,' he said automatically, wondering as he did so why the sergeant should take him for a Scotsman.

'Jack then. Are you okay?'

Butler frowned again. 'Yes ... of course I'm okay. I was just thinking—I was wondering whether we're the cowboys or the Indians, that's all.'

'Wondering what?' Winston's face creased up in sudden bewilderment. 'I don't get you.'

Butler poked the leaves savagely with his finger, wishing he hadnt spoken. 'I don't get myself.'

'What d'you mean—cowboys and Indians?' Winston pressed him. 'You kidding me or something?'

'No ... I don't know.' Butler concentrated on the miniature trench he was digging in the leaves. For no reason he thought of the German who had been carrying the armful of loaves. 'I suppose ... I don't know ... it doesn't seem right, killing Germans like this—I didn't think I'd ever feel like this. I thought it'd be the easiest thing in the world.' He looked at Winston. 'I was looking forward to it.'

Winston appeared thunderstruck. 'You never killed a German before?'

No, just two Englishmen, thought Butler miserably. 'No,' he said.

'What about back in the village?'

Butler swallowed. 'I don't think I hit anybody.'

'Well—Jee-sus Christ!' Winston rocked on his heels. 'Jee-sus!' Then he started to chuckle. 'Jee-sus!'

Butler flushed angrily.

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

Winston shook his head helplessly for a moment. 'Man—Jack—don't get me wrong! I'm not laughing at you—I tell you, I never seen a German until today, except prisoners. Not even on Omaha . . . But you—I had you figured for a hard-nosed bastard, a real fire-eater.'

'Me?'

'Sure. Like—shoot first and to hell with the questions, and a bayonet in the guts if you haven't got a gun handy—' He stopped abruptly and stared hard at Butler. 'You're really not kidding me?'

A sound from the road drew Butler's attention momentarily. Audley and the Frenchman in the suit were crossing it just beyond the culvert, followed by a party of Resistance men.

He turned back to Winston. 'I wish I was.'

'Okay.' Winston nodded. 'Then you just think how much the krauts would be worrying about you if they were up here waiting. Because my guess is—not one hell of a lot.'

Butler was still struggling with the idea of himself as one of Major O'Conor's hardened veterans. 'I suppose you're right.'

'I know I'm right. They're the Indians, Jack—and the only good Injun is a dead one, you can take that from me.'

The memory of the major had concentrated Butler's mind. When he thought about it, it wasn't the Germans who had confused the issue—it was the major.

He nodded. 'I think it's just that if there's anyone I'd like to kill at this minute, it'd be Major O'Conor.'

'And that sonofabitch sergeant—now you're talking!' Winston jabbed a finger towards him. 'In fact, talking of cowboys and Indians, you ever seen a movie called Stagecoach?'

'No.'

'You should have—it's a great movie. Got Claire Trevor in it, and I really go for her in a big way . . .

but, see, there's this young cowboy on the stagecoach wants to get to town to kill the three men who gunned down his pa. And they get chased by Indians on the way— yeah, the young guy lost his horse, just like us, which is why he has to take the stage. And they're right down to their last bullet—'

'When the cavalry arrives.' Audley appeared round the side of the tree. 'That's Stagecoach— made by John Ford, who also made The Grapes of Wrath— I saw it on my last leave. Right?'

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

Winston looked up at the officer, a trace of irritation in his expression. 'That's right, Lieutenant. Except it came out in the States about two years before the war,' he said coolly.

'Two years before your war, not ours,' said Audley. 'But that's beside the point just now. Because our joint war starts in about eight minutes. There'll be two vehicles—a Kubelwagen with three men in it and the staff car with four. The Kubel is the escort—it has a machine gun mounted. Of the men in the staff car, at least two are in civvies— the French think they're Gestapo. But there's also a Wehrmacht officer, possibly a high-ranking one—could be Waffen SS. They want him alive if possible, or at least