The '44 Vintage

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French girls— a wink and a nod, man to man— are a bit of all right. So just you watch your step, Jack boy!

Contradictory advice that had been. And even the general had been less than helpful there—

Women— generals do not wink— are the very devil. But fortunately you will be otherwise engaged, I fancy.

Well, there was nothing that Dad or the general—or he himself, for that matter—could do about last night. He could no more remove the name from his heart than he could avoid the bullet which had his name on it

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

It was dead quiet with that peculiar before-dawn stillness which he recognised now, but to which as a town- bred boy he knew he would never grow accustomed. Beyond the breathing of the other men in the loft he could even hear the soft swish of the stream below, reminding him that before it had been downgraded to a bam the old building had been a water mill.

He ran his hand across his face at the thought of water, feeling the stubble under his finger ends. Shaving didn't really matter much in the circumstances, particularly with his colouring, but the chances of washing his feet was not to be missed: it was the least he could do for them, and also the most since the destruction of his bottle of gentian violet.

He eased himself sideways across the mounds of hay until he was able to slide down almost noiselessly into the open space by the doorway. Nobody stirred in the darkness behind him; the one and only advantage hay had over straw was that it didn't crunch and crackle so much.

But then, as he took his first cautious step towards the opening, a darker nucleus moved on the stone platform outside.

'Who's that?' whispered Audley.

Butler stopped. 'Me, sir—Butler.'

'Come on out then. No need to wake the others yet.'

Butler tiptoed onto the platform. The air was surprisingly more chilly than in the loft, so much so that he shivered as he drew it into his lungs, and wished that he had stayed inside. Now he would have to talk to the officer, when he didn't feel like talking to anyone, least of all to Audley, who had no heart to grow cold in the moming chill.

But Audley didn't say anything; he merely sank down again with his back against the stone and stared into the black nothingness of the woods ahead of him.

His very silence unnerved Butler. It was too dark to go blundering down the steps to the stream—much darker than he had expected from the patch of sky he had seen from inside the loft. If he went he would probably fall in, or drop his boots into the water, or do something just as silly. But if he stayed . . .

'I thought I'd just . . . stretch my legs, sir,' he said.

'Good idea—so long as you don't break one of them,' Audley murmured. 'But be my guest, Jack.' Jack?

Butler took another look at the darkness and decided against it. But then decided also that he couldn't just go back into the loft.

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

'Did you sleep okay, sir?' he asked politely.

Audley didn't reply, and the silence lengthened until Butler began to think he hadn't actually asked the question, it had been something he had said inside his head.

Then Audley shifted his position. 'No, I didn't sleep okay,' he said, still staring ahead of him. 'I dreamt my usual dream. And then I dreamt it again. And then I came out here. Though I suppose I did sleep in between the two main features—I must have done.'

'Your usual dream, sir?' The statement demanded the question. 'A nightmare, you mean?'

Audley appeared to consider the question as though it hadn't occurred to him before. 'I suppose it must be,' he said finally. 'But it just doesn't seem like one, that's all.'

Butler began to feel embarrassed. 'No, sir?'

'No, sir.' Audley turned towards him, his face a vague blur in the darkness. 'You looking forward to going back to your battalion, Jack?'

No doubt about that answer! 'Yes, sir.'

Back in the battalion a man knew who his enemies were—and in which direction they were likely to be.

'No taste for cloak-and-dagger?'

'Not trained for it, sir.'

'No? Well, you've done damn well so far. We wouldn't be here now if you hadn't had your wits about you.'

Butler's spirits rose, then fell as the truth grinned foolishly at him from behind appearances. 'More like luck than wits.'

'I doubt that. Don't sell yourself short.'

'No, sir.' Butler decided to change the subject. 'I bet you'll be glad to get back to your regiment, sir.'

'Me?' Audley made a sound that wasn't a laugh. 'I tell you, Jack—if I never see a tank again, that'll be too soon. And it'ud be to the British Army's advantage if I didn't, too: I was one damn bad tank commander, and that's the truth.'

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

Butler wished he hadn't changed the subject. 'Your CO didn't seem to think so, sir.'

'He didn't?' This time the sound was a laugh—of a sort, anyway. 'Well, now ... he probably wouldn't at that . .