The Hour of the Donkey

more was that Willis had pre-empted the wisest (if not the most proper) decision with officer-like promptitude while he had remained silent. So now he had to retrieve his loss of face dummy4

somehow.

'Hah . . . hmm . ..' He studied Smithers's face, but found no comfort in it. Smithers's expression bore that special blankness of the Other Rank who wishes his officer to believe that all Guilty Secrets are safe with him. Not that this culpable goat-slaying would remain secret for long, especially after Major Tetley-Robinson had sat down to his dinner.

And there, of course, was his solution!

'Hah—no, Willis!' He snapped decisively. 'This goat is a C

Company animal. You can cut along and get it, Corporal, as Captain Willis says—and—ah—expunge the evidence to the best of your ability. But then take it to CQMS Gammidge with my compliments and ask him to have it prepared for the men's dinner tonight—with no questions asked, and no exchange of recipes with anyone from other companies. This is to be a strictly private matter between the Company and myself—understood?'

The effect on Corporal Smithers was gratifying. Like Captain Willis, he had obviously never tasted goat, but Captain Willis's planned annexation of the wretched beast for the officers' mess had turned it into a desirable delicacy—and one which now belonged to C Company's pot. So he grinned wickedly at Bastable—indeed, he came within a hair's-breadth of winking— and favoured him with a Brigade of Guards salute before gathering up the anti- tank section for its goat-recovery duties.

For once Captain Bastable felt he had done something right, dummy4

and that unusual feeling emboldened him to face up to Captain Willis more confidently than he was accustomed to do.

'Now, Willis . . . what can I do for you?' he enquired.

Captain Willis regarded him curiously, as though they were meeting for the first time. 'Well, old boy, you can't actually do anything for me. But I'm afraid you've got to do something with me—in company with me, that is.'

'What?' The day darkened again. Of all the officers in the battalion, Willis got on his nerves most, with his endless chattering conversation on subjects about which he, Bastable, knew nothing, and cared less. He had heard it said, or he had read somewhere, that politics made for strange bedfellows, but war undoubtedly made for even stranger and less congenial ones, that was certain.

As he stared dispiritedly at Willis he was reminded once again of why he had applied to the Prince Regent's Own back in 1937: he had wanted to get away from Father, if only for short periods, because his ideas of running a successful business and those of the Guv'ner were diverging more and more. And he had also wanted to get away from Mother, on much the same basis, because her ideas and his were also diverging, particularly on the subject of marriageable girls with fat legs.

'Bastable—?'

It had all gone terribly wrong. The distant sound of bombing dummy4

indicated that he was now very close to the sharp end of the war; and in a unit which was not so much under- trained and ill-equipped as untrained and unequipped. In fact, in fact ...

if the Prince Regent's Own had been a business, then the word BANKRUPTCY would have been uppermost in his mind now.

'Bastable!'

God! He was thinking thoughts of Alarm and Despondency such as the irascible Brigadier had explicitly stigmatized as cowardly defeatism. And he hadn't even seen a German yet—

and there was the whole of the British Expeditionary Force, plus the French, with its thousands of tanks and millions of men, and its impregnable Maginot Line, between him and them.

'For Christ's sake, old man—do listen to what I'm telling you,'

said Captain Willis. 'The CO has agreed that we should motor over to the Mendips and try and pick up some armour-piercing ammo for the Boys rifles. Nigel Audley had to have a blinding row with the old buffer, but—thank God!—he's a bit leery of Nigel ever since he discovered that Nigel's a friend of the CIG's brother, or sister or someone. And when we're there I'm damn well going to pick up some gun-cotton and fuses to mine these bloody bridges of ours—the CO doesn't know that, but what he doesn't know won't worry him. And my CSM reckons he knows how best to do the job—we've only got to sling the charges under the keystone of the main arch and push it upwards, and then the whole caboodle'll fall dummy4

down, he says— are you listening, old boy?'

'Yes.' said Captain Bastable shortly. 'I've looked at my bridge.'

'Good man.'

'It's pretty solid.' Captain Bastable came to himself with a jolt. 'Why is the CO sending two company commanders to get this ammunition? I don't know about you, Willis—but I've got a job of work to do here.' Bastable pointed to the indefensible bridge.

'Don't ask me, old boy.' Willis shrugged. 'He's sending me because I asked for the stuff, and I can speak French. But he doesn't trust me an inch, so maybe you've got to keep an eye on me. Or maybe Tetley-Robinson thinks we'll lose our way and he'll never see the pair of us again—maybe he thinks the Jerries will dive-bomb us both and blow us to kingdom come

—God knows what goes on between Tetley-Robinson's protuberant ears! Probably very little, judging by the state of the Prince Regent's Own ... But the sooner we're on our way, the better. Because I want to be snug in my billet again tonight, not fumbling around French roads in the dark.'

Bastable drew a deep breath. Ten months in the army had taught him that what could not be avoided was best done as quickly as possible—Willis was right there.

'I give you best over the goat, though,' said Willis with a sudden disarming smile. 'It was a damn good shot—and you were quite right to give it to your chaps. It'll buck them