the farm—
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that was what Keller was afraid of, when he told his chaps to kybosh those poor devils at Colembert. He insisted on fixing the next rendezvous—I didn't think they'd get so far, but he was confident they would, Keller was . . . And when he speaks in English he always shouts at the top of his voice as though I'm deaf—and this fellow, if he's Willis... he was only a few yards away, behind the wall. He could easily have heard. So there's your answer, eh?'
Freddie gave him a weary look. 'I didn't ask him how he knew where to come, sir. I asked him how he got here.'
'Same thing. Does it matter?'
'If he's Willis it does, sir.'
'Why?' The Brigadier's bushy eyebrows quivered.
'I le's covered fifty miles—through the whole of the German Second Army Group. And with a price on his head, dead or alive . . . And ... if he went back to Colembert first—and somehow got away from there again—that makes more than fifty miles in less than forty-eight hours . . . sir.'
The Brigadier gazed at Bastable from under the eyebrows.
'You mean . . . he's covered a lot of ground, with the Huns crawling all over the place?'
'Too much ground. He couldn't have done it without help. It isn't possible.'
'Good point, Freddie!' The Brigadier turned stiffly towards Bastable. 'Well?'
Stupid old bugger! thought Bastable, anger momentarily dummy4
driving out fear. Perhaps if he was rude enough, that might finish the thing quicker, before he could disgrace himself— as he surely would. Or perhaps there was an even quicker way—
if he could summon up enough courage for it.
'Go to hell!' he said, with all the contempt he could muster.
Freddie leaned forward. 'We probably will. But I'll make sure you get there first, Willis. Only you'll travel more slowly, that I promise you.'
Bastable watched him draw his pistol out of his coat, from his gangster's holster. Now there were two pistols, and any movement now would be suicidal.
'There are a lot of ways of shooting a man, Willis,' said Freddie unpleasantly. 'Painful ways—painful places.'
The fear came flooding back, but the anger remained: Bastable was too frightened to move, and angry with himself for having put off moving until the fear had come back to unnerve him.
'G-go to hell!' he whispered. 'F-fucking traitors!'
The Brigadier made another of his awkward half-turns towards Freddie. 'That's a damn good answer—in his place I'd have said much the same thing, I hope. Short and to the point. So ... I agree with you, and I take back my vote. He's one of ours.'
He swivelled back to Bastable. 'Here, Captain—if it makes you feel any better—take it!'
He had reversed the pistol.
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'Take it, man!' The Brigadier leaned forward painfully. 'Go on
—never refuse a free gift.'
Bastable took the pistol.
'Just don't point it at me.' The Brigadier gently deflected the barrel. 'Though I don't know ... I suppose you could still manage to miss me at even this range.'
Bastable looked down at the pistol in his hand, then back at the Brigadier, unbelievingly.
'Tell him, Freddie,' said the Brigadier.
Freddie nodded. 'You want to know what Brigadier Carter's been doing?'
In default of being able to speak Bastable nodded.
'He's been handing over the details of the Allied counter-offensive to the Germans,' said Freddie. 'Plus the British order of battle behind the Aa Canal and the French one south of the Somme river.'
It was dead quiet in the wood. Far away, to the north, there were familiar sounds, and there was the high drone of aircraft engines in the distance. But in the wood around them nothing stirred.
'There are three full-strength anti-tank regiments dug in behind the canal, at a distance of between five and seven miles. Behind them we have an armoured division equipped with Mathilda Mark IIs, and a French DMI. Plus three fresh infantry divisions, one British, one Canadian straight from the UK, and a French one.
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'He also told them that the Guards landed at Boulogne yesterday—although as the Germans are on the outskirts of the town they probably know that already and also that two battalions of the Rifles and a tank brigade are landing in Calais today Which they will presumably discover tomorrow . . . Are you with me, Willis?'
Bastable tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
'He told them also that once they are fully committed beyond the canal, against us, so that they can't easily disengage, then the whole of the French Seventh Army will attack northwards across the Somme in the south, spearheaded by the Fourth Armoured Division, across their lines of communication.
And at the same time the British will launch another attack southwards from the Arras area—a bigger one than
