roads. It had struck him as odd at the time that a Lines-of-Communication unit should have been despatched to a place on no line of communication. But he had assumed that the high command knew its business much better than he did, and that assumption was still strong enough in him to dry up his private opinion.
'Planes, for sure,' snapped Major Tetley-Robinson. 'It's just possible they could have pushed the French back over the Sambre-Oise line.' He nodded meaningfully at Lieutenant Davidson, as if to give his blessing to that admission. 'But that means they've already come the deuce of a way from the Dyle-Meuse line—their tanks'll be running out of fuel—the ones that haven't broken down . . . and their infantry'll be dead on its feet by now. And that's the moment when the French will counter-attack, by God! It'll be the Marne all over again!' He glanced fiercely up and down the table. 'The Marne all over again—only this time we'll make a proper job of it!'
Nobody denied this aggressive interpretation of Allied strategy. Rather, there was an appreciative nodding of heads and a fierce murmur of agreement; and no one nodded more vigorously or murmured more approvingly than Bastable himself to cover the panicky butterflies which the mention of dummy4
Peronne had set fluttering in his stomach.
'Only this time it'll be a Marne with another difference,'
announced Major Tetley-Robinson expansively. 'Because this time the PROs will be 'Up Front' with any luck, eh?'
He ran his eye round the table, until it reached Captain Willis. To his credit, Captain Willis met the eye bravely.
'Hah! Now ... as to your drill, Wimpy . . . just what was it you wanted to substitute for your spot of drill? As I recall it you were dying to tell us all what you would rather be doing than drill—?'
Major Audley took out his cigarette-case, clicked it open and offered it to Captain Willis. 'Smoke, Wimpy?' he enquired.
'No thank you, Nigel.' Captain Willis smiled nervously at Major Audley, then erased the smile. 'Colembert-les- Deux-Ponts has two bridges, sir. D Company, of which I am commander—'
'Acting-commander,' corrected Major Tetley-Robinson.
'Acting-commander . . . D Company has the southern bridge.
I think the bridge should be wired for demolition, but we have no demolition charges.' Willis paused, swallowed. 'And even if we did have we don't have anyone who knows how to set them.'
Major Tetley-Robinson nodded gravely. 'I see. And against whom are you proposing to blow your bridge, Wimpy?'
'Against any enemy forces who might approach from that direction, sir,' said Captain Willis tightly.
dummy4
'From the south?' The Major's lip curled. And then he glanced at Bastable, and Bastable knew what he was thinking.
If any enemy—Fifth Columnists in strength, or possibly some roving armoured cars which might conceivably infiltrate the French army by the web of minor roads which covered France
—if any enemy approached Colembert, it would be from the west; and it was Captain Bastable's C Company which was supposed to be covering Colembert's western bridge. But it had never occurred to Captain Bastable to prepare his bridge for destruction. Lines of Communication (even to nowhere) had nothing to do with Plans for Demolition. And, in any case, demolition was for the Royal Engineers.
Yet he ought to say something—
Major Tetley-Robinson flicked another split-second glance at him.
Or, on second thoughts, nothing.
'Mr Davidson says there's an RE detachment at Belleme, where the 2nd Royal Mendips are, sir,' said Captain Willis. 'I was going to request permission to take the carrier, with PSM Blossom of the Pioneer Platoon, and obtain some demolition charges, with sufficient instruction in placing them ...' He faltered under the Major's increasingly basilisk stare. 'And . . .'
'Yes, Captain Willis?' The Major's voice was glacial.
'I have two Boys anti-tank rifles. We were issued with them dummy4
when we landed at Boulogne the day before yesterday. None of my men have ever fired a Boys rifle, sir. We have only eight magazines of ammunition—twenty rounds, sir. But in any case it's only practice ammunition—full charge, but with aluminium bullets. It's bloody useless.'
Major Tetley-Robinson raised his eyes to heaven. 'Well, practise with them, Captain Willis. See the RSM—he's fired the Boys. And try not to kill any French civilians, or French livestock, for that matter. Is that all?'
Captain Bastable knew that it was not all. No one had trained on the Boys, but the horrors of its pile-driving, shoulder-dislocating recoil were widely known and feared. Other than the RSM, whose claim to have fired the weapon was generally discounted, no soldier had yet been traced who had operated it and lived to tell the tale. But even that was not the point.
'I'm in the same position, Charlie,' said Major Audley pleasantly. 'Except I haven't got a bridge—I've got a double line of nice thick trees, and they're all partially axed ready to block the road, I can tell you.'
'What!' exlaimed Tetley-Robinson.
'It's those infernal Boys rifles that are the trouble,' continued Audley. 'Same situation as Wimpy—exactly.' He glanced at Captain Bastable. 'And you too, Bastable, I suppose?'
Bastable nodded unhappily.
Tetley-Robinson shook himself free from the implications of dummy4
Major Audley's unauthorized tree-felling preparations, to which the Anglophobe Mayor of Colembert would certainly take almost as great exception as to Captain Willis's ambitious bridge-demolition plans.
