The Hour of the Donkey

The tank was moving away. He could hear it clattering and its machine-gun firing intermittently, but the sounds were no longer so close, and as he listened to them they faded until they were almost part of the continuous background firing further off.

'Now... listen to me, Harry—' Wimpy relaxed the pressure on him, but still pinned him down into the ditch's muddy bottom '—with my ankle I'm not going to run anywhere. So you'll have to go on without me—do you understand?'

That was what they had agreed on in the first place, and it had been Wimpy himself who had thought better of it, thought Bastable. But now that the emergency was over, and all they had to do was wait for the troops advancing behind the ranks to reach them, such heroics hardly seemed necessary. And if Wimpy would just shut up, then he could concentrate on listening for the first sounds of their rescuers'

approach.

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'So listen to me now. We were damn lucky under that table back there . . . '

Bastable only half-listened to the droning voice. He didn't need Wimpy to tell him how lucky they'd been . . .

'Incredibly lucky . . . '

Incredibly lucky. What would advancing British troops sound like? Like Germans, except that they would be speaking English . . . ?

'. .. so if things do go wrong, it's essential that you know what he said too—just in case—do you understand?'

Bastable focused on Wimpy suddenly. He who? He who said

—? 'What?'

'For God's sake, man! Don't you understand what I'm saying?

Haven't you been listening?' snapped Wimpy angrily. 'Those two Germans—those SS men—when we were under the table?'

'What about them?'

'Christ! I've just been telling you—about the Brigadier!'

The mention of the Brigadier—Wimpy had never mentioned the Brigadier!—cleared the mists from Bastable's mind instantly.

'What about the Brigadier?'

Wimpy closed his eyes for a moment. 'I'm trying to tell you, old boy—for God's sake!' Bad breath wafted over Bastable.

'When we were under the table one of them asked the other dummy4

why this Captain Willis had to be scuppered so smartly. And the other one said it was because he had overheard information about the rendezvous the British brigade commander had with the Fuhrer's representative tomorrow.

Now—for God's sake—have you got that?'

Bastable had that. He just didn't understand it.

'He meant you, Harry, obviously,' said Wimpy. 'At the farm.'

'But ... but I didn't overhear a damn thing!' protested Bastable. 'I saw him—that's all. I didn't hear anything!'

'They think you did.'

'But I didn't—'

'It doesn't matter. What matters is that the Brigadier is apparently going to give them something so bloody important that they're hell-bent on tomorrow's meeting, whatever the risks—and in the meantime anyone with the PRO lanyard gets the chop just in case.' Wimpy nodded meaningfully.

'But . . . what?'

'What d'you mean 'what'?'

'What's so important?'

'I don't know—he didn't say. But he did say where the meeting was. It's at noon tomorrow.'

'What?'

'For Christ's sake don't keep saying 'what'. I said where!!'

'I meant 'where'—'

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'At the bridge between Carpy and Les Moulins, that's where.'

Bastable blinked unhappily. 'Where's that?'

'I haven't the faintest idea, old boy. But it must be somewhere they reckon to have reached by noon tomorrow.'

'How do they know where they'll be then?'

Wimpy frowned back at him. 'Christ! I don't know. They seem to be going where they please—maybe they're leaving that bridge alone for the time being—I don't know ... It sounded to be quite a step from here, the way he spoke about it ... But it doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is that you must get to our people and tell them about it—the bridge between Carpy and Les Moulins—got it?'