Soldier No More

'Johnnie. For David—'

It wasn't Genghis Khan's voice, or any other voice that he could place. But it was Johnnie for David nevertheless.

He listened, and replaced the receiver without bothering to acknowledge, just letting ersatz- Johnnie cut him off.

Never again, Johnnie for David. That was the last time ever!

And now one other call—but at least Johnnie for David gave him strength for that —

'Hullo? Roche here.'

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He held on, studying the stained copper-green-and-grey soldier, forever Mart pour la Patrie. No one was going to remember Captain Roche that way, by God!

'Roche?'

It was Thompson, and that made it easier. If God wasn't an Englishman or a Frenchman at least, He wasn't anti-Roche!

'Listen—you tell Stocker—'

'Hold on, old boy! You should have checked in this morning, you know! He's off-net at the moment, but he'll be back any time now. So call back in half an hour, and you'll get him, eh?' Thompson sounded a tiny bit rattled.

'I was busy this morning—and I can't wait now. Tell him I'm going in, to get what he wants—tell him that. Right?'

The bastide- fancier gobbled impotently for another rattled moment, and then took a grip of himself. 'Do you want any back-up ... for whatever it is?'

'Can you get back-up to Laussel-Beynac in five minutes?'

Roche looked at his watch, almost happily.

'Where?'

'It doesn't matter. Our man down here is with me. Just tell the Major that. And I may not be able to call him again until tomorrow—you tell him that as well—' By tomorrow I'll be long gone to ground, with a leaf or two taken out of d'Auberon's book too '— right?'

'If you say so, old boy. But you sound a bit over-confident to me—'

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' Shit!' Roche wasn't sure whether he'd put down the phone before or after he'd pronounced his last farewell to Thompson, but it no longer mattered.

He retrieved Chases et Gens de la Dordogne etses Pays from the passenger's seat, and nodded encouragingly to Galles.

'It's okay. I'm cleared to go ahead. How far is it?'

'Three kilometres only.' Galles glanced uneasily at his wing mirror. 'Did they have any ideas about our followers?'

'Are they still there?' It would be as well to reassure the little Frenchman, even with lies, so that he could concentrate on seeing what he was required to see.

'I cannot see them. But they are there.'

Not that what Galles saw, or didn't see, really mattered any longer either . . . But it would be better to go through with Genghis Khan's plan to the letter, just in case.

'I don't think we need worry too much about them.' The memory of their meeting in Madame Peyrony's coach-house came to his rescue. 'It's most likely the Americans keeping an eye on us, it seems. They won't try anything rough.'

'No?' Galles sounded something less than disarmed by the forecast, possibly because of some wartime recollection of OSS roughness. 'I hope you're right, m'sieur. But just in case ... if what you are doing is so important...'

Roche watched him swivel to rummage in a large metal tool-dummy5

box wedged behind him amongst a collection of jacks and crowbars and towing-ropes, finally to produce a sacking bundle secured with greasy twine.

'Good God, man!' He watched in horror as Galles produced an enormous military revolver and a tiny automatic pistol from the sacking. 'We don't need those—we're not going to storm the chateau!'

'Here—' Galles offered him the little automatic, ignoring his reaction '—I will keep the man-stopper, you can put this in your pocket. It's only a Ruby—my cousin Rene brought it back from Spain in '38—it will do no one any harm, but it may make them think twice.'

'Good God—no!' exclaimed Roche, hypnotised by the weapons. 'We're not into that sort of thing!' He knew he had to make allowances for the vast arsenal of weaponry which defeat and occupation, not to mention well-supplied resistance, had distributed throughout France, but the casual appearance of small arms from a middle-aged mechanic's tool-box, from among the wrenches and screwdrivers, shook him nevertheless.

'Eh bien! So you suit yourself, m'sieur.' Galles shrugged.

'But I choose rather to be safe than sorry.'

He closed the sacking loosely over the weapons and placed the bundle at his feet. 'So now . . . just what exactly is it that you wish me to do, eh''