Soldier No More

'Yes, Captain?'

He could feel her read his mind, through every twist of his fears, right down to the bedrock of cowardice.

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'I must go back to the Tower—to . . . divert them,' he said thickly. 'I promised.'

'Of course.' She inclined her head graciously. 'How many of them are there ... to be diverted?'

'I don't know.' His mouth seemed full of pebbles. 'But I must go now—at once.'

'But of course.' She nodded again. 'So you must take the car

—that will divert them.'

'The car?'

'Petit Gaston—' she threw the command past him '—you will start the car for M'sieur le Capitaine. At once—and then attend your grandfather!' She came back to Roche. 'It is complicated to start, so I am informed, but the child will do that for you.'

Roche was momentarily diverted by the scampering sound behind him, and then by the look on her face.

'You have a weapon.' She nodded down at his hand. 'So you must do your best—as you promised.'

He looked at her speechlessly.

'Off you go then!' Her voice became an order. 'And, for your information, Captain ... I have disliked that car for over twenty years—you understand?'

Roche went—it was as though he was moving in a dream—

down the staircase, across the hall—into a darkening world dummy5

eerily lit by light streaming out of the courtyard on the left of the door, which drew him towards it.

This wasn't how it was meant to be—

The Delaroche Royale was already alive and waiting for him, with huge headlights blazing, but only the faintest thrumming of the engine buried deep inside it.

The child swung out of the driver's seat, making way for him.

'How do I make it go?' He looked despairingly at the bank of instruments. 'Where's the gear-lever?'

The child came up at his shoulder, standing on the running-board. 'There is a switch— there—' he pointed '—and then m'sieur presses upon the accelerator pedal—down there—

and then the brake is off, and she goes—'

Roche snapped the switch and felt for the brake—the monster was already moving—there was no gear lever —

Christ!

The child dropped away. ' Turn quickly, m'sieur!' he shrieked at Roche.

The wall on the other side of the courtyard was looming in the blazing light—Roche twisted the wheel in panic—his foot had hardly touched the accelerator pedal—the gateway of the courtyard came to meet him— but too fast, and it was far too narrow—

Something crashed ahead of him—scraped hideously alongside him— and then was lost behind. A whole wood of trees, sharply picked out in ranks by the searchlights, sprang dummy5

into view on either side of the car: it was a steep drive, by the angle of the car—but not by the way the monster breasted it, without effort.

Turn left, along the ridge—he had done something wrong, so that the engine was roaring at him now, angry at his stupidity

—

And he was going too fast, even though he didn't know why—

the slightest touch on the accelerator made the monster go mad—and he had to turn off, down the Tower drive, the moment the trees thinned—and they were thinning already—

Christ!

And— Christ!—there were figures dancing in the road—

scattering left and right—

The last temptation was the worst of all, because it was the least expected: he could put his foot down and drive for ever, and nothing this side of Hell could catch him!

But he swung the wheel to the left with all his might instinctively, and jammed his foot down on the brake without consciously weighing up the temptation— apt to make rash decisions underpressure would have to do as an epitaph.

The monster tried to turn in a civilised fashion, but its weight and the laws of motion were against it: it slithered, and the wheels locked, and it lost control of itself, as Roche himself had already done. Trees—a tree—and bushes, and black space

—and finally the Tower itself whirled in front of him, like a dummy5

newsreel. Then it crashed sideways into something solid, half throwing him out of the soft body-fitting seat.