Here Be Monsters

first brought Major Birkenshawe to the house - the Major had told her that 'Elizabeth' was far too big a name for such a very little girl, and that he proposed to abbreviate it.

('You see, you're a lucky little girl, to have such a name. Liz, Lizzie, Elisa - and Betty, and Bet, and Beth… Bessie, too. And when our Queen was a little girl like you, she was called 'Lilibet' - shall I call you that, eh?')

'Yes, Major. Like the Paras and the SAS?' What really bugged her was that, in the kindest and most helpful way, he always took her ignorance for granted still, just as he had done over twenty years ago.

'Funny thing, that,' said Colonel Sharpe.

'Funny, Colonel?'

''Rangers', Miss Loftus.'

Now, Colonel Sharpe was different, and she was genuinely grateful to the dear old Major for producing him on demand, once she had given him the specification. But then the thing about the Major was that he knew how to obey orders. His wife had taught him that, if not the army.

('If you want a clever fella, that knows his stuff, I've just the man for you, Liza. Served on Monty's staff, saw it all - probably planned half of it himself, I shouldn't wonder - house full of books, head full of knowledge - resigned to run the family business - would have run the Army otherwise.

Retired now - Sharpe by name, and sharp by nature - never got on with your father - funny thing, that - ')

That last wasn't really 'funny', because Father had never got on with masterful equals who had made successes of their lives. But everything else was undoubtedly 'funny' (but not very funny), about the Deputy- Director's very specific orders. And that not only because any one of the men in the department could have done this job more quickly, if not better, but also (and more) because he had instructed her neither to use any of the department's dummy2

immense facilities, human or otherwise, nor to go straight round to the Americans in Grosvenor Square and use any of her professional contacts. And although he must have his reason for this, none was as yet readily apparent to her.

Sharpe was looking at her, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he had already smelt a rat, while she could only smell the Major's fierce tobacco.

('Hugh's girl - Hugh Loftus - remember him, Sharpe? Used to teach the wife's nieces at the High -

works for the Government now - Civil Servant - waste of a good teacher - better paid though, eh Liza?')

Elizabeth waited. Colonel Sharpe didn't know what to make of her. But that was no reason why she should feed his suspicions.

'Though perhaps not more so than our choice of 'Commando' as a name for our special forces,' he said at length. 'You know its origin?'

It was a small innocent challenge to an ex-history teacher. 'We took that from the Boers, who fought us in South Africa, didn't we?' He would appreciate a counter-challenge. 'And we gave them 'Concentration Camp' in return?'

'What's that?' Major Birkenshawe bristled slightly. 'I think you've got that wrong, Liza.

'Concentration Camp' was a Hun invention.'

'I'm sure you're right, Major.' Elizabeth smiled at him. 'But 'Rangers', Colonel?'

He studied her for a few more seconds. 'The original of the name is obscure. But it seems most likely that they derived from Rogers' Rangers in the eighteenth century. And they were a corps of frontiersmen who were recruited to assist the regulars. There was a film about them - I rather think it starred Spencer Tracy.'

Major Birkenshawe grunted approvingly. 'Damn good actor - and the delightful woman he used to appear with - cheek-bones and hair - your hair looks particularly nice today, Liza -

suits you, like that - Sorry, Sharpe -Rangers, you were saying?'

Colonel Sharpe gave the Major a nod, more affectionate than condescending, and Elizabeth wondered how such an acquaintance had become more than nodding, they were such an unlikely pair. But then Father and the dear old Major had been equally unlikely friends.

Then the Colonel came back to her. 'A curious fact, which they must have overlooked, is that the Rangers fought for the British during the American War of Independence. And that would make them not just enemies -'Loyalists' to us, of course - but actually traitors.

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And 'traitor' is always a pejorative word.'

The Major nodded, even though he looked as though he wasn't at all sure what 'pejorative'

meant. 'But they were good, though - those fellas… Saw 'em training once, in '43, before I had my little misfortune.' He had raised the stump of his right arm quite unselfconsciously.

' Training, they called it - ' Major Birkenshawe pushed his stump back into place ' - looked damn dangerous to me - if you'll pardon my language, Liza. They were shooting at each other, and blowing each other up, and climbing up cliffs - I remember thinking that the real thing couldn't be a lot more dangerous than what they were doing.'

'That was the Isle of Wight manoeuvres, was it?' Sharpe turned towards him, away from Elizabeth. 'On the cliffs?'

The stump moved, as though it had a life of its own, and was remembering. 'Must have been '44. Isle of Wight - you're right there. Shot grapnels up, with lines attached

'He stopped suddenly, massaging the stump and staring midway between them. 'That's right! Remember