A New Kind of War

That was nasty. And, more than nasty, it was libellous. ‘But we don’t torture our prisoners, Kyri.’ He could recall having leaned quite heavily on the rare German rearguard prisoner he’d been given, who might be expected to know where the booby-traps were. But that had been in the nature of give-and-take, and it really only stretched the Geneva Convention somewhat, falling infinitely short of torture. And then an alternative possibility presented itself.

‘Could be he was expecting to be captured by your lot though –

eh?’

‘Could be.’ Kyriakos accepted the insult without taking offence.

‘Except, old man, he didn’t crunch the pill, did he – eh?’

Fred resisted the renewed temptation to see what Captain de Souza was doing now. ‘Obviously, no – if that was what Captain de Souza found.’ Thinking about the stripped white-hairy-defiled body was bad enough: it didn’t need a double check. Indeed, he had no desire either to think about it or discuss it. Nor, come to that, was he particularly keen to face up to the implications of Captain Michaelides’ too-professional interest and expertise in such matters. But since they could not be ignored he could hardly leave those matters unresolved. ‘Didn’t do him any good though, did it!’

dummy4

‘No –’

‘No. His name was on a bullet, not a pill.’ Fred was simultaneously pleased and ashamed of passing himself off as a hardened veteran.

‘So what?’

‘Ah!’ Kyriakos pounced on him. ‘But you have missed the point, old man – missed it by a mile – ’ As he spoke, David Audley ducked out from the little doorway again‘ –by a mile!’ He repeated the distance for Audley’s benefit. ‘Would you not agree, Mr Audley, David?’

‘How’s that again – by a mile?’ David blinked at him. ‘Missed ...

the point? What point?’

‘Your Russian friend, old man.’ Kyriakos gestured towards the line of corpses without disengaging his attention from Audley.

Audley followed the gesture and grimaced, his natural ugliness contorted by whatever Captain de Souza was now doing. But then, as he came back to them, his face composed itself into tell-tale innocence. ‘Russian? Well – that’s news to me, Captain Michaelides. But . . . friend – whoever he was, he was no friend of mine, so far as I am aware.’ Much too late, the false innocence became polite enquiry. ‘What point would that be, which Captain Fattorini – or Fat-O’Rhiney – has missed by a mile?’

Kyriakos’s white teeth showed below his moustache. ‘You didn’t shoot him. Friend or enemy, you didn’t shoot him.’

‘No?’ The innocence increased. ‘Yes – well, you’re right. Because I certainly didn’t shoot him, Captain Michaelides. But then I am notoriously incapable of shooting people. Given a large enough dummy4

gun, in a tank, I can sometimes hit buildings, though. In fact, I once demolished an entire church, you know.’

‘I didn’t mean you, old man.’ Kyriakos gestured dismissively.

‘No?’ Audley came back quickly, with an edge to his voice.

‘But . . . well, I can tell you, captain, that our chaps are damn good, even if I’m not.’ He nodded at the corpse line, and then frowned at the Greek. ‘The bastards got three good men with their first burst.

But that’s because they must have got wind of us. And that’s all they got – all the rest were ours. And our chaps deserve the credit for it, I’d say.’

Fred started to warm to the young man, but then remembered the Greek’s warning and that falsely innocent expression. So all Audley was doing was drawing Kyriakos out in his own way, most likely.

‘No. Not all.’ Suddenly Kyriakos spoke mildly, without emphasis.

‘Your chaps didn’t shoot your Russian friend. Not unless they shoot other . . . chaps ... in the back of the neck.’ He paused.

‘Which I’m sure they don’t – being decent chaps.’ Mild still. ‘And certainly not on this occasion.’ Cold, hard voice, suddenly: the voice of Captain Michaelides Mark II. ‘Because your Russian –

friendly or unfriendly to you, old man . . . he was shot by his own side, from behind.’ If possible, the voice became harder and colder.

‘These last few weeks I’ve seen quite a lot of wounds like that, courtesy of Hellenikos Laikos Apelefteroikos Stratos . . . and some understandable reprisals by the men I have the honour of trying to command, I’m sorry to say.’ The voice was ultimately frozen now.

‘So I know what a man’s face looks like when he’s been shot in the dummy4

back of the neck while lying down. So do not argue with me, lieutenant.’

Fred stared at Kyriakos. He had started off watching the young dragoon, to see how he reacted to the Greek’s mild disagreement.

But then Captain Michaelides Mark II had taken over. And finally, at the last, it hadn’t been Captain Michaelides Mark II either: it had been a complete stranger.

For a moment Audley didn’t reply, which drew Fred back to him to observe what he felt might well be a mirror- image of his own expression, although on a very different face.

‘I w-w-wouldn’t dream of arguing with you, Captain M-Mmm – ’

Audley shook his head and scowled as his impediment got the better of him. ‘You can g-g . . .