A New Kind of War

it?’

‘Yes – ’ The wheel spun as the car turned again, and then spun once more as the driver lined up the car on one of the gateways, between the wooden struts of a bridge crossing the barracks-ditch ‘

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– yes, you could say that – a barricks: that’s wot it is – a bleedin’

barricks, is what it is!‘

As the car began to accelerate again (and something too fast for Fred’s peace of mind, given the narrowness of the arched gateway, which he could now see even more clearly in the brief intervals after each sweep of the windscreen-wipers swept the rain from the glass) –

‘ ’Ere we go, then!‘ Like so many RASC drivers, the little man evidently belonged to what Fred’s first company commander had always called ’the school of empirical verification‘: if a vehicle got through a gap, or crossed a suspect stretch of ground, then that gap was wide enough for it, or that ground was free of mines, as the case might be. ’ ‘Old tight!’

There was a rumble under them as the big car advanced across a plank-bridge over a double-ditch, and he caught a glimpse of an equestrian statue between the double doorways: it looked more like a Roman emperor than a German Kaiser – in fact it looked exactly like a statue of Marcus Aurelius he had admired in Rome last year, during his leave in that memorable time-out-of-war before the battle of the Gothic Line – so perhaps it was a Kaiser dressed as a Caesar, maybe?

But then the statue was gone, and they were squeezing through the gateway, with more familiar sights in the glare of the headlights: canvas-hooded jeeps and 15-cwt trucks lined up, with even more familiar soldiers, caped against the downpour, attending to their unloading –TRR-2 at last!

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But . . . Christ! Because there was a man – a British soldier –

standing bold as brass and unashamed under an umbrella! Christ Almighty!

‘Right, there you are, then!’ The driver swung the car round the umbrella-carrying soldier, braking so fiercely that Fred’s chest thumped sharply against the front seat. ‘End uv the line, this is, sir.’ He peered at the car’s switches, before flicking them off one by one; and then swivelled towards Fred, grinning familiarly as though they were equals who had shared some testing experience.

‘I’ll see to your bag, sir – your servant’s Trooper Lucy, shared with Mr David, so you’ll not ’ave anythin‘ to worry about there – ’avin‘

Trooper Lucy is like ’avin‘ a good lady’s maid.’

Between Marcus Aurelius, and the umbrella-soldier, and Trooper Lucy, and the fact that he couldn’t find the door handle, Fred cursed impotently under his breath.

‘Wot you wanta do is to find the adjutant. An ’e’ll be in ‘is office, which is in the prinny-kipyer, first on your left as you go through the door right in front, an’ round under the little roof wot keeps the rain orf – which is that way –see?‘

Fred couldn’t quarrel with any of that, which was the last word in old-fashioned courtesy itself, compared with what he had so often been used to. Except, he didn’t understand any of it.

‘The . . . prinny – prinny-kip . . . year?’ That wasn’t quite right.

‘ Kipyer?’

‘That’s right.’ Nod. ‘Wot the Colonel calls it – prinny-kipyer . . .

Just on the left, through the door.’ Nod.

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He had found the door handle. ‘Well . . . thank you –what’s your name?’

‘Hughie, sir.’ The little man came quickly to his rescue. ‘Knock twice, an’ ask for Hughie, is what they say.‘ The little man stared at him in the gloom. ’You’re a Sapper, sir – Major Fattorini, sir ...

Would that be reg’lar army or ‘ostilities only?’

‘Territorial.’ He found himself answering automatically, as a distant but warning bell sounded in his memory. ‘March, 1939.’

‘Is that a fact?’ The date seemed to meet with the man’s approval.

Terriers is orl right, most of ‘em. The Colonel –’e’s a terrier.‘ He nodded. ’You’ll be orl right wiv‘ ’im then, I reckon.‘

‘Indeed? Fred tightened his grip on the door handle. ’Haven’t I met you before somewhere? Was it in – ?‘ Before he could finish, a movement at the front of the car took his attention: the soldier with the umbrella appeared to be examining the offside wing intently.

‘ ’Scuse me – ‘ The little man caught his change-of-attention, turned towards its direction, and was out of the car like a ferret out of a bag ’ – that wasn’t me! That was there ‘fore I sets orf, that was

– someone else done that!’ The sound of his voice, raised to a protesting whine, entered the car with a wind- driven spatter of rain.

The umbrella-carrying soldier straightened up to his full height, the wind catching his umbrella and almost pulling it out of his hand.

‘Hughie, you’re an absolute and in-invvv – inveterate – liar. I checked the whole b- bloody car myself before you set out. And there wasn’t a mark on it. So now the Croc-Crocodile will have both our g-guts for. . . garters.’

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Oh God! thought Fred, the mists of half a year’s memory clearing instantly in the same instant as the umbrella soldier turned towards him. Then he knew that he must pull himself together, and confirm the hideous certainty which confronted him in the headlights.

The full force of the wind-and-rain hit him as he stepped out of the car. ‘Hullo there!’ Even as he spoke, he saw