A New Kind of War

‘Sir?’ For a moment Fred thought that the latest frown was directed at him, and closed his open mouth smartly. But then he saw that the question was self-directed, and the Colonel wasn’t really looking at him at all. ‘You mean Flight-Lieutenant Bradford – ?’

‘Ye-ess ... I wonder whether we could get him up here, come dummy4

autumn, when the leaves are off the trees.’

The frown went clear through Fred. ‘No problem with the equipment – the Yanks can take care of that, even if the RAF can’t.

It might not produce anything . . . probably wouldn’t.’ The intensity of the pale eyes was most disconcerting. ‘But if Varus did build a marching camp – just one marching camp, mind you – just one . . . somewhere on the middle Weser or the upper Lippe.’ Nod.

‘In fact, we could draw an arc from Moguntiacum to Castra Vetera, coming back through Detmold, and try that for a start . . . And Bradford would be the very man to spot the slightest sign of one –

he’d know a Roman marching camp from an iron age enclosure at a glance – at a glance!’ The eyes focused on Fred, with a fierce yellow lamp-light glint in them. ‘Good man, Major Fattorini –

Freddie! I hadn’t thought of that – stupid of me, but I hadn’t! Air photography, by God! Should have thought of that, by God!’ He smacked his fist decisively into his other palm. ‘Yes. I suppose I could ask the RAF – in fact, they’ve probably got a million pictures of the whole area, full of bomb craters miles from the target . . . Detmold was quite well-bombed, as I recall – Luftwaffe station not too far away, I think . . . But it would be easier to borrow a pilot and a plane from the Yanks. They’ve got the planes and the pilots–yes.’

And you’ve got the pigs, thought Fred, utterly disorientated by this new and irrational turn of an interview which had never made much sense. But then, if the Colonel wanted to give him credit for a chance remark he might as well claim it while he could. ‘Flight-Lieutenant Bradford was an extremely competent interpreter, as I dummy4

recall, sir.’

‘Yes, you’re absolutely right, Freddie.’ The Colonel seemed to have forgotten that he’d said as much himself, in his enthusiasm.

‘Good man!’ He nodded. ‘You’ll do –you’ll do, by God!’

Fred saw his chance at last, in a flash. ‘Do what, sir?’

‘What?’ Colbourne was still staring down from a great height inside his brain, at – what was it? Marching camps – ? Somewhere on the middle of the Weser or the upper Lippe – ‘What?’

‘Do what, sir?’ The Weser was a German river. In fact, it was the German river into which the Pied Piper of Hamelin had piped all the rats, before he’d piped away all the children. So the Lippe was probably another German river – another Rhine tributary. But what the bloody hell was a marching camp! ‘You said ... I’d do.’ He mustn’t lose his temper. Not with his new commanding officer. ‘I was merely wondering why you wanted an officer of engineers, Colonel Colbourne. My posting orders were not precise on the point.’

Colbourne blinked at him, as though at a fool. ‘They weren’t – ?

No . . . well, of course, they wouldn’t have been – would they.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘But we’re late, so let’s go ... You ask Amos – Major de Souza, whom you’ve met. . . Come on, come on

– ’

Fred started to move, but then stopped automatically, to give his Commanding Officer precedence. Colbourne also started to move, but then stopped, and faced him. ‘Or you could ask young Audley

– he’ll tell you if you ask him, later tonight. Can’t talk shop in the dummy4

mess . . . but you’ll be with him tonight afterwards, and you’ll have plenty of time then, I don’t doubt – go on, man, go on!’

Fred gave up, and went ahead, out into the feeble glow of the hanging lantern, not knowing where he was going and almost without hope, but remembering the ORs’ favourite litany as he did so: ‘ Roll on death – demob’s bound to be a failure!’

‘Left, left – towards the light there – ’ Colonel Colbourne pointed down the pillared cloister ‘ – but don’t believe all he says, eh?’

The pillars were unreal: only the utter darkness beyond them – a darkness emphasized by the flashed reflection of the occasional raindrop out of the millions which were falling in the open square outside the pillars – only that darkness was real: Colbourne wasn’t real either, and Audley was a nightmare from the past . . . and the allegation that this was a Roman fortress set the seal on them both.

‘All my officers are mad, quite mad,’ Colbourne confided, from just behind him.

Kaiserburg, he had been thinking. But now Colonel Colbourne and Captain Audley were in total agreement –

‘Quite mad.’ Colbourne agreed with himself. ‘In any sort of military sense . . . almost unemployable, in fact.’

The Kaiser’s Burg, Fred applied himself to his original thought, unwilling to let Colbourne and Audley agree with each other. But perhaps that wasn’t Kaiser Wilhelm’s Castle: perhaps it was Castra Caesaris . . . or would it be ‘Castrum’ Caesaris – ?

‘But as a sapper you’ll have no trouble with them – ’ Colbourne touched his arm ‘ – round the corner, then on your left there.’

dummy4

He was exhausted, and filthy, and he wanted a pee. But if that was the officers’ mess, he needed a drink, and a strong one, and a large one even more urgently.