A New Kind of War

‘Trinidad rum.’ Audley nodded. ‘It’s rather amazing that Otto very quickly discovered that it’s Major McCorquodale’s favourite tipple

– his Achille’s heel, if you like ... in so far as a crocodile can have an Achille’s heel . . . But it’s absolutely amazing – quite incredible really – that he was then able to conjure up supplies of the stuff, here in Germany.’ He shook his head. ‘Trust our Otto!’

‘He’s the mess waiter – ?’ Fred sipped his whisky cautiously, aware that there were many other items of information he needed more urgently.

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‘Oh ... not really.’ Audley’s unlovely features screwed up conspiratorially. ‘He’s a lot more than that. In fact, he doesn’t usually honour us with his presence before dinner . . . unless we’re entertaining top brass, anyway.’ He brought his face close to Fred’s ear. ‘I rather suspect that the white-coat-and-gloves have been put on solely for Hughie’s benefit, to make sure that Major McCorquodale is well-oiled this evening. Because one of his very few virtues is that alchohol makes him mmm-more agreeable.’

It occurred to Fred that Audley, if not Major McCorquodale, had already drunk deeply. Which was at once surprising, but also somewhat disquieting, if there was some sort of night-operation ahead of them, as the Colonel had indicated. And with the whisky warming his empty stomach his surprise and disquiet concentrated his mind on that.

‘There’s something on tonight, I gather.’

‘Yes – uh-huh.’ Audley buried his face in his glass. There’s a kraut-hunt tonight, crowning all our recent inquiries. It’ll probably end in nothing – or disaster. But at least the weather’s on our side.‘

‘The weather?’ Fred recalled Audley’s umbrella.

‘Yes.’ Audley craned his neck, peering into their ill-lit surroundings from his full height. ‘You know, we really ought to start eating soon, or Otto’s jolly old porker will be spoilt . . . and the Crocodile does seem sufficiently well-oiled now . . . But Caesar Augustus is jawing poor old Amos again!’ He gave Fred an accusing look. ‘What on earth did you say to set him off?’

‘If I told you, you’d never believe me!’

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‘Oh yes, I would! Where Augustus Colbourne is concerned, nothing is unbelievable – ’ Audley caught his tongue. ‘You’re not a friend of his, by any unhappy chance? But no ... you are a Brigadier Clinton volunteer, aren’t you.’

That was too much. ‘I am not a volunteer.’ Fred felt his patience stretch thin. ‘I’ve only met your brigadier once, damn it – and it was you who introduced me. So I have you to thank for being here, when I could be sunning myself on a Greek beach – eh?’

‘Me?’ Audley blinked at him. ‘No – honestly ... I only told him who you were, that time.’ The boy’s mouth twisted nervously.

‘And I actually told him mostly about Matthew – I’d never met you before . . . And that uncle of yours, who used to come down to the school, and give Matthew fivers at half-term and on Foundation Day. And he seemed to know all about him the moment I opened my mouth.’ The mouth turned downwards. ‘Maybe I did lay it on a bit thick . . . but I thought you wanted to get away, I mean – ?’

‘I did. And you obviously did.’ The voices all around them sounded unnaturally loud, and full of alcohol-induced argument and bonhomie .But I haven’t, have I?‘

Audley looked crestfallen. ‘You must have impressed him. And I did warn you that he liked rich bankers, Fred.’

‘I’m hardly a banker.’ Fred felt himself weakening. ‘And I’m certainly not rich.’

‘Well, you are compared with me – I’ve just got debts, and mortgages, and things.’ The boy moved from defensive apology to bitter accusation. ‘So ... if you don’t like it, you can always dummy4

volunteer for the Far East. And then you can start a branch of Fattorini Brothers out there . . . It’s not my fault, anyway.’

There was no point in recrimination, thought Fred. And, in any case, young Audley was the nearest thing he had to a friend in this madhouse. ‘No – no, of course, David. I’m sorry . . . It’s just that I really don’t know what the hell is going on here tonight – ’ He smiled ‘ –like, why is the weather on our side, for a start?’

‘Oh . . . that’s simple.’ Audley relaxed. The rain drives the poor devils under cover – whoever we’re descending on. And it also damps down the sound of our elephantine approach, so we can creep up on ‘em more easily,’ He returned the smile as a grin.

‘Although, with the Yanks in attendance tonight, God only knows what’ll happen.’ The grin became almost ingratiating. ‘But it should be interesting. And as you and I are both in the front line we shall have a ringside seat, too – ’

The silver sound of a tinkling bell somewhere out in the courtyard cut Audley off, also momentarily hushing the hubbub of loud conversation of the other officers in the shadowy room, of whom and of which Fred had been only half aware. Or less than half aware, he thought quickly, as the hubbub started up again.

‘Otto’s pig will be quite ruined by now. So there’s no need to hurry.’ Audley raised his glass. ‘Would you like a re-fill? I really am a terribly bad host . . . and I haven’t introduced you to anyone either, have I? Otto!’

‘Hauptmann David!’ The tray, with two fresh glasses on it, and then the white glove-and-arm-and-coat, appeared as if by magic, in that order. ‘One Islay malt –one Black Label . . . and the pig, as dummy4

you say truly, is ruined, dried up, as a corpse in the desert of North Africa.’

‘You were never in North Africa, Otto.’ Audley swopped his empty tumbler for a well-filled one. ‘But you have been eavesdropping – eh?’

‘I already know all that there is to be known about the Herr Major.’ Otto presented the tray to Fred. ‘I do not need to eavesdrop.’

Fred looked at Audley. ‘Since when have I been a major?’