A New Kind of War

‘We put “Keys” into this uniform – ?’ He sensed Audley staring at him in the dark. ‘As one of ours?’

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‘That. . . that is exactly right.’ For a moment there was silence between them. ‘Full marks – join the club, and all that . . . Like,

“God Bless America” – but “God, don’t let’s trust the Yanks” –

exactly right, Fred!’

The sudden bitterness in the young man’s voice caught Fred’s interest. ‘You don’t like what you’re doing, David?’

‘Like it? Huh!’ Audley paused. ‘You should hear Sar’ Devenish on that subject!‘

‘He doesn’t like it – ?’

‘On the contrary, old boy! Sergeant Devenish poached me to rights long ago, when we were in Greece together, when I made the mistake of saying that I didn’t much like killing Greeks, when I’d been hired to kill Germans –huh!’

Even more interest. ‘What did he say?’

‘He said: “Well Mr Audley – ” I was a humble lieutenant then . . .

and I can’t do his voice – I’ve got no ear for mimickry . . . But, anyway, he said: “Well, Mr Audley, I don’t remember being signed up to do anything but obey orders. And I certainly never expected to do what I liked. Because if I could do what I liked, then I’d be doing my job back in England, and I’d be going home to the wife and the kids every evening. And none of this foolishness.”’

God! A super-saturated branch gave way above them, spattering Fred with German rain. God–this foolishness!

‘So let’s go then. We can’t afford to waste any more time discussing free will and military n-n-necessity, anyway. So come dummy4

on, Fred – ’

After a time Fred began to realize that he’d been going and coming on almost automatically, in almost total darkness and more by a mixture of sound and instinct. But then, when he lost the sound of Audley’s footsteps for an instant, his fear came back –

‘David – !’

‘Come on! We’ve got to move now! We can’t be late!’

‘David! How d’you know where we’re going?’

‘Don’t worry. Just follow me – ’ It was no use worrying –

Well ... at least he could work out the logic of the assault: if there was anyone who could be trusted to do the clever stuff, it would be Amos de Souza – no problem there . . . And, by the same logic, Audley and Devenish were an ideal snatch-squad: the young dragoon was built like a brick shit-house, and Devenish was a veteran and a hard man, as he himself had reason to remember.

He almost tripped up, on an invisible fallen branch thicker than anything he had encountered before, and saved himself with Audley’s stick; and caught the sound of the boy crashing his way ahead, regardless as a tank, and, in the surrounding silence, almost as noisy –

Then the noise stopped. ‘Are you all right, Fred?’

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‘Yes.’ Led by the voice, and with all his senses sharpened by the night, he could just see something darker in the darkness of the forest. Or he might just be imagining that he could? ‘But I can’t really see a damn thing.’

‘I can. So don’t worry – just follow me.’ Audley waited for him to close up again. ‘We’ve got to leg it now, too. Because we can’t be late for the fun – Amos would never forgive me if I missed the party, you know. Right?’

Fred clenched his teeth, trying to forget the aftermath of those other Italian fun-parties when the dawn had revealed the bodies of the fun-party-goers on the river banks, with others bobbing in the shallows among the wrecked pontoons, or caught in the reeds. And the bobbing corpses were usually his men, too, because the heavily- laden infantry sank to the bottom quickly: they were the ones you trod on, who had drowned quietly in three-foot of water, when you went to recover the sodden engineer bundles later on – damn!

Damn! Damn! Damn! ‘Right, David. But I hope you know what you’re doing –and where you’re going.’

But Audley didn’t go. Instead his torch came on suddenly, blinding him totally.

‘Put that damn thing out!’ The old night-discipline asserted itself.

‘It’s all right.’ Audley soothed him quickly. ‘We’re still half a mile from A2. No one can see us here – and I know exactly where we are, too! Look – ’ Instead of going out, the torch-beam swept left, and then right, into the forest ‘ – see?’

Fred tried to see. ‘We’re in ... some sort of ditch – ?’ That was all dummy4

he could see in the pale yellow light as it moved, directing his eye: there were banks either side, humpy and uneven . . . but banks, nevertheless, with trees on either side, and only the minor debris of fallen branches in the bed of the ditch, ahead of them.

The torch went out. ‘That’s right: we’re in a ditch. And so long as I don’t go up on the bank on either side – which I can feel with my feet . . . and my umbrella . . . because you’ve got my ashplant now, damn it! – then we’re on the right track to A2 . . . right?’ The tightness of Audley’s voice marked the end of his patience. ‘So we’re going, Fred – “quam celerrime”, as my old Latin master used to say – or “double-quick” – or “on the double” – ?’

They went, then. And they went almost, but not quite, ‘on the double’ – the old sergeant-major’s double, hallowed on a thousand parade-grounds and route-marches . . . but as close to it as the ditch, and the debris in it, and Audley’s longer legs, permitted –

(But – dear God Almighty! Damn you, Kyri, for getting me into this mess – damn you! And I could be dining with you in Athens, this very night, but for that, Colonel Michaelides, damn you!) (Phew! The bloody ditch was almost vertical now!) And – he could feel the sweat running down his chest –And – thank God he was nearly at the top now! He could even see, far off on his right, a few distant lights twinkling of what remained of German civilization.