A New Kind of War

But – a ditch? Since when did ditches climb up almost vertical hillsides in forests – ?

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‘David!’ The name came out in a hoarse exhausted wheeze. But then, as he opened his mouth again to repeat it, the sound of an aircraft which had been droning in the back of his consciousness suddenly increased, drowning out his intention and replacing it with the fear that even if he clicked now, Audley wouldn’t hear him. So instead he felt around with his stick like a blind man, for the guidelines of the improbable ditch on either side of him.

They were still there – there first on one side, and then on the other, as the continuous drone became a steady drumming, and then graduated to a final ear-splitting roar as the plane swept over them finally, far too low for comfort, above the top of this Taunus hill.

Eventually the sound died away. But then, even as it did so, he heard more droning engines – Click-click-click-click, he pressed desperately.

Click-click-click came back to him, humiliatingly close –but then click- click – two more clicks, but further off and almost drowned by the second approaching aircraft.

Christ! Maybe they weren’t so clever at that! thought Fred, clicking again instinctively. What if there were a couple of mad low-flying Yanks up there, practising their night-flying ... or maybe helplessly lost, and circling the airfield on which he’d landed a few hours back – ?

‘Hullo there – Fred?’ Audley pitched his voice against the crescendo of sound, as the second plane swept overhead. ‘Jolly good!’

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‘Is it?’ There would soon come a point when this young man’s version of Amos de Souza’s nonchalance irritated him beyond endurance.

‘You’ve still got the bag, I hope?’ Audley’s cheerful confidence was worse than de Souza’s imitation. That last bit was bloody steep, wasn’t it?‘

Foul words presented themselves. But already the first aircraft was on its second circuit. ‘Yes – ’ He had to shout ‘YES!’

‘JOLLY GOOD!’ Audley waited then, until the first plane had passed over them for the second time. ‘We’re almost there – you heard Sar’ Devenish’s signal?‘

‘Yes.’ He couldn’t say that he hadn’t been warned: Audley had warned him that Colonel Colbourne was a lunatic, and Colonel Colbourne had warned him that all his officers were mad. And, long ago, Kyri Michaelides had warned him to steer clear of them all. ‘What sort of ditch is this?’

‘What – ?’ As Audley started to speak the drumming of the second aircraft increased. ‘WHAT?’

This time, impossibly, it was worse: in the black starless sky the second plane almost touched the tree-tops just ahead of them, with its red-and-white lights winking to outline it.

‘WHAT . . .’ Audley let the sound disperse before he continued

‘. . . sort of ditch?’

So he had heard, the first time. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes – of course! It’s – ’

Click-click!

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‘I didn’t have time to tell you – ’ Click-click-click Audley returned

‘ – it’s a Roman ditch, Fred. Because we’re spot on the old Roman front line, which curves up round Frankfurt – or “Moguntiacum”, as Caesar Augustus Colbourne is wont to call it – the old Roman limes, in Latin: it linked up with their Raetian defences, on the Danube, with the Antoine Line, on the Main . . . and then north and west through the Upper German lines, to reach the Rhine at

“Confluentes” – which is Coblenz to poor ignorant types like you and me, Fred – ’ Audley’s voice had been lifting as he continued, becoming a shout again ‘ – FRED – ’

It was no good replying. With the noise, he could hardly think.

‘The Romans dug a ditch, all the way from the Danube to the Rhine – ’ Now as the sound decreased, Audley adjusted to it again

‘ – with look-out posts, and forts . . . sort of, like Hadrian’s Wall, but not so good – sort of customs-and-excise, plus soldiers . . .

Hadrian’s Wall – ?’

‘I know what Hadrian’s Wall was. Go on, man.’ The planes were going away at last, it seemed. But he couldn’t be sure. ‘Go on – ?’

But Audley appeared to have been struck dumb by the mounting silence.

‘What’s the matter?’ After so much noise after so much silence, Fred cracked first. And he also heard one of the planes coming back again. ‘We’re in the Roman ditch – is that it?’

‘That’s right. Our billet – the fort ... is on the same line. Ten or twelve miles away, as the Roman legionary might walk it – eight or nine, as the crow flies. But twice as much, on the road tonight.

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And now we’ve done about a mile and a half, from A1.

Anyway . . . With another half a mile to do, to the objective. Which is also on the line –’

Click-click! came out of the darkness ahead of them.

‘ – and we should be moving now. Because A2 is damn close to A3, I tell you. And the Yanks’ll be in position