A New Kind of War

‘Sss – ’ Audley’s treacherous tongue tied itself up, and Fred crossed his fingers. ‘Sir!’

‘Yes?’ Although that was the correct and complete answer, Colbourne still pursued the boy. So those two lost minutes could hardly be crucial to the success of the operation. And, although the boy had only himself to blame, that altered the case somewhat.

‘It’s pretty dark out there, sir.’ He kept the words level, as a statement rather than an excuse. ‘The terrain is difficult, too. I had difficulty keeping up with Captain Audley.’

Colbourne sniffed. ‘Thank you, major. I take it you still have the bag which the adjutant gave you?’

dummy4

‘Yes, sir.’ He felt himself relax.

‘Good.’ Another sniff. ‘This operation is meticulously planned. It is not going to go wrong. You will follow Captain Audley and Major de Souza, and do exactly what they tell you tonight, major.

Audley will have told you what’s happening.’

Another sniff came out of the dark, but it came from a different direction and was even more obviously derisive.

‘Very well, then – carry on, Captain Audley . . . and no more lost minutes, eh?’ Colbourne paused. ‘Mr Levin!’

‘ Sar! ’ The bark came from the direction of the second sniff.

No one spoke as the Colonel withdrew in the direction of the bark, vanishing into the night.

‘Whew!’ exclaimed Audley. ‘Thanks, Fred.’ He breathed out again. ‘I’ll bet it was that bastard Levin who wound him up.’

The boy was incorrigible. ‘The RSM?’

‘That’s right. Mister Levin to the likes of us – Mister Isaac Levin, DCM – ex-Desert Rat, with the emphasis on rat . . . scourge of subalterns and other ranks . . . but, more to the point, old comrade and chief informer and eminence grise to Colonel Augustus Colbourne, DSO –our beloved emperor.’ Audley produced a sniff of his own. ‘And “Busy-Izzy” behind his back – don’t they call him that, Jacko?’

Devenish cleared his throat. ‘If you say so, sir.’

‘Oh, come on, Jacko!’ Audley shrugged off his bodyguard’s disapproval. ‘You know they do – come on!’

dummy4

Another pause. ‘I ... have always found Mr Levin to be a most efficient warrant officer . . . sir.’

‘Oh yes? And you have also found yourself disliking him as much as I do – almost as much as we both dislike the Crocodile . . . The only difference is that Busy-Izzy is scared of you, because you know your King’s Regs like the back of your hand. So he knows he’ll burn his fingers if he tries to lay one of them on you . . .

Whereas he damn-well persecutes me. In fact, but for Amos he’d have had me tarred and feathered, and run out of Schwartzen-burg on a rail long ago – ’

Somehow Fred was beginning to see in the dark, but also in his imagination too, without sight. And so Audley had his mouth open now, but Devenish was tight-lipped, he imagined.

‘Major Fattorini’s all right. He’s one of us, Jacko.’ Their joint silence sucked Audley on. ‘Busy-Izzy is a circumcised shit – and you know it!’

‘I’m sure I can’t say, sir . . .’ Something goaded Devenish out of his own safe silence, forcing the words out into the open. ‘They may call Mr Levin names . . . behind his back ... for all I know. I expect they do.’

A most diplomatic answer, thought Fred: like any sensible soldier, Devenish was loyal to himself and his own interests first. But more to the point, he was learning something about Audley from his indiscretion. And he needed to know more, if this was the case.

‘You don’t like Jews then, David?’ As he spoke, he remembered that this same problem had also surfaced in Greece, as dummy4

replacements from the Middle East had percolated through, and there had been officers and other ranks posted from Palestine whose experiences (and consequent anti-Jewish prejudices) had conflicted horribly with all the ghastly information coming out of Europe.

‘ What?’ The presumption of Fred’s question stripped the copy-cat de Souza casualness from Audley’s voice. ‘ What? –’

Time’s getting on, sir – ‘ began Sergeant Devenish.

‘Shut up, Jacko! What did you say, Major Fattorini? I don’t . . .

what?’

The boy was angry. So maybe he had jumped to a wrong conclusion. But this wasn’t the time to explore the matter further.

‘I’m sorry, David. Forget it – okay?’

Wot?‘ Audley’s outrage cut him off. ’Let me tell you this, Major Fattorini: my best friend in the Wesdragons –he was a “Jew-boy”

as they say . . . And circumcised to prove it – and no church parades for him, lucky blighter –‘

‘David –’

‘ – and the bravest of the brave, too – ’

‘ David –’