A New Kind of War

‘ – and the brightest: Open Scholar of Magdalen, Oxford, with brains to prove it – I ought to know, by Christ! Because I’ve seen them – ’

‘ David –’

‘Sir – ’ Devenish tried to get between them.

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‘ – spread all over the top of his fucking turret – brains everywhere, halfway across Normandy! And blood, too –brains over the turret, but blood inside the tank, after he got his head blown off.’ Audley drew a quick breath. ‘I tell you, it gives a chap a whole different slant on The Merchant of Venice to find out how much blood a Jew has in him. Because we mopped up and swilled out about half of it.’ Another breath. ‘The brains on the turret were easy . . . But there were about ten million flies – big fat greeny-blue flies . . . and they lived on Ben’s blood for a week, until the Germans brewed up his tank –’

‘Sir!’ Devenish’s voice was coolly disciplined. ‘We’ve got less than a minute now, before we should move, according to the time-table. And we don’t know what the lie of the land is like, between here and A2.’

‘What?’

‘We shall have to move out in about . . . forty-five seconds, sir.’

From being disapproving first, and then mildly irritated, and finally neutral, Devenish became gently encouraging. ‘Major de Souza won’t like for us to be late at A3, sir. Because he’ll be waiting for us.’

‘Yes . . . yes, of course.’ Audley took hold of his voice. Well . . .

any questions, Fred?‘

‘No, David.’ The enormity of the lie somehow made it true. But then he realized that he owed it to Audley to make amends more effectively than that. ‘Or . . . there is one thing that confuses me a bit, actually.’

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‘Yes?’ The boy was hauling himself back from his private nightmares now, trying to recapture reality. ‘You want to know why we always operate in pairs – the Crocodile and Sergeant Wilson? And Caesar Augustus and Busy-Izzy? And . . . the unbeatable Devenish-Audley dynamic scrum-half-and-fly-half combination?’ The boy was almost back to his old self. ‘We always get the ball out, to the three quarters – don’t worry!’ Sniff.

‘But “two” is logic – and experience, Fred: ancient British Army logic-and-experience, actually.’

‘It is?’ Fred had wanted to know no such thing but he was so enormously relieved to get away from Jews and tanks and voracious flies that he pressed the question willingly. ‘How’s that, then?’

‘You don’t know your Kipling – obviously! Although it’s just plain commonsense, really –

“When from ‘ouse to ’ouse you’re ‘unting, you must always work in pairs –

It ’alves the gain, but safer you will find –

For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs,

An‘ a woman comes and clobs ’im from be’ind.”

You take the point, Fred?‘

‘Yes.’

‘Yes . . . Although, actually there’s no such word as

“clob”, according to the Alligator – not in that form, dummy4

anyway. He thinks it’s late nineteenth-century military slang, probably Anglo-Indian. But I think Kipling just made it up, you know.’ Audley paused. ‘However ... I also think that there may be another reason. For always operating in pairs, I mean. Don’t you think so, Jacko?’

‘I think it’s time to go, sir.’

Thank you, Sar‘ Devenish. But I will decide when we move out.’ Audley’s tone sharpened momentarily. ‘As it happens, Fred, the route to A3 will be much easier, if the map and the air photographs can be trusted ... So, as I was saying . . . ’Loot‘ is the title of the poem, you see. And that happens to be the one thing all ranks of this unit are not allowed, in any shape or form –

unconsidered trifles, black market . . . blackmail – the lot. No winking, no blind eyes turned – right, Sar’

Devenish?‘

‘Sir.’ Devenish filled the word with sullen anger.

‘Thank you, Sar’ Devenish. So you see, Fred, we don’t just watch over each other, so as not to get “clobbed”

from “be’ind” – we also watch each other. Right, Sar‘

Devenish?’

‘If you say so, Captain Audley.’ If Devenish had been a piece of coal, he would be glowing orange-red now.

‘But don’t you think you’ve said enough, sir?’

‘Probably. I usually say too much, I agree. But that’s because I am quite unfitted for this dirty business. To a dummy4

scholar and a gentleman, it just doesn’t come naturally, you know.’

Fred felt sympathy for the long-suffering Devenish.

‘Don’t you think we should be moving, David?’

Audley answered this betrayal with a moment of silence. ‘Oh . . . have it your own way, then! No more questions, Major Fattorini? Jolly good – and good huntin’ and fishin‘, and all that – jolly