okay?’
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‘Don’t worry about that.’ Kyri threw the words over his shoulder, forcing him to concentrate on his own gulley. ‘I’ll do the talking.
Just you be an outraged British ally to start with, old boy — and be angry with me for getting you into trouble. And – ’ He stopped suddenly.
‘And what?’ He fought the urge to turn towards the sudden silence.
‘Have you spotted something?’
‘And . . .
The Greek spoke with unnatural slowness. ‘Ye-ess . . . I think maybe I have . . .
Fred still couldn’t see anything. But the muscles all the way down his arms wanted to get his hands up even before his brain transmitted its own instructions. ‘Nothing this side –’
The shout came from his side, out of nowhere –
‘
Fred and his arms shot up simultaneously, his boots digging into the scree beneath them so urgently that he almost over-balanced; and it was only when he’d rebalanced himself that the reason for his failure to react instantly came to him –
“
Kyri shouted something, also. But Fred was too busy staring at the figure which had risen out of the dead ground of the gulley no dummy4
more than thirty yards away from him.
Fred was suddenly impaled on the prongs of disbelief and relief, any last doubts about the identity of his captor dissolved by that beloved obscenity, which sounded sweeter in his ear than all the music of heaven – which could never be foul and harsh again, it was so beautiful.
The welcome figure advanced cautiously towards him, cradling a gangster’s Thompson machine-pistol in its hands, until it had halved the distance between them.
‘KEEP ’EM UP!‘
Relief had started to lower his arms. But as they instantly went up again, disbelief still clogged his tongue.
‘Say
‘Yes.’ As Fred’s tongue unclogged he felt himself leap from cowardly gratitude to outraged dignity with one five-league stride.
‘What the hell are you up to – ’ The man was so close now that he could see the chevrons on his arm ‘ – sergeant?’
‘What?’ Now it was the sergeant’s turn. ‘What – ?’
‘Why did you fire at us?’ The unmoving Thompson kept his arms at full stretch, but his sense of outrage began to stretch beyond them.
The sergeant stared at him for a full second. ‘Who the fu – ’ But a sudden caution gagged the word, and he restrained himself. ‘Who are you?’
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Anger took hold of Fred. ‘I am Captain Fattorini –Brigade RE, 4th Div, sergeant. Who are
The sergeant assimilated that information slowly. But then, after having turned it over in his mind, he switched momentarily to Kyriakos before coming back to Fred himself.
‘Identification – ’ What the sergeant had seen plainly hadn’t reassured him, because the muzzle of the Thompson jerked slightly, but didn’t leave Fred’s stomach area ‘ – slowly, now –
Fred reached inside his tunic . . . slowly, because the sergeant had the gun. But there were limits. ‘
‘What?’ The sergeant frowned. ‘
He could understand the sergeant’s doubt. But with that reliable weapon pointing at his guts he needed to resolve that doubt as soon as possible. ‘Aren’t officers “sir” in your unit, sergeant?’
The sergeant stared at him again. But then something seemed to tighten within him. ‘Put it down on the ground . . . and then take three steps back . . . and keep your hands up – put them on the back of your neck – right?’
Something deep inside Fred tightened also. This wasn’t how it ought to be. But then, this wasn’t a situation he had ever encountered before. And this, also, was a new variety of sergeant –
“Do what he says, old boy,‘ said Kyriakos from behind him.
He had quite forgotten about Kyri –
