A New Kind of War

Driver Hewitt swallowed again, suggesting to Fred that in the absence of Major Fattorini he would have cleared his throat and spat. ‘Nothing – sir!’

The little man’s sudden diplomacy, in contradiction to his chuckle and when taken with his lack of promotion, convinced Fred that he needed Driver Hewitt on his side, if not Colonel Colbourne and RSM Levin, if he was ever to discover what was happening: but also (what he had on his side, which he surely didn’t have with the Colonel and the RSM) he had a moment’s choice – whether to pull rank (because presumably, he could make Hewitt’s life hell now), or ingratiate himself (as he had never done before with an Other Rank; but he had never been in this peculiar situation before) –

‘He’s a caution – Mr Audley is! Or . . . Captain Audley, as I should say now . . . sir.’ Hewitt confided in him suddenly.

‘A caution!’ Fred took Driver Hewitt’s gift of confidence in him as an Understanding Officer as his cue, breaking all the established rules. ‘Come on, dummy4

Hughie –how is he “a caution”, eh?’

The Hewitt eye rolled at him again, but this time appraising him much more shrewdly for a moment, and then blanking out. ‘You ’ad some trouble last night, after I put you orf in the middle of nowhere – yes, sir?‘

Men like Hewitt always knew everything, so there was no harm in admitting the truth. ‘We took a prisoner, though.’

‘So you did! An’ I saw Jacko Devenish wiv ‘im, wiv a blanket over ’is ‘ead – fair enough!’ Hewitt agreed quickly. ‘But I also ’eard tell there was a man shot down right in front uv you – ain’t that the truth – so you lost one of ‘em again?’

Not quite everything, then. ‘Again?’

‘Aye! Jus’ like the last time!’ Hewitt looked up at him unblinkingly. ‘An’ Mr Audley got a rollicking for that, too . . . Though it weren’t ‘is fault, as I can testify.

’Cause I were there that time, sir.‘

There was one hell of a lot he didn’t know about Colonel Colbourne’s operations, thought Fred bitterly.

But then he remembered Greece, and the indirect road to Delphi. ‘Do you mean ... in Greece, Hughie?’

‘In Greece – ?’ Driver Hewitt looked around shiftily, as though he had momentarily forgotten where he was.

‘Yes – in Greece, that would be – like you said.’ When the look reached Fred again it had become one of dummy4

pristine innocence. ‘But we ought to be goin’ now – if you want to get your ‘ead down, like Mr Audley an’

the adjutant wants you to, eh?‘

This wasn’t the moment to push his luck, Fred decided

– not only because Driver Hewitt wasn’t quite ready to be pushed, but also because there were engines revving up along the double line of transport which had gathered here, coming both from the hunting lodge and the Roman fort: Colonel Colbourne’s command was now united and in retreat, out of the American Zone and into somewhere safer, that engine-noise indicated.

‘Of course!’ He stretched his shoulders and yawned theatrically. But then, as he did so, he also saw his opening instinctively: either from self-interest or inclination, Driver Hewitt was David Audley’s man, so that was his way in. ‘But . . . you’re sure there’s nothing we can do to help Captain Audley – ?’

‘Captain Audley?’ Driver Hewitt glanced down the line. ‘Cor! You don’t need to worry about ’em! ‘E’s as artful as a cartload uv monkeys when ’e’s up against it . . . an‘ . . . ’ e’s also a friend uv the Brigadier’s –

Brigadier Clinton hisself!‘ Driver Hewitt accompanied that last confidence with a shameless theatrical wink as he started to follow his own finger. “E was born to be

’anged – not posted!‘

Well . . . there was the truth, pure and unvarnished as only an RASC driver could impart it, thought Fred: the dummy4

anomaly of young Audley’s presence here, among his elders and betters, could be explained as simply as that: he had influence!

‘Come on, then!’ Driver Hewitt gestured urgently, and disappeared in a gap between two of the vehicles.

Fred skipped after him smartly into the gap as he observed the reason for the little man’s urgency aproaching in the distance: Colonel Colbourne was waving a finger at Captain Audley (who for once seemed to be keeping his mouth shut), with the RSM

just behind them. And he felt a slight pang of conscience as he did so, but then allowed himself to be consoled by Driver Hewitt’s judgement of the young man’s ability to defend himself, added to the boy’s special relationship with Brigadier Clinton. And besides, as a new boy himself, what could he do, anyway?

More engines started up – and Hewitt was beckoning him into another gap – and there, sure enough, was another argument in progress: he glimpsed Major McCorquodale addressing an imperturbable Amos de Souza while (so it seemed) shaking his fist at Otto Schild, at the adjutant’s shoulder, and a Schild now British from the waist down, in battle-dress trousers, boots and gaiters, and German from the waist up, in a badgeless Wehrmacht jacket and forage cap. Better to avoid that encounter, too– !

dummy4

On the furthest side of the two lines of vehicles, under the dripping branches (and, presumably, discreetly avoiding both those disagreements), there were several other officers, whom he vaguely remembered from the night before, and two or three NCOs beside their transport.

‘Mornin’ Freddie – ‘ and ’Hullo there, Freddie – ‘ –

they seemed to know him better than he knew them; and the NCOs straightened up as he passed them; and the smartness of everyone’s turn-out made him feel crumpled and shabby: what was not least tantalizing about this