A New Kind of War

we’re runnin‘ – an’ it’ll be back roads, wiv no questions arsked at road blocks by soddin‘ great Yank MPs swingin’ their truncheons likes they own the place. I ‘ ates them . . . almost as much as I ’ates the Redcaps, what never done an honest day’s work in their lives, let alone a day’s soldierin‘ . . . But the Major – Major Amos – ’e knows ‘ow to deal wiv the Redcaps. They don’t bother ’ im none.‘ The little man pronounced this accolade with relish. Only then he shook his head. ’But the Yanks is different, I tell you.‘

Another shake. ’Wouldn’t want them pokin‘ around.’

‘Poking around . . . where?’

Hewitt nodded towards the ten-tonner which bumped up and down over the ruined road surface ahead of them. ‘Inside there, for a start – inside that ’ippo.‘

‘Ippo?’ Hewitt might, or might not, know all about

‘Corporal Keys’. But Fred hadn’t seen the German get dummy4

into the lorry.

‘Leyland ’ippo – one uv the new ones they was bringin‘ over last year, the Mark 2. For long-distance

’eavy work, like.‘ Driver Hewitt lapsed suddenly into uncharacteristic professionalism. ’The Mark I ‘ad an open cab. So you got boiled or froze in it – or drownded. But that’s a Mark 2 –’fact, it’s a 2A – see them dual tyres on the back? Six-inline soddin‘ diesel, what I never liked. But we’ve got some proper mechanics, thank Gawd! Not to mention Major Kenworthy, ’oo’s a bloody marvel wiv any sort of engine . . . An‘ it’s ’im as filled it up this time, I shouldn’t wonder – see ‘ow ’eavy it’s loaded . . .

‘Cause ’e was out the night before last wiv some ‘eavy liftin’ gear, too. So ‘e’s got somethink dodgey in there, too.’

Fred sorted Major Kenworthy out from the dozen or so officers to whom he had been finally and briefly introduced after dinner. The hunting and fishing major had been . . . Carver-Hart – Johnnie Carver-Hart? And there had been a thin-faced, dark-haired KRRC

major . . . but he had been Liddell – ? And then a roly-poly-faced one –but he had been Ingrams, with an oak- leaf mention on his European ribbon.

‘Major Kenworthy?’ Everything Audley had let slip suggested that Colonel Colbourne’s Band of Brothers were collectors of men, even before last night’s raid.

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But one didn’t need a Leyland Hippo Mark 2A to transport human cargo.

‘Wiv the spectacles,’ explained Hewitt simply.

‘Now . . . can I arsk you somethink – if I may?’

‘Ah!’ Small, bespectacled and donnish-looking – and with no regimental or corps identification: Major Kenworthy! ‘What – ? Yes, of course.’ He looked at Hewitt expectantly. ‘Ask away, Hewitt.’

‘Ah . . .’ The little engine in the back whirred as Hewitt changed down, as the lorry ahead of them laboured up a slight incline in the midst of another tract of birches.

‘What’s “reciprocal”? An’ ‘oo’s Sappho – Sappho was it? The one that loves an’ sings, anyway – ?‘

A wave of tiredness engulfed Fred momentarily. But he mustn’t sleep yet. ‘“Reciprocal” means . . . “equal”

–“equal in return”, you might say – ’ He struggled for another moment to find a better definition, but then decided against it. ‘And Sappho is ... or was ... a Greek poet, Hewitt. A female one.’

‘A lady poet – a girl, is that?’ The little man persisted.

‘Yes.’ The problem of defining Sappho further sorely taxed him. ‘At least . . . she was a girl a long time ago –

two or three thousand years ago. And she preferred women to men then, actually, Hewitt.’

‘Aarrgh! I knew it!’ The little man breathed out in relief.

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‘Knew what?’ The lorry reared up dangerously ahead.

‘Steady, man!’

‘I knew ’e didn’t know no girls in Greece – Mister David didn’t.‘ Hewitt braked sharply. “E didn’t ’ave no time, see – I didn’t think.‘

‘No?’

‘ Naow! An’ ‘e wouldn’t ’ave known what to do, anyway - ‘e don’t know nothink about girls, except in

’is books ... so ‘e’s shy wiv ’em, see – ‘ Hewitt screwed up his face sideways at Fred ’ – we ‘ad some Queen Alexandra’s nurses come to the Schwartzenburg one night, what ’ad lost their way. So they was in for dinner, an‘ one uv ’em was sittin‘ next to ’im – a real cracker . . . see, I was waiterin‘ that night, ’cause Otto was short-‘anded . . . An’ ‘e ’adn’t a word to say for hisself – would you believe it– not a word!‘

‘No – ?’ The idea of David Audley wordless in any circumstances was hard to accept. But there was more to this surprising confidence than that. ‘Indeed?’ He nodded encouragingly.

‘Aarrgh! But that don’t mean ’e don’t need watchin‘ –

no!’ Hewitt warmed to his subject without needing any stimulus. ‘More like, ’e needs more watching –

‘specially now, see.’

“Specially now – ‘ Fred echoed him automatically ’ –

is that so?‘

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