A New Kind of War

‘ SIR.’‘ Pause (salute!) – stamp (about turn!): Driver Hewitt was now actually attempting to get into the People’s Car while at attention, which was not physically possible. But he was doing his best, certainly.

The engine whirred instantly, and the little car jerked nervously several times, before turning in a wide circle round the monument and disappearing behind it in a cloud of blue exhaust fumes.

The Brigadier’s eyes returned to Fred. ‘I think we’ll dummy4

share another joke now, major – just to see Driver Hewitt on his way properly, eh?’

A joke at attention – or at ease? wondered Fred as he laughed obediently. But somehow that made it easier anyway, as the People’s Car appeared again, at a speed which only just enabled it to straighten out in time to retreat down the avenue.

‘So!’ Brigadier Clinton waited until the avenue was clear. ‘Driver Hewitt is insatiably inquisitive, and garrulous with it ... So that is one job well done, at least.’ He looked up at the monument. ‘Do I need to explain?’

There was a long Latin inscription carved into the stonework between two of the square pillars, Fred saw.

‘No, not really.’

Clinton himself seemed to be more interested in the carved inscription than in his reply, which goaded Fred towards a smart and undiplomatic answer. ‘I assume he’ll tell everyone from Otto Schild upwards that you’ve recruited another spy inside TRR-2.’

‘Another spy?’ The Brigadier still appeared to be fascinated by the inscription.

‘He said Audley was a special friend of yours. Not that it’s done the boy any good with the Colonel and the RSM. But I suppose I can live with that.’

‘You can? No ... it wouldn’t, I suppose . . .’ Then the dummy4

Brigadier’s lips moved soundlessly. So perhaps he was attempting to translate the Latin, but was finding it rather too difficult, Fred thought nastily.

‘Is he your spy? Unlike me.’ Nastiness encouraged cheekiness.

‘No ... at least, not yet, anyway.’ The Brigadier paused.

‘Now . . . “florentissimum imperium” – that’s rather good, that superlative . . .’

It was time to join the Latin lesson, Fred decided.

‘ “Arminius – ”’ he began to read the inscription aloud.

‘“ – liberator haud dubie Germaniae – ”’ The meaning registered suddenly. ‘Of course! How stupid of me!

This is Hermann’s monument, isn’t it – ’ He stepped back to look up at the colossus ‘ – the German who defeated the Romans – Varus in the Teutoburg Forest, and all that!’

‘Yes. That’s right.’ The Brigadier looked up too, nodding as he did so. ‘The Germans themselves killed him in the end, of course – a successful 20th July Plot, you might say ... But you’re right: this is “Arminius liberator” – Hermann, without doubt the liberator of Germany ... who ...“ – lacessierit” is a bit difficult . . .

“provoked” isn’t right. Although he certainly was provoking. What it ought to mean is “resisted”, even more than “hurt”. So let’s say “resisted” – “resisted the Roman people, not in their early days, like other kings and leaders, but at the very height of their power” –

dummy4

“florentissimum imperium” : I like that! – “at the very height of their power, with mixed fortune in battle, but in war undefeated”!’ The Brigadier nodded again.

‘Hmmm . . . not bad. Tacitus, of course – from his Annals. In fact, quite graceful, really.’ He looked at Fred. ‘The German translation’s underneath – “Armin, ohne Zweifel Deutschlands Befreier” – or am I insulting a properly educated mathematician twice over now? I suppose I am, at that!’

Thank you, Hermann! thought Fred gratefully. ‘No. My Latin’s damned rusty.’ Somehow the Brigadier had reduced himself to a human dimension. ‘And ... so this is the Teutoburg Forest, of course – where the battle took place, by God!’

‘Yes. And no.’ The Brigadier agreed and disagreed.

‘This is the “Hermannsdenkmal” – and this is the Teuto-burgerwald, haud dubie as Tacitus would say.

But whether this is the site of the Hermannsschlacht –

or the Varusschlacht . . . nobody knows. There are dozens of other possible sites, and the German scholars have been arguing over them for years. Not that it’s of the slightest historical importance – the site. As opposed to the fact.’

Fred saw his opening. ‘It is to Colonel Colbourne, I rather got the idea.’ Even, he was tempted irresistibly to presume on his “friendship”. ‘In fact, I think he’s going to organize the RAF – or the USAF – to conduct dummy4

a photographic reconnaissance for him in the near future.’ He grinned hopefully. ‘And isn’t this why – ’

He felt the grin freeze on his lips as he saw the Brigadier’s face and instantly amended what he had been about to say ‘ –actually, it isn’t a half bad idea.

Because air photography’s going to revolutionize archaeology, these next few years, so I’m told . . .’ The spreading cold reached his heart, and he trailed off, bitterly aware that he’d made the same mistake as the Liberator of Germany above him in pushing his luck –

proeliis-bloody-ambiguus – like a fool, only in his case, by talking too much, like David Audley.