A New Kind of War

firm had ‘useful contacts’. Rome, certainly . . .

But . . . Berlin? And Moscow? ‘And you like bankers –

I know that, too.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Does it matter?’ What mattered suddenly was that all the ramifications of the Fattorini Brothers in general, and the Brigadier’s long-time friendship with Sir Luke Fattorini in particular, accounted for the involvement of the unfortunate ci-devant Captain Frederick Fattorini in this murky business, thought Fred. Or, when added to the pure mischance of his own friendship with Kyri, dummy4

it did . . . Except that, even there Uncle Luke and the old firm were at the heart of the accident too. So ... was he never to have free will – even to be a victim?

‘It was that young blackguard Audley!’ Clinton came up with his own correct answer. ‘I’ll bet it was!’

‘Does it matter?’ Fred came to the point of decision not so much to save Audley as to assert and save himself.

‘You’re quite right, of course – about Uncle Luke, I mean.’ He paused for a fraction of a second. ‘But you’re also wrong.’

The possibility that he could be wrong about anything that he didn’t already know of brought the Brigadier up short. ‘What d’you mean, major?’

That had saved Audley. Now he had to save himself.

‘He did talk to me in Vincent’s – he was afraid I might go to Spain, of course.’

‘With Sebastian Cavendish – yes?’ Clinton asserted his own knowledge cruelly. ‘Who was killed on the Ebro –

uselessly.’

‘With Bassie Cavendish.’ There would have been a time when he would have hit the bastard for that, Brigadier or not. ‘And I regretted not going for a long time after that. Almost . . . almost until very recently, actually. And then I remembered something else Uncle Luke said . . . which, in a way, you’ve also said now, you see.’

dummy4

The Brigadier plainly didn’t see. (So Uncle Luke’s memory of that night in Vincent’s hadn’t been quite word- perfect, then!) But this time Clinton had the wit not to interrupt.

‘I didn’t much like what was happening in Greece, sir.

Not even after I’d realized that the Communists had always planned it that way . . . only, they hadn’t bargained on us fighting them. But . . . but, anyway, they’d planned to make a clean sweep of the other side.

And then the middle wouldn’t have any choice. And I didn’t much like that, either – ’

(He had said to Kyri: ‘ What’s the difference between you and them?’ And Kyri had replied: ‘ Not a lot, my dear chap. Only. . . I am personally responsible for whatever I do, and I cannot say to God therefore that

“I was only obeying orders” when I come before Him

– that is really the only difference.’) Only, he couldn’t say that to the Brigadier. But what could he say, then? And, by God, it would have to be good, now!

And the Brigadier was still waiting, too –

‘We had a fellow posted to us from Northern Italy . . .

or it might have been Austria, I don’t know.’ He fought for time. ‘But he was more or less in disgrace, about dummy4

half a step from court-martial. And he got pissed out of his mind one night . . .’ He could see that time was running out ‘. . . he said that we’d been sending prisoners back east – all sorts of odds and sods of Russians, and Ukrainians and assorted Slavs . . . old men, and women and children, too . . . And they were committing suicide, some of them – ’ He trailed away helplessly.

‘What else did he say?’ The Brigadier urged him on.

‘He fell under the table then. So we put him to bed.’

Fred could still remember Captain Smith’s drunken misery as they’d tried to make him comfortable. And his endless questions – ‘ What would you have done, Fattorini?’

‘Very sensible. And when he’d sobered up ... what did he say, then?’

‘He wouldn’t talk. And he was posted again shortly after that, in any case.’ He met the Brigadier’s stare.

‘To Burma, actually.’

‘Yes. Also very sensible.’ The terrible smile returned.

‘Traditional, too.’

‘Traditional?’ The last tradition he had encountered had been Audley’s umbrella.

‘Yes.’ The smile twitched hideously. ‘In Nelson’s day, when there were signs of indiscipline, they always used to ship out those who knew about it as far away as dummy4

possible, and as quickly as possible. Nothing like a long sea voyage to isolate contagion.’ The Brigadier pointed suddenly at a smaller statue alongside the path, to a carved stone trophy of Roman equipment presumably symbolizing loot from the ruin of Varus’s army: armour, shields, sword, eagle standard and helmet hanging on a