A New Kind of War

‘Smith, Nigel John, major, “I” Corps, Rangoon?’ He paused deliberately to let the cut slice deeper. ‘Of course, he was only a captain when you put him to bed in Athens. But he also wasn’t as drunk as you thought he was . . . although he was genuinely miserable, and dummy4

also quite mutinous, I would agree.’ This time he nodded. ‘Which was why I had him shipped out east afterwards, instead of bringing him here instead of you, actually.’ Another nod. ‘Oh yes – he was a double-check on you. Which was necessary because of your reactions to Greece, in spite of your Greek friend’s recommendation. Because, as you yourself said, you

“didn’t much like that”, did you?’

There was treachery! thought Fred again. But what could he expect, now that former allies were enemies, and (after last night) even present allies had to be double-crossed?

‘But don’t think badly of Colonel Michaelides.’

Clinton read his face with disconcerting accuracy. ‘He tried hard to preserve you from me. But unconvincingly, I’m afraid: he said you were an honourable man, thinking that that would put me off.

Because, in his own way, he is also an honourable man

– just like your Uncle Luke. Although Luke didn’t try to put me off.’

There was no end to the villainy of friends and relations, it seemed. ‘He gave me to you, did he?’ It rankled equally that Nigel Smith hadn’t been as drunk as he had seemed on that memorably argumentative evening – and that he himself hadn’t been as sober, maybe. So brother-officers couldn’t be trusted either, and he’d never again know for sure where he was with dummy4

any of them – friends, relations and equals . . . not for sure, as he had been able to know on that road to the north, in Italy, with that long-lost German engineer brother, who had at least been a trustworthy enemy.

‘He gave me to you?’

‘That he most certainly did not!’ No almost-softness now: cold authority now. ‘He said you might be difficult. But he said that, as a good Fattorini, you would listen to a fair offer. And that if you made a bargain you would keep your side of it.’

Again, a nasty one. And it was nasty both because brigadiers didn’t usually make offers to subordinates, and also because good Fattorinis always mistrusted fair offers. And, since Uncle Luke knew that rule better than he did, the very statement was a warning.

‘I keep telling you – I know all about you. So ... if you don’t believe me . . . then I challenge you to test me.’

Short of an answer, Clinton tried another tack. ‘Are you afraid of losing?’

Fred saw the trap just in time. ‘I’m not afraid. But if I lose, then I lose. But if I win, I lose. So I just don’t fancy playing, that’s all.’

‘That’s a pity. Because I was hoping you would ask me what it was that your Uncle Luke said, which you remembered just now . . . which I didn’t remind you of.

Because that’s the point now.’

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What Fred remembered at once was that, at the time, the Brigadier hadn’t seemed to understand what he’d said, then. But now it seemed that he himself hadn’t read the man correctly at all when it came to the very heart of the matter. ‘Very well: what did he say?’

‘He said that it wasn’t your body the Reds wanted in Spain – it was your soul they wanted, for future use.’

Clinton nodded. And then stopped nodding. ‘But I don’t want your soul, you see, major.’

That was exactly what Uncle Luke had said. ‘I wouldn’t give it to you if you wanted it.’ As he spoke, Fred decided that wouldn’t should be couldn’t. ‘I wouldn’t and couldn’t.’

‘I’m so glad to hear it. Because for what I have in mind I need men whose souls are their own.’ He watched Fred for a moment. ‘That surprises you?’

It was no good denying what his face must be betraying. ‘It surprises me that we’re discussing my soul. Or anyone else’s soul.’

‘Not in King’s Regulations – souls? Nothing about

“Free Will” in the Manual of Military Law?’ The man’s lack of emotion went with his placeless, classless, accent. ‘No mention of “Souls G. S., officers, for the use of or ” Souls G. S., other ranks“ — made out of coarser materials, of course – ” if damaged or lost on active service, report to Chaplain for replacement“

– ?’ There wasn’t the slightest hint of humour, either.

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‘No ... it was the word your Uncle used. And, as it happens, also the one Colonel Michaelides chose; although in his case it had a more narrowly religous connotation, I suspect. For myself, I might have selected a different one. But since you evidently understand what it means, then I shall use it to describe our bargain – very good?’

All the Fattorini warning bells rang simultaneously again. ‘On which side of this bargain is my soul supposed to be weighed – yours or mine?’

‘On which side?’ Clinton seemed almost surprised.

‘Why – on both sides, of course. And on neither side.

Your soul ... if there are such things, and if you have one – your soul is the scales on which your actions must be weighed. Isn’t that what souls are for?’

Damn the man! ‘My actions?’ Damn the man!