A New Kind of War

‘Well, whatever it is, it’s got my vote if it’ll end the war before the Crocodile sets his teeth into me!’

Audley peered out of the window again. ‘Ah! Good old Otto’s finally got round to my little car. So you won’t have to be ashamed of it if we use it today – ’ He came back to Fred ‘ – you know you’re with me today?

Everyone else can pursue their private interests, or do dummy4

their paperwork . . . or scratch their balls, and contemplate their navels, and generally recover from yesterday’s journey and last night’s excesses. But Jacko Devenish, and Hughie, and I – and you, Fred ...

for our sins, we four have to report to Amos bright and early, directly after brekker.’ He returned his attention suddenly to the scene below. ‘PUT YOUR BACK

INTO IT, MAN! GET THAT MUD OUT FROM

UNDER THOSE MUDGUARDS! Yes ... but then, of course, you’ll know all about that already . . . won’t you, Fred!’

Driver Hewitt had done his work well – and quickly, too. Because even before Clinton had arrived in the mess to contribute his own brief but masterly performance, which had only hinted at an old and special relationship between them, his fellow officers had eyed him differently. So now it was not to be wondered that this young man was fishing: that, and not his self-revealing apology, was the reason for this visit, of course.

‘THAT’S BETTER!’ The boy’s pretended lack of interest in Fred’s advance knowledge of the day’s operations was not badly done for one of such tender years.

‘Why should I know that?’ What made the lie easier was the certainty that Audley wouldn’t like the truth any more than he himself had done, when the time dummy4

came for it – if the time came for it.

‘Oh, come on! Aren’t you Our Freddie’s long-lost brother? Don’t disappoint me – ’ Audley stopped as he registered Fred’s frown, and his own expression changed from youthful falsely-innocent ugliness to an honest ugliness older than his years. ‘No, of course –

that’s not how the game is played, is it?’ He sighed.

‘And to think that I’ve been blaming myself for taking you away from your Greek fleshpots, because of my glowing references to the Fattorini family that day in the monastery! When in fact you were old acquaintances – ’ He stopped again, and all expression blanked from his face, reminding Fred oddly of Clinton himself. ‘In fact, now I come to think of that particular day in all its beauty . . . that Greek bandit you were with – he certainly wasn’t there by accident, was he!’

A hint of belated satisfaction re-animated the boy’s face. ‘So, of course, you weren’t, either – were you? So I’ve been slow – slow as usual!’

It was exactly as the Brigadier had said: there was always a danger in making pictures from inadequate evidence and misinterpreted facts. So this boy, although he was no fool, was doing that now. But there was nothing he could do about it yet.

‘My shaving water will be getting cold, David.’ He steeled himself against the boy’s enmity with the promise of a future explanation – one day, if not today.

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And also, hadn’t Audley himself been playing games, with his story of those fly-blown nightmares? ‘And I’d also like my breakfast.’

‘Yes.’ Audley was himself again as he started to turn towards the door. ‘Well, I can recommend the breakfast here: it’s quite outrageously Old English, with mounds of bacon-and-eggs, and fried bread and bangers. And tomatoes and mushrooms too, if Otto’s obeyed the Alligator’s orders.’ He almost left, but then leaned back through the gap in the door. ‘But you’ll pardon me if I hope your shaving-water is stone-cold, eh?’

Fred stared at the finally closed door, in further agreement with the Brigadier: the boy had something about him, in spite of all his defects – in spite of his mixture of arrogance and uncertainty . . . the mixture which so outrageously loosened his tongue, leading him always to say too much. But what was it, exactly

– ?

He reached into his valise for the scuffed and worn toilet-bag which was the only thing he had left of those original gifts from his mother on the eve-of-the-war, so long ago, to reach this final eve- of-peace which was dawning amidst Japanese ruin far away: the writing-case had long gone, and those three slim volumes of Plato’s Apology, and Crito, and Phaedo with it –

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somewhere in Italy they were, with the Bible he’d always meant to read, but somehow never had –

What was it – ?

‘ Audley?’ the Brigadier had said. ‘ Yes, he is an exception, and not just in the matter of loyalty . . .

Because all the others were hand-picked by me. Just as you yourself have been hand-picked finally, major. And if you and I fail now . . . then it will be back to the beginning again. But much less confidently – ’

But, as he lifted the bag, he didn’t want to think about that now: he had thought of that long enough already, across the candlelight of those same plundered silver candle-sticks of the first night, which had reappeared on the table last night. And he had continued to think about it during the night, while sleep eluded him, and then again on waking, before Otto Schild had sung his song – ‘ Yet, in the Teutoburg Forest, cold blew the wind’ –

A cold wind also blew in the Brigadier’s list –

Colbourne,

de Souza,

The Crocodile,

The Alligator,

Carver-Hart,