Germany had bled with that argument for the last twelve years. I couldn’t understand them any more. I said, ‘Yes he has. He has us, for the time being. Us. Me.’
At least Les would look me in the eye. When he spoke he was almost whispering.
‘Charlie, Charlie.’ He was shaking his head, as if I was a stubborn child. I noticed for the first time that he had that horrible black-bladed knife in his hand. ‘Will you fight me over it?’
‘Yes. If you make me.’
Then nothing again. Then James: ‘Why?’
‘I’ve chased halfway across Europe to try to rescue a woman and a baby, haven’t I? Maybe I’m not doing too well at it, but tell me where’s the sense of saving one child, if I murder another one on the way to doing it?’
James said, ‘. . . or look the other way while someone else does the killing?’
‘That too. People have been looking the other way in this country for too sodding long,’ I told him. I saw Les drop his right shoulder, and said, ‘Les, if you make a move towards the kid, I’ll jump you. You’ll have to kill me to get him. I promise you.’ I don’t know what I sounded like, but I felt as if I was going to burst into tears. It was one of those moments. Les was suddenly like a Frog or an Eyetie, because he shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
Nothing again. No one moved. Not a sound: then somewhere a bird was singing, and James sighed, ‘Les is right, Charlie, but I’ll pull rank for you. Just this once. I’ll do that if you promise to dump the kid at the next village we get to.’
‘All right. Fine.’
James asked, ‘Les?’
Les looked away from us. Somewhere into the distance. His hands were empty. ‘Aye,’ he said, and, ‘OK.’ I wish I could say that he sounded relieved, but I’m not so sure.
The kid didn’t speak as I lifted him away from the corpse, and carried him away from whatever he had seen there. He weighed nothing. His coat sleeve was stiff with someone else’s blood. James had some sort of pidgin conversation with him as we climbed away again over grass that shone like dark-green glass. It was something like, ‘Muter?’ The kid shook his head. James thought that he hadn’t understood, and asked him again. The kid shook his head again. James realized that he meant no.
‘Fader?’ The kid shook his head.
‘Bruder?’ The kid squirmed in my arms suddenly. I almost stumbled. He pointed back over my shoulder.
Les spoke for the first time since his grudging OK. He said, ‘Don’t worry kid. We’ll see they look after your brother,’ and he touched the boy’s cheek and hair. Then he walked ahead of me.
*
Back on the low west ridge of our first valley we could see Kate down on the road, and something else behind her. We all crouched. Les swung his Sten forward. He grunted, ‘Company.’ Then, ‘Anyone got any ideas?’
I shook my head. James said, ‘Your speciality, old boy. I’ll leave it to you this time.’
It was another sign that James and I had been at different kinds of school. My lot would have called that a cop-out. Les turned to me, and grinned. I had noticed before that when he bared his teeth they had a feral look about them.
‘Keep the kid’s head down. If it goes wrong and you get hit, try to fall on him.’ I think that Les always had this urge to action. No matter how low he got, anticipation of loosing off a mag or two from his Sten always lifted his spirits.
James asked, ‘What about me?’
Les said, ‘I was thinking of an open-order advance, if that’s all right with you, sir? Give me about twenty yards on the left; then give me ten yards start, and watch where yer step. You move off to their right. If you hear me yell, hit the deck; I’ve better long sight than the pair o’ you.’ And, ‘. . . and you look after your new son,’ he told me. His grin told me something else. It told me that he suddenly found my situation amusing.
He asked the Major, ‘Time to go?’
James nodded, and Les lifted up and took a step to the left. He was correct. I wasn’t as long-sighted as he was. I could see something small up Kate’s derrière, and maybe a dark figure on the road. Maybe the figure waved. I had about five minutes during which to watch them as they worked their way carefully down, moving further apart: they had done this before. It showed. The further they were from where I crouched, the deeper in grass they seemed to sink, until eventually they appeared to be wading waist-deep. All that time I reflected on the decision I had made about the boy who was hugging deep into my neck: if I hadn’t stuck my oar in, there would have been three men moving down to Kate: not two. Anyway, it was sweat for nothing. As Les passed the halfway point he suddenly rose up and waved to the Major, and waved to me. It was clear that he was calling us down. By the time I got down to him with the kid it was clear to me why. I still hate those bloody awful little Volkswagens. It was the maths teacher who’d given Les a speeding ticket, days before. His uniform was still immaculate. The shiny black peak of his Toy Town helmet was still shiny black. I don’t know what had passed between them before I was up to them, but I heard the policeman say, in his clipped English, ‘I do not suppose that you have paid your penalty yet?’
Les told him, ‘I don’t suppose I have. We haven’t been anywhere near
