Before I closed my eyes I asked him, ‘What was that about? We could have waited until the others were past.’
‘No we couldn’t, sir. If the Gyppo ’as a go at us, he’ll either go for the lead lorry, to stop the convoy, and make us all a target . . . or for Tail End Charlie, ’oping we’ll be too far down the road to fight back properly. You and I will quite happily bowl along in the middle, sir, where the wise men are.’
‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’
‘With respect, sir; you may have sand in your shoes, but you still have a lot to learn.’
‘Ave Cæsar,’ I replied, but the words made me think about Nansen, and I didn’t speak a lot for the next hour.
We stopped at the roadside beyond Mile Twelve, and had a brew-up . . . obviously waiting for something because Smart-Whatsit was clearly in no hurry to get going again. After twenty minutes 4 RTR, in three tired-looking Centurion tanks, lurched out of the seaside, crossed the road in front of us, and set off into the blue. They made good time in the rough hard ground, and were soon out of sight, although for a while you could track their progress on the near horizon from the dust clouds. Get-Smart called us all together.
‘We’re running into the desert now, lads.’ He made it sound as if we were trying to round Cape Horn in the dead of winter. ‘Therefore I want maximum vigilance from everyone. Who knows what may lie beyond the next ridge.’
Trigger played dumb, and treated that like a question. He held up his hand and said, ‘I do, sir.’
Clare, standing behind his officer’s line of sight, shook his head in warning, but Trigger ignored him.
The officer asked, ‘What would that be, Rogers?’
‘Another bleeding ridge, sir – beggin’ your pardon. There’s thousands of the buggers out there.’ . . . and at least three tanks, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut.
‘Thank you, Rogers.’ Was he brighter than he sounded? Did he know when the piss was being taken of him? ‘See me tonight. I might have a small task for you.’ Yes, he did.
Before we mounted up he pulled me to one side, and asked, ‘Mind if we lose the Jerry titfer, Charles? Not good for discipline if an officer gets away with something the oiks have been hauled over the coals for.’ I didn’t answer. I just flung my cap over my shoulder, and in through the radio wagon’s open cab window, and turned away. This man could seriously get on my wick if I let him.
Up alongside Roy Rogers I asked, ‘Why didn’t you say something about the cap?’
‘Testing yer powers of observation, sir. I wondered when you were going to ask me why I was wearing this regulation apology for a piece of headwear, issued by the British Army.’
‘I noticed, but decided not to embarrass you by asking. It looks like a khaki banana skin balanced on top of your head. Why are you wearing it, then?’
‘Because the officer insisted, Mr Bassett . . . and put me on report for questioning his decision.’
Smart stood up on the seat of his jeep, and waved us forward, like wagon master Ward Bond in those Wagon Train television programmes, or Lash Larue at the Saturday morning pictures.
Trigger must have agreed with me because he muttered, ‘Wagons-ho!’ I wondered if anyone had ever said that sort of thing in real life.
I looked out of the window and muttered to myself. I didn’t intend anyone to hear me, but Roy must have picked it up. What I said was, ‘We’re going to have to do something about this mad bastard.’
To which Roy responded, ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, sir . . . and I’m going to pretend even harder that there isn’t a man out on this scheme who won’t agree with you.’
It looked as if I was in for a fun few days.
We turned into the blue, following the tracks left by the tanks. You can’t mistake a place a tank has been because it knocks flat everything it can’t merely pulverize with its weight. My old major used to call it tank spoor . . . and had taught me how to track them across Europe. Anyone with an educated eye could do the same out here. To begin with, we made three times the speed that Clare had managed on my previous scheme, but there were two prices to be paid for that. First it ripped the tyres of the bigger wagons to shreds. We had to change three of them, and at that wastage rate we wouldn’t get through the first day . . . and, second, we lost so much time hanging about changing wheels, that overall we travelled less distance than going at the slower pace.
During one of these unscheduled stops – the stricken truck needed to be partially unloaded before it could be lifted – Trigger wandered over to a couple of the others who were grabbing a swift fag, talked for ten minutes and sauntered back.
He must have decided I was an ally because he said, ‘Apparently Smart Alec has told the Sergeant that we’re getting these blow-outs deliberately because we don’t like him forcing the pace. He says we’ve got to quote, be kicked out of our customary complacency, and turned into proper soldiers, unquote.’
‘Don’t look at me: I’m in the RAF.’
‘I’ll let that pass, sir, seeing as some of us is not so sure about that . . . but I will say that for the first time I might be seriously envious of you.’
‘Don’t be. You lot are occasionally killed by the wogs. My lot
