‘Of course!’ Audley was plainly delighted by this unwise admission of weakness. ‘I was just going to tell you – ’
‘Yes, Amos.’ Fred overruled the boy sharply. ‘I was.
And I’m sorry.’
‘Yes?’ De Souza raised a hand to silence Audley, dummy4
without looking at him. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing, really.’ Also without looking at the young man Fred understood the problem the boy represented: brains and over-promoted youthful arrogance, and immaturity, plus a tongue like a cow-bell, would not endear him to an RSM with no other subalterns to bully. ‘I rather think the RSM was pulling rank ... or pushing it, if you like.’ He shrugged. ‘But I was tired, so when he pushed, I pushed back, I’m afraid.’ As always, honesty eased his conscience. ‘It wasn’t necessary. But I did – and I’m sorry, Amos.’
‘Yes . . . you will be – huh!’ There was no sympathy in Audley’s murmur. ‘Busy-Izzy’s a bad enemy – as I can testify from bitter experience, by golly!’
‘Shut up, David.’ De Souza didn’t bother to look at Audley. ‘That’s fair enough, Freddie – take no notice of that. Levin’s a good man.’
But that wasn’t all, Fred sensed. ‘He is?’
‘Actually, yes.’ De Souza accepted his doubt. ‘He knows his duty, and he does it.’
That still wasn’t all. So Fred waited for more.
De Souza nodded. ‘He was with the CO in the desert.
Hence his DCM. That was at Alam Haifa. When things weren’t so good.’
From de Souza that was no small accolade, that understatement. But it still wasn’t what the Major dummy4
wanted to say. And that whetted Fred’s appetite even more.
‘Yes-?’
‘All your service has been in Italy, hasn’t it – ?’
Beneath the innocent inquiry there was a curious hesitancy, almost embarrassment. ‘And in Greece, of course – as we all know!’
What the hell did that mean? Of course they all bloody-well knew!
‘For God’s sake, Amos!’ Having been hopping and twitching and charing on the sideline, like a reserve in a losing game, Audley exploded suddenly. ‘Levin’s a swine, for God’s sake! So –’
‘ Shut up, David!’ De Souza’s snarl was as uncharacteristic as his hesitancy, with its suddenly-undisguised anger glowing red now.
‘Sorry!’ From trying to push himself into the action, Audley shrank into himself. ‘Amos, I didn’t m-m-mean
–’
‘ Shut up – ’ De Souza caught his anger quickly ‘ – I know you didn’t mean to interrupt me. You just wanted to hear the sound of your own voice, that’s all.’ He disengaged himself from Audley. ‘As I was attempting to say, Freddie ... we were pulled out of Greece pretty soon after you happened to cross our path, and we ended up more or less attached to VIII Corps in their dummy4
final advance. Between Hanover and Hamburg, we were . . . And you heard of the concentration camps, obviously – eh?’
‘Yes.’ He sensed de Souza wanted him to say more than that. ‘Of course we did. We heard they were . . .
pretty disgusting.’
‘Pretty disgusting?’ De Souza stared at him. ‘Yes . . .
well let’s just say they were worse than anything you care to imagine and leave it at that, shall we?’ He drew breath. ‘And Mr Levin had the bad luck to run into this particular camp, at Bergen-Belsen, near Celle, where most of the poor devils were Jews, you see. There were others there: resistance prisoners from all over, and quite a few Russians . . . and Germans, too – politicals and the like . . . and even the odd Englishman and American, by courtesy of the Gestapo. But most of them were Jews. And as young David here has no doubt reminded you so tactfully, Mr Levin is a Jew.’
He cocked his head slightly. ‘An acting Warrant Officer, Class I, late Queen’s Own South London Rifles. Holder of the Distinguished Conduct Medal.
Religion, Jewish. Do you see?’
‘Yes – ’ All this time, though really without consciously thinking about it, Fred had been conditioned by Amos de Souza’s languid Brigade of Guards drawl, pink complexion and pale-brown hair.
But, however English and C of E he was now, his dummy4
ancestors could well have been Portuguese immigrants, as Jewish as the original Italian Fattorinis ‘ – I see, yes.’
‘Do you?’ De Souza’s mouth twisted slightly. ‘Our much-esteemed Brigadier, whom you did of course meet so briefly in Greece . . . he has ordered us to cultivate a proper soldierly sense of detachment, if not proportion, now that it has fallen to us to obtain particular Germans, safe-and-sound and in mint condition for his collection. But that is more difficult for some than for others ... so I would appreciate it if you exercised a certain tolerance –toleration? – with regard to Mr Levin’s irascibility, Freddie ... d’you see.’
Fred nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Point taken.’
‘Excellent.’ De Souza smiled at last. ‘ Now . . . what I have done in your case, Freddie ... so that you can maybe make up for lost hours of sleep on the way north, to our home billet, is to give you both Captain Audley’s private transport and Captain Audley’s favourite driver, whom you know – who collected you at the airfield, indeed: Driver Hewitt, no less . . . And you, young David, for your sins . . . you will reinforce Corporal Keys’ escort, when the CO is finished with you – okay?’ De Souza shared his gentle smile between them. ‘Whilst I . . . I will attend to the undoubted disagreement which is almost certainly even now developing between Mr Levin and Herr Schild over the contents of Herr Schild’s three-tonner – ’ The dummy4
last words were delivered over de Souza’s shoulder as he departed ‘ – and you may both wish me the best of British luck, for I shall need it.’
Fred watched the adjutant’s departing back (which, irritatingly, was still immaculately-pressed, battle-dress blouse pleats and trousers separated by a newly blancoed belt with glittering brasses, in spite of their wet and disastrous night and an uncomfortable morning). Then he heard Audley stuttering beside him.
‘What?’ He had to be ready for the boy’s recriminations.
‘I s-said “b-b-b-bullshit” .’ Audley got it out at last.
‘What?’ It irked him that Audley presumed to criticize a better man.
‘ Bullshit? Having mastered the word once, the boy repeated it vehemently. ’He was rotting you – about Busy-Izzy . . . bullshitting you, Amos was — Amos, of all people! God! It makes me sick, I tell you!‘
‘Why should he do that?’ All Fred wanted to do now was to find Driver Hewitt, not explore David Audley’s juvenile prejudices.
‘God knows! Guilt, most likely – ’
‘Guilt?’ In spite of his preoccupation with trying to spot his driver among the vehicles, Fred caught up the word. ‘Guilt?’
‘Oh yes – guilt.’ Audley nodded. ‘There’s a lot of it dummy4
about, since they found the camps. But it takes different forms with different people. We had some chaps who just wanted to shoot up the Germans indiscriminately – not just the SS and Gestapo, but anything that moved. Made ’em feel better, apparently.
But Amos isn’t that sort, of course.‘
Fred frowned. ‘But he’s not ... Jewish?’
‘Amos? Good Lord, no! Amos is RC – high class old Catholic. Talks about “taking mahss” , and all that.’
Audley grinned momentarily, but then erased the grin quickly. ‘With some of them – like the Crocodile – it’s guilt because they know they’re actually anti-semitic themselves, basically. So they have to take a hard line now, because they’ve a sneaking suspicion that if God had made them German they might have ended up with two lightning flashes on their collars. But with Amos . . . with him I think it’s the feeling that we ought to have done something more positive to stop it.