Or maybe he thinks the Pope should have done something – I don’t know . . . But he did once say – to the Old Croc, he said it, too – “We are to blame.
Perhaps even more than the Germans themselves” – I heard him say it.’
It was a novel concept of war guilt, thought Fred. ‘How are we to blame, David?’
‘God knows! He clammed up after that. So you’d better ask him, old boy.’ Audley shrugged. ‘But what I dummy4
know is that Busy-Izzy was a bad-tempered, officious, bullying, d-d-double c-c-c-crossing, 24-carat shit long before we crossed the Rhine – long before he and the CO went in to Belsen, not to put too fine a point on it.’
He fixed an eye on Fred suddenly. ‘And don’t get any ideas about me being anti-semitic. Because I’m bloody-not!’ The brutal chin lifted. ‘My regiment had Jews in it – including a damn-good full-back named Isaacs, who got his silly head blown off in Normandy, as I told you – didn’t I – ?’ Audley blinked at him, and then shook his own unblown-off head and bared his teeth. ‘I did! But that doesn’t mean I have to be nice to Mister Levin . . . who is one of God’s – or Jehovah’s –
Gadarene Swine.’
Fred felt tired. And . . . although he conceded within himself that young Audley was an intriguing youth, in spite of all his defects (which must certainly be a sore trial to Amos de Souza) ... far too tired now to argue the toss, about the Jews and the Germans, never mind RSM Levin, anyway.
‘Oughtn’t I to be finding Driver Hewitt, David – ?’ He took the coward’s way out, disdaining to remind the boy that he himself, although C of E, came from an old Jewish family too.
‘Yes. Perhaps you ought.’ Audley looked around, reaching up to his full height from his normally slightly-hunched stance . . . which must, thought Fred, dummy4
offend RSM Levin every time he glimpsed it. ‘And I ought to be finding Caesar Augustus, too, I suppose . . .’ The big chest expanded, and Audley’s height increased another inch with it. ‘ HUGHIE!
Where are you?’
Silence. High above the line of vehicles Fred saw the silver-birch leaves shiver in a breath of wind against the grey sky.
‘He’s out there somewhere – brewing tea and smoking his eternal dog-end . . . and probably watching us.’
Audley’s chest expanded again.
‘DRIVER HEWITT! LET’S BE HAVING YOU!’
More silence. Then –
‘ SIR!’ The answer came as a muted cry of recognition.
Audley sniffed. ‘He’s even now dodging round the back somewhere, so he can pretend he’s been looking for you . . . Wait and see!’
Fred followed Audley’s glance, and saw a diminutive figure straighten up at the further end of the line of vehicles.
‘Sir! Mr Audley – Captain Audley – coming – !’
Fred observed the figure critically, recalling Driver Hewitt’s well-pressed turnout at the airfield. ‘He seems remarkably . . . smart.’ In fact when he thought about it, he had never seen such a well-pressed and blancoed and polished RASC driver.
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‘Oh yes – ’ Audley drew breath ‘ – you can thank Mr Levin for that, if for nothing else . . . Where the hell have you been, Hughie?’
Driver Hewitt came to attention. ‘Attending to your vehicle – Mr Audley – Captain Audley – sir!’ Hewitt rolled an eye at Fred. ‘Or . . . Major Fat – Fatto –
Fattorini’s vehicle . . . sir!’
‘Oh yes.’ Audley hunched up again. ‘Well, then . . .
you look after both of them now – right?’
‘Both of them?’ The eye rolled back at Audley.
‘Yes.’ Audley sighed. ‘For Christ’s sake, Hughie . . .
you know that I intend to take that little car back to England somehow ... so I want it all in one piece, remember.’ He bent over the little man, driving home his point with a single raised finger which stopped one inch from Hewitt’s nose. ‘Any damage to it will result in reciprocal damage to you, Hughie – right?’ Then he straightened up, grinning at Fred with a suddenly disarming youthfulness. ‘Not to mention any damage to Major Fattorini . . . you are to ensure, rather, that he has a few hours’ undisturbed rest, en route to Schwartzenburg: those are the adjutant’s exact orders.
Because he hasn’t had a proper kip since he left the isles of Greece, where burning Sappho loved and sang
–’ He swung back towards Hewitt as he spoke ‘ –
right?’
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‘Sir!’ Driver Hewitt’s wizened monkey-face remained impassive, but he infused the acknowledgement with the weariness of the old soldier long-accustomed to being patronized and talked-down-to by young officers who didn’t know any better, but who were nonetheless useful to him.
‘Good.’ Such implicit wisdom was lost on Audley.
‘Well, Fred ... I suppose I must go to receive my wigging from the headmaster. And you’d better wish me something better than the best of British luck now.
Because I expect Busy-Izzy has sneaked to him about us both by now ... So I expect it’s the 14th Army for me – Burma, here I come – !’
They both watched the young dragoon depart, slouched for the first few steps – however had he fitted all those long bones into a tank? wondered Fred; but at least he wasn’t still carrying his umbrella to judgement! – and then suddenly straighten up as though he felt their eyes on him – shoulders back! Swing those arms! Go take your medicine, David Audley!
Driver Hewitt chuckled throatily beside him, below him. And then checked the chuckle, turning it into a controlled cough, and swallowed the sound and the phlegm together.
‘What was that, Hewitt?’ In any sort of conventional unit, Driver Hewitt’s considered opinions wouldn’t have mattered. But this was not any sort of dummy4
conventional unit, and it was quite outside his military experience. For a start, it seemed to have more chiefs than Indians . . .or, as a private soldier of the Royal Army Service Corps, Driver Hewitt was an exception to the rule which had promoted both Audley and himself, anyway. ‘What was that you said – ?’
Driver Hewitt swallowed again, suggesting to Fred that in the absence of Major Fattorini he would have cleared his throat and spat. ‘Nothing – sir!’
The little man’s sudden diplomacy, in contradiction to his chuckle and when taken with his lack of promotion, convinced Fred that he needed Driver Hewitt on his side, if not Colonel Colbourne and RSM Levin, if he was ever to discover what was happening: but also (what he had on his side, which he surely didn’t have with the Colonel and the RSM) he had a moment’s choice – whether to pull rank (because presumably, he could make Hewitt’s life hell now), or ingratiate himself (as he had never done before with an Other Rank; but he had never been in this peculiar situation before) –
‘He’s a caution – Mr Audley is! Or . . . Captain Audley, as I should say now . . . sir.’ Hewitt confided in him suddenly.
‘A caution!’ Fred took Driver Hewitt’s gift of confidence in him as an Understanding Officer as his cue, breaking all the established rules. ‘Come on, dummy4
Hughie –how is he “a caution”, eh?’
The Hewitt eye rolled at him again, but this time appraising him much more shrewdly for a moment, and then blanking out. ‘You ’ad some trouble last night, after I put you orf in the middle of nowhere – yes, sir?‘