The intrepid major was a very young major, as well as a very big one, he observed as the major closed the distance with immense upwards strides. And young majors, role-playing in their elders’
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image, were always the worst ones –
But ... if it was a British operation, what the hell was the British Army doing, breaking their own truce so deliberately – ?
A very young major –
‘Sergeant Devenish! What the blazes are you up to?’ The young major heaved himself over a larger obstacle in the scree below them.
‘Sir!’ Sergeant Jacko – Sergeant Devenish – kept his eyes on both of them as he started to reply. ‘We spotted these coming up behind us, and – ’
Then why the b-blazes didn’t you c-c-call in?‘ The young major stuttered with anger as he cut the sergeant off while slithering and stamping up the scree over the last few yards.
‘The set’s on the blink, sir. We couldn’t raise you.’ The sergeant sounded not so much over-awed by rank as weary of his fault-finding majors.
‘W-what d’you mean “on the blink”?’ The young major anchored himself on his stick for a moment, but took a closer look at Fred and Kyri for the first time, scowling horribly as he did so. ‘You mean some bloody fool dropped it – ’ He stopped as he shifted his scowl back to Fred from Kyriakos.
‘The set was not dropped, Mr Audley.’ Sergeant Devenish answered the young major with quiet authority, still without taking his eyes off them. ‘It’s the one we’ve had trouble with before. It’s a duff set, is what it is.’
Mister Audley? The young major’s sheepskin jerkin concealed his dummy4
badges of rank and Fred couldn’t identify the impossible heraldic quadruped on his cap-badge. But at this close range the man’s extreme, almost beardless, youth was simultaneously as apparent as his considerable ugliness (and he hadn’t been so much scowling as perhaps frowning nervously?). And then the full significance of the sergeant’s ‘ Mister Audley’ and his slight disdain clinched the matter.
‘What the devil d’you mean by shooting at me?’ he snapped at the youth, even while keeping his hands close to the back of his neck with the sergeant’s eye still on him. ‘And who the devil are you?’
‘W-what?’ The scowl-frown returned. ‘Sergeant – who is this?
‘Captain Fat – ’ The sergeant paused momentarily ‘ –Fat-O’Rhiney, sir.’
‘O-what?’ The youth blinked.
‘O’Rhiney – Captain Fat-O’Rhiney, Mr Audley, sir,’ repeated the sergeant before Fred could correct him. ‘Royal Engineers.’
The youth raised his eyebrow at Fred. ‘What jolly bad luck! F-fat –
F-fatto . . . what?’
Fred clenched his teeth. ‘Fattorini. Brigade Royal Engineers. Who are you, may I ask?’
The youth frowned again, this time staring at Fred with peculiar concentration. ‘ Fattorini– ?’
Kyriakos cleared his throat, but mercifully didn’t spit. ‘Captain Frederick Armstrong Fattorini, Royal Engineers, GSO Three, Brigade Staff,’ he said, with deliberate public school King’s English clarity.
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The youth shifted his frowning stare to Kyriakos. ‘And may one ask who the hell you are?’ he inquired politely.
Kyri drew himself up. ‘Michaelides, Staff Captain, Rimini Brigade, Royal Hellenic Army . . . And may I ask whom I have the doubtful honour of addressing on the eve of Scobiemas?’
The youth’s ugly face broke up. ‘Scobiemas! Of course!’
Sergeant Devenish coughed. ‘Said his name was Alexander –
Alexander – something, sir. And he said he had papers to prove it.’
‘My identity card is buried nearby,’ snapped Kyri. ‘When we heard the firing we thought you might be andartes – do you understand?’
The youth grinned. ‘All too well, I do – very sensible!’ Then he stopped grinning. ‘Would you be so good as to dig it up for me, then?’
Kyriakos nodded. ‘Of course – ’
They’re both armed, sir,‘ said Sergeant Devenish quickly. ’And I haven’t had a chance to disarm them.‘
‘Yes?’ The youth was staring at Fred again. ‘Well, in these parts that would also be very sensible . . . And that’s why you’re still
“reaching for the sky” as they say –is it?’ He nodded. ‘But I think we can dispense with the precaution now, Sergeant Devenish.’
‘Sir – ?’ The doubt in Sergeant Devenish’s voice kept Fred’s arms up.
‘It’s all right, sergeant.’ Another nod. ‘You were quite right to be careful – they do look a dodgy pair, I agree.’
‘We spotted them on the hillside. And I think they spotted us, too.’
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That was careless of you! So – ?‘
They were lurking behind this rock, sir – ‘ Doubt and anger filled the sergeant’s voice.
‘We weren’t “lurking”,’ said Kyriakos. ‘We were just taking the short-cut to the village. And then we heard the firing. So we took cover.’
‘Ah!’ Another nod. ‘But may one ask why you were going to the village, Captain Michaelides?’
Fred had been waiting for his chance. ‘Captain Michaelides was taking me to see Delphi. But our jeep broke down two or three miles back –’ Not knowing the youth’s name and rank inhibited him ‘ – you are ... who?’
‘Audley – David Audley, West Sussex Dragoons.’ The youth grinned. ‘Lieutenant – strictly expendable cannon-fodder . . .
Hughie.’
‘Mr Audley, sir?’ It was the little wireless operator who answered.
‘Hughie – be a good fellow and tell Sunray that everything’s okay here . . . Tell him that Charlie Three was defective. But also tell him that we’re bringing in two innocent bystanders for him to meet
– got that?’
‘Right-o, Mr Audley.’ The little man shambled away, uncomplaining although the sweat shone on his face. ‘ Hullo, Sunray – hullo Sunray! Charlie One to Sunray –’
‘Do please lower your arms, gentlemen . . . And Captain Michaelides – ’ Lieutenant Audley nodded at Kyriakos, and then carried the nod to Sergeant Devenish. ‘It’s all right, sergeant, I can dummy4
vouch for Captain Fattorini personally – don’t worry!’
Kyriakos looked questioningly at Fred. ‘You’ve met before – ?’ As he observed Fred’s incomprehension he stopped, and transferred the question back to the ugly Dragoon.
‘No. But the face is familiar.’ Audley grinned once more at Fred, hugging his secret knowledge to himself as warmly as his sheepskin jacket. ‘Right, Captain Frederick Armstrong Fattorini?
Border Armstrong – which side, Captain Fattorini?’
Who the hell was he? ‘Scottish – of course.’ Who the hell was he?
‘Could have been either. But in your case – Scottish.’ Audley nodded his delight at Kyriakos. ‘Border family –English and Scottish, but all brigands of the worst sort ... No surprise meeting one here – all brigands here – right, Captain Michaelides?’