And then the middle wouldn’t have any choice. And I didn’t much like that, either – ’
(He had said to Kyri: ‘ What’s the difference between you and them?’ And Kyri had replied: ‘ Not a lot, my dear chap. Only. . . I am personally responsible for whatever I do, and I cannot say to God therefore that
“I was only obeying orders” when I come before Him
– that is really the only difference.’) Only, he couldn’t say that to the Brigadier. But what could he say, then? And, by God, it would have to be good, now!
And the Brigadier was still waiting, too –
‘We had a fellow posted to us from Northern Italy . . .
or it might have been Austria, I don’t know.’ He fought for time. ‘But he was more or less in disgrace, about dummy4
half a step from court-martial. And he got pissed out of his mind one night . . .’ He could see that time was running out ‘. . . he said that we’d been sending prisoners back east – all sorts of odds and sods of Russians, and Ukrainians and assorted Slavs . . . old men, and women and children, too . . . And they were committing suicide, some of them – ’ He trailed away helplessly.
‘What else did he say?’ The Brigadier urged him on.
‘He fell under the table then. So we put him to bed.’
Fred could still remember Captain Smith’s drunken misery as they’d tried to make him comfortable. And his endless questions – ‘ What would you have done, Fattorini?’
‘Very sensible. And when he’d sobered up ... what did he say, then?’
‘He wouldn’t talk. And he was posted again shortly after that, in any case.’ He met the Brigadier’s stare.
‘To Burma, actually.’
‘Yes. Also very sensible.’ The terrible smile returned.
‘Traditional, too.’
‘Traditional?’ The last tradition he had encountered had been Audley’s umbrella.
‘Yes.’ The smile twitched hideously. ‘In Nelson’s day, when there were signs of indiscipline, they always used to ship out those who knew about it as far away as dummy4
possible, and as quickly as possible. Nothing like a long sea voyage to isolate contagion.’ The Brigadier pointed suddenly at a smaller statue alongside the path, to a carved stone trophy of Roman equipment presumably symbolizing loot from the ruin of Varus’s army: armour, shields, sword, eagle standard and helmet hanging on a central shaft. ‘The Romans weren’t so kind: they favoured decimation –crucify every tenth man, regardless.’
There was no escaping the man’s meaning. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘If you think it is ... then it is.’ Clinton studied the trophy. The Germans took three legionary eagles in the Teutoburger fight. And the Romans wasted a lot of effort trying to get ‘em back, as a matter of prestige.
But they only recovered two. And I’ll bet Gus Colbourne would give his pension for the missing one . . .’ He turned on his heel to study a matching trophy on the other side of the pathway. ‘Conventional war, for most people – for the young anyway – is a group activity, transacted by a majority vote. The generals – the generals and the politicians . . . they just want bodies to do as they are told. For the rest ... if the bodies are willing, then their job is to carry each other on to quite remarkable feats of heroism and self-sacrifice, equally in victory and defeat, in the execution of their orders.’ He looked from one trophy to the dummy4
other, as though comparing them. ‘All that is required additionally is a sense of comradeship and duty and proper training and decent leadership – decent leadership particularly in the lower ranks . . . and patriotism, of course – however misconceived – if possible. And then custom and practice – that’s very important. Because the Germans and the Russians both regarded soldiering as something quite natural and inevitable. The Germans particularly . . . but the Russians too, in spite of grossly inadequate training and deplorable leadership . . . Both of them performed miracles because of that, added to patriotism. Whereas the British and the Americans really have no military tradition – no military inclination. No self-respecting Englishman – or Welshman . . . with the Scots and the Irish I’m not so sure . . . but in general, no self-respecting Briton or American would dream of taking the King’s shilling, or Uncle Sam’s dollar, unless he was starving or otherwise unemployable. But in wartime, by a majority vote and with certain of those additions, you can still do a great deal with them. And, of course, in the First World War, thanks to greater ignorance and consequently greater patriotism, miracles were done with them, too.’ He turned to Fred at last. ‘But all that is in war . . . and all you temporary hostilities-emergency-only soldiers believe that you’ve more-or-less won this war, so now you can go home –
is that it?’
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That was exactly it, thought Fred. But, short of a direct order, he was not about to admit it. And, indeed, even with a direct order he would plead incomprehension, ignorance and stupidity if pressed.
‘Well, I have news for you, major.’ Mercifully, it was another rhetorical question. ‘We are still in a state of official war, even though the exceedingly formidable Japanese are far away. So, under the Rules of War –
and probably the Geneva Convention too, for all I know – I can have you court-martialled for having a tender conscience and disobeying any legitimate order.
Or, in the appropriate circumstances, I can shoot you myself, and almost certainly get away with it. Whereas, if you shoot me you will be shot yourself – at least, you will unless you can get Colonel Augustus Colbourne to defend you, anyway.’ Again the terrible smile. ‘But that is unlikely, partly because he won’t . . . but mostly because I will get you first, you see.’
Actually, thought Fred, he really could plead incomprehension, ignorance and stupidity honestly now. ‘Sir?’
‘Apart from all of which we haven’t won the war.
Even, most regrettably, we haven’t beaten the Germans. Because the Russians have done that for us, unfortunately. Although that does not oblige us to be grateful, because they didn’t do it either for us, or from choice: what they intended is that we should ruin each dummy4
other – the democrats and the fascists both – and then they could pick up the pieces, as they foolishly hoped they would do in Spain. But Hitler and European geography dictated differently. So don’t “but” me with foolish gratitude for Our Glorious Russian Allies, eh?’
Fred had not been about to do that, either. But, also, he was not about to say anything, either.
‘But then you wouldn’t, would you?’ Clinton pressed the question with a disconcerting certainty, as though everything he had said had been perfectly understood and the answer was no more than a marriage-vow formality.
‘No. As it happens, I wouldn’t.’ The marriage image persisted oddly in Fred’s mind. On the face of it he was agreeing with the Brigadier’s scorn for those who confused the heroism and achievement of the Russians against a common enemy with selfless friendship for their western allies. But his recent exposure to the influence of Colonel Kyriakos Michaelides and the drunken misery of Captain Smith of the Intelligence Corps (who was probably sweltering in his Burmese jungle by now) had only confirmed a process started long before by Uncle Luke at Vincent’s. But there was also something curiously affirmative about that negative: it was like saying “I do” rather than “I wouldn’t”, – it was like saying “I, Frederick, temporary major, take thee, Frederick, to be my lawful dummy4