Kyriakos stared at him for a moment, and then knelt down to retrieve his buried identity while Fred frowned at the Dragoon, trying to place him at one remove from actual acquaintance.
Kyri stood up again, with his papers and his torn-off epaulets in his hand. ‘Do you wish to see – ’ But then the expression of idiotic pleasure on the youth’s face stopped him even before the youth waved his offering away.
‘Good Lord, no!’ The pleasure almost transformed the Dragoon’s ugliness into beauty as he continued to grin at Fred. ‘ Thought I knew that face – no bloody mistaking it, even without the name – ’
He stopped suddenly, as he remembered his sergeant, who was still holding the owner of the face at unmoving gunpoint. ‘It’s okay, Sar’ Devenish – you can relax – I can vouch for this officer, even dummy4
though I’ve never met him in my life – right?‘
The Thompson remained pointing at them. ‘Sir – ?’ The Dragoon’s happiness tortured the question from his careful sergeant.
‘It’s all right.’ The youth nodded positively at Sergeant Devenish.
‘I’ve played rugger with this officer’s brother, Sar’ Devenish –
same name . . . not a lot of Fattorinis in the British Army . . . but also same face.‘ He took the nod to Fred. ’I’ve seen blood pour out of a Roman nose just like that one – Matthew Fattorini’s blood, from his nose – a family nose, that is, Sar‘ Devenish: three peas from the same pod – Matthew, Mark and Fred . . . God knows what happened to “Luke” and “John”, if they were baptizing ’em out of the New Testament!‘ Another grin. ’Lower your arms, Captain Fat-O’Rhiney!‘
The Thompson still didn’t move. ‘And the Greek . . . officer, sir?’
The sergeant’s voice was still doubtful.
‘Captain Michaelides,’ said Fred. ‘And, as it happens, my father’s name was John. And I have an uncle named Luke.’
‘Yes?’ The Dragoon looked from Fred to the sergeant, and then back again. ‘Well, I’m sure Captain Michaelides is ... whoever he says he is, in Captain Fattorini’s company.’ He spoke lightly, quite unaware that he was unnecessarily humiliating a good NCO. ‘How are things on the ridge, then?’
‘Everything’s under control.’ The sergeant breathed in through his nostrils as he lowered his gun. ‘No one has tried to come up the path after we put a burst over their heads ... as ordered.’
‘Well, thank God something went according to plan!’ The Dragoon dummy4
nodded at the sergeant. ‘So you came over this side because there seemed to be a problem here – is that it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant clenched his jaw. ‘I left Corporal Weekes in charge.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Another casual nod. ‘Well, you just trot on back there –
there’s no problem here now. And you can take Hughie with you.
His set’s not on the blink. Hughie.’
‘I ’eard, Mr Audley, I ‘eard!’ The little man groaned audibly.
‘Fuckin’ mountains! Up yer go – down yer go ... up yer go – down yer go!‘ He trudged off in the sergeant’s wake, mumbling and cursing repetitively under his breath.
Audley watched him go. ‘The trouble with Driver Hewitt . . . apart from the fact that he’s a perfectly d-d-d- – awful driver ... or one of the many troubles with him ... is that he comes from East Anglia, where everything is p-p-pancake flat!’
The little man swung round, almost unbalancing under the weight of the set on his back. ‘I ’eard that, Mr Audley –‘
‘Go on, Hughie, go on! The unwonted exercise will strengthen your legs!’ Audley turned back to Fred. ‘Now, let’s go back and explain ourselves, shall we?’
Kyriakos rolled his eyes at Fred as Audley set off downhill. ‘Who is this eccentric friend of yours, old man?’
Fred blinked. ‘No friend of mine, Captain Michaelides. But it would seem he’s acquainted with my little brother Matthew –
luckily for us.’ He stared at the large departing figure, whose long legs had already taken him far down the slope. ‘But Matt’s with the dummy4
Guards, on the German frontier by now.’
‘And he’s from an armoured unit – that badge I do not recognize . . . But I wouldn’t have thought you have a tank large enough for him.’ Kyriakos stared in the same direction, at Lieutenant Audley’s back.
‘Must be some obscure yeomanry regiment.’ Fred accepted his own Royal Engineers’ disdain for the rest of the British Army, from Matt’s snooty Guards to Audley’s mindless ex-horseman from the local hunt. But that reminded him unbearably of how young Matt was, with Mark still missing over Northern Italy. ‘If he played rugger with Matt he must have been at school with him.’ He tried to put Northern Italy and the RAF out of his mind. ‘That’s probably it.’
‘But you never met him?’
‘No. But we each went to different schools – it was one of Father’s conceits . . . That way, we didn’t compete with each other’s reputation – Mark and Matt were much cleverer than I was . . . And Matt was a better sportsman than Mark . . . And ... I rather suspect Father reckoned we’d make three different sets of influential friends, to help business along in the future.’ He turned to smile at Kyriakos, but then he saw that the expression on the Greek’s face was not one of polite curiosity. ‘Why do you ask? What’s the matter, Kyri?’
Kyriakos pointed. ‘We must go! See – he is summoning us–’
Fred caught the Greek’s arm. ‘You bloody answer me, Kyri! Why?’
‘Why?’ Kyriakos shrugged. ‘I have a feeling about him, that’s all.’
dummy4
He pulled at Fred’s grip. ‘We must go – ’
‘A feeling?’ Fred looked down towards the track again, where the big dragoon subaltern was even now chivvying his drivers into attempting to turn their vehicles round in what was quite obviously an inadequate space for the 15-hundredweight, if not the jeep.
‘He’s a baby, Kyri. And he isn’t too smart when dealing with NCOs who know more about his business than he does, even if they can’t pronounce my name. I’ve seen a hundred like him – a thousand ... all babes-in-arms – all cannon-fodder –’ He stopped suddenly, as he remembered that that was Audley’s own description of himself.
‘His business – yes!’ The tone in Kyriakos’s voice drew his attention away from the balls-up on the track, where the jeep had been turned successfully, only to be blocked by the broadside truck. ‘But what business is that, would you guess? What business has your army, breaking the truce here?’
‘God knows!’ Fred’s eye was drawn irresistibly back to the confusion on the track, where Audley now had his men trying to lift the truck bodily, after its own turning-circle had baffled him. ‘I doubt whether he knows, whatever it is, anyway.’
That may be. But I wouldn’t stake my life on it.‘ Kyriakos was also watching the truck. ’A baby he may be . . . But I recall fighting German babies in Italy who were not so childish when it came to killing. And ... as you say, that sergeant of his knew his business.
And he was a very cautious man, I think – not a trusting man, would you say?‘ The Greek pulled up at his grip again. ’I have seen his breed before. But not in the British army – no, not before dummy4
in your army, Captain Fattorini . . .‘
What Fred saw was that they were actually turning the truck, with brute force triumphing over ignorance, in the best British Army tradition when there were not Royal Engineers present. But what he thought as he watched was that Captain Michaelides’