And – oh God, no!
‘ GO ON! GO ON!’ Audley’s voice cracked, but with triumph as the line of Fusiliers reached them. ‘ TALLY-HO! GO ON, JACKO!’
The boy was oblivious to everything else around him, and not least to the two civilian figures on the ground, the one on his knees cradling the other in his arms –
two nondescript civilians, patched and shabby – oh God! Which was which?
His knees felt oddly stiff as he covered the dozen yards, past the bodies of Amos de Souza and the RSM.
None of this was how it was meant to be, he thought: not Amos, not the RSM, and not –
‘Ernst – ?’ Number 16 held Number 21 close to him: Sweet-Sixteen-and-Never-Been-Kissed held The-Key-to-the-Door–Corporal Keys, and the blood dribbled out of the corner of Number 21’s mouth, and down his chin on to his tightly-knotted tie and frayed shirt-collar, just dummy4
as it had done from another mouth so recently, only bright red now, not black –
‘ Ernst – !’ Suddenly Number 16 looked up at Fred, his face grey with anguish. ‘When they fired, he stood in front of me! Do you hear me? He stood in front of me!
Why would he do that? Why did he have to do that?’
Number 21 opened his eyes suddenly, and looked directly at Fred also.
‘Ernst–’
Number 21 arched his back, and the breath rattled in his throat and finally went out of him in a rush of blood from his mouth.
‘Oh, my God!’ Audley’s voice came from just behind him. ‘Which one – ahh!’ As the boy saw the expression on Fred’s face his lip drooped apologetically. ‘Sorry. But. . . well – ?’
Something behind Fred took his attention, and Fred’s with it. And there suddenly on the path was Driver Hewitt, blinking nervously and fidgeting with the seams of his battle-dress trousers with callused thumbs.
‘Yes, Hughie?’ Audley accepted the diversion gratefully.
Driver Hewitt took in the Germans without emotion, but then rolled his eye over the scatter of bodies beyond. ‘Cor bleedin’ ‘ell!’ The eyes blinked, and the wizened monkey-face screwed up. Then Driver Hewitt dummy4
remembered his officers again, and gave Audley an oddly philosophic sidelong glance. ‘You bin lucky again then, Mr Audley – aintcha?’
The boy had followed the little driver’s glance, but seemed unable to tear himself away from it now. For a moment silence flowed around them, but then there came a distant rattle of small-arms fire out of the woods, and a flock of birds rose from the trees on the crest of the ridge.
Audley sighed. ‘Yes, Hughie – I suppose we could say I bin lucky again.’ He turned to the little man at last.
‘What d’you want, Hughie?’
Driver Hewitt screwed up his face again. ‘Nothin’
really, sir, Mr Audley – Captain Audley . . . Except, it’s Mr Schild, sir – Otto, like, sir – ?‘
‘Otto Schild?’ Audley frowned at him. ‘What about him?’
“E’s back with the vehicle, sir. ‘E . . . wants to give hisself up, ’e says.‘
Audley studied the man. ‘What are you talking about, Hewitt?’
‘Yes, sir ... Well . . . like, ’e’s got this ‘untin’ rifle of ‘is wiv ’im, wot ‘e shoots ’is pigs with. Only – ‘ Driver Hewitt drew a deep breath ’ – ‘e says ’e’s shot Mr Levin with it this time. After Mr Levin shot the major.
An ‘e was only obeyin’ orders, anyways . . . sir.‘ The dummy4
words tumbled out in three quick bursts. ’Only . . . ‘e thinks it’ud be better for ’im if you was to take ‘im into custody now, just in case – ’ The little man cocked an eye back down the path ‘ – ’cause there’s a lotta Redcaps comin‘ up the road now ... So I put ’im in your car, sir.‘
Audley looked at Fred. ‘He was only obeying orders?
Whose orders. Major Fattorini?’
They both knew. ‘Not mine, Captain Audley.’ But now he had to take command. ‘Driver Hewitt, you will keep your mouth closed about this. Unless you want a Far East posting, that is.’
‘I ain’t seen nuthink, sir – ’
‘Shut up, Driver Hewitt. Just go back and tell the Redcaps to call an ambulance. And bring a groundsheet to cover Major de Souza. And ... we will attend to Herr Schild.’
‘Right, sir – major, sir.’ Hewitt swayed for a moment, and then gave Fred an old-fashioned narrow glance.
Then he took in the Germans, with Number 16 cradling Number 21 in tears, like Niobe. ‘But wot about them, sir? The Jerries – ?’
Fred felt Audley’s eyes on him. But he also remembered Clinton’s cold uncompromising stare, and his greed. ‘You leave them to us, Hewitt.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hewitt assessed him momentarily, with a dummy4
hint of even more old-fashioned understanding, which accepted the insanity of all wars down the ages in which the innocent were always slaughtered. ‘That Otto – ’e always ‘ad a good word for the major . . . But
’e never liked the RSM, sir.‘
PART FIVE
War Without End
Somewhere in England
August 1945
‘There are three forms to sign, sir.’ The RAF flight-lieutenant presented his clipboard to Fred. ‘Actually, it’s the same form in triplicate, but we’ve run out of carbon-paper.’
Fred accepted the clipboard and the stub of indelible pencil. It was interesting, he observed, that Number 16
had lost his false cover-name as well as his number now that he was in England, and was his real self at last.
‘As you can see, we have already signed on our dotted lines.’ The flight-lieutenant pointed to two signatures, and then to an open space. ‘You sign there, sir. And then keep one copy, to return to your adjutant. And I dummy4
keep one, as station movements officer – ’
‘And I will keep the third.’ The civilian intercepted the clipboard.
The papers fluttered madly on the board as a gust of unseasonable August wind swept over the dead flat Cambridgeshire airfield. It was the same wind which the pilot of the plane had welcomed, which had come all the way from Russia over the equally flat North German plain to help them across the North Sea. But now it made him shiver, when taken with that mention of his adjutant and the mean disinheriting look in the civilian’s eye.
‘Thank you, sir.’ The flight-lieutenant’s good manners were deliberately directed at Fred as he finally recovered his board. That discharges your responsibility for your prisoner.‘
‘He’s not a prisoner,’ snapped Fred.
‘No, sir?’ The flight-lieutenant glanced at the shabby figure beside Fred. ‘Well, anyway, he’s ours now, sir.’
‘Mine,’ growled the civilian. ‘You will come this way.’
The words, addressed to Number 16, were not quite an order, but they certainly weren’t a request.
Number 16 looked at Fred. For a moment he seemed to be on the verge of speaking, but in the end nothing came out. And that was just about how Fred himself felt: there was so much to say, both about what had dummy4
happened and what looked like happening now, that there was really nothing to say by way of explanation and excuse.
‘Goodbye, sir.’ He couldn’t bring himself to add ‘and good luck’. But, in any case, the civilian was gesturing impatiently. And to be fair, maybe he was properly nervous in wide open spaces. ‘I think you’d better go, sir.’
‘Yes.’ Number 16 stared at him. ‘Goodbye, major.’