This was the true face of defeat—
They were on the edge of a courtyard, flanked by the brick buildings he had glimpsed from the truck, tall on two sides and wrecked by bombing or shell-fire on the third, and there were German soldiers all around them, standing in groups—
officers and men—waiting, talking, but all animated by the same sense of excitement and purpose, dusty and dirty and rumpled, yet for all the world like men on an outing ... or—
the image pierced Bastable's heart— like a rugger team at half-time in a game they were winning.
Oh God! It was the face of defeat because it was the face of victory!
Wimpy grunted with pain as Bastable leaned against him.
For a moment neither was supporting the other, and they teetered unsteadily as Bastable's boots skidded on the pavé.
Bastable found himself staring into the face of a passing German soldier as he fought to get his arm under Wimpy's armpit: the expression on the man's face was neither hostile nor sympathetic, it was simply incurious, as though they dummy4
were debris of war to be avoided or stepped over, but not human beings.
'Damn!' groaned Wimpy, throwing his weight back at Bastable, 'Bloody ankle—'
The blanket slipped from Bastable's shoulders and he felt his knee buckling in the opposite direction. But then, just when he was within an ace of collapsing altogether, a strong arm came out of nowhere to support him.
'Coom on, sar—had oop noo! Aah've got yew!' a strange voice close to his ear encouraged him deferentially. 'Aaah've got yew noo!'
The voice was almost unintelligible, but it was British—and the arm was khaki-clad and undubitably British too—and each in its different way recalled Bastable to his duty, reminding him that he mustn't let the side down in the midst of the enemy.
'Aye, that's reet, sar—tek it aisy noo, aah've got yew.'
One of the guards appeared in front of them suddenly, snapping angry words and making threatening gestures with his rifle.
The British soldier at Bastable's side made a rude gesture at the rifle. 'Why man—wee the fukken hell d'ye think ye are?
Haddaway and shite!' he snapped back, and then transferred his attention to Bastable again. 'Divunt tek ainy notice uv him, sar—had oop noo—that's champion!'
Another figure loomed up: it was the young German officer dummy4
who had attended the Colonel at the roadside where they had been captured.
'Hauptmann—Doctor .. .' He exhibited exactly the same degree of irritated concern Bastable himself would have felt if charged by his commanding officer with such a mission, which had to be done properly but which was a great waste of valuable time.
'Right-oh!' said Wimpy through clenched teeth. 'Let's go then, Harry.'
They lurched forward towards the main door of the building ahead, their five good legs producing an erratic crablike motion which made precise steering difficult. For the greater part of the journey the Germans they encountered took not the least notice of them, even when stepping aside to let them through; it was only when they had almost reached the doorway that they came upon a group of officers who evinced any interest in them.
First, it was borne on Bastable that this group was not going to give way, and that the crab would have to navigate round it. Then a quick glance terrified him: one of the officers carried the lightning zig-zag of the dreaded SS on his collar, and he was accompanied by a civilian in an oddly-cut leather driving jacket who frowned at them with sudden curiosity which made his heart miss a beat.
For a second he was undecided as to which way to manoeuvre the crab. Then his mind was made up for him by Wimpy, who had hitherto allowed himself to be pulled or dummy4
pushed without demur, but who now changed direction with a sudden and wholly unexpected burst of energy to propel the crab past the obstacle.
'Halt!' shouted a voice from just behind them.
'Keep going!' hissed Wimpy into Bastable's ear.
'Halt!' repeated the voice.
' Keep going!' repeated Wimpy urgently. 'Pretend you haven't heard— keep going!'
The main door was only two more steps ahead of them.
Almost against his will, in deadly fear of being shot from behind Bastable was swept through it by the combined efforts of a suddenly desperate Wimpy and their rescuer, who apparently needed no encouragement to disobey German commands. The swing doors banged open and then swung shut behind them, cutting of the sunlight. Wimpy swivelled on his good leg to look back through the shattered glass panes.
'Thank Christ— the Jerry subaltern's talking back to them!'
Wimpy turned to the British soldier. 'Who are you?'
'Adwin, sir. First Tyneside Scottish—'
'Is there a way out of here, Adwin?'
' H adwin, sir.'
' Hadwin—Hadwin, is there a way out of here? Quickly now!'
'Sar?' The soldier goggled at him. 'A way oot?'
'In ten seconds from now those SS blighters are coming dummy4
through that doorway, and they're going to shoot us, Hadwin. Now— is there a way out?'
The Tynesider continued to goggle at him, and so did Bastable.
Wimpy pointed. 'Your bloody lanyard, Harry—you' re still wearing it. And they saw it, by God, too—if we don't get out of here right now, Hadwin, the two of us, we've had it. Is there a way out, man?'
Bastable looked down in horror at the treacherous yellow-and-grey snake on his shoulder. How could he have been so stupid as to forget it? Die Abuzsleine— how could he have been so criminally stupid! Feverishly, he tore at his epaulet to get the thing off.
'There's mebbe a rood oot, if yah ganna tek a chance, sar,'
said the Tynesider. 'Mind, it's oonly 'aff a chance, aah'm tellin' yew, sar—'
'We'll take it,' snapped Wimpy.
'Reet, sar. Coom oon, then!' The Tynesider led the way down the debris-littered passage ahead.
They followed him down the narrow passage, Wimpy hopping painfully, supporting himself with one hand on the wall, until they reached a door.
The room beyond was a slaughter-house at first glance. At second glance ... it must have been a wash-room or a laundry-room of some sort once, with large stone sinks beneath antique brass taps . . . but at second glance it was still a dummy4
slaughter-house, with its huge table stained with blood—
there was blood everywhere—and the floor was thick with blood-stained bandages and dressings.
'Aye,' said the Tynesider, nodding at Wimpy, 'yew'll nah this place reet enough, Doctor. They patched oop some ov thor aan, but it were mostly wor lot, more's the pity. The buggers cut us to bits, theer fukken tanks did, cut us to fukken ribbons. Mind, they did thor best for wor lads, aa'll say that for thum — trayted us the same as theer aan.' He pointed to the outside door. 'But the garden's full uv them they could dee nowt wi' them that was ower far gone, sar.'
'Where are the German medical people?' asked Wimpy.
'Buggered off and left iz this moirnin', sar, wi' the fukken tanks. Left iz in charge, wi' one uv theers an' ine, an' one uv wor aan from the Durhams—tha' wi' the poor wounded in the front rooms noo, waitin' ter be moved oot.'
The front door banged in the distance.
'Quick, man!' exclaimed Wimpy. 'They're coming!'
'Get oonder the tebble, sar!' Hadwin pointed under the huge operating table. 'Twa stretchers—yew lay yorsels doon on them, an' aah'll cover yew wi' blankets, an' the tebble wi' a shayet. Then if they see yew they'll think yor joost twa more deed 'uns, like them poor buggers oot there, mebbe.'
'Harry—' Wimpy began. But by then Bastable was already half-way on to his stretcher under the table.
'That's reet, sar—that's reet!' The Tynesider arranged a dummy4