‘ Steady, now!’ The RSM swung the curiously long-barrelled Sten left and right, right and left, taking them all in with it, but ending up with the muzzle pointing at Fred’s stomach.
An unintelligible groan came from de Souza, who was still on his knees, swaying in agony. And then Fred watched, hypnotized with frozen horror, as the adjutant began to reach forward towards his fallen pistol.
‘Don’t – ’ The bulbous silencing attachment on the end of the RSM’s Sten continued to point at Fred as he spoke ‘ – don’t make me do it, Major de Souza, sir –
don’t make me do it, I beg you!’
De Souza rocked slightly, but continued to stretch out slowly towards the pistol with a hand which shook uncontrollably, as though its overstretched arm was already bearing an invisible weight too great for it.
‘ Amos!’ Audley’s voice cracked. ‘ Amos – ’
Thump! This time the bullet crumpled de Souza dummy4
instantly, throwing him sideways, half on his back, with his legs kicking out like a pole-axed steer.
‘That was a pity.’ The RSM spoke slowly, his words all the more menacing for the hint of genuine regret in them. ‘Because it was not necessary as well as useless.’
‘You . . . b-b-b-bastard!’ Young Audley’s stutter was shrill with rage. ‘In the b-b-back, you fucking bastard!’
‘You want it in the front, Mr Audley?’ The RSM took the boy’s acting rank from him contemptuously. ‘I can oblige you now if you wish – ’ he made an unhurried adjustment to the sub-machine-gun ‘ – I can cut you in two before you can take another step, Mr Audley. And I will if I have to, if you want to be a hero too, like the adjutant.’
Fred’s mind began to race. They had their man now, albeit at a terrible and unnecessary cost. But now, also, they had to survive to tell the tale. So this was no moment for subaltern heroics. ‘Stand still, David.’ He looked up the track quickly. ‘And shut up.’
‘No good, sir. I have sent Sergeant Devenish and Driver Hewitt away.’ The RSM caught the look. ‘They are both guarding the road junction until I come to relieve them. And we shall not be leaving by that route.’
‘I see.’ It was no good trying to play games with the man when he was as quick as that. So what could he dummy4
do? ‘There are forest-tracks, are there, Mr Levin?’ All he could do was play for time. ‘And no Fusilier picquets guarding them, I take it?’ But, even as he spoke, the truth of what he was saying soured the words in his mouth: who better than the RSM, in his unique controlling position between the officers and the men, to know everything, and to order everything as he wished in seeming to carry out the orders of the adjutant and the commanding officer?
Christ! And, of course, to betray everything, being above suspicion himself!
‘As you say, Major Fattorini, sir.’ Levin saw through his ploy and shifted his attention to the two Germans, while carefully stepping back to distance himself from Fred, and even more from the temporarily silenced Audley, whose fuse was still more dangerously short, in spite of that recent warning. ‘Listen to me, you two –
right?’
That was curious, thought Fred with a detachment of his own which was also curious: in contrast to his deference to his officers, who were now his enemies to be shot down like dogs at need, the RSM’s attitude to these Germans, who were his prize, was uncompromisingly harsh.
‘In a little while, you-will-be-coming-with me – do-you-understand?’ Levin spaced his words, as though he was addressing British Army recruits of limited dummy4
intelligence.
Number 16 drew himself up. ‘And if we do not choose to come with you?’
‘Then I’ll shoot you where you stand.’ The RSM
pronounced this threatened sentence-of-death almost with relish. ‘Don’t you make any mistake about that.’
‘I make no mistake. But your Russian masters would not like us dead, I think – yes?’ Number 16 didn’t look at Fred, but he was playing the same delaying game now, hope against despair.
‘My Russian – ?’ The RSM stopped suddenly. And then he nodded towards what had been Major Amos de Souza without taking Fred or David Audley out of his reckoning. ‘You see that, do you?’
‘I see a dead man – ’ The German’s chin came up ‘ – I see a brave man – yes?’
‘Aye. And a good one, too.’ Levin matched the German’s measured insult with cold malevolence.
‘Worth ten of you, you bugger. So don’t bandy words with me.’
‘ Heinrich –’
‘Hush, Ernst!’ Number 16 cut off Zeitzler. ‘You have made yourself very plain, sir. But I also wish to make myself plain. For I wish to speak with my friend. And I do not think you will prevent me doing so.’
‘No?’ Levin had moved as the German spoke, circling dummy4
cautiously to keep everyone in view as best he could while also flicking a quick glance at the woods across the meadow.
‘No. For I do not think your Russian masters have paid you for a dead man. But I am not yet sure that I wish to be bought, you see.’
‘No?’ Levin’s lips compressed into a thin line, with a fleck of white at one corner. Without looking down, he kicked de Souza’s fallen pistol further away. Then he drew a deep breath, and glanced towards the woods again. ‘No?’
He was expecting company, thought Fred despairingly, And . . . there were no Fusilier picquets in those woods, of course!
Number 16 nodded. ‘So ... I will talk with my friend.
For, believe me or not as you will . . . I will decide what I shall do – not you – and not your masters ... do you understand?’
For a sick fraction of time Fred thought Levin was going to make good his threat, and tensed himself to attempt the impossible. But then the long black silenced barrel came round to cover him.
‘ Don’t make me do it, sir!’ The barrel passed him, to point at Audley. ‘Steady, Mr Audley – Captain Audley
– ’ There was something close to contempt in the RSM’s warning ‘ – you were going to be the example, dummy4
not the major, Mr Audley ... so you’re already on borrowed time, Mister Audley – ’
‘ David!’ Fred held the boy back. ‘Mr Levin – ’
‘That’s enough, sir.’ Levin looked at Number 16
quickly. ‘Very well, then! If you want to talk to your friend ... it won’t make no difference. But you talk in English to him – right? And you remember ... if I can’t have you alive, then I’ll have you dead – right?’ The long black barrel jerked slightly. ‘Go on, then – talk, then!’
‘ Heinrich –’
Fred fought the lethargy of helplessness and hopelessness: Number 16 had to give in . . . and once he had done that, when Mr Levin’s friends had arrived, then Major Fattorini and Captain Audley were surplus to requirements – useless even as hostages, after de Sauza’s death – ?
‘Mr Levin!’ He felt life within him fight against logic: in killing de Souza, Levin had burnt his boats, and there was no deal left to him. But he had to fight against logic. But how?
‘Steady, sir.’ Levin didn’t even look at him: Levin knew the score just as well as he did.
‘Mr Levin . . . this doesn’t make sense – ’ His tongue was thick in his mouth, hindering the words.
‘No, sir.’ Still Levin didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t dummy4
suppose it does, to you, sir. And I am sorry for that, believe me, sir. But that’s the way of it.’
The man’s politeness clogged his brain. And, more than such insane politeness, there was bitterness and regret and loss; and he wanted to use them all to save himself, but he didn’t know how to do it because he didn’t understand what was happening to him. ‘Mr Levin . . . why, Mr Levin – ?’
‘Sah!’ For an instant Levin became his old self again.
‘ Sah –’
‘ Heinrich – now there is no choice, truly! We must go with him – ’ He heard Zeitzler argue common sense and surviva
l in the distance –
‘Mr Levin – ’ Fred tried to receive different messages simultaneously ‘ – what – ’
‘This is not how I wished it to be, sah – ’
‘There is always a choice, Ernst. Do you not remember
–’
‘It was Mr Audley who was to be the example, sah –
not the major – ’ Levin drew a huge breath ‘ – never the major – ’ The long silenced barrel swung slightly, and then steadied on the young dragoon beside Fred, who stood swaying and twitching, almost beyond reason and sense, waiting to be loosed.
‘But, Ernst-’
‘Steady, David!’ Survival was what mattered now!
dummy4
‘You are taking us prisoner now, are you, Mr Levin?’
Another deep breath. ‘If I can, then I will.’ Levin took in the woods again, almost desperately. ‘Because there is a message I wish Colonel Colbourne to receive ... if you would be so good as to deliver it ... sah – ?’
‘Yes, Mr Levin – ?’ Fred steadied the question, so as not to grasp at his own life too humiliatingly, even as he welcomed it and despised himself for his cowardice.
‘What is your message?’
‘ Heinrich – ’ Suddenly Zeitzler leaped into incomprehensible German.
‘ In English, you bugger!’ Levin snarled the order.‘
What was that– ?’
For a moment they were inside a huge silence. ‘Do you promise my friend’s life? And the lives of these British officers?’ Number 16 issued his demand in a flat and uncompromising voice, almost arrogantly.
The RSM stared at Fred, ‘Yes.’
‘On your honour?’ The German stretched his arrogance insultingly, leaving ‘ for what that may be worth’
unspoken, transcending insult. ‘Is that your word?’
‘Yes.’ Still the RSM stared at Fred, with a dead blankness as treacherous as Clinton’s, which scorned forgiveness, accepting only final responsibility, true or false. ‘Don’t believe him!’ Audley snarled. Tell him to go to hell! Tell him – ‘
dummy4
‘Shut up!’ Fred nodded to the German. Take the offer, sir. And we’ll take our chances.‘
The German looked at Levin. ‘Very well, then.’
Still that stare. So, their only hope left was that message to Colonel Colbourne. ‘Yes, Mr Levin? What is it you want me to tell the CO?’
‘Yes.’ The man focused on him. ‘Tell Colonel Colbourne that I have joined another army now – now that his army has won its war . . . His army – ?’ Levin’s concentration outranked his own. Tell him to remember Bum-Titty Bay, at Haifa, after El Alamein –
tell him that, major – ?‘
Bum-Titty Bay? At ... Haifa – ? He couldn’t understand that –
‘Tell him that, major – Bum-Titty Bay? Then maybe he’ll understand.’ Levin fixed him for an instant, and then dismissed him as he looked away, through Number 16 and Zeitzler, towards the meadow and the woods. ‘ Tell him that –’
Bum-Titty Bay – ? The faint obscenity of it, which he still couldn’t place, delayed him for a moment, even as he was drawn towards the woods, as the RSM relaxed slightly –
Christ! The woods were no longer empty – Christ!
‘Time to go, sir.’ Levin’s voice, which had been close to conversational as he transmitted his final message dummy4
for Colonel Colbourne, became suddenly quite matter-of-fact, beyond argument. ‘So ... no trouble now, if you please, sir – ?’ Almost as it could never have been in any other age of the world, Regimental Sergeant-Major Levin’s voice pleaded with Major Fattorini not to take issue with him: not to go against Number 16’s acceptance, or Professor Zeitzler’s advice – never mind any foolishness Captain Audley might be tempted to, now that Major de Souza’s own foolishness had been demonstrated –
Time to –‘
As Fred stared at RSM Levin, accepting the inevitable, the RSM seemed to toss his head –
Fred felt his mouth open, without knowing what he was going to say, as he saw what he had never seen before, and had never imagined seeing, as the movement continued, and the bright red spot over the RSM’s eye flowered, and the RSM’s side-hair lifted, and his beret with it, and blood-and-brains, and beret-and-side-hair, exploded with it, outwards with the killing bullet –
The crack of the bullet overtook the nod, and the RSM’s eyes rolled with the impact, and the black barrel of the Sten whirled upwards as the man fell away from them.
‘ Fred.’ Audley pointed at the advancing figures in the meadow, and then threw himself towards the fallen weapon.
dummy4
Christ! thought Fred, as the figures began to run.
‘Shoot, David!’ he shouted, clawing at his own holster feverishly as he did so. But then he saw the two Germans frozen behind him, like waxwork figures.
‘ Run, for God’s sake.’ he screamed at them. But they didn’t seem to understand, and it came to him in a moment of exasperation that not all Germans were the world’s natural soldiers: that these were only ordinary middle-aged men confused by madness –
But at last Audley had the RSM’s Sten: there came a succession of increasingly-loud thumps as the boy discharged it wildly, more or less in the right direction, just as the enemy opened fire with an honest ear-splitting rattling bang-crack-bang-crack which deafened him as it echoed and re-echoed over the valley around him. ‘ Run!’ He directed the shout at Zeitzler, in the vague hope that the German had a more recent memory of murder, even while he saw Audley savagely trying to re-cock the RSM’s Sten. ‘ Shoot, David!’
Audley looked up at him, apologetically. ‘Oh . . . fuck.’
He made a face at Fred. ‘I never was very good with these things. So you’d better run too, Fred, I think – ’
He turned towards the Russians, raising the sub-machine gun to them. ‘Come on, you bastards!’
Fred managed to extract his own revolver at last, and turned it and himself to the enemy, in despair of dummy4
anything better.
It wasn’t the whole Russian Army, of course: it was no more than half a dozen men; and none of them were in any recognizable uniform – that one abortive fusillade of Audley’s seemed to have spread them out, left and right, sorting the brave men from the cowards; but the brave men were too bloody close for comfort now, all the same –
He managed to get an inadequate finger to the trigger.
But it pulled the pistol down, and then the remaining fingers couldn’t hold the weapon steady as he fired at the nearest of the Russians, who was trying to take a steady aim, but not at him –
Bang!
The pistol bucked, just as the Russian fired. And then Fred fired again – and again, with the same terrible clumsiness, as uselessly as before; and saw the man steady himself again, this time bringing up his weapon deliberately, even as David Audley ran forward towards him, brandishing the Sten and screaming like a Highlander, beyond reason.
Taking his cue from the Russian’s action, Fred clamped his good left hand to his right wrist to attempt a steadier aim just as the Russian turned to meet the boy’s insane charge. But before he could squeeze the trigger the man crumpled and fell, and Audley’s dummy4
scream turned into a shout of triumph as he bounded over the final yards and threw himself on his unresisting victim, flailing at him with the Sten.
The Russian’s sudden fall confused Fred for a second.
Then it came to him in a flash that the sniper who had killed Levin was finding new targets, and hope blazed within him as he squeezed off his next shot quite deliberately at the nearest surviving Russian, knowing that he would miss, and that he now had only three rounds left; and saw the man flinch at the sound of the bullet, and then turn towards him instinctively, steadying his own automatic pistol and turning himself into a statue for an instant, just as his comrade had done.
Shoot, prayed Fred to the invisible sniper as he jinked sideways – shoot, for Christ’s sak
e!
The Russian fired, and God only knew where the bullet went. But then one of his comrades was shouting at him –and Audley was shouting, too. And as Fred brought up his own pistol again both the Russians started to run – but not towards him, away from him –
what – ?
He observed Audley on his knees beside his victim: the boy had recovered the man’s pistol and was emptying it wildly at the retreating enemy, shouting his wild dragoon war-cry. And then he swivelled and waved at Fred, pointing past him –
dummy4
‘JACKO! TALLY-HO! TALLY-HO! AFTER THE
BASTARDS!’
Fred turned, and saw not just Sergeant Devenish: Sergeant Devenish was in the lead, but with him there were half a dozen Fusiliers – more now, with the jaunty red and white hackles in their berets bobbing as they came out of the trees on either side of the track, rifles at the high port –
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.
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