that name—albeit a most intelligent and affectionate beast … because, apart from that, we are accustomed to refer to our sovereign lord and master, the Brigadier, as “Fred” … so that would only be to confuse matters quite unbearably.’ He smiled devilishly. ‘So henceforth you are “Freddie”—is that acceptable?’
He had to accept the hand, even though he knew what that hand had done once, and therefore must have done many times. And he also had to answer the man coolly and confidently, if he wasn’t to be despised. ‘Anything, so long as it isn’t “Fatty”, which I had to answer to all the way through prep school—perfectly acceptable, sir.’
‘“Amos”, Freddie. We’re all equals here.’ De Souza’s grip was firm and dry and strong—the best sort of handshake. ‘All, that is, except this young whippersnapper, temporary Captain Audley.’ The hand relaxed its grip. ‘Talking of whom … have you dealt with those transport problems, young David? Are the drivers properly briefed?’
‘All except Hughie, Amos.’ Audley was quite unabashed. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, go and attend to him.’ Beneath the lazy drawl there was a sharp reef of concern. ‘I want no mistakes tonight—no unfortunate accidents, like last time: Apart from which … I have a strong suspicion that our Fred himself may very well materialize out of the darkness up on the limes romanorum tonight. So we wouldn’t want anything less than maximum effort, would we, now? Eh, Captain Audley?’
There was a fractional pause before Audley replied. ‘It w-wasn’t my fault last time. It was the Croc who fucked things up, if you ask me, Amos—’
‘But I’m not asking you, David. I am just making sure that you do not … as you put it so delicately … “fuck things up” this time. Right?’
Audley rocked slightly on his heels. ‘Yes, Amos.’
‘Thank you, David.’ Amos de Souza acknowledged the boy’s surrender quite deliberately, without mercy. ‘Now … Freddie … we’re due in the mess in fifteen minutes, and Colonel Colbourne is a stickler for punctuality. But he expected you here earlier, so I’d better wheel you in to him right away, without more ado—right?’ He turned back to his desk for a moment, and a tiny beam of lamplight glinted on the rosette on his Military Cross ribbon: MC and bar and the desert ribbon established Major de Souza as a sharp-end soldier in the past, whatever malignant fate had condemned him to do in Greece in the more recent past, and whatever he was doing in Germany now. Then he looked sideways, without straightening up, towards Audley. ‘I thought you were going back to your horse-lines, dear boy—what’s keeping you?’
Audley stood his ground. ‘I w-w-w-was … j-j- just thinking, Amos —’
‘J-just thinking?’ De Souza straightened up. ‘Now, that’s half your trouble, young David: “j-just thinking”—eh?’ Then he shook his head. ‘All right! What have you been j-just thinking, then? Share the wisdom of the ages with us—go on!’
Audley opened his mouth, and then closed it as though he was nerving himself to control his stutter.
Major de Souza turned back to his desk, selecting a thin file from a pile of thicker ones before returning to Audley. ‘But now you’ve thought better of it? Which is probably j-just as well. Go—to the horse-lines, dear boy. You’ll be much safer doing your duty there.’
The young man drew a deep breath, which seemed to make him even bigger than he was. ‘You should tell him about the Colonel, Amos.’
‘Tell him what?’
Another breath. ‘That he’s a looney.’
Major de Souza looked at Audley for a long moment, and as the moment lengthened and with bitter experience of his own adjutants taking their job seriously, Fred braced himself for an explosion. But the young man stood his ground, to the credit of his courage if not his intelligence, or his obstinacy if not his courage.
Then de Souza smiled, and shook his
He had to accept the hand, even though he knew what that hand had done once, and therefore must have done many times. And he also had to answer the man coolly and confidently, if he wasn’t to be despised. ‘Anything, so long as it isn’t “Fatty”, which I had to answer to all the way through prep school—perfectly acceptable, sir.’
‘“Amos”, Freddie. We’re all equals here.’ De Souza’s grip was firm and dry and strong—the best sort of handshake. ‘All, that is, except this young whippersnapper, temporary Captain Audley.’ The hand relaxed its grip. ‘Talking of whom … have you dealt with those transport problems, young David? Are the drivers properly briefed?’
‘All except Hughie, Amos.’ Audley was quite unabashed. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, go and attend to him.’ Beneath the lazy drawl there was a sharp reef of concern. ‘I want no mistakes tonight—no unfortunate accidents, like last time: Apart from which … I have a strong suspicion that our Fred himself may very well materialize out of the darkness up on the limes romanorum tonight. So we wouldn’t want anything less than maximum effort, would we, now? Eh, Captain Audley?’
There was a fractional pause before Audley replied. ‘It w-wasn’t my fault last time. It was the Croc who fucked things up, if you ask me, Amos—’
‘But I’m not asking you, David. I am just making sure that you do not … as you put it so delicately … “fuck things up” this time. Right?’
Audley rocked slightly on his heels. ‘Yes, Amos.’
‘Thank you, David.’ Amos de Souza acknowledged the boy’s surrender quite deliberately, without mercy. ‘Now … Freddie … we’re due in the mess in fifteen minutes, and Colonel Colbourne is a stickler for punctuality. But he expected you here earlier, so I’d better wheel you in to him right away, without more ado—right?’ He turned back to his desk for a moment, and a tiny beam of lamplight glinted on the rosette on his Military Cross ribbon: MC and bar and the desert ribbon established Major de Souza as a sharp-end soldier in the past, whatever malignant fate had condemned him to do in Greece in the more recent past, and whatever he was doing in Germany now. Then he looked sideways, without straightening up, towards Audley. ‘I thought you were going back to your horse-lines, dear boy—what’s keeping you?’
Audley stood his ground. ‘I w-w-w-was … j-j- just thinking, Amos —’
‘J-just thinking?’ De Souza straightened up. ‘Now, that’s half your trouble, young David: “j-just thinking”—eh?’ Then he shook his head. ‘All right! What have you been j-just thinking, then? Share the wisdom of the ages with us—go on!’
Audley opened his mouth, and then closed it as though he was nerving himself to control his stutter.
Major de Souza turned back to his desk, selecting a thin file from a pile of thicker ones before returning to Audley. ‘But now you’ve thought better of it? Which is probably j-just as well. Go—to the horse-lines, dear boy. You’ll be much safer doing your duty there.’
The young man drew a deep breath, which seemed to make him even bigger than he was. ‘You should tell him about the Colonel, Amos.’
‘Tell him what?’
Another breath. ‘That he’s a looney.’
Major de Souza looked at Audley for a long moment, and as the moment lengthened and with bitter experience of his own adjutants taking their job seriously, Fred braced himself for an explosion. But the young man stood his ground, to the credit of his courage if not his intelligence, or his obstinacy if not his courage.
Then de Souza smiled, and shook his
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