Captain Corelli's mandolin by Louis De Bernières Page B

friend's mood, and he smiled idiotically whilst the colonel continued: `There is a watchtower there, a wooden one, and it has been taken over by a band of local brigands who have killed the guards and adopted their uniforms. They look like our soldiers but are not.'
    He paused to let this information sink in, and continued, `It will be your task to take this tower. You will be armed and equipped by our quartermaster here, who has special supplies for you. Any questions?'
    `We have two companies of Bersaglieri in that valley, sir,' I said. `Why can't they do it?'
    Francesco chipped in with, `If they are merely brigands then this is a matter for the Carabinieri, is it not?'
    The colonel puffed himself up with indignation, demanded, `Are you questioning my orders?' and, quick as a flash, Francesco came back with, `You did ask for questions, sir.'
    `Operational questions, not questions of policy. I have had quite enough of your impertinent attitude, and I must warn you to give respect where it is due.'
    `Where it is due,' repeated Francesco, nodding his head vigorously, and thereby courting further reproof. The colonel said, `Good luck lads, and I wish I was coming with you.'
    Sotto voce, but clearly audible to me, Francesco muttered, `I bet you do, shithead.'
    Rivolta sent us packing with the promise of medals in the event of success and a thick packet of orders that also contained maps, a precise horary, and a photograph of Mussolini taken from low profile in order to emphasise the jut of his chin. I think that this was intended to fire us up and lend rigidity to our moral backbone.
    Outside the villa we sat on a wall and went through the papers. This is fishy business,' said Francesco. `What do you think it's really about?'
    I looked into his beautiful dark eyes and said, `I don't care what it is. It's just orders, and we have to assume that someone knows what it's all about, don't we?'
    `You assume too much,' he said. `I think it's not only fishy, but dirty.'
    He took his pet from his pocket and said to it, 'Mario, this is not a good thing for you to be involved in.'
    We could hardly believe it when the stores that we drew from the quartermaster turned out to consist of British military uniforms and Greek weapons. It seemed to make no sense at all, and there were no instructions for using the Hotchkiss light machine-gun. We worked it out for ourselves, but later on we concluded that perhaps we were not intended to have done so.
    Francesco and I were saved by the weather in a most curious fashion. We were well prepared in advance, and crept out of our own lines at ten o'clock in the evening. Across the border we changed into our British uniforms as instructed, and then found our way over the escarpment into the next valley. At this point Francesco and I were caught up in a turmoil of conflicting moods.
    I do not think that a person who has never seen action can truly understand what whirlwinds revolve inside the head of a soldier in the hours of combat, but I shall try to explain. In this case we were both proud to have been chosen for a serious military mission. It made us feel very special and important. But neither of us had ever done anything like this before, and so we were deeply afraid, not only of the physical danger, but of the heavy responsibility and the possibility that we would make a mess of it. We kept making foolish jokes to conceal this fear. The soldier also always has the fear that the authorities know more than he does and that he does not know what is really happening. He knows that sometimes the High Command will sacrifice him for some greater interest without informing him of the fact, and this makes him contemptuous and suspicious of authority. It also augments his fear.
    The uncertainty of outcome makes him superstitious and he will cross himself continually or kiss his lucky charm, or put his cigarette case in his breast pocket in order to deflect bullets. Francesco and I developed the superstition