The Valley of Bones by Anthony Powell

on the grass with groundsheets
beneath them.
    ‘Wait orders
here,’ said Gwatkin.
    He was still
in that tense state which desire to excel always brought about in him. However,
his temper was better than earlier in the day. He spoke of the ingenuity of the
tactical system as laid down in the book, the manner in which the Company had
put this into practice.
    ‘It’s all
worked out to the nearest minute,’ he said.
    Then he
strolled away, and began to survey the country through field-glasses.
    ‘That’s bloody
well wrong,’ said Kedward, under his breath. ‘We ought to be a mile further on
at least, if we’re going to be any use at the Foremost Defended Localities when
the moment comes.’
    Holding no
strong views on the subject myself, I was inclined
to think Kedward right. All was confusion. I had only a very slight idea what
was happening by now, and what
role the Company should rightly play. I
should have liked to lie on the ground and stretch my legs out like the men,
instead of having to be on the alert for Gwatkin’s next order and superintend a
dozen small matters. Some minutes later a runner came up with a written message
for Gwatkin.
    ‘Good God,’ he
said.
    Something had
evidently gone badly amiss. Gwatkin took off his helmet and shook the rain from
it. He looked about him hopelessly.
    ‘It
hasn’t worked out
right,’ he said agitatedly.
    ‘What hasn’t?’
    ‘Fall in your
men at once,’ he said. ‘It’s long past the time when we should have been in
position. That’s what the message says.’
    Instead of
being close up behind the company we were supposed to support, here we were, in
fact, hanging about miles away; still occupied, I suppose, with some more
preliminary involution of Gwatkin’s labyrinthine tactical performance. Kedward
was right. We ought to have been advancing at greater speed. Gwatkin had done
poorly. Now, he began to issue orders right and left. However, before anything
much could happen, another runner appeared. This one carried an order
instructing Gwatkin to halt his company for the time being, while we ‘let
through’ another company, by now close on our heels. Like golfers who have lost
their ball, we allowed this company to pass between our deployed ranks. They
were on their way to do the job assigned to ourselves. Bithel was one of their
platoon commanders. He trotted by quite near me, red in the face, panting like
a dog. As he came level, he paused for a moment.
    ‘Haven’t got
an aspirin about you?’ he asked.
    ‘Afraid not.’
    ‘Forgot to
bring mine.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘That’s all
right,’ he said, loosening the helmet from his forehead for a moment, ‘just
felt an aspirin might be the answer.’
    His teeth
clicked metallically. He hurried on again to catch up his men, rejoining the
platoon as they were already beginning to disappear from sight. We ‘stood by’
for ages, awaiting an order.
    ‘Can the men
sit down again?’ asked Breeze.
    ‘No,’ said
Gwatkin.
    He was deeply
humiliated by these circumstances, standing silent, fidgeting with his revolver
holster. At last the order came. Gwatkin’s company was to proceed by road to
Battalion Headquarters in the field. He was himself to report to the Commanding
Officer forthwith.
    ‘I’ve let the
whole Battalion down,’ he muttered, as he went off towards his Company
Commander’s truck.
    Kedward
thought the same.
    ‘Did you ever
see such frigging about,’ he said. ‘Why, even as it was, I was behindhand in
bringing my platoon up level with the main body of the Company, and by then I’d
cut out at least half the things Rowland had told me to do. If I’d done them
all, it would have taken a week. We wouldn’t even have got as far as that field
where we had a breather.’
    We set off for
Battalion HQ. By the time I brought my platoon in, it was late in the afternoon.
Rain had begun to fall again. The place was a clearing in some woods where
field kitchens had been set up. At last there was