“Help yourselves to some coffee.”
They went over to where a small fire had been lit. An old, well used pot over the flames. Doyle was standing near by, his coffee steaming in his tin mug.
“Morning gentlemen. I mean Sir,” he said though Alf noticed he didn’t salute as was customary from a subordinate.
’Never mind. I’m not his Lieutenant anyway.’
“I’m trying to get used to the idea as well. Aren’t you Johnny?”
“Yes Alf….Sir….”
Johnny found it awkward too. For as long as he’d known Alf he had always been Sarge or the old ’un. Now he was an officer….Well it didn’t seem right!
“You can call me Alf when no one else is around,” he said while Doyle’s back was turned.
Doyle turned and presented them with a coffee each. It was black, unsweetened and smelt different. It tasted different too. Johnny took a swig.
“It tastes funny.”
Doyle had finished his. He shook his mug out onto the sand and held it out for a refill.
“You mean it doesn’t taste of petrol for once.”
“That’s it,” Alf said swilling a mouthful.
“This pot here,” Doyle said gesturing to it with his mug “Is the proud property of Ian Butcher here….”
Butcher raised his left hand as a greeting.
“This coffee pot is his prized possession. It makes the best coffee in this whole war.”
“I’d say it does,” said Alf taking another swig “It tastes like real coffee.”
The others in the group were all starting to gather around the little fire. Each holding mugs awaiting their coffee. Butcher was the best maker and he was unofficially chief brewer among them. Rushton suddenly appeared in their midst.
“Right men listen up.”
He waited a few moments for silence. The small flames crackled in the still air. One of the men let off a loud fart and there was sniggering from those around him.
“All right that’s enough. Settle down you lot,” Doyle said.
“Have you all had a coffee?” Rushton asked.
“Just getting ours now Sir,” some of the men replied.
“Come on Butch what are you playing at.”
“It’s not my fault Sir. I couldn’t get the fire hot enough. I could have done if we weren’t worried about it being seen or the smoke.”
“That’s quite all right. Just as long as everyone gets some before I have a mutiny,” he smiled.
Some of his men chuckled. Rushton was a very much liked Major.
“Now most of you know or are familiar with the two engineers, Lieutenant Dennis and Sargeant Larder….”
Alf and Johnny looked bashful at the tough soldiers around them.
“….They are working with us until they return to their own unit. Both their roles are acting only. Therefore you do not need to salute Lieutenant Dennis and though you will call him Sir if he addresses you, you do not, repeat do not take orders from him nor Sargeant Larder. Is that understood?”
Fifty voices all answered “Yes Sir!”
Rushton looked into Alf’s eyes. His right eyebrow slightly raised.
“Yes Sir. I understand,” Alf said silently. Rushton read his lips.
“Very well! Now today,” he continued to his men “We will continue into the mountains, hopefully arriving at the top around nightfall. It’s going to be tough, even for the vehicles. The road is narrow, winding, not built for modern machines. It’s at least a thousand years old if not older. Cut into the mountainside by Berbers who arrived here in the ninth century. The only traffic we can expect to meet up there are donkeys and people on foot. To our knowledge the enemy don’t use it. The other side of that,” Rushton said pointing “Is Gabes. Gabes is a seaport that we know the enemy controls. They have a Major supply line between Gabes, the Mediterranean islands of Cyprus and Malta and the south of France and Italy. Particularly Italy. Air Marshall Coningham wants to break this supply line. Monty wants control of the port. We need to find a way to it. That is our job here gentlemen. Any questions?”
Everyone was silent. Johnny raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Just wondering Sir….” Johnny asked nervously, he stopped, intimidated by those around him.
“Go on!”
“Well are we to make notes on all of this as well?”
There was some tittering behind him. He shuffled his feet anxiously.
“Make notes, drawings, on everything. I would rather six of you record the same thing than something be missed. Any other questions? No! Good! Get one more coffee each and then we move, bagsy first,” Rushton said pushing through his men to get to the coffee pot.
A gust of wind blew over them all, making the flames dance and the smoke from the fire curl. Butcher threw on some more twigs and brush that he found nearby. Alf put on an extra jacket and tied his scarf around his neck. He felt warmer instantly but the extra jacket made him feel bulky and his arm movements were restricted. A sudden thought came to him and he laughed.
“What’s funny Alf?” Johnny had missed the joke.
“I was just thinking about home.”
Alf had remembered a time when he and his wife Ronnie had been out walking with the family dog, a black Labrador called Sooty, in the woods near their home. They had returned to the house and taken their boots off in the kitchen as usual when his wife had noticed Sooty was leaving bloody footprints on the floor. Alf had grabbed the dog and found his back paw had a deep but clean cut on it. Ronnie had got the first aid kit and after Alf had cleaned the wound they bandaged it together. Alf had remembered how once the bandage was on Sooty, incredibly, could no longer put any weight on the foot. He hopped around the kitchen with the injury as high off the floor as he possibly could.
Alf was still smiling at the thoughts as he swung his arms from side to side to get used to the jacket’s restrictions. His mind was on home.
’I wonder what they’re doing now’ he was asking himself.
Veronica, Ronnie, was probably at home, her hair tied in a bunch, preparing breakfast for herself and Patrick. Their son was nine months old now. Ronnie would be spoon feeding him his rusks soaked in water or on rations day in milk. She like every good mother giving up her supply of milk for the baby. Always putting him first. She eating vegetables and meat only once a week. They, Alf and his wife had a bit of money put by and she would queue with the other women once a week at the butchers to see what she could buy extra with their savings. Most of his money, like most men in the army, went to his wife back home. The wives, his wife spending all day cooking, cleaning, washing the clothes and baby’s nappies by hand, listening every day to the BBC world service on the radio for any news of their men, barely a minute’s rest all day for her. Poor bloody woman! Life is so hard on them. But she is more fortunate than others. Those in the big cities or industrial ports bombed every day and night by the Luftwaffe. Their children evacuated to rural locations away from the droning bombers and their deadly cargo. Children torn away from their parents and forced to live with Aunts and Uncles, foster parents, living on farms and in villages. Crying at night….Alone….Afraid.
“Are you all right Alf?”
Alf came out of his daydream.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve been staring into space for the last five minutes.”
“Have I? What? Yes I’m fine.”
“Do you want some more coffee?”
“Yes please.”
Johnny took Alf’s mug and went to fill it.
“This is the last of it,” Butcher said “Be about enough for one and a half cups. Don’t know what it’ll be like. You’ll most likely get the dregs as well.”