“Orderly Officer, sir. Mr. Paxton.”
“Bloody Paxton,” the adjutant said in a voice like rust
“Go and get him,” Milne ordered.
“Not possible, sir. Not allowed to leave my post, sir. Courtmartial offence, sir. Could be shot, sir.”
“Forget all that. I’m CO and I’m giving you fresh orders.”
“That’s as may be, sir. But you still haven’t given me the password, sir, so how can I take your orders? You lot could be anyone, sir. You could be the Boches.”
“All right, just suppose we were the Boches. What would you do about it?”
“I’d telephone Mr. Paxton, sir.”
“Then for God’s sake go and telephone the silly bugger before we all drown.”
In fact Lee had to telephone the duty NCO, who had to go and wake Paxton. “Why tell me?” Paxton said. “I’m not Orderly Officer any more. That was yesterday. You do as you like. Goodnight.”
The duty NCO, cursing, bicycled out to the gate and took over from Corporal Lee. “Very sorry about all this, sir,” he said to Milne across the wire. “Mr. Paxton said—”
“Forget Mr. Paxton,” Milne said. “I’ll strangle Mr. Paxton at breakfast. Just shift this wire.” But the ends of the coil had become tangled in the fence and were unwilling to be released in the darkness. Goss got his hands scratched and gave up. The rain suddenly intensified. Mayo was proposing that they get some rope and use the mules to drag the wire away when headlights appeared. A large staff car arrived, turned towards the entrance and stopped.
The rear window was opened a few inches. Foster said: “Are these your mules? Awfully Biblical. Jolly wet, too.”
“Was it a good dinner?” Milne asked.
“Dull. But we had some good poker afterwards. I won this car. Until tomorrow, anyway, then it goes back. How was your evening?”
“Oh… quite amusing, until we got home and found this wire everywhere.”
“Nasty stuff, wire. Bad for the skin.”
In the glare of the headlights the wire was soon unhooked and dragged clear. “Most kind,” Foster said, as he was driven through. “That will be all, thank you.”
Chapter 5
Dawn came too soon. Breakfast came too soon. Drymouthed brainthrobbing foultasting hangovers came too soon. Batmen with cups of hot, sweet, undrinkable tea came too soon. And of course the weather was unspeakably bad: nothing but sunshine wherever you looked. The treacherous rain belt had passed over in the night. ‘C’ Flight’s morning escort duties would not be cancelled.
Frank Foster was ‘C’ Flight commander. Shuffling to the mess in carpet slippers and dressing gown he stopped when he saw Paxton in shorts and singlet and gym shoes. Paxton was running backwards. “I say!” Foster called. Paxton came to a halt but kept working his legs and arms. “What the hell are you doing?” Foster asked.
“My daily run. It tones up the system.”
“Must you do it here? It’s unsightly. You’ve got the whole damn aerodrome to run around.”
“I’ve just done that. I like to do the last two hundred yards backwards, just for fun. It gives the muscles something extra to think about.”
“I’m sure they find it hugely amusing,” Foster said. “Don’t let me hold up the show.” They parted.
Collins had fresh black coffee ready for Foster in the mess. Nobody else had arrived yet. “I trust you had an enjoyable evening, sir,” he said.
“A sombre affair, Collins. Sombre and sober. Heavy with pomp and circumstance.” Foster took a cube of sugar and dropped it and missed his cup by two inches. “Keep still, damn you,” he said to it.
“I thought it was going to be a proper beano, sir.” Collins put the sugar in the coffee and stirred it. “Sounds more like a wake.”
“George the Third’s birthday. Very important date.”
“German gentleman, wasn’t he, sir?” Collins forked grilled bacon onto a plate. “Hanoverian, I believe. Also not too right in the head. A bit barmy.”
“Are you sure that stuff’s dead?” Foster touched the end of a strip of bacon with the point of his knife. “I thought I saw it move.”
“Funny chap to have a party for,” Collins said. “A barmy Jerry. Still, it’s none of my business, sir.”
Foster picked up his cup, using both hands, but did not drink. After a while his eyes closed. The cup slowly tilted and began to spill coffee in a steady stream. “God, I feel dreadful,” he muttered. Collins placed a napkin to soak up the spillage. He removed the bacon and put it back in its hot dish.
Mayo wandered in. He wore slacks, and a white sweater over his pyjama top, and his hair was not brushed. “Bloody awful wine,” he grumbled. “Bloody awful taste. It’s given me a bloody awful head. “
Foster did not open his eyes. He rested his forehead on his cup. Collins poured coffee and handed it to Mayo, who was pressing and prodding his stomach in a cautious, exploratory way. “It’s not right,” Mayo said to himself.
“Gus,” Foster said. “Is that you bawling and shouting?”
“Bloody awful coffee,” Mayo said.
“It is you. Can’t you put a sock in it? I’m trying to die.”
“Lucky you.” Mayo sipped again, and winced.
“As a matter of fact I put a pair of socks in it when I made it, sir,” Collins said,”but if you think it’s not strong enough I could easily—”
“No.” Foster opened one eye and looked at Collins through the handle of the cup. “No jokes,” he added.
Mayo reversed a chair and straddled it, with his chin on the top. “Dunno how you feel, but there’s only one way to describe how I feel,” he said.
“Who locked everyone out last night?”
“I feel bloody awful, that’s how. Paxton.”
“Paxton.” Foster thought about that. “He runs backwards, you know.”
“Bloody well thinks backwards, too.”
Five minutes later Paxton came in. He was fully dressed and his hair was wetly slicked back. “Good morning,” he said. “I’ll have some of everything except porridge,” he told Collins.
“Why did you shut us out last night?” Foster asked.
Paxton polished a knife with his napkin. “I took what I considered to be the necessary precautions.”
“Then you went to bed.” Foster threw a lump of sugar at him and missed.
“It was nothing to do with me, after midnight.” Paxton tapped his wristwatch, to avoid any misunderstanding. “At midnight I ceased to be Orderly Officer.”
“Ceased to have any brains, too,” Mayo said. “How were we supposed to get in?”
“Password.” Paxton filled his mouth with bacon.
“You’re a bloody fool,” Foster told him.
“I second that,” Mayo said. “Put to the vote, passed nem con.”
Paxton kept his eyes on his plate and got on with his breakfast. He had expected criticism. He found it stimulating.
Douglas Goss came in. “I knew you were a damn fool,” he said to Paxton. “What I didn’t realise is what a raving idiot you were. See this?” His right hand was heavily bandaged. “Your bloody barbed wire did that. I shall probably die of lockjaw. Glass of milk,” he told Collins. “I’ve got a head like a bass drum in a circus.”
“I was guarding the aerodrome,” Paxton said.
“Why? Aerodrome’s no damn good without the squadron… Christ, this isn’t really milk, is it, Collins?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tastes terrible.”
“So would you, sir, if you’d passed through a cow.”
Spud Ogilvy and James Yeo arrived together. “What’s all this about mules, Douglas?” Yeo asked. “I say, you do look dreadful. Is it booze, or have you caught trench foot in the face?”
Foster grunted and rested his head on the table.