Take or Destroy by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788637282
Publisher: Canelo Books
Published: 2019-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

When the whistles went and the lorries began to arrive, they collected in groups, dressed with as much care as debutantes at their first parties, Waterhouse as outrageous, uproarious and cheerfully indifferent as ever to the solemnity of the occasion.

‘I feel as done up as a bowl of rabbit stew,’ he said.

‘All dressed up, look you—’ Taffy bared his teeth in a grimace ‘—and nowhere to go.’

They gathered under their officers and NCOs. Khaki drill trousers and battledress blouses, Hockold had told them, with headgear of their own choice, but Murdoch had ignored orders and dressed himself in his kilt.

‘In full fig,’ Bradshaw said as he hitched his webbing on to his shoulders. ‘The men of Waterloo and Inkerman. When the last strap is in place and the last buckle tightened, eyeballs will not protrude more than one and a half inches from the head.’

He watched Taffy fastening his buckles with unsteady fingers, aware with his shrewd intellect how he felt. His voice became gentle. ‘And the Man of Harlech himself,’ he said. ‘Contriving as usual to appear the dernier cri even in this witches’ sabbath we’re going to. Cwmru am Byth, Taffy bach. Cwmru am Byth.’

Taffy turned. Bradshaw had always puzzled him but this time he was glad of the friendly tone of his voice. ‘Yes,’ he said, managing an agonized smile. ‘A clean soldier is a good soldier. Cwmru am Byth to you, too, Oxshott.’

When the whistles went Bradshaw saw him sigh as he picked up his Sten gun and he laid a hand on his shoulder. Taffy’s head turned and for a moment in his eyes there was no boasting, no sign of self-justification, merely a mute gratitude that Bradshaw had shown this brief sign of comradeship. This was the moment when they had to face themselves and discover whether they were as stout-hearted as other men, and he had a miserable feeling that he wasn’t.

As they gathered by the lorries Fidge stared at the vehicles in sour disgust. The transport towards the east he’d been awaiting for so long had arrived at last. But they were the wrong lorries and he wouldn’t need to scrounge a lift in them; he was being offered one with the compliments of the Eighth Army.

The breeze coming off the sea was cool as they clambered aboard, the heavily-laden pushed up by their friends. There was a lot of fidgeting with equipment and a lot of nervous coughing. Nobody was saying much and a lot of people seemed to be brooding; even the occasional catcall seemed unfunny and forced.

They were all aboard at last, carefully segregated into their groups, with Devenish’s men tucked into the middle with their explosives. The men who’d been running the cookhouse and the canteen and the petrol store and the transport section turned out to see them off, standing silently alongside as the last tailgates were jammed into place with a clang. Then Murdoch moved to the leading lorry and waved his arm as he climbed aboard, and the convoy rolled out of camp and began to move east.

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