A Breed of Heroes (36 page)

‘What do you mean, Mr Bone?’

‘What I say, Mr Thoroughgood. If you don’t catch that one you won’t get over in time for dinner and you’re off ration strength here with effect from this
morning.’

‘Get over where? Where am I going?’

‘Back to the Factory, sir. C company. Captain Watch not tell you?’ Mr Bone’s round eyes bulged with feigned surprise and concern. ‘Very sorry, Mr Thoroughgood. Thought
you knew by now. DOE survey. Your room’s not safe. You and Captain Watch have got to move out. We’ve cleared a storeroom for him but there’s nowhere left for you, so you’ll
have to live in the Factory. They’ve got plenty of room there, as you know.’

The thought of going back to the Factory, combined with Mr Bone’s offensive and unctuous satisfaction, was sufficient to pierce Charles’s post-explosion euphoria. He argued, though
he knew it was useless. Mr Bone would not have made such a move without preparation.

‘DOE say-so I’m afraid, sir. I’ve got it here in black and white.’ He tapped the file he was carrying. ‘Room not safe for human habitation. Structural defects. All
mumbo-jumbo to me, but to an educated man like yourself it might mean more. D’you want to see the report?’

‘No thank you, Mr Bone. I’ll see Captain Watch.’

‘Good idea, Mr Thoroughgood. You’ll find him in his office. Unfortunately he agrees with me that there’s no other room available for you. I’ve searched high and low.
1700, don’t forget.’ He saluted smartly and turned away.

Had Colin still been alive Charles felt he could have got things changed even at that late date, but with Colin around Mr Bone could never have pulled off such a coup in the first place. To Tony
Watch Charles’s fate was an unimportant detail amidst the welter of administrative matters in which he now gloried. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to deal with the press
and whatever,’ he said. ‘You can meet them in the Factory, if you like, and anyway there are vehicles going backwards and forwards umpteen times a day. And you’ve got Van Horne
here still. He can answer the phone and all that sort of thing. Only bloody problem is it leaves us one short on the watch-keeping list. Unless you come back for a night shift once or twice a week.
Don’t see why you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t need a bed. Trouble is, Edward Lumley will probably want you to do the same over there. We can sort that out later. Pity about our room,
wasn’t it? I was almost getting to like it. At least I’ve got one to myself now anyway. Cheers. Look in next time you’re in.’

Before he left that afternoon Charles was summoned by the CO. He assumed it had something to do with his move. They talked for a while about press reactions to the explosion and then the CO
said, ‘When do you leave us?’

‘1700, sir. With the post.’

‘What?’ The misunderstanding was cleared up. The CO had been referring to Charles’s leaving the Army. He had not known about the move to the Factory and was not interested.
‘As long as it doesn’t prevent you from doing your job, which it shouldn’t. You must have got the hang of it well enough by now.’ Charles told him that he was due to leave
the Army when the battalion returned to England. The CO nodded. ‘The important thing in life is always to make a positive contribution. You have done that. I’m very grateful.’
There was an embarrassing silence which the CO, who was staring out of the window, appeared not to notice. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t yet know, sir.’

‘Any ideas?’

‘No, sir, not really. Unless I go back to university and do research.’

The CO appeared not to take this as a serious suggestion. ‘You’ll have to do something. You can’t do nothing.’ There was another pause. It was impossible to tell whether
the interview was at an end or whether the CO was collecting his thoughts, or had perhaps forgotten that Charles was there. He looked tired, drawn and remote. ‘I have to go to England myself
for a few days,’ he said eventually. ‘Senior officers’ seminar, of all the daft things to have to do when you’re supposed to be operational. Daresay it’s a concealed
way of making me take a break which I haven’t asked for. Also to talk about my next posting. I haven’t got long left with the battalion, you know. God, they’ve gone quickly, these
last two years.’ He was silent again and Charles sensed that the interview was at last finished. He left feeling that he must have been summoned for an altogether different reason that had
not been revealed, and that the failure was partially his.

He met Anthony Hamilton-Smith immediately afterwards. ‘CO in, is he? Awake? Good. Didn’t want to disturb his shut-eye. He’s been sleeping a lot recently. Tired, I daresay. What
did he want you for?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing in particular, I think.’

‘Overdoing it, you see. Can’t afford to let that happen. We must look after our CO. Perhaps I’ll leave him be after all. He might want to drop off again. Very few things in
life that can’t wait till the morrow. You’re changing accommodation, I hear? What d’you want to go there for? Dreadful place. Much better to stay here.’

This was an unexpected ally. ‘I don’t want to go at all but Mr Bone says there’s no more room now that mine has been condemned.’

‘Very likely.’

‘But I don’t believe him. I think he’s lying.’

Anthony nodded. ‘Almost certainly.’

‘I’d much prefer not to go.’

Anthony looked sympathetic. ‘Don’t blame you, old boy.’

‘Can’t something be done about it?’

Anthony patted Charles on the arm. ‘Awfully difficult just at the moment, Charles, with the CO here and not here, if you see what I mean. Best not to make a fuss about things. I should
grin and bear it and don’t forget your ear-plugs.’

When Charles arrived in the Factory that day with all his kit he found that everything was different but that nothing was really changed. The ops room had been moved, there were more hardboard
partitions, people slept on different areas of floor and there was a new subaltern in charge of Charles’s old platoon. Called Stuart Moore, he was thin, pale and quiet and looked far too
young. Everyone else was pale except Edward, whose face was as red, mobile, foolish and good-natured as ever. Tiredness in Edward showed itself in bags under his eyes and an irritable nervousness
that caused him to repeat himself so often that those around him, dulled by their own tiredness and his repetitions, hardly reacted at all. This made him even more exasperated. However, his basic
good nature showed through. ‘Great to have you back, Charles, even if you’re not going to do anything for us except a spot of watchkeeping. Want some coffee? Two coffees, Green.
You’re better off here, I tell you, than in that loony-bin you’ve just come from. Touch of reality will do you good. Is it true the CO won’t speak to anyone? Bloody Godsend if it
is. We haven’t heard from him for ages. Has old Hamilton-Smith found himself a punkah-wallah yet? Jesus, what a case. Pity they didn’t blow up the whole building whilst they were about
it, eh? Green, where’s that bloody coffee? People take sod-all notice of me these days. Might as well talk to yourself. D’you find that? Green – Where the hell is he? Corporal
Lynch – go and find Private Green and shove something up his arse to get him moving, will you? He was here two seconds ago.’

‘He’s making your coffee, sir.’

‘He can’t be, the kettle’s here. Unless he’s looking for a bloody cow for the milk.’

‘No more milk till tomorrow, sir.’

‘Jesus Christ, what a dump this is. No milk. Have you ever heard anything like it? You were better off where you were, Thoroughgood. We’ve got no room here anyway. Moore’s got
your old space. You’ll have to share with Chatsworth.’

‘Share what?’

‘His bed. Well, not literally. It’s a bunk arrangement, sort of. He made it himself. Pity about Colin, wasn’t it? Nice bloke like that. I can think of a few I’d put in
his place. Nasty business, though.’ Edward then went on for some minutes about someone who had been killed in Aden, while Charles hoped that there was a mistake about his having to share a
bunk with Chatsworth, and concluded gloomily that there almost certainly wasn’t. Edward was stopped by the appearance of another soldier. ‘Green – where the hell have you
been?’

Green was plump and pasty-faced. He looked as though nothing in the world could interest, surprise or amuse him. ‘In the bog, sir,’ he said tonelessly.

‘What about our coffee?’

‘What coffee, sir?’

The very lifelessness of Green’s speech inhibited argument. Edward turned to Charles, his face wrinkled in exasperation. ‘See what I mean, Charles? It’s a bloody madhouse.
Everyone walks around in a world of his own except me. No wonder I’m losing my fuzz.’

The noise in the Factory was undiminished. Charles had forgotten how much the building shook to the rhythm of the machines that made the bottles. He sought out the CSM and Sergeant Wheeler for
company that evening. With them he found some of the down-to-earth sanity so often talked about by Edward but never by him attained.

‘You must’ve dropped a right bollock to be back here with the riff-raff, sir,’ the CSM said. Charles explained what had happened. The CSM laughed until his eyes watered.
‘He may be solid bone, the RSM, but he’s a cunning bastard, ain’t he? Trouble is, the CO don’t see him like that. The CO’s blind to a lot of people, I reckon. He gets
a fixed idea about them and then that’s it like, he don’t notice them no more. Same way that Sarn’t Wheeler here don’t know he’s alive half the time. Just forgets to
notice, like. Give hisself a real surprise one day, he will.’

Sergeant Wheeler squatted on an upturned ammunition box. He looked tired and did not smile. ‘I’ll notice I’m alive when I get home,’ he said, without looking up.

‘Yeah, but will anyone else? Don’t know when he’s well off, do he, sir, with blokes like you and me around to cheer him up? Best time of your life, this is. Think about
that.’

‘If I did I’d bloody shoot meself.’

‘No need to be generous, we ain’t asking for no favours. Cheerful bugger you are. If you’re going to do it take someone with you for company, starting with old Bone-head. Mr
Thoroughgood here will put a good word in for you in the next world then, so you might get your heavenly stripes back despite having done yourself in. He might even stand you a pint of nectar when
he gets there, eh sir?’

‘How about a couple of pints now?’ said Charles. ‘In case I don’t go to the same place.’ The CSM was never a man to turn down an invitation and it soon turned out
that Sergeant Wheeler’s depression was not beyond the reach of even canned beer. By the time Charles had gathered his kit and turned with a heavy heart towards Chatsworth and his bunk he had
at least accepted his new situation, though he knew it would not be a good one.

Chatsworth was unchanged. Indeed, it was difficult to imagine that he could be Chatsworth and different. It was clear that he had achieved an easy dominance over Moore, whose kit and sleeping
space were squeezed into a narrow area just by the sacking that made do as a door so that people who entered when he was there had to step over his head. Tim now shared Edward’s partition.
Chatsworth’s famous bunk was a curious and unstable-looking construction of odd bits of wood and canvas, except for the lower bunk that comprised a sheet of corrugated iron. His kit was piled
on this and he slept on the canvas top bunk. He was appalled when Charles mentioned the matter of sharing. ‘Who says you’ve got to?’

‘Edward.’

‘Bugger Edward. I made this thing myself. It’s not the Army’s, it’s mine. The bottom bit is a rack for my kit, not a bunk. Who’s he think he is, for Christ’s
sake?’

‘Go and ask him if you want but that’s what he said.’ Chatsworth was one of the few people with whom Charles felt he could deal without compunction.

‘There must be somewhere else. What about the roof? It’s mild enough weather and there’s plenty of room.’

‘I’m not sleeping on the roof.’

‘Why not? It’s not bad. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?’

‘You go there if it’s that good.’

Chatsworth took a kick at the absent Moore’s kit. ‘Or Moore’s space. You could use it when he’s not in it.’

‘What about when he is?’

‘He isn’t very often. He’s dopey, he’s asleep on his feet half the time. He probably wouldn’t notice.’

‘And then there’s all my kit, of course.’

‘You’ve got kit?’ Chatsworth’s tone and expression were as near to moral outrage as was possible with him. He put on his belt angrily. ‘Right. I’m going to
see Edward. And don’t you go sneaking on to the bunk when my back’s turned.’

The struggle was brief and decisive. Edward’s shouting could be heard above all the other noises of the Factory. Chatsworth returned less than two minutes after setting out, looking like a
man most grievously put upon. ‘When I run this army there won’t be room for people like Edward. Dead wood. It’s that that stops us from getting ahead. Mentally unstable too. Not
fit to command, in my opinion. D’you know, in the Israeli Army everyone, no matter what rank, has to retire at forty? Good idea, I think. All this balls about having to provide a career till
you’re ninety-three – just pay them off, that’s all. Anyway, they wouldn’t all last that long.’ He started moving his kit from the top of the corrugated iron sheet and
stowing it on the floor underneath. ‘Well, don’t blame me if the whole thing breaks. It wasn’t designed for brutes like you. And my kit’s going underneath. There won’t
be room for yours. You’ll have to find somewhere else.’

Chatsworth’s resentment was the matter of a moment, like most upsets in military life. People endured trouble, misfortune, dressings-down and insults either because they were inevitable or
because there was nothing personal in them. It was all a question of form. If you had transgressed you were shouted at or punished in the same way that anyone else would have been in your position,
and it was then forgotten. The man who bawled you out one minute would share his water-bottle with you the next. Very soon Charles’s moving into Chatsworth’s bunk was just another fact
of life, something to be coped with and thought about no more, rather than the gross violation of territorial integrity it had been at first.