Free Any Human Heart by William Boyd Page A

front of our positions?’
    ‘The aim, boy, is to sow confusion in the enemy ranks.’
    ‘So the sooner our aggressive patrols make contact the better.’
    ‘Catch on fast, Scabius.’
    We carried on for another minute or two — as much for Crowhurst-Joyce’s benefit as anyone else’s — ensuring that the idea of aggressive patrolling was firmly established in everyone’s mind.
     
     
Thursday, 5th June
     
    Well it all worked like a charm — at first. We were paraded after luncheon and issued with our rifles and ten rounds each of blank ammunition. Then Mr Gregory, who looked a sad sight in his uniform (how did he ever become a captain?), lectured us on the importance of what we were about to do. ‘This is not a game,’ he kept repeating. ‘You boys may be called upon one day to fight for your country. What you learn here will stand you in excellent stead.’ Then we were all bussed out to Ringford Woods — which turned out to be a mixture of patches of oak and elm coppices, scrubby heath land and some newish plantations of conifers.
    The signal-box section were dropped off at the branch line. The box itself stood high on an embankment from where we were afforded a good view of the countryside to the south — whence the St Edmund’s forces would be advancing. Our brief was that, if we saw any St Edmund’s activity, we were to send a runner back to base and an aggressive patrol would be dispatched to intercept. Crowhurst-Joyce had been issued with a pair of binoculars.
    It was a coolish overcast afternoon and evening. We lay about the embankment (under the amused and curious eye of the signalman — who obligingly brewed us up some tea) with someone always scrutinizing the woods and fields beyond. Studying the map we had been issued with, we reckoned we were about a half-hour walk from Ringford and the Lamb and Flag.
    At about 7.30 — the first hint of dusk coming upon us — Ben, who had the binoculars, said he had spotted some movement at the fringe of a stand of elms. Crowhurst-Joyce scampered over and peered through the lenses. ‘Can’t see anything,’ he said.
    ‘No, there was about a dozen or so,’ Ben insisted. ‘I just got a glimpse of them.’
    ‘I volunteer to go and check,’ I said.
    ‘You can’t go alone,’ Peter said. ‘I’ll come with you.’
    ‘We’ll all go,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll show you exactly where they were.’
    ‘Hang on—’ Crowhurst-Joyce said, sensing his authority being threatened.
    ‘We won’t engage,’ Ben said. ‘We’ll scout, then report back. Then you can send one of these sprogs back to Gregory.’
    ‘But I’m in charge of this section,’ Crowhurst-Joyce whined.
    ‘You’re still in charge, Crowhurst,’ I said. ‘But remember Tozer said we should use our initiative.’
    ‘You’ll get the credit,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t worry.’
    So we picked up our rifles, crossed the tracks and slithered down the other side of the embankment and headed into the woods. As soon as we were lost to sight we circled round and rejoined the branch line — a quarter of a mile or so down from the signal box — and tramped on down it until we could see the church spire of Ringford in the distance. Our plan — to explain our non-appearance in the night exercise, or if we were discovered — was to say we had got lost in the woods and had decided to rejoin the main unit, only to become further lost as night closed in. We hid our rifles in a bramble bush and unwound our puttees. We had our own shirts on under our tunics and our own ties in our kitbags. We looked a little odd, I had to admit: not quite soldiers but not quite bona fide civilians either. But Ben said no publican was going to query our outfits: we certainly didn’t look like schoolboys, and we were hardly deserters. We made Peter discard his tunic just to differentiate ourselves somewhat, then pushed on through a hedge and on to a lane that led into Ringford. We were ensconced at a table in the Lamb and