Free How I Won the War by Patrick Ryan Page A

were already dug in. “So you’re on your way, Jason. Get down there in that wood and don’t come back without that flaming Fleece.”
    As I beat it over the ridge and across the field, the Jocks spotted me and set up a bombardment of clods, rocks, and thunderflashes. An assault party rose from the furrows and came after me. I just made the wood, tripped in some sort of badger trap, rolled head-over-heels down a ravine and landed on top of a soldier in a leather jerkin.
    “Who the hell are you?” he demanded unravelling the ferns from his face.
    My mouth was full of compost, my forelock singed by fireworks, my left arm felt broken, and I am afraid I lost my temper.
    “I’m Jason,” I shouted. “Going in single-handed with my magic herbs to get the Golden Fleece.” I showed him my handful of curly cut. He took it and filled his pipe.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “If Hitler ever hears about this military charade,” I blazed on, “he’ll die laughing. Next week, we’ll be out doing the Three Bears and mock fighting for the biggest bowl of porridge…. And who are you? The dragon?”
    “Sometimes,” he said. He took off his helmet to shake out the last of the bracken and I saw he was General Trugg. I came as smartly to attention as my injuries would allow and saluted.
    “I beg your pardon, sir.”
    “Don’t stand there like a blasted waxworks, boy. The Fleece is behind the copper beech. And there’s a dozen Jocks with pickaxe handles coming after your blood.”
    As the Scots came raging down the ravine, I dismissed myself, circled the tree, snatched up the sheepskin and hared back across the fields. Defenders came from the other side of the wood to cut me off. Flagging fast I went up the hill again pursued by two converging columns of maddened Picts. Just as the pincers were about to close upon me fifty-two of the volunteer Argonauts came whooping over the ridge and crashed happily into the Cameronians. The fifty-third hero,Private Parkin, went out to a flank firing Very lights at the rumps of the cows and sending the herd of frenzied Friesians stampeding into the rearguard.
    I cleared the crest in safety and staggered, at last gasp, up to Major Arkdust. He was sitting on his shooting stick studying the Child ’ s Wonder Book. I dropped the sheepskin in at his feet and collapsed beside it.
    “Mission completed, sir,” I panted. “Jason reporting with the Golden Fleece.”
    “Don’t lie down, Jason,” he said. “I haven’t told you you can stand at ease yet…. And where’s Medea? She’s supposed to be fleeing with you according to the book.”
    “Hotly pursued, too, by her father, the king of Colchis,” I said rising to my dead feet, “and here he comes now, roaring up the hill.”
    General Trugg had appeared from the wood and was plodding fast across the plough.
    “Then we’d better beat it back to the Argo .”
    Major Arkdust blew his whistle, the fifty-three heroes broke off combat and went hotfoot back over the downs. I picked up my greasy, yellow pelt and set my broken bones rolling after them.

Chapter Seven
    … I am reminded of the time when I tried to teach Military Law at Sandhurst and the memory revives my sympathy with the Regimental Officer who must master the subject. It is easy to say that the Manual of Military Law contains all that need be known about it, but that is cold comfort for some of us…. There are two main reasons why an officer should be at home in Military Law. One of them, the less important, is that he may pass his promotion examinations. The other, by far the more important, is that he may avoid injustice towards his fellow-countrymen whom it is his privilege to command …
    G EN . S IR C HARLES H ARRINGTON Handbook of Military La w
    I TOOK MY NEXT STEP up the Army ladder in January 1942, when after only eighteen months’ commissioned service I was made a full lieutenant. On the day my appointment was published the adjutant sent for me and I marched into his