The '44 Vintage by Anthony Price

they are—just like you and me … shoot you, they will, most like—just like we’d do in the same place —unless you’re a very good liar, that is …”
    Butler stared at him.
    “But that’s all they’ll do,” continued Jones. “But now … if it’s the Abwehr or the Feldgendarmerie—what are like our Redcaps, the Feldgendarmerie—if you’re lucky then they’ll shoot you too. But you’ve got to be lucky, mind.”
    He picked up the bottle and filled Butler’s glass.
    “It’s the SS you’ve got to steer clear of. Because they don’t take name, rank, and number for an answer, they don’t. They like a lot more than that, and they aren’t fussy about how they get it, either. So with them it’s like Harry says: you don’t get captured.” He smiled. “It’s like at the pictures, with the cowboys and the Indians—you save the last bullet for yourself, see?”
    Butler was appalled.
    Sergeant Purvis shook his head in exasperation. “I didn’t mean that at all, and you know it full well, you stupid Welsh git.” He turned towards Butler. “With the major running things we just don’t get caught, that’s what I mean, Jack. It was that bloody colonel—what’s-‘is-name—who started that bloody hare, because he doesn’t know any better. Our Willy’s always one bloody jump ahead of everyone—the bloody SS included, you take it from me, Jack. Otherwise we wouldn’t be bloody here, and that’s a fact.”
    The chorus erupted again—
    “Aye—“
    “You’re dead right there, Harry—“
    “You silly sod, Taf—“
    —reassuringly. Butler smiled foolishly, ashamed of his momentary cowardice. Every unit had its Taffy Jones. What he must remember was that every unit did not have its Major O’Conor.
    “All right, all right, all right .” Taffy Jones acknowledged defeat. “In any case, that’s not what’s really important—not what’s really interesting .”
    He was changing the subject now the joke had gone sour on him, thought Butler. One beneficial effect of a glass or two of wine was that it sharpened the wits: he could see clear through the little Welshman— and out the other side.
    “What’s so interesting?” he asked magnanimously.
    “Ah—I can see you know, Jack,” said Jones, first pointing the empty bottle at Butler, then sweeping it round to include the other NCOs. “But they don’t—they haven’t thought of it even!”
    “And what’s that then, Taf?” Someone caught the Welsh intonation, saving Butler from having to reveal that he was as much at sea as the rest of them.
    “Why, man—His Majesty’s extremely valuable property, of course.” Jones looked round triumphantly. “What is it that we’re going to … repossess ? That’s what I’d like to know, eh.”
    His Majesty’s extremely valuable property … the Welshman was right at that—it was interesting. Butler found himself exchanging a glance in silence with Sergeant Purvis, and for a moment it was like gazing into a mirror revealing his own mystification.
    Jones’s eyes settled on him. “Now you, Jack … you’ve been with our Willy all the afternoon. So it’s wondering I am whether he maybe let slip a little something, eh?”
    Butler scratched his head. “Well, Corporal—“
    “Taffy’s the name, Jack boyo.”
    “Taffy … well, all he said was we were going to take a castle from the Germans—“ he began doubtfully.
    “Ah—from the Germans. So we are going to fight them!”
    “Not necessarily,” said Sergeant Purvis. “Could be that they’re going to move out and then we’re going to move in—before the bloody frogs do, like.”
    Jones gestured with the bottle. “Now, you could be right there, Harry—that fits in with it nicely, that does. If we’re not going to have anything to do with the Frenchies, that could mean we’re more worried about them than about the Germans—and that also explains why we’ve to nip in quick-like, before they can do the same.” He nodded at the