A New Kind of War Read Free Page B

almost wept with frustration as his left hand joined the claw’s mutiny. ‘ Fuck !’
    ‘Such language!’ Kyriakos tut-tutted at him. ‘We made a pact—remember, old boy?’
    That was also true, thought Fred as he gagged on other and fouler expletives, in giving up the struggle: only hours—or maybe only minutes—before they had discussed the degeneration of their everyday language under the influence and pressure of army life, in the light of their imminent meeting with Madame Michaelides (who countenanced no such words) and Fred’s eventual return to the bosom of his family (who would certainly be equally shocked); and while his own persuasion had been that it would be no problem—that some automatic safety-valve would activate—Kyri had not been so confident, and unashamedly more frightened at the prospect than he seemed to be now, at another prospect, as he waved his large white handkerchief.
    ‘Don’t you forget, now—eh?’ The Greek also waved his finger, admonishing him for all the world as though they were about to meet his mother, instead of more likely God Almighty, Whose intentions they were now supposed to be anticipating. ‘I am Alex, the friend of Spiros—okay?’
    It was also, and finally, true … what Sergeant Procter always said: that you could like a man and hate him at the same time.
    Kyriakos smiled again, turning the knife in the wound.
    ‘So now we wait!’
    ‘What for?’ The mixture of unpleasant noises from the other side of the ridge had become increasingly sporadic while they had been arguing. But now it seemed to have died away altogether, so maybe that was a silly question. ‘Not for long, though?’
    ‘They’ll flank us.’ Kyri gave the handkerchief a final vigorous wave and then pointed first left, then right. ‘Where those gulleys from the top peter out—“peter out”, is that right?’
    ‘Yes.’ Five years of English education, followed by another five of military alliance, had rendered the Greek almost perfectly bi-lingual. But, more than that, Fred at last understood how Kyriakos had seen their position through an infantryman’s eye: while their refuge could easily be flanked from those treacherous gulleys, it also had to be eliminated because they in turn had a clear view of the lower slopes and the track below. ‘I understand, Kyri.’
    ‘Good. Then you watch the left and I will watch the right.’ He paused. ‘And understand this also, old boy: the moment you see anything, you put your hands up—and I mean up — up high , my friend … Because we’ll only have that one moment, maybe. Understood?’
    ‘Understood.’ He didn’t want to add to the man’s burdens. ‘And then you’re my guide, Alex … recommended to me by Spiros the baker.’ He wondered for a moment about Spiros the baker: was he one of Captain Michaelides’ ELAS suspects? Or one of the Captain’s double agents? But then, other than sharing the general British Army distaste for the mutual barbarities of the Greeks’ December bloodbath, he had never really attempted to understand their politics: the distinction between Captain Kyriakos Michaelides, of the Royal Hellenic Army, and Kyriakos Michaelides, the son of Father’s old friend, was not one he had even thought of seriously until now. ‘But I don’t speak halfways decent Greek’s, remember—okay?’
    ‘Don’t worry about that.’ Kyri threw the words over his shoulder, forcing him to concentrate on his own gulley. ‘I’ll do the talking. Just you be an outraged British ally to start with, old boy — and be angry with me for getting you into trouble. And—’ He stopped suddenly.
    ‘And what?’ He fought the urge to turn towards the sudden silence. ‘Have you spotted something?’
    ‘And … nod … nod and smile when I mention Spiros—okay?’ The Greek spoke with unnatural slowness. ‘Ye-ess … I think maybe I have … so get ready !’
    Fred still couldn’t see anything. But the muscles all the way down his