The Machine Gunners Read Free Page A

Persian Gulf. Every so often, Uncle William was invited to a feast by the local sheikh, who with grease-dripping fingers would suddenly hand him a whole sheep's eye. If Uncle William could swallow it in one gulp without gagging, the oil would continue to flow. If not ... on such small things hung the fate of the Free World. Chas was training himself to be like Uncle William. He was even training himself to like the smell of burning rubber. "It's an acquired taste," he'd say to his friends airily.
    Cemetery's approach to school dinner was different. He treated his plate as an artist treats his palette, whirling gravy, dried potato, dried peas and dried egg into cosmic whirls and brushwork, occasionally flipping a choice piece of impasto into his mouth. By the time all had collapsed into a grey soggy amorphous mass from which no further reaction could be derived, it was three-quarters eaten. This procedure he called the "potato irrigation scheme."
    "I've found something," announced Chas mysteriously, over the ginger stodge. "It's Big. I need your bogie to shift it."
    "Can't. Got my Guy on the bogie."
    "What you want a Guy for? No bonfires allowed this year. No fireworks in the shops. Nothing. You're potty."
    "I use the money I collect to buy sweets."
    "Look, it's just one night. This is Big—Bigger than anything you've ever seen."
    "Go on, you always say that."
    "Come and see for yourself, then."
    "When?"
    "Tonight."
    "Got to do me homework before the raid starts. We've only got one candle in our shelter and Mum says it ruins your eyes."
    "Look, I'll give you an incendiary bomb fin, a real smasher, not a dent..."
    "I'll come for the fin, then. But I don't believe the other."
    Chas's eyes suddenly glinted. He'd had one of his Famous Ideas.
    "And bring your bogie with the Guy still on it."
    They were going down to West Chirton. Chas was on the bogie and Cem was pulling it, snorting and grunting like a horse. He always insisted on pulling the bogie, so he never got a ride. When asked why, he always said he was "getting his muscles up," but everyone knew he was really scared of letting go the towing rope in case someone ran off with the bogie. People didn't grumble; they enjoyed the ride.
    Suddenly there was the wild ringing of a bicycle bell behind.
    "Oh hell," said Chas and Cemetery together.
    "Where are you kids going?" asked a bossy female voice. "And why have you got two Guys on your bogie this year, Cemetery?"
    "Oh, ha, ha," said Chas in disgust. "Frigg off, Audrey Parton, we're busy."
    "Busy!" The scorn was finely done. "Little things please little minds."
    "While bigger fools look on," retorted Chas.
    "In disgust."
    "At themselves." It was an old boring routine, but Cem laughed like a horse. Audrey Parton rode past, and slued round her bike to block the road.
    "Tell me where you're going or I won't let you past." There was something in the threat. She was bigger than either Cem or Chas: what Mrs. McGill called a fine strapping lass. She had bulging hockey muscles and grey ankle-socks, and red hair in pigtails and freckles. She fought boys and, alas, sometimes won.
    On the other hand there were some good things about her, which made her the only girl Cem and Chas ever talked to. Her chest was quite flat, and she didn't giggle and whisper to other girls as you went past. She never told on you to her mother, and she was as good climbing trees and drainpipes as any boy. For a long time she'd led her own girl's gang, but now they'd all deserted her for sheer lisle stockings, ringlets and mother's powder puff. She'd become a misfit. She said she'd always wanted to be a boy. She was the only girl who always had sticking plasters on her knees.
    Mrs. McGill treated Audrey with respect, because her family were posh and owned a car. But Mr. McGill said her father was skulking in a Reserved Occupation, making his fortune while better men went to fight for their country. When Mr. McGill spoke in that sort of voice, nobody