A Good Clean Fight Read Online Free PDF Page B

war, the one they don’t teach you in Staff College.”
    â€œCorky is right,” Schramm said, which amused everyone except Gibbon. “And congratulations on your Military Cross.”
    â€œSee what I mean?” Gibbon said to Dunn.
    â€œCorky hasn’t got the MC,” Dunn told Schramm.
    â€œSoon he will.”
    â€œReally? What for?” Lampard asked.
    Schramm licked a bit of chutney off his upper lip. “I am afraid I am not at liberty to tell you,” he said. Even Gibbon laughed at that. Schramm blinked and smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Accidental pun.”
    Corporal Harris scuffed his boots and kicked a small stone toward Schramm. “What have you got on me in your files?” he asked.
    â€œOh . . .” Schramm thought hard. “I feel sure the records indicate that you are a scholar and a gentleman who would never blow his nose on the tablecloth if he could reach the curtains.” This was said so blandly that itsurprised them. Corporal Pocock choked. Everyone else laughed, everyone except Harris. He took a swig of tea, swallowed, took another swig and expertly sprayed it through his teeth. “I don’t think he’s a bleedin’ Jerry at all,” he said to Lampard. “He’s too clever by half. He’s one of ours who’s sold out.”
    â€œ
Es war sehr schön. Ich danke Ihnen. Ich muss jetzt gehen,”
Schramm said.
    Lampard looked at Dunn. Dunn said: “I believe that was ‘Thank you for having me, I’ve got to go now.’”
    The lookout’s tin rattled. “This must be my bus,” Schramm said. “Shut up!” Lampard snapped. Already the patrol was moving into the deeper shadow of the cliff, trailed by a long streamer of flies. Above their indignant buzz came a distant drone, like a small power-saw in the sky. “Just a Storch,” Dunn said. “Nothing to worry about.” The Storch was a small high-wing plane which the German army used for search or reconnaissance or taxiing generals about the battlefield. It could fly as slowly as an old crow and it could turn inside its own length, but usually it had no guns. Lampard and Dunn settled down on either side of their prisoner and got on with their meal.
    â€œThis is the second visit by an airplane in less than an hour,” Schramm said. “Perhaps you have been . . .” He searched for the word. “. . . rumbled.”
    â€œI expect he’s seen our tracks,” Lampard said, “but not for the last quarter of a mile because we went back and wiped them out, so now he doesn’t know which wadi we might be in.”
    â€œIn any case,” Dunn said, “he daren’t come down really low to look for us in case he finds us. You saw what we’ve got: three lots of twin-mounted Vickers machine guns. Make a lovely mess of him, they would. Aren’t you going to finish your apricots?”
    â€œYes. But the guns aren’t manned.”
    â€œHe doesn’t know that.”
    â€œHow can you be sure?”
    â€œLook,” Lampard said, “I’m in command here. Now shut up and eat your apricots, or I won’t take you to see General Cunningham in Cairo.”
    â€œHe is in Alexandria,” Schramm said. “And General Auchinleck now commands your Eighth Army.”
    Lampard uttered a cry of exasperation and threw up his hands, losing a boiled potato from his fork. “For God’s sake
stop showing off!”
he cried.
    â€œSorry. I thought you would wish to know.”
    â€œNow look what you made me do.” Lampard sucked his empty fork. “That spud came fifteen thousand miles, all down the Atlantic, round South Africa, up the Indian Ocean, through the Canal, across miles and miles of burning desert, scorched by day and frozen by night, just to give me strength to fight the horrible Hun, and you’ve gone and ruined it.”
    â€œIf you know so