A Soldier's Tale Read Online Free PDF

stayed with him a lot, watching the restless movements of the grizzled head on the pillow as he caught the call of a bird, or spied the movement of wings across the small window. His last conscious act was to hand over to Saul, as a treasuredheirloom, the clasp-knife with its rough horn handle and its well-honed blade, with which he could so neatly skin rabbits, castrate lambs, put a dying dog out of its misery or carve stray ends of wood into Father Noah and a whole ark-full of animals.
    The window was a square of pale early sky, across which drove the dawn patrol of Spitfires with a roar of Merlin engines.
    Well, next morning (as he told it) I wakes up pretty smartly when I felt her move out of the bed. I kept my eyes shut but I could feel that she sat there looking at me. When I looked, she had turned away and was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had a lovely skin and the sight of that bare back just about got me going, I can tell you, but I held back, playing it crafty, to wait and see what she would do. I’d laid my sten on the rush-bottomed chair beside the bed where I could find it at once in the dark, like I always do. The sheath-knife—the short one—was handy too but hidden under the edge of the mattress. I always like to keep my tools in good order and ready to hand. I was curious to see if she’d try anything. But all she did, like it might be any woman, was to look down at her body, and to run her fingers through that thick red hair, brushing it away from her face. Then shewraps herself in a dressing-gown—sort of purple Japanesy thing with flowers—and goes out into the kitchen. I could hear the crinkle of paper and the crack of sticks as she laid the fire in the kitchen range.
    Then I got up quietly and dressed, just shirt and trousers and plimsoles, and I comes up quietly behind her. I slipped my arms around her and kissed her neck. She tossed her head but didn’t seem to mind much. So I showed her the stuff she could use for breakfast, the oatmeal cakes and the tinned bacon and the tea.
    Outside it was a bright windy sort of day but with rain about somewhere. There was a path edged with angled bricks, and some rows of cabbages and beans. I wondered who the cottage belonged to because I couldn’t imagine her keeping up a garden like that.
    Like I said, the crapper was a little shed by the far hedge. I left the door open, but it didn’t directly face the cottage. I was happy enough there, easing myself and drawing on the first fag of the day, until I heard her cry out.
    I had my pants up right smartly, I can tell you, and was out of there, but I could see it would need careful handling. She was in the doorway and Big Stupid was dragging her out, she was making a fight of it but he had a bruising grip on her arms. The Bratwas standing there with a rifle, waiting to hold me off. And there was me with nothing but my short knife, which I always carries. So I began to walk up the path, very steady, keeping a sharp look-out for Wolf-face, but he wasn’t there—perhaps he was asleep up on the hill.
    As I got closer and closer the Kid was angry like a girl. He waved the gun and glared at me and shouted something about the traitor and justice of the people, while Big Stupid pushed the woman in front of him.
    The Kid kept talking and shouting, and she kept struggling with Big Stupid. They didn’t know if I was really coming for them, or which one I was going to try and take first. So I was able to edge round the Kid a bit, then I got hold of the rifle and pushed up and out, and took him across my hip and rolled him over so that he fell on the path and hit his knees on the brick edging, which gave him a nasty fall.
    Big Stupid flung her back in the doorway and came at me, but I’d carried off the rifle on the backswing—it was still on safe, anyway—and I rammed old Stupid in the midriff with the butt. He turns grey and sits down and I think I done a couple of