Day Read Online Free PDF

to a policy of enslavement
. I have heard this enough times to remember. Always lectures. Always the same.’
    â€˜Funny, I’ve never heard it at all.’
    â€˜Swiss people, they say it in the war. What the Swiss understand is nothing. Very small people in their minds and thieves and trying to say what everybody should resemble.’ He licked his forefinger, dipped it in the little pile of Klim on the grass, licked again. ‘And we get paid. For what work we do with this film, they pay us six marks any day.’ As if anyone might believe he had need of the money. ‘Currency is useful and my intention is to improve my speaking English.’
    â€˜You’re supposed to be playing a German.’
    â€˜German I know already.’
    â€˜Me too, our kid. Me too.’
    Beyond which they ate for a while in silence and Alfred must have drifted, dozed, because when he woke the thought of the boys was with him again, the whole pack of them, staring into his head. Dickie Molloy there in a temper, kicking at a wall and then running off limping up the lane, yelling like stinko as he went, and Bill’s mints, Bill Torrington’s peppermints – inexhaustible supply he had from some cousin who worked in a factory that made them – never got anything useful, like sugar, only peppermints – and Edgar Miles who quietly looted them three seats for the mess from a bombed-out cinema – made everywhere smell of burning – and Hanson who was a bastard.
    â€˜Give us a look at your thumbs.’ Hanson with his frayed cuffs, his uniform that looked as if he’d been buried wearing it. ‘Come on. Thumbs.’ By this time Alfred and the skipper had gathered up Pluckrose, Torrington, Molloy and they were looking for a W/Op. Pressing on regardless, this scruffy article was following them, making straight for Alfred, ‘If you’re a gunner . . .’ when they didn’t want him, when nobody wanted him. ‘Show us your thumbs.’ A round head and flat little eyes, needling.
    â€˜I am a gunner.’ What else could Alfred say?
    The skipper and the rest had stopped, had turned to wait at Alfred’s back and so he had to get this right and be the man they took him for, one who stood his ground. ‘I am a gunner.’
    â€˜You
say
you’re a gunner.’
    â€˜That’s because I
am
a gunner.’ This heating him in his legs, his neck and the weight of the crew behind him making him reckless, letting him prop his fists on to his hips and stand. ‘What are
you
?’ And someone, he’d guess Pluckrose, making this low chuckle in his throat at that, appreciating the show.
    Hanson wove his fingers together, stretched them, popped his joints. Filthy nails he had and the smell you would get if you slept with your guns. He glowered at Alfred from under dank blond hair, making a meal of things and raising up both of his thumbs. ‘Gunner’s thumbs.’
    And, after a moment, the others had punched out a single, solid laugh between them and Torrington and Molloy had patted Alfred’s shoulders, but he hadn’t shifted, because Hanson had to be the one to move, to flinch, and Alfred’s heart had seemed high in his chest and eager.
    â€˜Lord, it’s like a mongoose with a snake.’ Pluckrose at his back, gentle. ‘To paraphrase Wellington – I don’t know if they’re going to scare Goering, but they put the fucking wind up me.’
    Hanson breaking off then, giving a grin. ‘Straight AG.’ And waiting for the word.
    â€˜What do you say?’ The skipper at Alfred’s side now. ‘Do we want him?’
    He liked being given the power to pick. ‘Not sure.’
    â€˜Do we need him, Boss?’
    â€˜Probably.’ Alfred surprised to hear himself. ‘Probably we do.’ He’d not looked at Hanson after that, had avoided the sight of him for the rest of the day.
    Edgar Miles had