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Colonel Sharpe didn’t know what to make of her. But that was no reason why she should feed his suspicions.
    ‘Though perhaps not more so than our choice of “Commando” as a name for our special forces,’ he said at length. ‘You know its origin?’
    It was a small innocent challenge to an ex-history teacher. ‘We took that from the Boers, who fought us in South Africa, didn’t we?’ He would appreciate a counter-challenge. ‘And we gave them “Concentration Camp” in return?’
    ‘What’s that?’ Major Birkenshawe bristled slightly. ‘I think you’ve got that wrong, Liza. “Concentration Camp” was a Hun invention.’
    ‘I’m sure you’re right, Major.’ Elizabeth smiled at him. ‘But “Rangers”, Colonel?’
    He studied her for a few more seconds. ‘The original of the name is obscure. But it seems most likely that they derived from Rogers’ Rangers in the eighteenth century. And they were a corps of frontiersmen who were recruited to assist the regulars. There was a film about them—I rather think it starred Spencer Tracy.’
    Major Birkenshawe grunted approvingly. ‘Damn good actor—and the delightful woman he used to appear with—cheek-bones and hair—your hair looks particularly nice today, Liza—suits you, like that—Sorry, Sharpe -Rangers, you were saying?’
    Colonel Sharpe gave the Major a nod, more affectionate than condescending, and Elizabeth wondered how such an acquaintance had become more than nodding, they were such an unlikely pair. But then Father and the dear old Major had been equally unlikely friends.
    Then the Colonel came back to her. ‘A curious fact, which they must have overlooked, is that the Rangers fought for the British during the American War of Independence. And that would make them not just enemies -“Loyalists” to us, of course—but actually traitors. And “traitor” is always a pejorative word.’
    The Major nodded, even though he looked as though he wasn’t at all sure what ‘pejorative’ meant. ‘But they were good, though—those fellas … Saw ‘em training once, in ‘43, before I had my little misfortune.’ He had raised the stump of his right arm quite unselfconsciously. ‘ Training , they called it—‘ Major Birkenshawe pushed his stump back into place ‘—looked damn dangerous to me—if you’ll pardon my language, Liza. They were shooting at each other, and blowing each other up, and climbing up cliffs—I remember thinking that the real thing couldn’t be a lot more dangerous than what they were doing.’
    ‘That was the Isle of Wight manoeuvres, was it?’ Sharpe turned towards him, away from Elizabeth. ‘On the cliffs?’
    The stump moved, as though it had a life of its own, and was remembering. ‘Must have been ‘44. Isle of Wight—you’re right there. Shot grapnels up, with lines attached.
    ‘He stopped suddenly, massaging the stump and staring midway between them. ‘That’s right! Remember thinking “Sheer madness! Not a hope, if Jerry’s on the top—glad it’s not me!”’ He grinned ancient nicotine-stained fangs at Elizabeth. ‘Amazing how it comes back! Killed a lot of men training, did the Americans. Had a lot of men to kill, of course—big country … But these were good men—very keen—could see that.’ ‘And that must have been when you were involved on the Merville planning, Maurice?’ Colonel Sharpe interrupted him gently.
    ‘Probably was. Another piece of lunacy! “Never drop half the men within twenty miles”, I told ‘em. They wanted to land gliders right on the battery! “Not a chance”, I said. “Only chance you’ve got—Jerry won’t believe what’s happening—probably give him heart-failure”.’
    ‘But you said “Go” all the same.’ The Colonel paused. ‘And weren’t you scheming to go with them?’
    ‘Of course.’ The Major retired for a moment behind a foul-smelling smoke-screen. ‘Just curiosity—wanted to see what sort of b———mess-up they made of