The Long Green Shore Read Online Free PDF

’em up.’
    Connell’s face flushed and hardened: ‘You’ll address me by my rank, Captain Maguire,’ he snapped. ‘And remember that I’m your superior officer now.’
    Maguire lumbered slowly to his feet, gathered himself half to attention and gave a casual imitation of a salute—looking all the time at Connell with an expression of blank derision. ‘Goodnight, Lieutenant-Colonel Connell, DSO and Bar,’ he said, and turned towards the door.
    As he lifted the latch, Connell spoke. ‘Come here, Mag,’ he said gruffly.
    With his hand still on the latch, Maguire turned slowly: ‘Yes, Lieutenant-Colonel?’
    â€˜Come here, Mag, for Christ sake. Come and have a drink.’
    Connell poured two healthy slugs into the glasses, concentrating his gaze on the measure as he did so. Maguire stayed still for a long moment, staring at Connell’s bent head. Then he shrugged his shoulders slightly, let the latch drop and walked back to the table.
    The mob round Harry Drew was urging him on, laughing and whooping: ‘Rip it up her, boy! Bore it into her! Let her go!’
    â€˜All right, all right!’ said Harry Drew. ‘You think I talk for the sake of talking. But these flabby, time-serving politicians are getting up back home and telling us what we’re thinking. Read the papers! The AIF thinks so-and-so. The AIF wants such-and-such. How the hell do they know what we want or think? They never ask us. According to these fat-arse opportunists we just love this war—we can’t get enough of it! You know these boys will fight to hell and back, if necessary, and everyone does want to get in and get it over with. But what they really want—the old blokes anyway that have seen it before—is to get back home and stay. No one with any sense breaks his neck to get into a blue. No one really likes killing.’
    Harry Drew smoked a stinking pipe and loved an argument. He knew the names of all the Cabinet Ministers and remembered who had sent scrap iron to Japan.
    Hell, he was arguing about politics that night we stood on the start line at Tobruk. Full as a boot on army rum, he was, and laying down the law like he had a stand on the Domain. And he was still arguing—and willing to fight about it—when we moved into the attack.
    The card game was breaking up and they were on a couple of rounds of show to finish—one draw and show for two bob a hand to finish the game.
    â€˜We’ll have another round, eh?’ invited Whispering John. He had insinuated himself back into the game—he never stayed out for long—and since he was winning a few shillings he played quickly, with suppressed eagerness and a small, cunning grin on his lips.
    â€˜I’ll be in another round if you like,’ said young Griffo. ‘Another dozen if you like—I’m easy.’
    â€˜One more round will do me,’ said Brogan. ‘I’m two quid behind now and I can’t see myself picking it up at this game.’
    Sunny and Ocker grunted assent and old John flipped the cards round rapidly as they pushed their two bobs to the centre of the table.
    â€˜Come on,’ he snickered confidentially. ‘Put your money in the centre and play like scholars and gentlemen.’ He was pleased with his catch-cry. ‘This is where you make the money—you come here in motor cars and go home with the arse out of your pants,’ he snickered.
    â€˜Come on, John,’ said Brogan. ‘Turn me over two broads—and not too many aces. Finish her quick—we land tomorrow and I want to get some sleep tonight.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said John as he flipped the cards over, ‘you need to sleep tonight—sleep as much as you can—you’ll lose a lot from here on.’
    *
    Regan stirred uneasily in the thick, smothering sleep of the hold. The massed tiers of bunks around him were filled now and thick with heavy