The Waiting Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

difference between his sister and Corporal Barnes.
    ‘It’s the German thing, isn’t it?’
    ‘On your desk — it’s all day, buffet lunch. Colonel’s hosting. There’s a load coming down from London. In lecture room B/19. Guests is the German with two spooks to hold his hand. Coffee at ten, kick-off half an hour after that. The background brief’s on your desk as well.’
    ‘Have you enough to amuse yourself?’
    She had snorted. There were those in the mess who told him that he permitted her to walk to the bounds of insolence, but he wouldn’t have that talk, not in the mess or anywhere else. He had picked up the brief, two sheets, scanned it, and she was gazing at him, rolling her eyes.
    ‘Don’t know about amusement . There’s the expenses from your Catterick trip. There’s your leave application. I’ve got your paper for Infantry Training School to type up. Have to confirm your dentist. Got to get your car over to Motor Pool for valeting. The stuff you wanted from Library...’
    He had seen the two cars go by, black and unmarked, glistening from the rain, heading towards the B-block complex.
    ‘Morning, Perry. . . Morning, Corporal.’
    He quite liked to be called Perry. It gave him a sort of warmth. The use of his name made him feel wanted. In the mess he always introduced himself with that name, encouraged visitors to use it. He had a need for friends that was seldom gratified. He’d turned towards the door.
    ‘Morning, Ben, bit off schedule, aren’t we?’
    ‘Morning, Captain,’ she’d intoned, as if he was out of order.
    He was young. His hair was a mess. He was red-flushed in the face. The Labrador, black, was soaked wet, on a tight lead and choke chain, close to his heels, the tail curled under the stomach and mourning eyes.
    ‘Went after the rabbits — took a bloody age to catch him. Christ, we’re up against it, aren’t we? Should be moving, should we? Corporal, be an angel, Nelson’s food’s in the car. Half a tin, three handfuls of meal, warm water not boiling to mix in, lunch-time, OK? Oh, those biographies, 49th Mechanized Infantry at. . . God, where is it?’
    ‘At Voronezh, Captain Christie. The 49th Mechanized Infantry is currently at garrison camp at Voronezh.’
    ‘It’s updated, in the safe. Needs retyping — hope you can read
    the writing. Look, I’m short of petrol vouchers. You’ll give Nelson
    a walk. No titbits for him, nothing extra, supposed to be dieting
    · · Be an angel.’
    ‘Time we made a move,’ the Major had said.
    He walked under the lights, and away ahead of him were the high lamps over the wire. There was no one within the wall of wire around Templer Barracks in whom he could confide, so damned unfair, no one to comfort him.
    It would be across the barracks within an hour. The whispering, giggling, gossiping and tittering would be sieved through the officers’ mess, the officers’ married quarters, the sergeants’ mess, their married quarters, junior ranks’ canteen, junior ranks’ quarters. The Colonel had said that it was Perry Johnson’s responsibility, and every bastard out there would have a little story, grist fed to the mill, about the liberties taken by Corporal Tracy Barnes towards her commanding officer. He had not the merest idea why she had attacked the German with such animal savagery.
    The guardhouse sergeant snapped from his chair, stood to attention, but he was sure the damn man had smirked. On the table was a plastic bag holding a tie, a belt and a pair of shoelaces.
    ‘Where is she?’
    ‘Cell block, number four, sir.’
    He went to the steel-barred door, and the dull-lit corridor stretched into shadows in front of him.
    ‘Well, hurry up, Sergeant.’
    ‘Yes, sir. Captain Christie’s with her, sir, but I’ve kept an eye out just in case she thumps him.’ The sergeant’s face was impassive.
    He smeared his eyes with his coat sleeve. Should have done it before entering the guardhouse. The wet would have been noted. He