‘It took you a long time,’ said the Brigadier gruffly.

Norman shivered with resentment. Careless himself of praise he waited now for a word, for just one word of praise, of recognition, for his battalion.

‘It wasn’t easy,’ he said.

The Brigadier shrugged his shoulders: ‘Pretty thin on the ground, aren’t you?’

‘We’ve lost a lot of men.’

The Brigadier frowned, and poked at the turf with his cane.

‘I don’t think there’s enough of your battalion left to assault up to the crest. You’d better consolidate here and keep this crossroads clear. I’m going to send a battalion in up the hill from the southwest. You’ll be able to protect their left flank. With you here the Hun won’t be able to infiltrate down this road into their rear.’

Norman nodded. Just one word, he thought, one word of praise for my battalion.

‘Another thing,’ said the Brigadier. He blew harshly through his empty pipe. ‘The Hun mustn’t know that the main assault isn’t coming in from this side any more. You’ll have to keep your crowd active.’

‘What’s left of them,’ said Major Norman.

‘Don’t let them go to sleep,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Keep the Huns up on the crest busy.’

‘We’re terribly exposed here.’

‘Well,’ said the Brigadier irritably, ‘it’s not going to rain, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’

‘We’ve no cover at all. They can see every move we make.’

‘All the better. I want them to keep an eye on you. It’ll help my attack from the south-west. Do all you can to keep him engaged. Push a platoon up the hillside as often as you can, just to keep him guessing.’

What a job, thought Norman. After all this we shan’t even take the hill. We’ll just stay here and take punishment. Human bait.

The Brigadier fidgeted. He had dreaded this interview and had hardened himself for it all the way from his headquarters. ‘Don’t stand there mooning, man,’ he said angrily, ‘this hillside’s too damn quiet already. Get yourself organised. Let’s hear something from your Brens. And push a platoon up there as soon as you can.’

‘Right,’ said Major Norman curtly.

The shells were falling again; the evening mists were gathering on the slopes. Norman hurried from group to group, and the Brens and rifles began to crack and clatter once more.

Mister Paterson and the dozen survivors of his platoon were lying in the shelter of a grassy mound.

Norman paused at Paterson’s side and studied the ground ahead.

‘There’s another bit of dead ground about thirty yards on, Pat,’ he said. ‘See it?’

Paterson looked up at him broodingly. ‘I see it,’ he said.

‘You’d better get on up there,’ said Norman. ‘You can use your Brens better from there.’