The mask cracked. Norman was smiling. It was a stupid smile. It revealed nothing.

‘I’m very grateful,’ the Brigadier said quietly.

The eyes glittered from their depths behind the mask. The lips tightened. The corners of the mouth turned up more. The smile broadened.

‘The whole division’s on the move,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Your battalion has done a big job.’

The bowed shoulders began to shake. Norman looked up, quaking with a scarcely-audible laughter. ‘No?’ he gasped. ‘Really? That’s too good of you.’

The Brigadier took his pipe from his pocket and blew through it. He looked into the empty bowl.

‘What’s your strength?’

Norman sobered. ‘Ninety-two accounted for. There may be a few more wandering around.’

‘Officers?’

‘Three. And myself.’

‘What sort of state are the men in?’

‘Dead to the world.’

‘Can they march?’

‘They couldn’t march to a meal. You’ll have to take us out on transport.’

The Brigadier was silent for a moment. He worked his fingers inside his tobacco pouch, filling the bowl of his pipe. ‘All my transport’s going forward,’ he said at last.

Norman’s eyes flickered. The lids narrowed intently.

‘What are you going to do with us?’ he asked. ‘Putting us into one of the other battalions? Or sending us out for a rest?’

‘A rest,’ said the Brigadier, ‘a long one.’

Norman relaxed. He made a little gesture with his head and shrugged his shoulders. ‘They’ve earned it,’ he said.

The Brigadier bit at the stem of his pipe and lit up. He looked at Norman over his cupped hands. ‘I’ve got a job for you. One more job.’

Norman brushed the hair from his brow, and began to tighten the waist buckle of his blouse. ‘What is it?’

The Brigadier opened his map-case.

‘In the village here,’ he pointed with a nicotine-stained finger.

‘An anti-tank ambush. A troop of eighty-eights. We want to get our armour on the move, on to the main road, here – ’ his finger-nail scratched across the mica – ‘but they’re held up until we can find infantry to winkle the guns out.’

‘And so naturally – ’ Norman’s voice was high-pitched, ‘ – you thought of us?’

‘You were the nearest disengaged infantry.’ The Brigadier knew he dared not go on in this apologetic way much longer. A few more moments of this and he would have to talk brutally.

‘I’ve hardly enough men left to make up one rifle company.’

‘It’s a job for one company.’

‘Well,’ Norman’s voice suddenly became light-hearted. ‘It’s an honour, I’m sure. The men will be delighted.’ He spoke with the unnatural relish of the slightly tipsy.

‘I’m sorry, Noel.’

‘Oh,’ Norman waved a deprecating hand, ‘don’t worry. Don’t let it worry you one – ’ he paused between each word, ‘ – little – bit. It happens every day.’