The sergeant gave the order to fall out for a five minutes’ break. He drew aside with the officer as the men broke ranks and settled themselves in sprawling groups on the grass. He took a cigarette from the case which the officer proffered him, fished in his pockets for matches and struck a light. Sergeant and officer smoked in silence for a few moments.

Mister Paterson spoke. ‘Satisfied with them, Sergeant?’

‘Aye,’ answered Sergeant Shannon, ‘they’re game enough. An’ they’re learnin’.’

‘We’ve been driving them pretty hard these last few days,’ said Mister Paterson, ‘we’ll give ’em something easy this morning for a half-hour or so and then double them back to camp.’

‘I’ll take ’em on a bit of revision wi’ the Bren,’ suggested Sergeant Shannon. ‘That’ll do ’em no ’arm.’

‘O.K.,’ agreed the officer. ‘I’ll leave them to you. Fall them in again whenever you want to.’

They stood for a few moments, smoking, looking over the men.

‘Know anything about the new chap you brought me this morning?’ Sergeant Shannon asked suddenly. ‘The Paddy.’

‘Mulrooney.’

‘Aye, that’s him.’

‘No. He came in yesterday with the reinforcement detail. We’ve got him to fill Charlie Venable’s place. What makes you ask?’

The sergeant dropped his cigarette end and ground it into the turf. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothin’,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a feeling, that’s all. Old soldier, isn’t he?’

‘By his ribbons. I haven’t looked at his documents yet,’ said Mister Paterson. ‘Think you’ll have trouble?’

‘I’m not worryin’.’

The sergeant turned to the platoon and shouted. ‘All right, my lads, put them tabs out now and get fell in.’

As the platoon jostled into ragged ranks Sergeant Shannon watched the man he had been discussing. Mulrooney was a great, broad shouldered Irishman, lumbering and clumsy, towering angrily above the heads of the rest of the platoon. His face, red and rugged with muscle, was stamped with sullen lines that never left it; his eyes were small and glittering and suspicious, flickering and never still, the only thing quick about the man. He moved into the front rank and stood with his rifle at ease. Men spoke to him, keen to make a newcomer welcome. He never answered.

‘Right now, my lads,’ said the sergeant sharply, ‘you’re like a lot of Old Age Pensioners queuein’ up in t’ post office. Get fell in properly an’ pick up your dressing.’

When the platoon stood in orderly ranks the sergeant turned the front rank to the right and the rear rank to the left, and marched them round so that they formed, with the remaining rank, three sides of a square. He moved into the centre of the square, spread his groundsheet on the grass and told two of the men to do the same. Then he had the platoon’s three light machine guns placed on the sheets.