The sergeant was standing with his hands over his face. One of the men came close and pulled the hands away. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘the sergeant’s hurt. Look here.’ The others crowded round.

‘I fell with my face against the stove,’ mumbled the sergeant. He was very weary now, and beginning to feel sick. ‘I’m going down to the sick bay, get it dressed. Take over, Bill.’

‘Don’t worry, Sergeant,’ his corporal said. ‘Go down with him, Quinan.’

Quinan put his arm round the sergeant’s shoulder and turned him to the door. They went out together.

‘That Maddison,’ said the corporal when they had gone. ‘He’ll get a bullet in the back one of these dark nights. He’s mad. He’s raving mad. That’s all he lives for, war. War, war. He’s not human.’

‘D’ye mind, Corporal,’ said one of the men, ‘on that scheme last February?… would nae let his company have any rations for two days. The rest o’ the battalion was feedin’ a’ the time. He said ye had tae lairn tae go hungry in war.’

‘I know,’ said the corporal,’ he was instructing up at the div. battle school when I was there. A platoon was coming off the assault course and he heard ’em grumbling. He took ’em back round the course twice, without stopping. Half of’ em dropped in their tracks. He went round with ’em. You know,’ he said, ‘he’s a tough bugger. He trains like a bloody greyhound. He don’t smoke. He don’t drink. They say he can’t stand the sight of women.’

‘What the —ing hell does he live for, then?’ asked one of the men.

‘I told you,’ answered the corporal, ‘war. He thinks there’s nothing like it. He thinks doin’ all this kind of thing’s for our own good. At the battle school he used to come on parade and point his stick at you and shout, “What’s your job, soldier?” And you had to come up to attention and shout back at him, “Kill.”’

The corporal walked back to the centre of the hut, settled himself on the bench by the stove and pulled his greatcoat across his shoulders like a cloak.

‘Kill,’ he said gloomily, ‘God knows what they’ll do with men like that when all this is over. Shut ’em up like mad dogs, I reckon.’

‘They’ll send the likes of him out to India,’ said one of the men, ‘to keep the blacks in their places.’

‘Ye mean they’ll send ’em tae the Clyde,’ said the Scot who had spoken before, ‘tae keep us in our places.’

‘Maybe,’ said the corporal. ‘Go up to the cookhouse, Scotty, and ask the night cook for some more cocoa. Get into kip, the rest of you.’