In the hut, at midnight, it should have been dark; two rows of men silent and asleep and the corporal, in the bed by the door, turning over somnolently as he came in and mumbling, ‘That you, Alfie? Don’t make a noise. Good night, boy.’

But the hut, as he entered it, was lit. The men were sitting on their beds, assembling their equipment, cramming grenades and clips of ammunition into their pouches, stuffing their belongings into their small packs.

Before anyone spoke to him, Alfie knew. Niagara Falls was coming down on top of him and the end of the world was nigh. Lance-Corporal Feather came into the hut with half a dozen full, dripping water-bottles and passed them to their owners.

‘Hallo, Alfie boy. You’re just in time. Get packed. Battle order. The battalion’s confined to camp until further notice as from midnight. We have to be ready to move off tomorrow at a half-hour’s notice.’

Alfie sat on his bed, bewildered, unbelieving. His hands fumbled with belts and buckles while he tried to halt the reeling confusion inside his head and to cope with what had happened.

Tomorrow evening. Floss waiting at the bus station, clutching her handbag with both hands; the six o’clock bus coming in, and the six-forty, and the seven-ten, and Floss still waiting, agonised with fear and bewilderment, but still waiting. I might have a baby. That’s how they get babies, isn’t it? Who cares if we have a kid? Everybody has kids. I’ll come round and ask your mum properly. We’ll go out next Saturday afternoon and buy a ring. Tomorrow evening. Where would the Fifth Battalion be tomorrow evening?

Niagara Falls was coming down on top of him and the end of the world was nigh. Alfie Bradley tested the action of his rifle, slamming the gleaming bolt a dozen times into the breech. He slipped back the safety-catch and loosened the sling. The rifle was ready for use.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Summer holiday

THE SOLDIER LIVES a drama: he never has the time to perceive it. His life, even in battle, is a succession of chores.

The battalion moved off in the morning: to the men, this departure for battle resolved itself into a rush to get out of bed, wash, shave, eat, dump the straw from their palliasses, hand in their blankets at the quartermaster’s stores, and finally to sweep and scrub out their empty huts. There was no time for sentimental reflections.

It was not till they were on parade ready to leave, and they saw the advance party of an incoming unit exploring the huts, that they felt a sense of loss and unsettlement. It was disturbing, somehow, to stand in the ranks with rifle and pack, watching these arrogant, inquisitive strangers invading their homes of an hour ago.