Ron gritted his teeth, holding back his anger at such an unnecessary waste of young lives, and the futility of ever trusting those in charge to get beach landing assaults right. He’d seen enough slaughter during the first shout, and the knowledge that things hadn’t really changed made him sick at heart.

Brendon leant forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘As tragic as it was, we’re fighting a war, and men die.’

‘It was just a bloody rehearsal,’ Frank hissed furiously. ‘And they weren’t men – they were boys – they weren’t supposed to die.’

‘Everyone knows that,’ said Brendon firmly, ‘and you can be certain that it wasn’t taken lightly by Churchill or Eisenhower. General Addington – the American observer – told me that changes have been implemented to make sure something like that doesn’t happen when we—’ He broke off and bit his lip.

‘You’re taking part in the invasion?’ breathed Ron, his heart thudding at the thought.

Brendon scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘I didn’t mean … That’s to say …’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘Just forget I said anything – and for God’s sake don’t say a word of it to Mum.’

‘It’s all right, son,’ said Frank, putting his large arm around his shoulder. ‘We understand, and it’ll go no further than this room, I promise.’ His heavily lined, weathered face showed his anguish. ‘But the thought of you going back to the fighting is a knife to me heart, wee boy. If anything should happen to you …’

‘I’ll do my best to stay alive, Da,’ Brendon replied softly. ‘But it’s war, and we all have to take our chances.’

Ron’s heart shrivelled at the thought of the danger the boy would be in. He poured another round of drinks and gulped his own down. ‘When you told us you were going down there you said you wouldn’t be involved in the fighting,’ he muttered.

‘I know I did – and at the time, that’s what I believed. But it turns out that every man, ship and vehicle that took part in those rehearsals will be involved in the real thing, and I for one am glad of it. I’m sick of hanging about in London like a spare part when I should be doing something useful elsewhere.’

‘When will it be?’ Frank asked raggedly.

‘I’ve said too much already, Da. Please don’t ask me anything more.’

‘But it’ll be soon?’ Frank’s penetrating gaze was fixed on his son.

Brendon nodded curtly and poured another whiskey before making a visible effort to change the subject. ‘So, what’s Aunt Peggy cooking us for supper, Grandad?’ he asked a little too brightly. ‘Something you pilfered from the Cliffe estate, perhaps?’