| [10] | High explosive. |
§ 6
“Damn,” said Torrington, “I thought we were going to get a little rest. The men are pretty well all in. Straker’s up at the O. Pip,[[11]] but he won’t see much. One round a minute, you say.”
They were standing under the trees, just outside the command post—a vast hollow mound of chalk, shored with timber, top covered with new-cut branches.
“Come in, won’t you? We’re just going to have some tea.”
Peter crouched through the timbered doorway; sat down on a ration-box. “I’ll just get on to Straker.” Torrington buzzed on the ’phone above his untidy bunk. “Give me the O. Pip, please. What’s that? You wanted H.Q. Well, the Adjutant’s here.” He handed the receiver to Peter.
Straker’s voice came stuttering down the wire: “I thought you’d like to know that one of our Infantry Brigades is coming up the road. The 2nd, I think. They’re just marching round the Fosse now.”
“Thanks,” said Peter calmly. “Don’t go away. Torrington wants to speak to you.” . . . And to Torrington, “I don’t think I’ll stay for tea, thanks. You might pass the order on to Lodden. . . .”
Peter picked his way diagonally across the field towards the ruined house at the cross-roads. In it, a fire burned. His own men stood about, smoking, gossiping, drinking tea from enamelled mugs. A wounded man limped by, eyes on the ground.
And suddenly, riding round the battered wall at the foot of the Fosse, he saw Colonel Andrews. On either side of him rode Slattery and Simcox. Peter saluted; the Colonel acknowledged; said “Hallo, Jameson”; rode on. Behind him, came the Chalkshires!