Lord Ottery mumbled something to the effect that this didn’t inspire him with confidence.
General Bellasis laughed again, rather irritably.
“Oh, of course the War Office gets a lot of kicks. But some of us aren’t such fools as we look.”
“Nobody would accuse you of looking a fool, Bellasis,” remarked Ottery in a kindly way, and he stared vaguely at Kenneth Murless because that young man laughed loudly at the remark, and even Joyce gave a little squeal of protest.
It seemed, after other conversational interruptions, that the War Office plan, in the event of a General Strike was to recruit a Defence Corps, divided into various districts of England. Ex-officers and men would be invited to join for a three months’ service. They would take over the transport system, work the railways, organise lorry columns, ensure the vital supplies of material life, meat, milk, bread, and so on, and defeat the purpose of the strikers, which was to strangle national industry and activity. If there were any attempts at violence, intimidation, picketing, the Defence Corps would be ordered to do their duty, relentlessly.
“Fire on the mob?” asked Lord Ottery.
“Fire on any ruffian, or body of ruffians, endeavouring to hold up national life.”
“Naturally,” said Alban.
“I hope there’ll be a lot of shooting,” said Joyce, heatedly. “A good opportunity to get rid of our Bolshevists.”
Bertram stiffened uneasily in his chair, and thought of making a protest, but decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He hated Joyce to speak like that. He was thinking of Huggett, and his “Comrades of the Great War” in the slums of London and other great cities, so many of them out-of-work, despairing, rather bitter, but not Bolshevists. This new Defence Corps might not be quick at distinguishing between honest men and ruffians. Some chance shot, any hooligan fool, might lead to bloodshed of a terrible kind. This plan was to divide the nation into two classes. It might come perilously near to civil war. He agreed with old Ottery. Better avoid the clash. Better not to ask for it. He wished Joyce had not spoken those words.