Jackals’ Revenge

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They might look, he thought, as if they had just come off parade at Horse Guards, but Lamb was grateful for their presence and their appearance. It brought him back to order. And despite the wolf-whistles he knew it was just what was needed to restore his men’s confidence in the army. And they desperately needed that now.

Having reached the quayside, the newcomers stopped and divided into three sections, one of which moved across to Lamb. Their sergeant approached him.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you would be new arrivals, would you?’ He spoke with a just discernible Welsh accent.

‘Yes, Sarnt. Just got here.’

‘Did you see the major, sir?’

‘Yes, thank you, Sarnt. I saw the major.’

‘Well, sir, he will have told you, I’m guessing, to go up that road there to the olive groves. Didn’t he? It’s a good mile, sir.’

Lamb smiled. He knew that ‘a good mile’ meant an ‘army mile’, and an army mile meant any distance you wanted it to mean.

The man continued. ‘You’ll find a lovely field kitchen, sir, up there. It’s not that far. Each of your men will get a nice mug of tea, some bread and cheese, an orange, some chocolate and some fags. You too, if you want them, sir. The assembly points and your bivvy area will be about seven miles farther on, isn’t it.’

Lamb wondered if the sergeant meant seven ‘good miles’.

‘Thank you, Sarnt. That’s very clear. We’ll set out in five minutes. I’m just letting the men have a rest. We’ve had a bit of a journey.’