The Machine Gunners by Robert Westall Page B

taking them away."
    "But they're the ones dogs pee on! They're so smelly people won't even use them against incendiary bombs."
    "That's the point, Sarge," said Fatty Hardy, triumphantly. "No person in their right mind would pinch them. That leaves only one conclusion—it's the work of enemy agents. I wonder they don't just slash them, though."
    The sergeant leaped up, ignoring his crippled foot, pulled a lock of black hair over his right eye, stuck an ink-rubber under his nose, and gave the Nazi salute.
    "To Hans der Ripper, an Iron Cross first class for demolishing von hundred and fifty Britischer Pig Sandbags. Heil Hitler." He collapsed into his chair laughing-hysterically. Fatty looked round nervously for a first-aid kit.
    "Thank you, Hardy. That's the first good laugh I've had in weeks."
    "Darling?" said Mrs. Nichol. She was standing staring out of the bedroom window in her negligee, looking wistful and smoking a cigarette.
    "Yeah?" Commander Horsfall was lying on the bed, scratching his head.
    "Someone's stolen our air-raid shelter."
    "Go on, I threw an empty fag packet into it this morning."
    "Not that one. That's the one for the family. There was a much bigger one in the shrubbery, for the servants. Then they all got directed to war work, so it was never used."
    "What's the problem, then?"
    "Well, it's the principle of the thing. I mean, it was ours, even if we never used it. People seem to think they can do what they like with other people's property these days. Everyone's gone so immoral, and all they do is blame it on the War."
    "Come back to bed. I'm on duty in half an hour."
    "But I want to know where it's gone..."
    "Sir?"
    "Yes, Petty Officer?" Commander Horsfall paused on the house steps. The Petty Officer was the man Audrey and Chas had seen cleaning his boots there, the first day.
    "There's some thieving going on, sir."
    "That from you, Petty Officer Robinson, is pretty rich. You mean someone's been thieving from you, for a change?"
    "Yessir."
    "What's missing?"
    "Three tin hats; two fire buckets; one notice-board; one stove, paraffin, heating; and one pump, stirrup."
    "Hardly the Black Market gang's line, are they, Petty Officer? Now seven-pound tins of butter..." Robinson had the grace to blush.
    "Reckon it's that kid, sir... hers ... sly little devil."
    Horsfall frowned. The last thing he wanted was trouble with that kid.
    "We don't want bother, sir, do we, sir? Far too snug we are here, sir."
    Horsfall nodded. "Make out a requisition for new ones. Say the old ones fell overboard. I'll sign it."
    "I'll help you with that concreting, Dad," said Chas. It was a bright Sunday morning after a bombless night, and Mr. McGill felt like a bit in the garden. But he still looked up suspiciously.
    "Help me? You feeling all right? What's the matter—all your little friends gone to church?"
    "No," said Chas at his most innocent, "I just felt like helping. I want to see how you do it."
    "Well," said Mr. McGill, "you won't see much. Some thieving gyet's pinched half me cement. You wouldn't know anything about that?"
    "No, Dad," said Chas.

7
    It was Christmas Eve and getting dark, with quick flurries of snow on the east wind. Chas and Clogger were in the Crow's Nest. Chas was wearing his suede jerkin and a bright red steel helmet marked Caparetto in fairly neat white lettering. Clogger was wearing his boy-scout uniform and another bright red helmet, also marked Caparetto.
    Chas was very uncomfortable; the wind made his eyes water, and the iron-hard chin strap of the old helmet was cutting into his chin.
    The Crow's Nest was well made of Royal Navy packing cases and perched in the highest tree. It had a roof of Fish Quay Buster, that rippled like thunder in the wind.
    Clogger swept the horizon again, with the great brass telescope that had belonged to Captain Nichol.
    "Nothing in sight, sir. He'll no come tonight. Visibility's down to a hundred yards and ma auntie'll be mad if A'm not home for tea soon."
    "O.K. Stand down,