War Story by Derek Robinson Page B

sticking their bayonets in bags of hay, not that a bag of hay feels the slightest bit like anybody’s tummy, and I should know.”
    Milne stopped signing. “Should you? Why?”
    Appleyard hunched his shoulders and looked away. “Oh, you know,” he said. “I pronged a couple of Boers in South Africa. Not normally the work of an officer, I agree, but we were a bit shorthanded that day.”
    Milne waited. “Well, what was the difference?”
    â€œYou don’t want to hear about all that, Rufus.”
    â€œYes, I do, Uncle. Stomachs interest me.”
    â€œAll right. Suit yourself.” The adjutant turned away from the window and looked up at the rafters. “First. Getting the damn thing in. That’s no problem, provided you don’t hit a belt or an ammunition pouch. It goes in very easily. But whereas in training your bag of hay is suspended from a branch or tied to a stake which keeps it in place, your actual human foe tends to react violently to having half a yard of steel thrust in his guts, and unless you withdraw it quick he may commence writhing. When sufficiently vigorous, this writhing will slacken your grip on the rifle, which is contrary to King’s Rules and Regulations since it hinders withdrawal and furthermore presents an unsoldierly appearance. Writhing has also been known to enlarge the aperture, thus spillingthe guts. You’d be amazed what a lot of guts the average man has, old boy. I know I was. Fathoms of the bloody stuff. You think it’s all out and he’s only half-done. God knows how the Almighty packed it all in there in the first place. Satisfied?”
    â€œMmmm.”
    â€œJust make sure you don’t step on any of it. Extremely slippery stuff. You might go arse over tit, do yourself an injury.”
    â€œYes.” Milne resumed signing. “That’s a thing you’ve got to watch out for in wartime, isn’t it, Uncle? Doing yourself an injury.”
    Appleyard wasn’t sure whether Milne was mocking him, so he said nothing.
    Milne signed the last sheet, and re-read it. “Kellaway turned up after all. I thought Paxton said he went down in the Channel?”
    â€œApparently he didn’t.”
    Milne shuffled the papers into a pile. “Funny sort of mistake to make.”
    â€œOh, Paxton likes to impress people. I’m told he was walking all over the ‘drome this afternoon, waving a revolver. Damn lucky nobody got shot, apparently.”
    Milne stared. “Why didn’t someone stop him? Who’s Orderly Officer?”
    â€œPaxton is. It was Spud Ogilvy’s turn, but Spud says Paxton was so keen to do it that he let him. Nothing was happening here today. Place was empty.”
    â€œToo complicated for me, Uncle.” Milne yawned, hugely. “Why do I feel so tired all the time? I never used to feel tired …” There was a knock at the door. A despatch rider came in, saluted, and gave Milne a thick envelope. Milne signed for it and the man left.
    â€œHe’s early,” Appleyard said.
    â€œIt’s the fourth of June.”
    The adjutant nodded, and looked at a calendar on the wall, and nodded again. He tugged at an ear while he gave the fact more thought. “Sorry, old chap,” he said,”I’m in the dark.”
    â€œEton College. Fourth of June is their big day. Brigade HQ is lousy with Old Etonians, and they’ve knocked off early sothey can go to the Old Etonian dinner in Amiens. Half of ‘C Flight are going. Frank Foster, James Yeo, Charles, Spud, they’re all Etonians. That’s why I put them together.”
    â€œWell, well.” The adjutant collected his papers and opened the door for Milne. “Well, well, well. I never knew that.”
    â€œYes, you did, Uncle, I told you at the time.” They walked towards the mess. “How are your terrible tubes nowadays?” Milne asked. “Is that new doctor any