'Get stuffed, Tertis! This lot's f.u.c.king had it.'

'Just let them try it on, that's all, and I'll shoot the c.u.n.ts in two.'

This bunch of heroes can hardly stand, never mind run.'

'I'll shoot the c.u.n.ts in two!'

He swung his rifle up as if to do what he said. The j.a.panese bent their heads and swayed slightly, as if facing a stiff breeze.

We'd hoped for a good night's rest, but mortars were pounding our positions. For a while, it looked as if we might even have to withdraw. But 'B' Company somehow managed a sortie by moonlight, thinned though its ranks were, and clobbered one mortar position. We slept, and in the morning had a go at one last group of three bunkers that had somehow escaped detection. The j.a.ps put up little resistance and we bagged some more prisoners. They were meek and respectful, standing about with bowed heads. The s.h.i.t had been knocked out of them. They cowered before Tertis.

Our doctors attended everyone. Stretcher parties were busy loading casualties on to the backs of the mules for the h.e.l.lish journey down to the road. Even there, their troubles would be only just starting; the hospitals of Comilla and Barrackpore were a dismaying journey off.

Freed from the wireless set for a couple of hours, I should have got my head down, but for once weariness had gone too far for sleep. I wandered over to the mules, exchanging grins with the Pathans,and there was Geordie Wilkinson, painfully lashed over one of the largest, blackest brutes.

'Geordie, old mate!'

He looked ghastly. His face was dead white, its tan washed away. His entire uniform was dark with blood. The bandage round his stomach was soaked with blood. Another bandage round his upper leg was cleaner, although there too the blood was beginning to show.

He opened his eyes. I stood by him, trying to smile at him. 'Do you want a f.a.g, mate? How about a Blighty Players?'

He moved his head. His eyes closed again and he said, quite distinctly, They got me in the guts, mucker ... I reckon I'm a sort of goner, like.'

I took his hand. 'You'll be okay, Geordie. They'll patch you up. We'll all see you down on the road. The j.a.ps are packing it in, did you know that? They've had their f.u.c.king chips.'

'I saw my own f.u.c.king guts hanging out, mucker.'

A medical orderly came up, as weary, filthy, and unshaven as the rest of us, moving down the column of mules. He pushed me out of the way to examine Geordie's securing straps.

'Is he -?' I asked.

'We're moving this batch of wounded off straightaway. This bloke's had a jab of morphine, so he's not suffering pain. Is he a mucker of yours?'

I bit my bottom lip. 'One of the best,' I said, and for some reason the words started me crying.

In my ammo pouch, against the sten magazines, I had stuffed the picture of Hanuman. I pulled it out, creased, stained, and folded, and tucked it into Geordie's shirt, against his clammy chest.

'It's the old Monkey G.o.d, Geordie, remember? The Monkey G.o.d... Look after him for me!'

The Monkey G.o.d...'

Geordie was the only b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the squad who hadn't kidded me about Hanuman, Vishnu, and the rest As I stared down at his pallid ugly face, my tears came again, and I turned my head away so that the Pathans would not notice.

When I looked again, the line of mules was already moving away through the nearest trees. Geordie would be lucky if he made it back to base-hospital. Hanuman wasn't going to be much help.

With victory - with the minor victory of Aradura, our mood changed. We had survived, and Aradura was one jungle-mountain we would never have to climb again! For a while there was not even the need to keep our heads down.

As the patrols were bringing in their s.h.i.t-stained prisoners, the RAF finished making an air-drop of ammo, water, f.a.gs, and rations on Aradura. 'A' Company was getting its share under the watchful eyes of RSM Payne and Inskipp. Inskipp had a shoulder wound and his left arm was out 01 action, but he refused to be evacuated.

I sat in one of the bunkers, talking to Wally as he operated our wireless set under Boyer's supervision.

Casualty reports coming in suggested that the Mendips had suffered less badly than we feared.

'We didn't live in vain, Wally,' I said.

He dapped me on the back, right across my p.r.i.c.kly heat. That's G.o.d's truth, me smelly old mate! I bet you was praying to your f.u.c.king old monkey G.o.d this time yesterday, weren't you?!'

'Who were you praying to, Churchill?'

'Come orf it, Stubby, I been keeping myself morally pure lately - that's what didit!'

'You haven't got much f.u.c.king choice in this neck of the woods, have you? You know old Geordie got a packet didn't you?'

'Yeah. Poor old Geordie! I reckon he's had his f.u.c.king chips. Right in the f.u.c.king guts ...' Wally screwed his face up as if thinking. 'Nice old lad, Geordie - his trouble was, he didn't believe in anything.'

Without arguing with Wally - always a useless occupation - I was unconvinced by this implied reason for Geordie's packet. After all, I had survived so far, and what did I believe in?

'Oh, f.u.c.k!' I said. 'What a f.u.c.king fornicating shower it all is!'

Aylmer came over, bringing us two packets of cigarettes and a half-piyala of rum-and-water each. While Wally got on with Boyer's messages, Aylmer and I sat on one side, smoking and sipping our drink.

'This rum should help my dysentery!'

'Yes, it'll clear it up like one o'clock! In the old days, surgeons used to give their patients rum before they sawed their legs off. Without it, n.o.body would have survived the ordeal'

We watched the j.a.ps being marshalled into bundles by Harding and Charley c.o.x. When Harding and Charley got their cigarette issue, they lit up and then, rather sheepishly, offered one to the nearest j.a.ps.

That's the way to kill the little bleeders off!' Wally remarked, looking round from the set. 'Give 'em a de Reske!'

Bamber, who was near Charley, called out angrily, 'Hey, Charley, don't give those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds a drag!

They'd kill you if they had the chance - they were shooting our f.u.c.king mates yesterday!'

'Don't worry, I'll shoot 'em if they try anything, but they're human same as we are,' Charley said cheerfully.

'Not in my f.u.c.king book, they aren't,' Bamber said, and he turned away.

We had secured Peter, a lonely pimple on a big ridge. But the sitreps coming over the air were startlingly bad. n.o.body else had any joy on ill-fated Aradura. The Royal Welch had been forced back, owing to impossible fighting country as much as anything, and the rest of the battalion had had to move back for lack of support. We were alone on Aradura, and the situation looked grave. We were ordered to dig in.

'A' and 'B' Companies were now all within one perimeter, and familiar faces were missing. My old pal Chota Morris had been killed by grenades while leading No. I Platoon forward. Handsome Hansom and Ginger Gascadden were dead. It turned into a bad day, despite the charge that had come from our success; everyone was very quiet.

Only late in the afternoon was there cause for cheer. The high ground of Peter allowed us a view of the road. It wound below us, down the glittering hillside. Our artillery was pounding Garage Spur, on the other side of the valley. We could see paddy fields, with Nagas working in them as if nothing was happening. And one of our mobile columns was moving down the road from Kohima! It could not be top long before reinforcements moved up the khud to join us, if only we could hang on where we were.

Reaction set in then. The lull in the fighting, gave time for thought. That was the afternoon I really got the jitters. By next morning, stuck on that f.u.c.king hill in the middle of miles of wilderness, we might all be dead. And I thought of old Geordie, suffering total aggs.

Nothing ever happened out in a.s.sam as you expected it to. We had plenty of defensive patrols out during the night. They came back with nothing to report There was no firing. No j.a.ps were contacted.

The rain fell. It was still falling at first light, when Sergeant Gowland came in with a patrol and reported that the j.a.ps seemed to have disappeared from the ridge. That was the last day of May.

It was two days before we could confirm that Aradura was clear, and confirmatory reports came in from elsewhere. For the first time, the j.a.ps were in retreat. Sato had had enough; he had given the order to withdraw! His battered forces were in retreat south, towards Imphal and the distant Chindwin!

We came down the mountain again, taking our prisoners with us.

The road below us was open and the polyglot Fourteenth^ Army rolling through. At last we said good-bye to Aradura and stood on the road! Inskipp marched us to a point where a mess and a bath unit had been set up in a broken and, deserted hamlet. The mess was a basha without a roof; the benches and tables looked like the height of civilisation. There stood our fat cooks in their greasy green vests, c.o.c.ky as ever, Ron Rusk and George Locke. : 'How're you doing, Stubby, boy? How's your belly off for spots?' Rusk had abandoned his old cry, 'Get in, pigs, it's all swill!'

'Still burning the bergoo, Ruskie? I didn't think they'd let you admis this near the firing line!'

'You want to watch what you're saying to him,' Locke said, digging his mate in his ribs and nodding at me. 'Ron killed a j.a.p single-handed yesterday - coshed him over the bonce with a ladle, didn't you, Rusky Boy?'

'The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d walked into the cookhouse and I coshed him one!'

This heroic deed of Rusk's became legendary. It was useless to point out that the j.a.p in question had probably been on his last legs anyway; Rusk had made a kill, and thereafter it was hopeless complaining about the food or we would be warned that we should get what the j.a.p got - a cosh over the bonce with a ladle.

At that meal there were no complaints. We sat at the benches and ate real meat, which someone suggested was our old friend the elephant from Merema Ridge. There was beer with the meat and vegetables, Yankee Beer from Milwaukee, with peaches and condensed milk to follow, and a piyala full of char.

It was a very quiet meal. No one spoke, no one looked at anyone else, until Charley c.o.x said, producing the fruit of long consideration, 'They're f.u.c.king brave b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, the j.a.ps, all the same.'

'Bravest b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the world, after the Fourteenth Army,' Wally agreed.

Silence again, until Charley went on. 'You know all the b.a.l.l.s-ups our Higher-Ups made? I mean, like about withdrawing amphibious support and everything? It was lucky the j.a.p Higher-Ups made b.a.l.l.s-ups too, wasn't it? What I mean to say, if they'd gone straight for Dimapur before we got to Zubza, instead of waiting to mop up Kohima... well, there wouldn't have been anything to stop 'em, would there?'

They'd be in Calcutta, eating in Firpo's by now,' Dusty Miller said.

'That's what I mean - their Higher-Ups made a b.a.l.l.s-up same as ours.'

The biggest b.a.l.l.s-up was starting the war in the first place,' old Bamber said. 'Where's it get you ?'

To f.u.c.king Milestone 61,' Wally said.

Silence fell again as we tackled the peaches.

Afterwards, we gathered in the clearing. Inskipp stood up on his jeep and addressed us, thanking us for incredible bravery under adverse conditions. He read out an order of the day from General Grover, Divisional Commander, congratulating all ranks and stating that the enemy was in full retreat. It was our duty now to get after him and not let a man escape. Then Inskipp went off to have his arm attended to.

After the meal and speech, baths. The baths were built out of big oil-drums, cut in half lengthways, and were full of wonderful hot water. Easing off our foetid boots, shedding our s.h.i.tty uniforms, we climbed in.

What luxury! Our aches and pains were forgotten as we soaked. Things might be bad again, but they could never be as bad as they had been.

Slumped back in the water, we began to sing sentimental things, There's A Long Long Trail A-Winding, I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Side by Side, Underneath The Arches.

We could see lorries rolling by along the road, loaded with troops heading towards Imphal, still beleaguered.

'Get some f.u.c.king service in!' we bellowed. Full of fun, the Mendips were, given half a chance!

While we were still wallowing - the orderlies could not get us out - a Dodge truck b.u.mped up and stopped beside us.

'Any of you ginks want your backs scrubbed?' It was McGuffie, turning up with the quarter-master-sergeant and a stack of new jungle-green uniforms.

I bellowed to him, 'Jock, you skiving old base-wallah, come over here!'

'You can wash your own mankey f.u.c.king back, Stubbs - I know where it's been!'

Cries from all sides - 'Where've you been hiding, you sly old sod?'

Jock shook his head. 'While you lazy f.u.c.kers have been up in the hills s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Naga women, I've been working my f.u.c.king a.r.s.e off at Kohima.'

You never worked in your life, Jock.'

'Och away with ye, man, I've been weaving a new net for the DC's tennis court! And I've brought you all. new uniforms.'

'Get dried and I'll kit you out, lads/ the QMS said. 'Form a line as you're ready.'

It was while we were trying out blouses and trousers and boots that he told us the news. The Second Front had opened in Europe that morning. A bridgehead had been established on the Normandy beaches and the British and Americans were pouring in.

'They must be using our f.u.c.king landing-craft!' Wally said, and we all fell about laughing. It was 6th June, 1944. We had forgotten date and season.

It took a time to remember Kohima, so long had we spent on Aradura. When Jock was asked, he said, 'It's all clear of j.a.ps now. They pulled out there, same as here - couldn't stand the smell of the Mendips.

The battle lasted seventy days. They're holding film shows at a.s.sam Barracks now - I saw Margaret Lockwood last night, wobbling her t.i.tties at James Mason. You boys want to get around a bit!'

'Margaret Lockwood! Ooorgh!' There was a general statement of what we could and couldn't do to Margaret Lockwood. The arts of peace were already struggling to rea.s.sert themselves.

'What's that round your pughri, Jock?' I asked.

Jock removed his smart bush hat and polished it with the ginger hairs of his left arm, while gazing admiringly at the bright orange fabric tied round the crown. 'Margaret Lock-wood would go for me in this outfit, don't ye think? It's a bit of one of the parachutes as dumps the rations. I was in charge of collecting them yesterday - b.l.o.o.d.y nigh got killed with them d.a.m.n great crates falling nichi! You young lads don't know what danger is until you've been up the airstrip.'

Bamber came along frowning and towelling his hairy crutch. 'You want to chibber on and shut your gob, Mcf.u.c.king Guffie, you do! You don't know what the word danger means until you been up against the j.a.ps on Aradura. I lost some of me best mates up there, so you s.h.i.t in it!'

'I know how you feel, Bamber,' Jock said, sympathetically. 'You'll be away to see Margaret Lockwood tonight and then you'll feel better.'

'No, I won't. I don't want to see Margaret f.u.c.king Lockwood.'

'Suit yourself, mate.'

I looked at them both, thinking I understood how both felt.

Even this fearful time of battle was precious to me, just because it wasn't going to last. The jungles, like the cities, came and went.

Suddenly it struck me - I had an infinite capacity for happiness! I was really a h.e.l.l of a feller!

My elevated mood endured for the rest of the day. Wearing our new kit, we marched a mile down the road - the Manipur Road! - to a temporary camp, where we boiled rifles and stens through with hot water and fresh four-b'-two in our pull-throughs.

There was no chance of getting up to the flicks in Kohima that night - in the morning, we would be moving forward again. But McGuffie drove down in his truck and brought some rum along. We sat on the tailboard chatting, and he told a long tedious story about how he had nearly come to blows with an Irish cook in the DLL I heard Aylmer limping along, still singing his pathetic fragment of song, 'Could I but see thee stand before me...'