Johnny's face broke into a broad grin.

"Yes Sir."

"It's a big responsibility for a man your age. Are you quite sure you can handle it?"

"Yes Sir. I believe I'm the man you are looking for," Johnny's smile continued. All he could think of right now was about Margaret. Her fiance now a Sergeant. How proud she'd be on his arm when they walked into the pub.

"All relevant papers will arrive in due course. Your commission, yours too Sergeant."

Johnny could still hardly believe it. It was like he was in a dream. Soon he would wake up and be disappointed it wasn't real.

Higginbotham pushed his chair back and stood.

"Congratulations gentlemen and very well deserved."

"Thank you Sir."

They both saluted smartly.

"Now Major Rushton has something for you."

They waited patiently while Higginbotham left the tent.

"I'll need you both ready at dawn. We are to map an area to the North West around the town of Gabes. A total round trip of nearly two thousand miles. As for the rest of today," he tapped a crate with eight bottles of beer in it. Relax, enjoy the day, sorry they're not cold."

"Thank you Sir," they replied.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

Alf and Johnny woke to a chilly dawn. It had been two days since their promotions and they found themselves emerging from the back of the truck they had slept in to a chilly desert. There was light on the horizon and the stars were still out. They both shivered as they stood in the twilight. Rushton came around the truck and motioned to them.

"Help yourselves to some coffee."

They went over to where a small fire had been lit. An old, well used pot over the flames. Doyle was standing near by, his coffee steaming in his tin mug.

"Morning gentlemen. I mean Sir," he said though Alf noticed he didn't salute as was customary from a subordinate.

'Never mind. I'm not his Lieutenant anyway.'

"I'm trying to get used to the idea as well. Aren't you Johnny?"

"Yes Alfa.Sira."

Johnny found it awkward too. For as long as he'd known Alf he had always been Sarge or the old 'un. Now he was an officera.Well it didn't seem right!

"You can call me Alf when no one else is around," he said while Doyle's back was turned.

Doyle turned and presented them with a coffee each. It was black, unsweetened and smelt different. It tasted different too. Johnny took a swig.

"It tastes funny."

Doyle had finished his. He shook his mug out onto the sand and held it out for a refill.

"You mean it doesn't taste of petrol for once."

"That's it," Alf said swilling a mouthful.

"This pot here," Doyle said gesturing to it with his mug "Is the proud property of Ian Butcher herea."

Butcher raised his left hand as a greeting.

"This coffee pot is his prized possession. It makes the best coffee in this whole war."

"I'd say it does," said Alf taking another swig "It tastes like real coffee."

The others in the group were all starting to gather around the little fire. Each holding mugs awaiting their coffee. Butcher was the best maker and he was unofficially chief brewer among them. Rushton suddenly appeared in their midst.

"Right men listen up."

He waited a few moments for silence. The small flames crackled in the still air. One of the men let off a loud fart and there was sniggering from those around him.

"All right that's enough. Settle down you lot," Doyle said.

"Have you all had a coffee?" Rushton asked.

"Just getting ours now Sir," some of the men replied.

"Come on Butch what are you playing at."

"It's not my fault Sir. I couldn't get the fire hot enough. I could have done if we weren't worried about it being seen or the smoke."

"That's quite all right. Just as long as everyone gets some before I have a mutiny," he smiled.

Some of his men chuckled. Rushton was a very much liked Major.

"Now most of you know or are familiar with the two engineers, Lieutenant Dennis and Sargeant Lardera."

Alf and Johnny looked bashful at the tough soldiers around them.

"a.They are working with us until they return to their own unit. Both their roles are acting only. Therefore you do not need to salute Lieutenant Dennis and though you will call him Sir if he addresses you, you do not, repeat do not take orders from him nor Sargeant Larder. Is that understood?"

Fifty voices all answered "Yes Sir!"

Rushton looked into Alf's eyes. His right eyebrow slightly raised.

"Yes Sir. I understand," Alf said silently. Rushton read his lips.

"Very well! Now today," he continued to his men "We will continue into the mountains, hopefully arriving at the top around nightfall. It's going to be tough, even for the vehicles. The road is narrow, winding, not built for modern machines. It's at least a thousand years old if not older. Cut into the mountainside by Berbers who arrived here in the ninth century. The only traffic we can expect to meet up there are donkeys and people on foot. To our knowledge the enemy don't use it. The other side of that," Rushton said pointing "Is Gabes. Gabes is a seaport that we know the enemy controls. They have a Major supply line between Gabes, the Mediterranean islands of Cyprus and Malta and the south of France and Italy. Particularly Italy. Air Marshall Coningham wants to break this supply line. Monty wants control of the port. We need to find a way to it. That is our job here gentlemen. Any questions?"

Everyone was silent. Johnny raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Just wondering Sira." Johnny asked nervously, he stopped, intimidated by those around him.

"Go on!"

"Well are we to make notes on all of this as well?"

There was some tittering behind him. He shuffled his feet anxiously.

"Make notes, drawings, on everything. I would rather six of you record the same thing than something be missed. Any other questions? No! Good! Get one more coffee each and then we move, bagsy first," Rushton said pushing through his men to get to the coffee pot.

A gust of wind blew over them all, making the flames dance and the smoke from the fire curl. Butcher threw on some more twigs and brush that he found nearby. Alf put on an extra jacket and tied his scarf around his neck. He felt warmer instantly but the extra jacket made him feel bulky and his arm movements were restricted. A sudden thought came to him and he laughed.

"What's funny Alf?" Johnny had missed the joke.

"I was just thinking about home."

Alf had remembered a time when he and his wife Ronnie had been out walking with the family dog, a black Labrador called Sooty, in the woods near their home. They had returned to the house and taken their boots off in the kitchen as usual when his wife had noticed Sooty was leaving bloody footprints on the floor. Alf had grabbed the dog and found his back paw had a deep but clean cut on it. Ronnie had got the first aid kit and after Alf had cleaned the wound they bandaged it together. Alf had remembered how once the bandage was on Sooty, incredibly, could no longer put any weight on the foot. He hopped around the kitchen with the injury as high off the floor as he possibly could.

Alf was still smiling at the thoughts as he swung his arms from side to side to get used to the jacket's restrictions. His mind was on home.

'I wonder what they're doing now' he was asking himself.

Veronica, Ronnie, was probably at home, her hair tied in a bunch, preparing breakfast for herself and Patrick. Their son was nine months old now. Ronnie would be spoon feeding him his rusks soaked in water or on rations day in milk. She like every good mother giving up her supply of milk for the baby. Always putting him first. She eating vegetables and meat only once a week. They, Alf and his wife had a bit of money put by and she would queue with the other women once a week at the butchers to see what she could buy extra with their savings. Most of his money, like most men in the army, went to his wife back home. The wives, his wife spending all day cooking, cleaning, washing the clothes and baby's nappies by hand, listening every day to the BBC world service on the radio for any news of their men, barely a minute's rest all day for her. Poor bloody woman! Life is so hard on them. But she is more fortunate than others. Those in the big cities or industrial ports bombed every day and night by the Luftwaffe. Their children evacuated to rural locations away from the droning bombers and their deadly cargo. Children torn away from their parents and forced to live with Aunts and Uncles, foster parents, living on farms and in villages. Crying at nighta.Alonea.Afraid.

"Are you all right Alf?"

Alf came out of his daydream.

"Pardon?"

"You've been staring into space for the last five minutes."

"Have I? What? Yes I'm fine."

"Do you want some more coffee?"

"Yes please."

Johnny took Alf's mug and went to fill it.

"This is the last of it," Butcher said "Be about enough for one and a half cups. Don't know what it'll be like. You'll most likely get the dregs as well."

"That's all right I'll have the half cup."

Johnny made his way back to Alf who thanked him and took a swig. It was stronger than before and bitty. Johnny's was disgusting but knowing they wouldn't get anymore for hours he persisted with it. Butcher got up, removed his pot and put it on the desert floor to cool. Then he kicked sand over the fire to extinguish it. The little flames roared and hissed in protest before they went out.

The first rays of sun broke over the hills and shone in their eyes. It felt instantly warming. Soldiers began gathering up personal effects and stuffing them into pockets. Many of them had empty gas mask containers to store matches, lighters and cigarettes. The gas masks long ago discarded because of the unlikelihood of gas being used out in the desert. Soldiers used an array of items personal to them.

The first of the trucks started up. Black smoke from its exhaust wafting over the men waiting to board it. Rushton and Doyle got into their Jeep. Doyle lighting yet again another cigarette. One of the Jeeps failed to start. The driver dipped the clutch again and swung the gear stick about to check it was in neutral before trying for a second time.

Still nothing.

Rushton put his hand up for his Jeep to stop and shouted across to the driver.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Dunno Sir. It won't start."

Rushton nodded towards Alf and Johnny.

"You've got two engineers there. Get them to have a look."

Johnny swung round on Alf.

"Do we have to do everything around here," he said none too quietly.

Alf glanced nervously at Rushton. The Major hadn't heard Johnny's comments.

"Shh!" Alf held a finger to his lips "What would you rather be doing? Trying to start a Jeep belonging to the S.A.S or stuck in a German P.O.W camp."

Johnny had to admit the latter was not attractive.

"Ask the engineers!a.As if I don't know how to drive my own bloody Jeep," the driver was muttering to himself as Alf climbed up into the vehicle. The driver gave him a nod of acknowledgement and tried her again. He flicked the little chrome switch and pushed the starter. Still nothing.

"Must be the batteries," Alf said.

The driver tried once more.

"It's no good. It's not going to start," he said banging both his fists on the steering wheel. Alf jumped out, reached into the back of the Jeep and picked up the crank handle and passed it to Johnny. Johnny reluctantly took it. It was a big engine. It would take a big effort to turn it over by hand and neither Johnny nor Alf were anywhere near one hundred per cent fit. Never the less he got down on his knees to find the hole for the handle and slotted it in. He then stood up, cracked his knuckles and grasping the crank with both hands, gave it a first turn. It was easier than he thought it would be and the engine spluttered as it turned over.

Another attempt.

Still nothing!

He tried a few more times. Still it wouldn't start.

Alf tried a couple of time to start it. Then they raised the Jeep's hood and peered inside. There was nothing obvious. Doyle pulled up alongside, his cigarette smoke taken by the breeze. He watched as Alf and Johnny poked and prodded at different parts of the engine.

"Having trouble?"