Quartered Safe Out Here by George MacDonald Fraser Page B

out by the thousand for centuries, and who, with the tough, worldly-wise Huttons, has been its sheet anchor.
    Nixon and Parker were the other two; they and Gale were lightly shod and armed as I was. We assembled in a little basha in the gathering dusk; other patrols were forming up, and Long John was issuing orders to Stanley and a man from another platoon who were going out to an o.p. in front of our position. It was all very business-like and unhurried, quiet voices and shadowy figures, an occasional soft laugh among the mutter of orders, magazines being charged and safetycatches going on, feet shuffling, the light of the storm lantern reflected on faces. Gale drew us aside and briefed us: there had been a lot of Jap movement in the country around, and a big force was believed to be moving up towards Meiktila. It would probably pass some way to the east of our village, but flanking units or patrols were sure to bump us shortly; in the meantime the battalion would be scouting every village within a ten-mile radius, watching for any concentration and doing whatever mischief we could.
    “Tonight we're recce-ing a couple of villages, see if Jap's in residence, pick up news.” He looked at me. “You're the cross-country expert—right, if we run into trouble, and I shout ‘Runner!’ you get out, fast. Understand? Don't wait for anything, get back to the battalion, tell ’em whatever we've found. Okay?” We all nodded. “Let's go.”
    His voice was level, but I could hear the suppressed excitement in it, and wondered if he felt the same rising shiver at the back of the throat that I did. The villages might be stiff with Japs, likewise the countryside; suppose we got in among them, just four of us, and it came to a dirty meêlée in the dark? Well, I would just have to wait for the shout of “Runner!”, doing whatever seemed best in the meantime. For the life of me I couldn't decide whether being the best long-distance runner in the platoon was a good thing or not; it really wasn't worth considering.
    We slipped out of the perimeter and stopped about a hundred yards out, kneeling in a rough diamondformation to look and listen. Behind was the dark loom of the village, with a light here and there; the paddy itself was half-dark, and I could easily make out the three dim forms; when we went on Gale led, with Parker and Nixon on either flank and a little behind him; I was the back point of the diamond. They went very quietly, pausing only when Gale stopped or sank to one knee; from the gloom around us there was hardly a sound; if Jap was out there he was being just as silent as we were.
    Now, I know I must have been scared, but I don't remember it—not to compare with other occasions, where the memory of fear remains as strong as when I felt it. Looking back, I can say that night patrolling in enemy country, while not the ideal form of relaxation, was less hair-raising than I'd expected; put it another way, it was preferable to lurking in an o.p., for my money. Every normal person fears the dark, but if you have to face it there is great reassurance to moving quietly in good company, travelling light and knowing that you have been well trained in the basics—take your time, don't lose contact, when in doubt sink down and listen, and try to remember that darkness is a friend. The knowledge, which came later, that Jap was certainly no better in the dark than we were, was absent on that first tiger patrol; even so, the confidence with which Gale moved ahead, and the sureness and silence of the other two, gradually induced a feeling that had at least as much excitement as fear about it.
    Reading that last paragraph again, I wonder if I'vegone mad at long last. It is one thing to sit quietly typing in one's study, recalling in safety the perils of fifty years ago and knowing perfectly well that the neighbourhood is not full of malevolent Tojos waiting to kill me (if it were, and I, an overweight pensioner, were fool enough to go