Small Wars by Sadie Jones Page A

were still barking, but rhythmically, not in hysteria, because they were being ignored. Hal went along the edge of the water until he reached Trask, who was gripping Andreas by the arm.
    He could just see a dark shape behind him, which he took to be Davis, and he hissed to him quietly. Davis came over to them. Andreas spoke to him urgently, and Trask yanked his arm to keep him quiet.
    ‘He wants to go back,’ said Davis, weakly.
    ‘Just keep quiet, and wait,’ said Hal, and then, to Trask, ‘Keep them well back.’
    Hal went away from them along the river again. He could see the shadows of men and moved towards them, identifying McKinney. They crossed the river through the water, which was shallow and icy cold, seeping into their boots.
    The dogs, who were chained, began to choke themselves in their excited barking and, at that, McKinney gave the word and the arrest group moved quickly towards the house.
    Hal, McKinney and Kirby were in the cover of some bushes, Hal itching to get in after the others, but for the rest of the platoon there was no more stealth. Over the sound of the dogs, scaring them, came the light spat of gunfire from the house as a shutter was broken open and bullets touched the ground and the trees.
    Very quickly the soldiers surrounded the building, the door was kicked in and there was the harsher sound of a Sten fired inside and shouting, the high scream of a woman, and the banging of furniture going over.
    There was no more gunfire.
    The soft dimness was moving with the blacker shapes of running soldiers. The house, every small building and the big barn too, were surrounded. There didn’t seem to be anybody in the outbuildings but it was difficult to tell anything above the barking dogs and the voices of the soldiers. It was fierce agony for Hal to wait, watching, counting seconds, his blood aching with the need to move.
    Then, in the new light, a man could be seen running away from the back of the house towards the dark hill.
    The familiar shout of ‘Halt! Stamata! Dur! ’ and the man flung himself flat to the ground and was held there.
    It had been a stupid dash anyway because the whole yard and house were full of soldiers and he had no chance. He only lived because there was no clear shot at him without one of their own being in the line of fire.
    From inside the house Hal could hear boots on the wooden floors upstairs, and voices, but the first rush of the attack had eased, whatever confusion there was – and there hadn’t been much – subsiding to nothing. Corporals’ shouts of ‘Clear’ followed one another, and guarding positions were taken up.
    Now that it was lighter, Hal could see the positions of his men and the exits blocked. His plan, as drawn, was adhered to. Even the dogs had quieted.
    Now –
    ‘Right, then,’ he said coolly, and started with McKinney towards the house.

    There was no one in the outhouses, just animals. The soldiers stood with their guns held ready, looking towards the shadows, at the house and Hal walking towards it. The man who was pinned to the ground wriggled a bit under the soldier’s boot. Hal went inside.
    A corporal, in a strangely domestic pose, was lighting the oil lamp on the table. He turned up the wick and the warm light grew. The Sten fire hadn’t hit anyone so there was no casualty to deal with.
    ‘One got out the back when we were coming in,’ said Amery.
    ‘Yes, let’s bring him in,’ said Hal, and Amery went out past him.
    There was a woman in a corner, in her nightdress, with two children clinging to her legs, one hiding his face, the other staring, with huge eyes, at Hal. Two men lay on the floor, their arms wide and palms flat, Walsh and Leonard’s Stens at their heads. They were in their nightclothes, too, one man’s naked legs splayed and hairy, the other in baggy trousers but shirtless.
    Hal’s mind was moving so fast that everything seemed to slow down, and in calmness he could absorb the detail. The room was like a