Chieftains

'Bacon' is Bisdorf! It was there in his mind again, nagging like a persistent fishwife.

Silently he pushed himself out of the Scimitar's hatch. Captain Fellows had suggested rather than ordered them to stay with their vehicles, but nevertheless Sache-Worrel felt guilty as he jumped from the hull, and almost expected to hear the captain's voice question him.

Gunion's Scimitar was the closest, thirty meters away to his right at the easternmost corner of the square formed by the four tanks. The two SAS APCs were concealed within the square. Somewhere in the darkness of the woods beyond the tanks were the SAS guards Hinton had posted before leaving with his patrol; they gave Sache-Worrel the same feeling of safety his father had spoken of when discussing the operational value of Gurkha riflemen in the Second World War.

Sache-Worrel's background sometimes inhibited him. It did so now as he stood below Gunion's turret. He felt he should knock rather than simply trespass on his neighbour's territory by clambering uninvited on to the hull. He tried a discreet cough, but although Gunion's turret hatch was open, no one appeared. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled himself on board.

'Ben?' The interior of the Scimitar was a black pit, but Sache-Worrel could smell the usual combination of oil and sweat. 'Ben? He was keeping his voice low, confidential. He was about to reach down into the darkness when Ben Gunion's face appeared very close to his own, like a surprised jack-in-the-box.

'Good God!'

'It's me…Robin…'

'Damn you, Robin, I almost pissed myself. What on earth are you creeping about for?'

'I was thinking…'

'For God's sake don't think,' advised Gunion. 'It's contagious. Want a quick snort? Here…' He handed Sache-Worrel a quarter litre flask of Asbach. 'I've got a decent bottle of claret in my locker, but it's probably too shaken about. Wasn't going to leave it for the bloody Ruskies, though. Well, drink up…'

'No thanks, Ben.' Sache-Worrel passed him back the liquor.

'You sound ill. Nervous?' Gunion was 'sympathetic. He liked Sache-Worrel. 'Don't be. It won't be as bad as you think. Pre-match nerves – they'll disappear as soon as the balloon goes up.' Sache-Worrel was the same age as Gunion's younger brother, and always made the first lieutenant feel protective. 'We'll give them hell. Just remember the training; keep your head down and whenever possible attack the command vehicles. In and out fast, before they've a chance to recover.'

'It's not nerves, Ben. It's just…well, something else.'

'Girls? I say, you haven't got yourself into a spot of bother! Now that would be a fine thing.'

'No, it's not a girl…it's to do with Captain Fellows.'

'Well, spit it out.'

Sache-Worrel told him. Gunion took another sip of his schnapps before he made any comment, then he said: 'I didn't hear the message. Bugger! You're certain you've got it right? Bacon is the correct code for Bisdorf, but was Bacon the word in the message? Are you sure you heard Bacon and not Brandy?'

'I was positive; now I'm not so certain. That's the trouble. I've been thinking about it so much I've confused myself. An hour ago I'd have staked my life I was right, now I don't know.'

'We could all be staking our lives on it'

'What can we do?'

'You, nothing! It's Sandy's job as senior lieutenant. God! I wondered why we hadn't seen anything of Hinton's lot, they're probably chasing halfway around the Hassenwinkel on a wild goose chase. They were due in an hour ago, and working with the SAS is like working with robots; they usually programme themselves to the second.'

'You'll tell Sandy?'

'Yes, I'll tell him. If you see a flash of blue light from his tank, it'll be him reacting.'

Roxforth was experiencing some of Sache-Worrel's feelings on hearing the information passed him by Gunion. It wasn't easy to tell your commander he was wrong and, like Gunion, Roxforth hadn't heard the original coded message. He was tempted to let the matter slide; sooner or later Fellows himself would realize he had made an error and would probably correct it. The only trouble with that line of reasoning, Roxforth knew, was correction might be impossible if too much time was lost. A Soviet division's main headquarters was as mobile as the battlefront itself. The opportunity to knock it out might never occur again…there were too many contingencies involved to guarantee the survival of the stay-behind unit for more than a few hours. One surprise attack during the darkness of the first night was all they could count on; with a lot of luck, they might even manage two. But by daylight, the Russians would be looking for them. Even if they remained where they were now, every hour that passed brought a greater chance of discovery as more enemy troops entered the area and the Soviet consolidation and mopping-up began.