Soldiers

by Tom Remiger

  The next night Breen took a patrol out in the uncomfortable starlight. The bushes moved in the wind as if there were men hiding there; the frogs croaking away were noisy enough to disguise any sound of slow infiltration. It was an experience to make you doubt your senses; everything seemed a threat and yet in the end there was no threat. They came back with nothing.

  In the day they slept under trees, hoping that the spotter planes which flew with impunity over all of Greece wouldn’t call down the dive bombers.

  Planes would fly low and slow, rocking their wings at one another. They would send out bursts of machine-gun fire, searching for movement, and the men would press their faces into the dirt and try to keep still. One bomber was shot down and there was cheering across the plateau where Sinclair’s company had dug in.

  They woke on the morning of the twenty-second to the sound of artillery fire. The guns behind them and the German guns in front were duelling, trying to destroy each other over the heads of the battalion.

  Breen took his opportunity while they waited for an attack. He and Tiger squatted in gas capes under the trees. ‘I’d like to speak with you,’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Tiger. Sometimes he seemed almost American; maybe that was what it was, to be young like him. You watched gangster films while you were growing up and you read comics where merciless vigilantes dealt justice.

  ‘In private,’ said Breen.

  ‘If you’d like.’

  ‘About Cousins.’

  Tiger looked puzzled.

  Breen felt emptily angry. The pretence was pointless. He had thought Tiger would look like a dog trying to get into a hut, all furtive movement and guilty eyes. Instead he seemed slightly bored, as if he anticipated more questions.

  ‘To be sure,’ Tiger said. ‘It seems an awfully long time ago. What was it that you wanted to say?’

  ‘In private,’ said Breen.

  A pained expression marked itself upon Tiger’s face.

  They walked away a little while, to a place where there were the remnants of a fire and empty tins scattered around. Tiger sat and looked at Breen. Breen stood. The jellyfish of a question floated between them. The earth smelt like the underside of bandages, the wood like clothes gone mouldy, the smoke like ashes.

  ‘Let me tell you how it happened,’ Breen said to Tiger.

  Tiger stayed still. Only his fingers moved, and Breen knew that he was wondering if he could light a cigarette. He gave once again a sense of taking up too much space, as when he would chew noisily or stump his way in from the cold to hover over the front of the fire, taking all the heat out of the room.

  Breen began speaking to forestall him, trying to be slow and dispassionate. ‘You told Cousins there was only going to be blank ammo used. And then you spun him some bullshit story; I don’t know what. Perhaps you were worried the men were going to panic and you wanted to give them this example of not being afraid. You ordered Cousins to stand up partway through. I don’t know if there was some signal you gave, or if it was when you got to a particular point, or what. It doesn’t matter. Maybe you were more subtle and just played on him, so he thought he had the idea himself to show you up. I don’t know. It’s not my job to know.’

  Tiger looked like he was about to speak.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Breen. ‘You can talk later. What bothered me wasn’t working out how you did it. You’re clever. You’re a bit of a snake, but you’re clever. The difficult bit was finding out why you killed him. If you hadn’t attacked the captain, I’d never have worked it out.’

  ‘Breen,’ said Tiger.

  ‘But it wasn’t about you,’ Breen continued. ‘That was why it took so long. It was never about you. I bet you tell yourself that you’re a virtuous murderer, a justified one. It was about what Cousins was doing to your platoon.’

  Tiger didn’t try to speak now. He looked at him with eyes blazing.

  Breen held his gaze. ‘You tried to get rid of him by fair means, but Cousins had an uncle and the captain was worried and all the rest of it. But meanwhile, Sergeant Clark couldn’t punish him and discipline was falling apart and the whole platoon was gambling. You said to yourself: this can’t go on.’

  Breen was panting now, working himself up into a froth of emotion.

  ‘And now you’re doing it again. The captain’s incompetent, you’ve all agreed among yourselves. But I bet you feel special, because you’re the one trying to do something about it! You bastard. Who are you to judge?’

  ‘I don’t—’ said Tiger.

  ‘Is there some number of lives you think will be saved by murder and that’s enough to justify it? A single life? A section? A platoon? How do you account for it? I know the captain’s not decisive. I know he’s not cunning. I know he’s not good at managing men. There might be better men to have a company. But he’s good! He’s a good man. And you’re not.’

  ‘What are you talking about,’ said Tiger. His voice was flat. There was no note of interrogation at the end of his sentence.

  ‘You tried to shove Sinclair off the cliff. It wouldn’t have killed him. But you’re very moderate. Anything that would have slowed him down, got him taken prisoner. You’re so fucking kind, Tiger. You’re a tender murderer.’

  Tiger was furious now, and it showed in his face, but his words were conciliatory. He gestured for emphasis. There was something like an actor about him. Breen felt part of a cheap melodrama.

  ‘I know you think Cousins was murdered,’ said Tiger. ‘Maybe he was, but I very much doubt it. And now someone’s stumbled against the captain on the path, seen who it was, and panicked and run away. I don’t really think these things are part of an evil plot. You’re looking for meaning. You’re struggling, but you want things to fit into a pattern so that the world is in your control again and isn’t a place where people just die for no reason. But, Paddy, they do. They die all around us. This is what it is to be a soldier; and this is nothing to be ashamed of, this delusion. The mental stress of battle affects us all in different ways, don’t you see? And in your case, with the way you feel about Sinclair—’

  Breen could not wait any longer. ‘I’m not imagining it,’ he said. ‘I’ve got proof. Do you know how I know it was you? I made a list of all the people who could have killed Cousins, and how. There was you and Morrie and Clark and Brennan and Hamilton. Hamilton had no motive at all and Morrie had only the ghost of one. And none of the rest of them could have anything against the captain. Only you with your love of being the hero and saving all of us whether we want to be saved or not.’

  ‘That’s not proof. That’s mere speculation.’

  ‘I’m not finished,’ said Breen. ‘Something marks you out in all that lot. You’re one of the elect. But you know what’s special about you in that list? You’re a Catholic. You’re the only Catholic.’

  ‘So now you’re going to bring religion into this? Paddy, you need help. I don’t understand where—’

  ‘I know that Cousins was murdered and I know that you did it because Father Emmet stopped talking to me about the murder.’ Breen’s voice held absolute conviction.

  Tiger snapped. His voice was high and angry, and Breen thought that he was about to stand up and fight. ‘Because he didn’t want to encourage your delusions!’

  Breen was remorseless. He remained controlled. ‘He said he wouldn’t talk about it anymore. I said, “I can’t make you.” And he said, “It’s not just you. No one could.” It was a Saturday he said that on. What does that sound like to you?’

  ‘I honestly have no idea,’ Tiger said. ‘I can’t understand a delusion.’ He gave Breen a weak and liquid smile, and held his hands open before him, palms out.

  ‘You heard me talking about Cousins to him, and you wanted to put a stop to it. So you went off before his Sunday church parade and you confessed to him that you had murdered Cousins. Once you had done that you knew that he could never speak of it. No one could make him speak of it.’

  ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’


  ‘You can’t kill people to save lives. That’s what doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Tiger. ‘I’m fucking sorry for you.’ He was calm again. He began to roll himself a cigarette, spreading the paper across his thigh.

  Breen didn’t listen to the implications of his words. Tiger was acting as if there was no stain of guilt.

  ‘Why won’t you confess? Why won’t you confess? I can’t touch you. I can’t hurt you. You’re right to say that I can’t prove what I know. But it would ease my mind, Tiger. I would feel better about the world.’

  Tiger bent forward to light his cigarette. His first match went out in the wind, and he had to try again. He breathed in and out. ‘Christ on a bike. Christ on a fucking bike. I don’t have anything to confess,’ he said. ‘Let’s ask Bluey. You trust him still, don’t you? Let’s see what he thinks. And if he disagrees, Paddy, will you promise to talk to a doctor? None of what you’re saying makes sense.’

  ‘He won’t disagree,’ said Breen. ‘I have you now. I’ve marked you. You’re a bloody good soldier. We need you. But then, afterwards. We’ll see, then.’

  Tiger stood. His eyes were filled with pity. He touched Breen on the shoulder, and he walked away.

  The Germans reached the bridge late that afternoon. Breen lay in his tent listening to the gunfire as a patrol went out to drive them back. They were only probing to see if there were any defenders, and it didn’t last long.

  Breen went to try to talk to the colonel. Before he could speak, the colonel said, ‘The Greeks are ratting. Tell Sinclair to organise for a move, won’t you?’ He turned away. It wasn’t the time.

  The Greeks ratted and the front collapsed, and there was nothing left to do but pack up once again.

  The battalion drove through Greece. Everywhere along the roads were wrecked trucks and disorganised groups of Greek soldiers, plodding along in twos and threes. They must be trying to go home, thought Breen. Poor old sods.

  Sinclair didn’t outright dismiss what he said about Tiger, but he made no secret of not believing him. He found some way to avoid the subject whenever Breen tried to raise it. After a while, Breen decided to accept this. It wasn’t the bargain they’d made with fate.

  And Breen kept missing chances to talk to Bluey. After a while he realised that perhaps this was subconscious. He felt too tired and there were too many calls on his time. A bleakness settled on him. In the day they slept under trees, cursing the spotter planes. At night they drove.

  Finally, in a camp somewhere near Athens where the children were still offering to shine their boots, he sat down with Bluey.

  ‘Tiger tells me you’ve got this mad idea going,’ said Bluey, ‘and Sinclair says it takes us all different and you’ll forget it soon enough.’ He was leaning against a truck. Breen stood awkwardly before him. There was something of the teacher in Bluey’s voice, as if he were rebuking a promising fifth-former.

  ‘It sounds mad,’ said Breen. ‘Until you stop and think about it. But, you see, Tiger’s ruthless, you know that—’

  ‘Paddy,’ said Bluey, ‘ambition isn’t murderous. Not normally.’ His hands clenched into fists and unclenched. ‘So, as I understand it, you think Cousins was murdered in a way you can’t quite describe, and that someone tried to make sure that the captain was taken prisoner.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Breen. ‘It’s more that I can think of multiple ways Cousins could have been offed.’ He felt very small.

  ‘So the captain says someone got sick of being chivvied along and came back fighting mad, that there wasn’t a plot at all.’

  ‘He didn’t quite tell me he thought that.’ Breen tried to keep his petulant sense of betrayal out of his voice. It was hard not to doubt yourself.

  ‘And, without any actual evidence, you think that Tiger did this because you can come up with a plausible set of reasons for him to have done so and not anyone else. Because he was doing it for the good of the unit.’

  ‘And because he’s Catholic, and Father Emmet wouldn’t talk to me about Cousins, and that might be because someone confessed to him, and so—’

  ‘You’re piling speculation upon speculation here. It could be true. But lots of things could be true. We need to always think about what’s most likely. Cousins could have seen an adder; he could have wanted to die; he could have lost his head; he could have been blackmailing you; he could have stolen my girl; there are lots of possibilities, but you’ve got nothing plausible.’

  ‘It all makes sense,’ said Breen.

  ‘How did what happened to these refugees affect you, do you think?’ Bluey asked, trying to sound casual. ‘And Clark, I suppose.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Well, how did it make you feel?’

  ‘It feels bad,’ said Breen, ‘but that’s not the point. I did it for everyone’s good.’

  ‘Leave it,’ said Bluey. ‘I’ll go through it with you nicely when we’re safe in Egypt and you’ve had a feed and a sleep, and I swear to you that if you make me think there’s anything in it I’ll chase Tiger all the way to Berlin if we have to. But you must see—now’s a time when it’s difficult to think properly.’

  ‘Now’s not the time,’ said Breen. ‘Maybe you’re right. It’s so hard to know.’

  ‘Breen,’ said Bluey, ‘for God’s sake, don’t mention this to any of the men.’

  ‘I know,’ said Breen. ‘I know.’

  ‘I need to talk with you,’ said Breen. ‘I have to.’

  ‘Daisy,’ said Sinclair.

  ‘He’s getting away with it. Do you want that?’

  ‘He’s not getting away with bloody anything. Do you really believe this nonsense?’

  ‘It’s not nonsense.’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be a lawyer.’

  ‘It’s because I’m a lawyer that I can see it!’

  ‘Daisy.’

  ‘Don’t bloody patronise me.’

  ‘I feel like you’re trying to drive me away.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Either I have to believe something I can’t take seriously, or I’m patronising you and ignoring you and all the rest of it. It’s like you’re looking for an excuse to break us apart.’

  ‘That’s not true. I’ve spent a long time thinking about this, long before us.’

  ‘But why? There’s been a court of inquiry. His brother knows it was an accident, according to you; no one else thinks anything wrong happened. And you come up with a cock-and-bull story that piles coincidence upon mystery. What makes you so desperate if you’re not looking for something else?’

  ‘You’re letting him get away with murder.’

  ‘No, no, I’m not. There wasn’t a murder, and if there was, there’s no reason in the world to think Tiger did it. You don’t even have a plausible way it happened, and your supposed motive doesn’t make sense. Look. I really care about you. I don’t want this to have to matter.’

  ‘If you cared, you’d believe me!’

  ‘Listen to yourself! Just bloody well listen to yourself! We’re not children. We have a job to do, and we’re going to do it.’ The captain paused. ‘I don’t want to toss the word love around. But there needs to be a give-and-take. You can’t ask me to give up the right to think for myself.’

  ‘You can’t ask me to ignore a murder.’

  ‘Let’s cool it off for a couple of weeks,’ said the captain. ‘I can’t deal with this now, but I don’t want to lose you over something this ridiculous. Talk to me when you can see what’s going on in your own head.’

  When he had left, Breen said ‘Fuck you’ under his breath. Then he had a feeling of doubt and loss that was almost physical in its intensity. He wondered if he was starting to go mad.

  The retreat continued. They came to a beach. It was the beginning of a cold clear dawn, with traces of red in the clouds. Clear waves were heaving almost soundlessly against the clean sand as they came out of the trucks. The sun was rising as they came down th
e hill.

  Breen led his platoon down into the trees. They were stumbling, dog-tired. Their greatcoats were smeared with mud and their faces were pale.

  When he dismissed them, they fell into shelter and were asleep almost at once. Their faces were grey even while they slept.

  He felt too tired to sleep himself. They would have to wait a day for the boats to take them off, he supposed.

  Bluey and Tiger were being as solicitous as undertakers. They seemed to have embarked on a policy of favouring him with small kindnesses. He didn’t know what to think. He would look at Tiger with an impersonal dislike, a sense of wary duty, like a guard dog on a chain. In return he and Bluey offered platitudes and cups of tea.

  Instead of sleeping he sat on a rock. Once again, trucks were being run down so that their engines would seize. The men put rocks on the accelerator pedals. There was the sound of waves coming in gently, and engines humming a discordant melody. He opened a tin of cold baked beans with his knife and picked away at them watching the sun come up over the water.

  Breen stripped off his dirty clothes when he had finished. A spur of memory from the night before pricked at his naked shoulders. The tip of his cigarette glowed above the smooth dark water. The star-dogged night had completely faded into dawn.

  He started walking in, further and further, the small hairs of his arms pricking up. He dropped the cigarette to extinguish itself in the silence. He sent a few loose leaves in a paper wrapping to float their way to Africa. With the smoke gone, the air was clean and empty, smelling of salt and corruption. He ignored the small pains of the rocks as he walked, knowing that soon he would be swimming.

  Crete

  21

  The planes had not bothered them all through the night voyage, and the sea was dark, smooth, and peaceful. It felt as if the battalion were on a raft sliding across a lake below the surface of the world, where there was no wind or light to disturb the languid water.