Читать книгу Royal Regiment - Gilbert Frankau - Страница 20

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His unwonted access of rage began to pass, leaving the commander of the Turban battery slightly ashamed.

“Ass”, he chided himself. “They won’t come to any harm. Past their work anyway. And as far as ‘No more war’ goes, you’re all for it. So why curse civilians?”

Yet in that last moment before his mind cooled he could not help realising, as once or twice in wartime, the gulf between the mind of the average civilian and his own.

The sun had come out while his horses were filing away. Kid Masters had gone off with the signallers. One of the guns not kept in “soap and oil” during the winter was being manhandled from its shed.

“This detachment’s come on since you’ve been away”, said Patterson, still standing beside him. “You watch.”

Drill on the gun began to the old, “Tell off”, to the old, “Without dragropes, prepare to advance”.

Round a nearby dragon, half tank, half wagonette, clustered some dozen eager youngsters in their brown boiler suits. They climbed in over the green steel sides and sat at attention. A voice began: “The two caterpillars are driven by the engine. Here it is. But they’re not driven direct. You have a gear box. Just the same as you do in a motorcar”.

“Godden”, said Patterson, “really has the knack of interesting them.”

“Sounds like it. By the way, why haven’t you got the turbans on ’em?”

“I thought I’d better ask the colonel’s permission first.”

“That’s not necessary. We’ve the right to have it on all our vehicles.”

“Very well. I’ll get it done. The usual yellow, of course. What size do you think we ought to have them?”

“About double the size they are on the guns, I should say. Have some transfers made at once. Any orders about housing these contraptions?”

“They’re to stand in the open until we get double doors for the sheds.”

“When’ll that be?”

“They’re promised for next week”, laughed Patterson.

Rockingham laughed back, “Then if we get ’em before we finish individual training, we shall be lucky. How about our petrol pump?”

“It’s being put in this afternoon.”

“Good. How about the battery staff dragon?”

“She’s in number three shed. I had her out with the signallers yesterday afternoon.”

“Run all right?”

“So-so. The fitters are on her now.”

“I’d better have a squint.”

As they entered the shed, one of the fitters started the engine of the staff dragon. The noise was deafening, till Rockingham signalled “Stop”.

“Take her outside”, he ordered. “You chaps’ll poison yourselves if you’re not careful.”

“Very good, sir.”

The fitter climbed to the driving seat.

“Make that a standing order, will you, Wilfrid”, said the battery commander as the tank engine fired again, and the caterpillars clanked over, and the squat dark-green vehicle nosed its way past his own Austin through the door.