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rounding a parked Bedford lorry to ghost into the workship. Everything was locked up, of course. Jim produced a small torch with a tiny but bright beam. The staff-sergeant in charge of vehicle maintenance had an office in the workshop, with upper glass panels. The torch picked out six petrol cans in lined-up formation on the office floor. The door was locked. Jim fumbled in a pocket and brought forth a ring of many keys. He began trying them, one after the other.
    ‘Don’t muck about, Jim, it’s not Christmas. Get it open.’
    The lock clicked.
    ‘Good ’un, you are,’ said Jim to the lucky key and we went in. ‘Where’s yourn?’ he whispered.
    ‘How do I know? They’re all WD cans, all the same. Just find the empty one.’
    Jim, running his beam of light over the identical cans, disclosed the fact that there was a chalked number on each. I hefted them, one by one. Four were full, two were empty. Two? Someone else was in the market?
    ‘Them two’s both empty?’ said Jim.
    ‘Ruddy hell, yes.’
    ‘Bleedin’ old system’s up the spout, then,’ he said. ‘Ain’t much help to you if we fill the wrong one. Missus won’t like that, she’ll knock me ’ead off.’
    ‘Fill ’em both,’ I said.
    ‘Corker you are, Tim boy,’ said Jim and filled one of the empties from his rusty can. I filled the other from one of the full cans. As the juice gurgled in he asked, ‘You after Minnie?’
    ‘Am I what? You off your rocker? What sort of a question is that at a time like this?’
    ‘Only askin’,’ said Jim.
    ‘Listen, Minnie’s too young for that kind of lark.’
    ‘You might be, she ain’t.’ Jim chuckled. ‘She’s been sayin’ you fancy her. I know she fancies you.’
    ‘Find her a decent GI when she’s sixteen.’
    ‘That won’t work, Tim. It’s you Min’s after.’ The petrol gurgled to a stop. A minute later we were out, the door locked again, the workshop at our backs. Jim got lost before I realized he’d gone. I approached the gates and went through. I heard the crisp patter of retreating footsteps. That sounded as if Kit had just finished doing her good deed. Good old American scout she was, after all
    The guard appeared and poked his rifle at me. ‘Friend or foe?’ he demanded. It was Gunner Dunwoodie. If I’d known, I’d not have worried so much. On the other hand, even a fellow squaddie short on brains can sometimes rate good conduct marks more important than comradeship. We all hoped for promotion and a corresponding increase in pay.
    ‘Don’t get excited, Woodie,’ I said. ‘It’s only me.’
    ‘Thought it was,’ he said, peering. ‘She said it would be.’
    ‘Who said?’
    ‘The Wac sergeant. You been followin’ ’er?’
    ‘Why not? I’ve just won her in a raffle down at the pub.’
    ‘Don’t gimme that. Think I’m daft? She told me you’d been actin’ queer, lookin’ at ’er in the pub with staring eyes. That ain’t good, yer know. She said you were creepy and asked me if you’d got a prison record.’
    ‘Poor woman, what a sad case,’ I said. ‘Enjoyed your chat with her, did you?’
    The gormless turnip smirked. ‘She told me what a healthy change I was after your staring eyes. You ain’t gone peculiar on ’er, have you? Tell you what, I think I fancy ’er meself, I think I wouldn’t mind meetin’ ’er under the ATS shower.’
    ‘All right, lovey,’ I said, ‘I’ll hold your rifle while you join her in the ATS ablutions. But take your towel with you or she’ll think you’ve come for more than a shower.’
    ‘What d’yer mean?’ he asked.
    ‘And keep your trousers on as well,’ I said.
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Or you’ll get arrested yourself,’ I said and went off to bed.

CHAPTER SIX
    ‘ RIGHT,’ SAID MAJOR MOFFAT . Broad, rugged and vigorous, he had been a territorial officer when the war broke out and had worked his way up from first lieutenant to battery commander by sheer dedication. He expected similar dedication from everyone in