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of the mine. With my teeth, I begin tearing away the tufts of grass on either side. Why don't they train bloody monkeys to do the work? They could use their feet as well as their hands. And probably make a better job of it, too, not having to battle with fear all the time. Why hasn't anyone thought of it before? They already make, use of pigeons and dogs, and horses and pigs, so why not monkeys? (We used pigs in Poland. Used to drive them across minefields in order to dear the way. Trouble was, pigs got to be worth their weight in gold and it was eventually decided men were more expendable.)
    With agonizing slowness, I drew the mine out towards me. It was heavier than I had anticipated, but at last it out in the open, exposed in all its horror. Great ugly thing. I longed to give it a mighty kick and send it flying, it that pleasure would have to be deferred until such time as I'd succeeded in defusing it.
    I called to the others to come up to me. Porta and the Legionnaire crawled across. Porta, with no formal learning on the subject, was nevertheless a mechanical genius, and after one glance at the mine he threw me a look of contempt.
    'Bloody idiot! You've been turning the perishing thing the wrong perishing way! It's not a normal French thread, I should've thought even you could've seen that.' He turned and waved at Little John. 'Bring us a Swedish key!'
    The key duly made its arrival. Porta studied the mine for a while.
    'O.K., screw it up again.'
    Meekly, I did so. The Legionnaire wiped sweating hands down the seat of his pants. Porta picked up the key.
    'O.K., you lot! Keep your heads down and your fingers up your bums!'
    He bent over the mine, humming a casual snatch of song to himself as he did so :
'What will become of us, my sweet?
Shall we be happy or sad?
How shall we end up, my love?
Shall we be sorry or glad?'

    Stiff as boards, the Legionnaire and I sat watching him. Unconcerned, Porta held up the mine in both hands.
    ' There you are!' He grinned at us. 'Harmless as an unhatched chicken.'
    He turned and swaggered back to the others, the mine tucked under his arm like a rugger ball. Quite suddenly, he flipped it towards Gregor.
    'Here! You have a go! I can't manage the thing! '
    Gregor gave a shrill cry of terror and dived earthwards! Porta stood over him, raising his eyebrows.
    'What's up, little man? Something frighten you?'
    'You stupid sod!' Gregor kicked out at Porta's legs. 'You stupid bleeding bastard!'
    'Pack it up,' said the Old Man, wearily. 'I'm in no mood for fun and games. Try to remember we've lost six men so far on this job.'
    'My heart bleeds,' said Porta. 'Come on, Sven, hand up the gums. My turn to be a hero.'
    He took the boots and moved to his place at the head of the column, but he had gone only a few metres when he stopped, bent down, made his examination and gestured towards the Legionnaire and me, who were the two next in line behind him. We looked at each other. We knew what had happened: Porta had come across a mine wired in relay and he needed a second person to help him Which of us should it be? For a second I wavered, and then the Legionnaire hunched a shoulder and went forward. It would be my turn next, and I immediately wished that I'd gone this time and got it over with.
    Porta and the Legionnaire crawled over the ground following the wire. There was a time when they could have cut the damned thing and be done with it, but the enemy had grown wiser since then. They now covered the wire with a thin coating of copper. Touch it with anything metallic and the current would pass through it and detonate the mine. It had taken us a while to discover this new trick. The enemy were careful to leave no operating instructions lying about, and we'd lost several men before stumbling on the secret.
    This particular little present had been slung up in a tree and was connected to three 10.5 grenades. Porta shouted irritably over his shoulder.
    'Come on, for Christ's sake! This isn't a church