The Centurions Read Online Free

barefoot and his trousers were rolled up to his knees. When he turned towards Glatigny, the dull light of that rainy morning had brought out the colour of his eyes which were a very pale watery green.
    He had introduced himself:
    â€œCaptain Boisfeuras. I’ve got forty Pims and about thirty cases with me.”
    The two previous convoys had been forced back after trying to cover the three hundred yards which still connected Marianne II to Marianne III by a shapeless communication trench filled with liquid mud which was under fire from the Viets.
    Boisfeuras had taken a piece of paper out of his pocket and checked his list:
    â€œTwo thousand seven hundred hand-grenades, fifteen thousand rounds; but there are no more mortar shells and I had to leave the ration boxes behind at Marianne III.”
    â€œHow did you manage to get through?” asked Glatigny who was not counting on any further assistance.
    â€œI persuaded my Pims that they had to keep going.”
    Glatigny looked at Boisfeuras more closely. He was rather short, five foot seven at the most, with slim hips and broad shoulders. He had about the same build as a native of the Haute Région: strong and at the same time slender. Without his prominent nose and full lips, he could have been taken for a half-caste; his rather grating voice emphasized this impression.
    â€œWhat’s the latest?” Glatigny asked.
    â€œWe’re going to be attacked tomorrow, at nightfall, by 308 Division, the toughest of the lot; that’s why I dumped the ration boxes so as to bring up a little more ammo.”
    â€œHow do you know this?”
    â€œBefore coming up with the convoy, I went for a little stroll among the Viets and took a prisoner. He was from the 308 th and he told me.”
    â€œH.Q. never let me know.”
    â€œI forgot to bring the prisoner back—he was a bit of a nuisance—so they wouldn’t believe me.”
    While he spoke he had wiped his hands on his hat and taken a cigarette out of Glatigny’s packet, which was the last he had left.
    â€œGot a light? Thanks. Can I move in here?”
    â€œYou’re not going back to H.Q.?”
    â€œWhat for? We’re done for there, as we are here. The 308 th have been reorganized completely; they’re going to go all out and mop up everything that’s still standing.”
    Glatigny began to feel irritated by the newcomer’s complacency and also by that supercilious glint he could see in his eye. He tried to put him in his place:
    â€œI suppose it was that prisoner of yours who told you all this as well.”
    â€œNo, but a couple of weeks ago I went through the base area of the 308 th and I saw the columns of reinforcements arriving.”
    â€œSo you’re in a position to stroll about among the Viets, are you?”
    â€œDressed as a
nha-que
, I’m more or less unrecognizable and I speak Vietnamese pretty well.”
    â€œBut where have you come from?”
    â€œFrom the Chinese border. I was running some guerrilla bands up there. One day I got the order to drop everything and make for Dien-Bien-Phu. It took me a month.”
    A Nung partisan dressed in the same uniform as the captain now came into the strong-point.
    â€œIt’s Min, my batman,” said Boisfeuras. “He was up there with me.”
    He began speaking to him in his language. The Nung shook his head. Then he lowered his eyes, put his carbine down next to his officer’s, took off his equipment and went out.
    â€œWhat did you say to him?” asked Glatigny whose curiosity had got the better of his antipathy.
    â€œI told him to clear out. He’s going to try and get to Luang-Prabang through the Nam-Ou valley.”
    â€œYou could escape as well if you tried . . .”
    â€œPerhaps, but I’m not going to. I don’t want to miss an experience which might be extremely interesting.”
    â€œIsn’t it an officer’s duty to try and