As Hartley cantered away, Willie McCallion looked around desperately. His eyes fixed on an Army Service Corps motorbike.

"Me and you Lonnie," he called, running for the bike. "And bring that bloody camera with you."

Lonergan chased after his mate, catching him just as he was straddling the machine.

"Catch yourself on Will," he pleaded. "You can’t just pinch this thing!"

The engine roared into life and McCallion gunned the throttle. A belch of black smoke was expelled from the exhaust.

Lonergan sighed and climbed onto the pillion of the bike: "You know how many favours I’ll have to call in for this, I suppose?"

But McCallion had already set off down the road in pursuit of Hartley.

Three minutes later, a puzzled private in the ASC stood scratching his head in mystification.

Dai Macallister sauntered towards him.

"Lost something chum?" he enquired innocently.

"Some git has nicked me bike," answered the ASC man. "F..king hell, I know stuff goes for a walk in this mob, but a bleedin’ motorbike! I’ll have to report this."

Dai took the rider by the arm and offered him a fag.

"I saw it all mate," he lied. "One of those bloody Irishmen took off on it. Disgrace, so it is.

"Go and see that lot over there," advised Dai, pointing to the clump of Irish Riflemen who were celebrating their 2-0 soccer victory over the Muddies. "But watch yourself, those blokes can cut up rough. Bleedin’ bunch of mad Paddies so they are."

The ASC man looked at Dai nervously.

"Just my luck," he sighed. "I can’t even understand a word those Ulster boys say to me."

The little Welshman shrugged his shoulders.

"You in a hurry anywhere?" he asked. "Give it an hour and they’ll probably bring it back good as new. Come on and have a chinwag with the rest of our lads, we’ve got a few bottles of beer on the go."

The ASC man seemed in two minds, but Dai heaved a sigh of relief as the rider followed him towards the Muddies’ campfire.

Hartley gazed out over the expanse of countryside. From the crest of a rise in the otherwise flat landscape he could see a copse of trees from which emerged a road.

A single lorry stood idle while a woman in Voluntary Aid Detachment Uniform peered into the engine compartment.

Otherwise, not a single soul was in sight.

Hartley gave the horse’s flanks a light kick with his spurs and trotted towards her.

Willie McCallion and Lonnie Lonergan observed his progress from their position in the wood.