They knew how garlic could be used to produce certain effects which could absent a man from an attack, and they knew all, or nearly all, of the other tricks; for one had been a sergeant and the other a lieutenant of infantry and they had fought on the three key points, Pasubio, Grappa, and the Piave, where it all made sense.
They had fought, too, in the earlier stupid butchery on the Isonzo and the Carso. But they were both ashamed of those who had ordered that, and they never thought about it except as a shameful, stupid thing to be forgotten and the Colonel remembered it technically as something to learn from. So, now, they had founded the Order of Brusadelli; noble, military and religious, and there were only five members.
“What is the news of the Order?” the Colonel asked the Gran Maestro.
“We have ascended the cook at the Magnificent to the rank of Commendatore. He comported himself as a man three times on his fiftieth birthday. I accepted his statement without corroboration. He never lied ever.”
“No. He never lied. But it is a topic on which you must be chary in your credibility.”
“I believed him. He looked ruined.”
“I can remember him when he was a tough kid and we called him the cherry buster.”
“Anch’ io.”
“Have you any concrete plans for the Order during the Winter?”
“No, Supreme Commander.”
