Avenging Steel 5: The Man From Camp X

by Hall, Ian

“You do that.”

  He disappeared quicker than he needed to. I turned to Siggy. “And I want Auchinleck’s letter.”

  “Oh, Eric,” he moaned.

  “What the heck are you going to use it for back in England?”

  Siggy hung his head, but grinned and handed over the piece of paper.

  I pocketed it, and ordered another round of drinks.

  An hour later, the news came down from ‘upstairs’. We had an agreement. I would be away from my loved ones for a while longer, but I did have an ulterior motive.

  Oh how the mighty fall. In a day I went from first class treatment to third class drudge.

  The plane from Port Said to Palestine was as rickety as I thought the RAF had, and yet it landed me safely, and I crossed the airstrip to a waiting car. A staff car.

  And as a visiting Captain, straight from a German general’s kidnapping, I got the red-carpet treatment again, a tour of the whole site.

  STS 102 was in an outskirt of Haifa, on the southern side, on the site of an old crusader camp at a place called Atlit. If it hadn’t been for the blue skies and the mix of sparse vegetation and scrub sand I could have been in Canada. The eastern end even ran down to the Mediterranean Sea, just like Camp X and Lake Ontario. There even was a railway line nearby to practice their C4 attacks on.

  I was asked to give a short talk, then forced to wear a Lone Ranger type mask while doing so.

  “Why?” I asked, looking at the black leather.

  “In case you meet any of them on a future mission.”

  I almost told the poor chap that he had me wrong, I was going home to work on a newspaper, but the conversation took another turn.

  Turns out the poor folks in the lecture also wore Lone Ranger masks.

  Strange place, STS 102.

  That night, staying in a hotel in Haifa decked out in colored Christmas lights, I asked around the British officers at the bar; no-one knew where the Scots Greys were stationed. I would have to travel down the coast to Tel Aviv. Camp STS 102 offered me a driver, but since I had little to no luggage, and wanted to separate myself from the SOE handlers, I used my ‘Auchinleck’ letter at the local Army base.

  A nice lad called Alfie got the job, and we set off in a Jeep, a proper one this time, no Chevrolet conversion.

  Getting into Army HQ proved a little bit more cumbersome than I’d expected, but after an hour I sat in front of a WRAC who flitted through order books for me. I suppose for a proper British Officer, the looks of distrust I got would have irked, but I settled behind my beard, happy to be just a little different.

  “Lance Corporal James Baird, C company.” I reminded her of dad’s name and designation.

  She nodded, and looked some more. “Jerusalem.” She looked up. “They’re in Jerusalem.”

  “Okay,” My heart soared. “Can you be more specific?”

  “Ramat Rachel, on the south side.” She said. “The base is on the hill. I’ve been there; you really can’t miss it.”

  I suppose that’s one of the benefits of having a ‘carte blanche’, I could get anywhere. Well, that and the fact that Palestine is a very small country.

  I was inside the Ramat Rachel base in an hour.

  “I need to speak to Lance Corporal Baird.” I stood in front of the acting Adjutant for the Scots Greys in Palestine, a Major Willis, English, of course.

  “I’m his son.”

  “Bloody Nora…” he seemed genuinely shocked. “Well, C Company are in the mess right now, go look for a Cadet Lieutenant called Andrews; he’s Baird’s platoon commander.”

  The ‘mess’ was a large marquee tent in the center of the camp, and young Lieutenant Andrews was easy to find, white epaulettes of cadet still bright and clean on his shoulders. He was in deep conversation with another Lieutenant as I presented myself at his side.

  “Andrews?”

  The two braced themselves to attention, their bodies stiff as boards.

  “Sir!” I could see their eyes looking at the beard on my face, not quite registering the fact, looking for any badge for further recognition; of course, it wasn’t uncommon for the LRDG not to wear any distinguishing service badges. Mavericks. What they didn’t dispute was my rank. I returned their salutes with growing confidence.

  “I’m looking for a chap called Baird, under your command.”

  “Yes, sir. Corporal Baird.”

  “Where is he? I’d like to see him please.”

  “For what reason, sir?”

  I had a germ of a plan, growing momentum as I plotted, but it wasn’t time to be playing my trump card just yet. “I have some personal news, you know, from back home.”

  “Yes, sir! Follow me, sir!”

  Oh boy, following the young man from the tent, I began to get goosebumps. In seconds I was going to be standing in front of dad. In all my searching, this was the only time I’d really felt emotional. I breathed heavy, sucked the tears in, braced myself for the meeting.

  Bairds; Face to Face

  Lieutenant Andrews stood outside the four man tent. “Baird? Outside!” I watched as my father donned his cap slipped through the tent flaps and came to attention before us.

  “Sir!”

  His eyes never wavered from being straight in front.

  “You have a visitor,” Andrews said.

  I nodded. “That will be all Lieutenant,” I dismissed the man, leaving dad standing alone. Despite my goosebumps I almost giggled at the scene.

  “State your name for me, soldier.” I said, watching the brows narrow, the question beginning in his mind.

  “Baird, sir!”

  I then walked in front of him, forced my face in his field of vision. “And where are you from?”

  “Edinburgh, Sir.”

  We now locked eyes, and I saw him look at me, then my face, the unusual beard with uniform, then his face grimaced slightly, not seeing a cap badge. Then I saw it, the switch from bewilderment, the realization, the dawning. “It’s me, dad.” I said softly.

  “Jamie?”

  Despite my years in a family of little demonstrative affection, I stepped forward and hugged him, immediately feeling his arms round me, slapping my back.

  “James!”

  He suddenly held me at arm’s length. “Let me see you.” His eyes were glassy with tears. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  “That,” I said with some finality, “Is a story fit for a pub, and a pint or two.”

  “I don’t have a pass…”

  “That,” I said with a firmness, “I can fix.”

  I flashed Auchinleck’s paper to dad’s commanding officer, and got a two day pass written in two minutes, possibly a British Army world record.

  We got in my jeep, and I whisked him back to Tel Aviv; I wanted no distractions, no sidetracking from my major purpose. I managed some of the story in the Jeep, but as I dismissed Alfie from his taxi duties, I clammed up, waiting for the privacy of a bar table.

  “So what unit are you in?” Dad asked once I’d ordered pints and shorts for us both.

  “I’m afraid that’s hush hush, old chap.” I mimicked an English officer’s accent. “I’ve been around though. I’m just back from Canada.” I considered that fact safe enough.

  “Canada?”

  We’d already been through the ‘how’s your mother and Frances’ stuff, then I remembered poor Alice. “Yes, Canada, oh, and by-the-way, I’m married.”

  And of course, that opened a whole bigger can of worms that I slid around, saying ‘hush-hush’ far too often, and lying far more than I should have.

  He steadied his gaze. “You’re doing something cloak and dagger’, aren’t you.”

  That was something I could own up to. I took a deep breath, nodded. “Yes.”

  “Aye,” he took my chin in his calloused hand and ribbed the flimsy attempt at a beard. “There’s desert types who wear their beards in uniform, and some others too.”

  “I have been known to drive around in the desert for a w
hile,” I grinned. “But I’m going back home after seeing you. I’ve been promised.”

  “Believe that when you see it, lad. The Army promises a lot of things.” He said, swigging a large drink from the pint glass finishing it. “I’ll buy the next round.”

  “Oh, no you bloody won’t.” I snapped back. “At these prices, it would take the rest of your wages. I got money, the night’s on me.”

  I had never really had dad in a one-to-one situation before, and definitely not with copious amounts of drink involved, but it ended fine. I got us into a hotel, and we drank more, chatting into the wee hours.

  As the mid-morning sunshine fired its volley through the open windows, I felt hungry, famished beyond belief. I asked at the hotel desk, and found an Officer’s mess nearby, lunch, followed by a second plate.

  Once back in town again, I headed for the same bar as the night before, finding a quiet table; I had a statement to make, a question to ask, and I wanted a little anonymity for dad’s reactions.

  “I’m going home.” I repeated.

  “Like I said, son. The Army has ways…”

  I held my hand up. “I’m not Army, remember. This uniform is just a means of getting what I want.”

  He shook his head as if he didn’t quite believe the power that the uniform, my organization, and my Auchinleck letter gave me.

  “I’m going back to my job at The Scotsman, my life in the slow-lane…” I paused. “And I want to take you with me.”

  He shook his head like I’d asked him for a loan of a pound, giving it no real thought.

  “Dad!” I tried to shake him from his little world. “I can get you home. Home to Mum, home to your family, away from the war!”

  “James.” He shook his more vehemently. “I’m in the Army. You can’t just wave your magic wand and change that.”

  From his face came a condescending look that crossed a generation. Even with my tales, and my Captain’s pips, I was just his little boy. But I realized it was partly my fault; I had actually played my own hand down. Although I wore the uniform of a British Army captain, I had went too far with my own denigration, undermined my own standing.

  It was time to reverse the trend.

  “Come with me, soldier.”

  Half an hour later Auchinleck’s letter had gotten us into the Commander’s Office, Royal Navy Base, Tel Aviv. I showed my letter to Commodore Stevenson. “Can I use your phone, sir?”

  “You could do that anywhere on base, Captain,”

  “Aye, sir, but this is to the top brass. Top Secret and all that.”

  He lifted the phone on his desk, and gingerly handed it to me.

  “Yes, sir?” A lady’s voice. I guessed it was the secretary outside.

  “General Auchinleck’s office please.” I said into the black Bakelite phone.

  After a moment another woman answered. “Army HQ.”

  “General Auchinleck’s office please.” I repeated. “Captain James Baird here. If you can mention the word Crüwell, that would help.” I looked at the Commanding Officer’s blank stare, dad’s horrified look.

  “Auchinleck’s Office.” A man’s voice.

  “Hello? Yes? Who am I speaking to?”

  “Captain Bromley. Who’s this?”

  “Ah, yes, Captain Bromley,” I couldn’t remember him when Bagnold and I had visited, I cursed myself for not paying attention, my training for once wavering. “Captain Baird here, I was with the LRDG bunch that grabbed Crüwell. Can I speak to the general please?”

  “Eh, maybe. Can I ask what it’s about?”

  “Well, it’s a personal matter between me and the General, sorry Captain. It is rather important.”

  By now even the Base Commander was looking at me in a new, respectful way.

  “I’ll see what I can do…”

  “Thank you.”

  There was a pause of at least a minute, then a low voice. “Auchinleck here,”

  “General!” I said with far more of a smile than I needed. The fact that I’d caught him at the office was fortunate enough to elate me. “Captain Baird here, attached to the LRDG.”

  “Ah, Baird, yes, make it snappy.”

  “Yes, sir. Well, I’ve come to the end of my tether, I’m afraid. I’ve done your desert mission, I’ve done your dog and pony show up here in Haifa, and I’m afraid I’d like to take you up on your agreement to send me home. Back to Blighty, you know, fight Jerry on the streets of Edinburgh.” I hoped that dad’s sentiments on the Army not fulfilling their sides of bargains wouldn’t bite me on the backside.

  “I think we can arrange that, Baird. We all appreciate your efforts. Get your backside down here; Bagnold’s in town, he’ll arrange it all.”

  I actually breathed a sigh of relief; Bagnold had indeed escaped. “Sir? How many of the others made it back?”

  “Oh, we only lost three, including your driver. All in all it was a good swap. We all were very impressed by the standard of you SOE chaps. Navigating the last five hundred miles on your own was quite a feat.”

  I could hardly believe it; of the whole unit, running around the desert, with the whole of the Afrika Korps hunting them, we’d lost just three men. Utterly amazing.

  “Yes, General. They train us well, sir.”

  “Where are you now, Baird?”

  “Eh, in Commodore Stevenson’s office, Tel Aviv.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Put him on.”

  I handed the phone back to the base commander, and as their conversation continued, his eyebrows travelled higher on his forehead. When he’d said his goodbyes and replaced the receiver, he leaned back in his chair. “You don’t muck around, Captain, do you?”

  “No, sir,” I flashed a look at dad, his mouth was still agape at what his son had just done; call the Army commander in the Middle East, and chat like old friends.

  “You’re one of the men who captured Erwin Rommel’s number two.

  Crap. The cat was well and truly out of the bag now. I didn’t even want to look at dad to see his expression. “Eh, yes, sir. But I’d rather it didn’t get around sir; our mob’s a bit uppity on loose lips and such.”

  “Yes, we ferry you SOE chaps quite a bit.” He stood, leaned over his desk, and I shook his extended hand. “Just wanted to shake your hand, you know, just to be able to say I’d done it.”

  I felt very uncomfortable. “Eh, I have another favor, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  “Name it, lad.”

  “What’s the quickest way to get to Port Said?”

  “MTB,”

  A Motor Torpedo Boat; roughly the same kind of boat that Möller had shown me the Bismark with. “Can you get us on one?”

  He nodded, “We do a run every day with orders and such.”

  “Excellent. However, I have to spring this chap from his unit first. Can I borrow a jeep?”

  “No problem.”

  I saluted him, one of the few actual salutes I’d done, and we left with directions to the motor pool. The staff sergeant in charge was exemplary, and brought up an incredibly valid point. “Beg pardon sir, but if you’re heading out of base, out of town like, you’d better be arming yourselves.”

  “Excellent idea,” And I asked for directions to the armory.

  So, with two new Thomson machine guns stowed at our sides, and new magazine pouches on our belts, we took off back to Jerusalem.

  However, conversation with dad was stilted. I put it down to the new information he had learned in the Commodore’s office. I drove in silence, letting it all sink in.

  Getting dad out of the Scots Greys was as easy as flashing the Auchinleck letter. “He’s being transferred.” I stated firmly to a captain on the camp, the only officer we could find in their HQ building. “Auchinleck’s HQ will send the paperwork. I’ll see him when we’re down in Cairo.”

  “This comes from General Auchinleck himself?”

  “Yes,”

  The man looked at dad, who despi
te being at attention, nodded. “I wouldn’t have believed it either, sir, if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears. He phoned him personally, just an hour or so ago.”

  “That’s the damndest thing,” the captain shook his head. “I wish I had your connections, old bean.”

  “Aye,” I said, emphasizing my Edinburgh brogue against his English accent. “But you’ll not want to face Jerry the way I do.”

  He gave me a long stare, taking in my beard, my lack of insignia. “No, probably not.”

  Dad packed his essentials, leaving all the extra kit in his tent. I watched as he slowly said his farewells to his mates, telling them he was being transferred to Army Headquarters in Cairo.

  His face was drawn as he mounted the jeep, me driving. “What’s wrong?”

  He looked back at the tent. “I’ve been with those men for four years.”

  “Aye, and you’ve no’ seen your family for four years either.” I couldn’t quite understand his reticence to leave. I was fit to bursting to get back home, and I’d only been gone for weeks.

  I felt that my adventure was coming to a close. I just had a trip to Britain to organize, and that was it.

  What could go wrong?

  On the Bus, Back Off Again

  The MTB started its engines, and steadily rolled out onto the mirror glass bay.

  The late-afternoon cloudless skies made the sea both in the harbor and beyond appear the deepest blue.

  I looked to the front, unable to face dad, unwilling to look at Tel Aviv for what I considered to be the last time. I grasped the rope rail, and felt the restrained growl of the engines below me. Slowly the mouth of the harbor opened to us, and we increased speed until two huge wakes of white foam curved gracefully from our stern. Behind us and to my left sat a second boat, guns bristling, white uniforms busy on her deck.

  “SOE, huh?” Dad called out, his words all but lost in the engines roar. It was the first words he’d addressed to me directly since leaving Jerusalem.

  I turned to see his profile, his chin lifted, enjoying the 40mph breeze in his face, the occasional spit of sea spray. “Aye,” I shouted.

  It took a few moments for dad to say more. “I’ve heard they can kill a hundred different ways.” His face showed extreme restraint.