Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  ‘There’re only four here,’ said Maddox.

  ‘One is having an operation.’

  Maddox nodded. ‘And the pilot?’

  ‘Over here.’ She pointed to the bed in the corner on the left side of the room. He was sitting propped up, bandages wrapped across his shoulder; his hands, lower arms and legs were severely burned. The flesh was bare and red in places, blackened around the edges, blotchy and blistered. His hair had almost completely gone, with only thin tufts remaining, the skin purple and yellow, as were his nose and cheeks. His eyelids were swollen.

  Vaughan swallowed and wished they could leave immediately.

  ‘As you can see,’ said Captain Richoux, ‘he has severe burns, but has also taken a bullet through his shoulder. I’m afraid we’ve had to give him some morphine, so his senses are somewhat dulled.’ She rubbed her face, then caught Vaughan’s eye. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a long night.’

  ‘How long have you been on duty?’

  ‘Since six yesterday evening.’

  ‘A long shift.’

  ‘It happens sometimes.’

  Maddox cleared his throat and turned to the pilot. ‘From the report I’ve read,’ he began, ‘you’re clearly a remarkable young man. I sincerely apologize for having to barge in on you, but please be assured that we wouldn’t have done so, were it not of vital importance.’

  Vaughan watched the blistered lips move.

  ‘It’s all right,’ rasped James.

  ‘Good man,’ said Maddox. He took out a pocket book and pencil, then turned again towards Captain Richoux. ‘I’m sorry, but please would you and your colleague leave us for a moment?’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ she replied. ‘These men are in no fit state to be interviewed as it is.’

  Maddox smiled thinly. ‘Very well.’ He turned back to Flight Sergeant James. ‘How many aircraft attacked you?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘And were they all German single-engine Me 109s?’

  A nod. ‘They shot out one engine and then the next.’ His voice was barely audible, a slurred rasp. ‘I was only at fifty feet. Setting one on fire was enough to bring me down. But they shot out both.’

  ‘And you managed to land the Bombay?’

  ‘Yes. Couldn’t get the tail down for ages. Then it dropped as the 109s came back for another attack. But I was already down. The Bombay was never going to fly again … covered with bullet holes, two engines on fire.’

  ‘And this was unusual on their part?’

  ‘Very. It’s usually the machine you’re trying to destroy, not the men inside. They would have known we had wounded on board.’

  Maddox nodded. ‘So you think they were deliberately trying to kill you?’

  ‘It doesn’t take six 109s and two sweeps to destroy a Bombay.’

  Maddox smiled. ‘Thank you – this is most helpful. We’re nearly there, Sergeant. And why was the fuselage hatch not opened?’

  ‘I gave orders for it to be opened. We had different ground crew on board – two new boys. I can only think they might have opened it but not lifted it off completely, which was what they were supposed to do. Somehow, it must have swung back and shut itself again. That’s all I can think of, because they had signalled that it was open yet no one got out.’

  ‘I see.’ Maddox looked pensive. ‘So then you went to get help?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know what time this was?’

  ‘Just after three.’

  ‘And do you have any idea what time it was when you reached the RASC headquarters?’

  ‘Yes, because my watch was still working and I was amazed that it was. It was two hours later. Just before five o’clock.’

  Maddox smiled. ‘Thank you, Sergeant James.’ He looked at Vaughan, then at the two nurses. ‘That will be all.’

  ‘What about the others?’ asked Vaughan.

  ‘We’ve heard all we need to know. Unless you have any further questions, Major?’

  Vaughan shook his head. ‘No. The sooner we leave these good men alone the better.’ At the door, he turned and said, ‘Good luck, all of you. I’m sure you’re in the very best hands.’

  Captain Richoux showed them out. Silently, they followed her back through the ward and down the long corridor to the main staircase. ‘Captain Richoux,’ said Maddox, ‘I’d be grateful if you kept the conversation you heard to yourself.’

  She nodded.

  ‘In a time of war,’ he added, ‘the old adage of “careless talk costs lives” still rings true.’

  ‘It’s all right, Major,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

  She shook hands and left them.

  Neither man spoke as they trotted back down the stairs. Outside, the sun was higher, the temperature rising. A number of boys ran up to them, hands outstretched, clamouring for baksheesh. The two men ignored them as they got back into the car, which was like a furnace. Hastily opening the window, Vaughan winced as his bare arm touched the hot metal frame.

  ‘Let’s get going, Maddox,’ he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. Maddox grunted and pressed the starter. The car coughed into life.

  ‘Well?’ said Vaughan, as they moved off.

  ‘Back to Red Pillars,’ said Maddox.

  ‘But what did you make of what he said?’ persisted Vaughan.

  ‘Let me turn that around, if I may. What did you make of it?’

  ‘I think you and RJ are right,’ Vaughan replied, ‘but I don’t see how we can possibly know where Jerry got that information. Nor can I see how you can possibly be any wiser about any enemy circuit operating here in Cairo.’

  Maddox was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Look, Alex, we’d better report back to RJ right away.’

  ‘So there’s more?’

  Maddox, his face set, stared ahead. ‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘But I’ll let RJ explain, if that’s all right?’

  Maddox’s shutters had come down, and Vaughan said no more. Cagey, he thought. Why? Perhaps there was a lack of trust. And perhaps that was justified – he’d only been with SIME two months.

  Maunsell was still in his office when Maddox and Vaughan tapped on his door. ‘You’re back sooner than I expected.’ He beamed. ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘Only to the pilot,’ said Maddox. ‘He told us all we needed to know.’

  ‘And how was he?’ asked Maunsell.

  ‘In a bad way but he’ll recover. Apparently he had been given morphine, but he seemed perfectly cogent to me – a little slurred, perhaps.’ Taking out his notebook, he relayed Flight Sergeant James’s answers.

  Maunsell listened, his expression pensive. ‘Well that’s pretty conclusive then, isn’t it?’ he said, when Maddox had finished.

  ‘It is rather.’

  Vaughan looked at both men. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? Otherwise, I wouldn’t say it’s conclusive at all. Surely, as George suggested, the enemy could have intercepted some radio signals. God knows, our radio security is always horribly lax.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Maunsell. ‘The information about General Gott’s movements was relayed in top-security code – code that we’re certain has not been cracked.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Maunsell smiled. ‘Put it this way: if they had broken it, I don’t think we’d be mourning the death of an army commander but the PM and CIGS instead.’ He rested his hands on his desk. ‘And there’s one other thing,’ he added. ‘We intercepted a message from Mersa. Here.’ He passed the pasted teleprint to Vaughan.

  Neue Kommandant AOK getötet an diesem Nachmittag 1500 Stunden, he read. New commander Eighth Army killed today 1500 hours. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘So they know.’

  ‘Yes. And have you noticed the time it was sent?’ asked Maunsell.

  ‘Fifteen twenty-five,’ said Vaughan, quietly. ‘But no one in Eighth Army knew the general had been killed until five o’clock.’

  ‘No,’ said Maunsell.

  Vaughan ran a hand through his hair.
‘How many people knew about the general’s movements?’

  ‘More than you’d think,’ said Maddox.

  ‘The AOC at Heliopolis for one, the commander of 216 Squadron for another.’

  ‘You can’t possibly think they would betray their country?’ said Vaughan.

  ‘Not intentionally. But they might have been a bit careless – someone there might have seen or overheard something. There are a lot of people at Heliopolis. The Egyptian Air Force has staff there.’

  ‘A number of people at GHQ knew,’ added Maddox. ‘Admittedly only those on a need-to-know basis, but there are signals staff as well.’

  ‘We knew of it,’ said Maunsell. ‘And I’m afraid there’s more. The ISOS people picked up a signal sent from Cairo yesterday morning, and another from the Mersa area a few minutes later.’

  ‘What kind of signal?’

  ‘Numbers. All numbers. They have no idea what it means – but it’s clearly a code of some kind. And the signal is equally clearly being received by a German signals team.’

  ‘But that means,’ said Vaughan, ‘that someone in a position of trust is prepared to pass information to the enemy. Someone here in Cairo.’

  ‘It certainly looks that way, yes,’ said Maunsell. ‘A traitor no less.’

  ‘But why?’

  Maunsell frowned. ‘I have absolutely no idea. It’s one of the reasons George is so sceptical. Motive – a crime always needs a motive. But just because we can’t see what that motive is, it doesn’t mean there isn’t one.’

  Vaughan rubbed his brow. ‘And in the meantime this circuit is presumably still operating.’

  ‘Presumably,’ said Maunsell. ‘But at least our suspicions have now been confirmed. Before, we could only suspect that a circuit was operating in Cairo. Now we can be sure. That’s something. I want you two to lead the investigation. You have Sammy Sansom and his FS men at your disposal and any other operatives within the SIME organization you wish to use. But I want you to keep me fully informed. I’ll do whatever I can to make your task easier. This is now our top priority. We must make it harder for the circuit to operate. Close a net around them. We will break them, Alex.’

  ‘And quickly, before it’s too late,’ said Vaughan.

  Maunsell smiled. ‘God willing, yes.’

  4

  Tanner took the tram to Giza. A strong wind was blowing in from the desert so eddies of dust and sand swirled along the pavements. Shop signs swung, awnings flapped and billowed, while the ever-present throng of Egyptians and servicemen shielded their eyes. Only the camels and donkeys seemed unperturbed.

  The tram was heaving with people. A group of men on leave were heading out to the Pyramids, grumbling about the wind.

  ‘All that bloody time in the blue,’ said one, a short man with a ruddy freckled face, ‘and the first time I get out to the sodding Pyramids the wind gets up.’

  ‘Bloody place,’ said a second man. They were standing, clutching the straps that hung down.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ said another, who was taller, with ears that stuck out from under his field cap. ‘It’s hardly a full-blown khamseen. It’ll probably die down soon.’ He lowered his head and craned forward, peering out at the street.

  ‘Oh, sure,’ said the first.

  ‘Stop being so bloody miserable. It’ll be fine.’

  Tanner agreed with the tall man. The wind outside was nothing – a blustery desert breeze. Ignore it and get on with enjoying your leave. They passed a cinema as a crowd of servicemen were pouring out, the film just ended. Street hawkers surrounded them, plucking at their arms and brandishing fly whisks, magazines, polarized spectacles and other goods.

  A staff car overtook them, no doubt on its way to Mena. Tanner wondered who would take over now that Gott was dead, then thought about what Lucie had told him earlier. She had arrived back at the flat mid-morning, exhausted. First there had been the arrival of the survivors from the Gott crash and then the day sister hadn’t turned up so she had volunteered to stay on.

  ‘You’ve got to get your rest, though,’ he had said, ‘before you go back again tonight.’

  ‘Yes, but first we were told to move the men into their own room, then guards arrived and finally a call came through that someone from GHQ wanted to interview them immediately.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A Major Maddox and a Major Vaughan. Anyway, those poor boys are severely wounded, and since I’d been with them when they arrived and helped get them into their separate ward, Dr Fisher was anxious that I should stay with them until the interview was over. I couldn’t really say no. I wouldn’t have wanted to in any case. Poor devils.’

  ‘What did Major Vaughan look like?’ Tanner asked her.

  She thought for a moment. ‘Average height, dark hair, broad shoulders and a square chin. Looked quite Mediterranean, actually.’

  ‘That sounds like him,’ said Tanner.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Alex Vaughan. We were on Crete together. He used to be with Middle East Commando, but I’d heard he’d gone back to his regiment. I wonder what he’s up to?’

  ‘He didn’t say much. Friendly, though, and polite.’

  ‘He’s a good bloke. Any idea what they wanted with your air crew?’

  Lucie told him what the pilot had said. ‘But Maddox told me not to tell anyone. Careless talk costs lives.’

  ‘Did he say that?’ Tanner grinned.

  ‘Yes. And now I’ve told you, so clearly I can’t be trusted. He was rather a serious man. Plain clothes. I don’t know where he was from.’

  ‘Probably some kind of intelligence-wallah.’

  ‘Maybe. I suppose there’s always going to be questions asked when a general gets killed in such a way.’

  Yes, thought Tanner now, but it was odd that the enemy fighters had pressed home their attack so persistently. He had been thinking about it on and off all afternoon, and it was still troubling him. He’d seen those old Bombays plenty of times – and, of course, had had the misfortune to travel in one. They were old crates – obsolete to the RAF anywhere but in the Middle East. Slow and with no protection, meat and drink to a single 109, yet the pilot reckoned there had been six, who had made two sweeps, the second when the Bombay was already on the deck with both engines out. ‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’ he had asked Lucie.

  ‘Quite sure,’ Lucie had replied. ‘He’d been talking about it when he came in too.’

  Tanner took out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He tapped one out, pulling away a few strands of loose tobacco, put it between his lips and lit it. Ah, well. So the Germans deliberately killed Gott. So what? That was the point of war, wasn’t it? To kill the other side? He exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned his thoughts instead to what the colonel wanted to see him about.

  There was a little cause for worry there, too. Old Man Vigar was a decent enough bloke – didn’t stand too much on ceremony, was prepared to fight his corner with Brigade and Division and was sensible enough to use his discretion when others in his position might well have been sticklers. Yet he hadn’t shown much interest in the enlisted men: he was more comfortable in the company of officers, especially the public-school types. But now the OC was summoning him personally. He had initially hoped it was good news, but now he wasn’t sure. After all, he’d been with the battalion a long time – ten years, not including the six months he’d spent with the 5th and then 1st Battalions. There was now a pause in the fighting; new men were arriving, others being promoted. Some of the old hands had been sent home, and the thought struck him that that might be his fate too: that Vigar would smile and shake his hand, thank him for all he had done and announce that His Majesty considered he had done his bit. ‘You’re going home, Tanner. The army needs men like you to instruct the next lot coming through.’ Tanner cringed inwardly. He could see the scene so vividly: Vigar standing in his tent at Mena Camp, a grin on his face, and Peploe beside him. I’ve just done you the biggest turn of your life. He could imagine Peploe
patting him on the back and saying, ‘I’ll miss you, Jack, but you deserve it.’

  Tanner closed his eyes, conscious his heartbeat had started to quicken. He suddenly remembered what Peploe had said about Sykes, that he was doing a good job as CSM. And Tanner had retorted, ‘Not too good, I hope. I want my job back.’ But what had Peploe said to that? Nothing. Nothing. He’d just smiled and raised his glass. Oh, no, thought Tanner. That was it, wasn’t it? Not yet twenty-seven, but already he was being put out to grass. Didn’t they realize he could think of nothing worse? Of course he’d like the war to end – neither did he have any wish to die – but the thought of leaving the life he had known for so long filled him with a profound sense of despair.

  He glanced up and saw the Pyramids looming ahead, their colossal forms towering over the ramshackle streets of Giza. This was where Cairo and the western edge of the Nile Valley ended. It never ceased to amaze him how, with one step, one could pass from the green, palm-lined streets of the city into the desert. The tram halted and most of the carriage emptied. Tanner waited for the throng to disembark before stepping down. He stood there for a moment, gauging the strength of the wind, the sinking feeling of doom lying heavily in the pit of his stomach. Mena Camp was not far. In front of the Pyramids stood the Mena House Hotel; beyond was the camp – a vast tented base on the edge of the desert.

  The wind was still whipping up the sand and dust, but was quite bearable. Tanner put on his polarized spectacles to protect his eyes and headed towards the camp. If anything, he welcomed the wind: although still very warm, it had a cooling effect. It meant he would reach the battalion still looking presentable, rather than with large dark patches of sweat on his shirt.

  At the gate he presented his identity papers and was given directions to the Yorks Rangers’ headquarters. The various brigades, battalions and other units using the camp were all allocated different areas. Wide roads had been marked out, with either stones or sand-filled four-gallon flimsies along either side. Larger stones had been swept clear so that the routes through the camp were smoother than the rest. Near the entrance there were several buildings – Nissen huts, mostly housing ammunition and engineers’ stores – but otherwise the entire camp was tented: row upon row of square tents, bell tents, mess tents and other canvas tarpaulins, some covered with sandy camouflage netting. Tanner set off down the main central thoroughfare, an endless number of jeeps, trucks and other vehicles rumbling past, more clouds of dust swirling into the air.