Witzig himself was a career officer and a patriotic German, but he’d not have considered himself an exponent of Nazism by any stretch of the imagination. He had a duty to perform and he did so to the best of his abilities (which were significant), but he had no love for war or killing and generally preferred to complete missions or take objectives with as little loss of life as possible on both sides.
Schreiner on the other hand had no truck with such unimportant ideals as morality or compassion. War was there to be won at any cost, and the enemy deserved no quarter in defeat. There had been several incidents in the past year where Witzig had been forced to reprimand the man for his overzealous methods and had on one occasion filed a confidential report with Spezialkräfte HQ regarding the torture and summary execution of prisoners of war at Schreiner’s order.
It had come to nothing of course. The truth was the man was an incredibly effective company commander who got results, and as such the OKW ultimately cared little for the methods employed in obtaining them; not enough in any case to allow any punitive action to effect 1FSK’s exemplary combat record by removing one of their star officers. It had been made clear to Witzig that – for the time being at least – he’d simply have to accept the situation and carry on regardless of how he might feel personally about one of the men working under him.
Schreiner for his part cared little what his CO thought about him on a personal level. He knew that someone had filed a report against him and it only stood to reason that Witzig was the most likely culprit, but the Hauptsturmführer wasn’t one to hold a grudge. It had come to nothing after all, and he too had to recognise the fact that his commander was also an excellent combat officer with a wealth of experience and ability to contribute and – truth be told – to learn from also. They both had very different ideas on how to go about the business of fighting a war, but so long as that difference of opinions didn’t affect him directly or hinder his career in any way, Arno Schreiner was more than happy to ignore that fact and go about his business.
“Any further word on our objective, mein herr…?” He asked after a few moments of silence, his silhouette now showing in profile as he raised a pair of field glasses and stared pointlessly at the blackness of the distant hills.
“No change as of twenty-four hours ago,” Witzig answered quickly with a shrug as he reached into the breast pocket of his ‘M39-Tropical’ camouflage-pattern tunic and withdrew a pair of wrinkled black-and-white photographs. “Reports still place the target fifteen hundred metres south of the Cairo-Suez Road, precisely twenty-seven kilometres due west of the canal at the point we will be making the crossing.”
“They won’t know what’s hit them, mein herr…!” Schreiner gloated, an almost predatory tone creeping into his voice.
“Just keep in mind that our orders are to capture if possible… they’re only to be killed if there is no other alternative…”
“Of course, mein herr…” Schreiner answered immediately, more than a little scorn evident in his reply.
The tone wasn’t lost on Witzig, and the man cast an unseen glare back in the man’s direction before giving the pictures one last glance. It was impossible to make out any real detail in such sparse moonlight, but the CO of 1FSK had already memorised both images in any case. When the time came, he knew he’d have no difficulty recognising either target instantly. With a faint smile of his own, Rudolf Witzig slipped the intelligence photographs of Max Thorne and Eileen Donelson back into the pocket of his tunic and turned his attention back toward the darkness of the mountains ahead.
As midnight approached, one of the two ‘objectives’ depicted in those photographs wandered between the tents of the Agruda CP, actively seeking out the other who – as it was fast becoming apparent – had decided to make himself scarce since the packing of their gear had been completed. Eileen hadn’t found Max Thorne in her search about the HQ although she did however come across LT Lloyd near their vehicle park.
“Ahoy, Evan...!” She called out as he emerged from between two of the GMC trucks, rifle slung across his back and heading off into the darkness in the direction of the parked tanks with what appeared to be a definite sense of purpose. “Hold up a minute...!”
“Oh... hi, Ma’am...” he managed to blurt out as he came to a halt, his expression reminiscent of that seen on a small wild animal caught in a car’s headlights in the seconds before impact.
“I’ve been looking for Max everywhere...” she exclaimed as she drew close. “Something tells me you might know where he is...”
“What makes you think that...?” He countered in an entirely unconvincing tone.
“Possibly the pair of guitar cases you’re carrying...?” She suggested with a raised eyebrow, surprised that such an observation of the completely bleeding obvious was even necessary. “I’m assuming Elvis hasn’t dropped in for a quick set.” The evasiveness in his speech and expression was the most annoying aspect of the conversation so far, as if he’d been specifically ordered not to give away Thorne’s whereabouts: there was no great mental effort required in hazarding a guess as to from whom those orders originated.
“Sorry, Eileen,” Lloyd sagged visibly, not at all happy regarding such a poor attempt at keeping information from an old friend. “He gave strict orders that nobody was to know...”
“And I’m ‘nobody’, am I...?” She snapped back, a little hot under the collar now as the realisation began to truly sink in that she’d been intentionally excluded. “I know this wasn’t your doing, Evan, but I’m not happy about it.” She gestured in the direction he’d been heading before they’d met. “Come on... let’s not keep ‘His Highness’ waiting.
“It’s bad enough we’ve found out the bloody man was keeping a direct order to evacuate from us all this time...” she continued, mostly to herself, as they moved off once more with Lloyd slightly in the lead, “...without him actively going out of his way to keep his own 2IC out of the loop.” She didn’t add that it was also a very personal insult, considering their previous history: she didn’t need to – Lloyd had known both of them long enough to recognise that quite clearly for himself.
“I could try to say that he was mostly keeping things from us to protect us...” he began after a moment’s thought, not entirely convinced of the statement.
“Oh bollocks...!” Eileen snapped instantly, dismissing the idea completely. “Any ‘protection’ his silence provided us was nothing compared to how much it suited his own purposes. She reached out and caught the man’s shoulder, halting both of them once more as he turned to face her. “When have you ever known Max to exclude us from what’s going on, Evan?” She demanded, hands on hips. “Since when did he ever put his own agendas ahead of the well-being of his own people? What the hell’s going on with him at the moment?”
“I wish I knew, Eileen,” Lloyd admitted finally after a long silence. “I’ve spent the last twelve months watching his back and I can tell you straight; he’s not the same person he was a year ago.” He shrugged. “It’s true that he’s sharper... more focussed now than the man we ‘jumped’ with back in 1940, but...” halted once more.
“...But... he’s also way more isolated now than he was also... mostly through his own doing.” Lloyd stooped for a moment to place both guitar cases on the ground before continuing the conversation. “I’m not saying he’s quite at the ‘Howard Hughes’ stage yet, but I do know that when he’s in his office he generally refuses to take phone calls from anyone other than Rupert or a few select others, and there’s a pile of mail backed up in one corner of the room that never seems to get around to opening.” He grimaced. “I asked him once what the story was and he fobbed me off with a line about being too busy...” There was another pause as if he were considering whether to continue. “Then there’s the voices...” He added finally, almost sounding guilty over revealing the information.
“‘Voices...”...?”
“He – he talks to himself...”
“Och, the bloody man is
always talking to himself,” Eileen began dismissively, almost smiling as she considered one of Thorne’s more eccentric traits. “He used to joke that it was the only way to have a decent conversation...”
“No,” Lloyd shook his head, surprising her, “not like normal... not the ‘usual’ muttering to himself as he goes about his business with his brain operating at a hundred miles an hour: this is different...” He released a sigh and changed stance, his body language indicating clearly that he wasn’t comfortable with the subject of discussion. “When he’s by himself... when he thinks no one’s listening... he has conversations... real conversations... arguments…!”
“Like... what... exactly...?” Eileen managed to ask in halting words, her own discomfort now evident as they delved into an area she’d never expected.
“I’ve only heard one side of it all of course,” he continued in a hushed whisper, moving a few steps closer as if the empty desert surrounding them might reveal some unseen spy, “but we’re talking about full-blown discussions that seem to be going on within his own head. He asks questions... there are pauses... he gives answers to other questions no one I can hear has asked. I’m no bloody shrink but whatever it is, it’s all going on inside his own head... I can tell you that much!”
“How long...?” She breathed, whispering now also.
“Not sure... at least the last six months or so... who knows how long before I noticed it was happening...”
“That’s it,” Eileen declared with soft determination, as if an important decision had been reached within her own mind. “The silly bugger’s been avoiding talking to me for a couple of days now: I’m going to have a bloody word with him right now! What...?” She added quickly, her momentum broken in an instant by the clear and quite overt grimace Lloyd displayed upon hearing that remark.
“That wouldn’t be my first option if I were you,” he explained, shaking his head vaguely. “I really don’t think that’ll do him or the rest of us any good right now...”
“I’ve known the man for ten years, Evan; I think I’ve got a reasonable idea of how to deal with him,” she countered quickly, not really angry but nevertheless surprised that Lloyd was disagreeing with her.
“Eileen...” he began slowly, leaving a faint but distinct pause as he carefully considered what he was about to say “...with all due respect and with absolutely no offence intended, you really need to trust me on this. I may not have known Max as long as you have... I’ll even admit I don’t know him as well – generally speaking – but the one advantage I do have is that I’m a ‘guy’ and I have a pretty good idea generally of how guys react in certain situations.
“He just got a right-royal bollocking from Montgomery earlier today, and you say you want to go storming in there right now and bail him up in front of everyone, accusing him of hearing voices or some shit like that? How do you think he’s likely to react?” His grimace almost became a mirthless snort of derision as he considered the situation for himself. “Max might have some issues at the moment, but he’s gonna react to outside pressure exactly the same way any guy would when he’s copping a hammering.”
His expression softened as his thoughts moved on to other matters that were relevant but only indirectly related.
“As far as I can tell, at the moment it’s not having any effect on his ability to function in any case... and also: keep in mind too that he’s not going to look kindly on anyone trying to push more shit onto him right now, either,” he added softly, giving her a meaningful stare. “It’s none of my business, but I know you two have ‘history – old and recent – and I also suspect that with everything that’s happened in the last two years, things aren’t exactly all that great right now... none of my business, I know...” he repeated for emphasis as he saw the protest rising in her stance and expression “...but the Hindsight crew is the only family we’ve got here, and I for one wouldn’t want to see something worthwhile buggered up by something like this...”
Eileen stared silently back at him for some time, her expression dark and fathomless as her blue eyes bored into him. For his part, Lloyd never missed a step, meeting her gaze and returning it without fear or falter. The lieutenant was far too well-trained and far too confident in his own abilities to be put off by an officer’s glare alone… no man worthy of the SAS would crumble so easily.
“You’re right; it is none of your business, Evan…” She began finally, releasing a long-held breath that was equal parts frustration and resignation as the seriousness of her expression mellowed into a vague, wistful acceptance “…but thank you anyway… we are the only family we have now, and we do need to look after one another.” She managed a faint smile. “All right then: if you’re so certain that’s not the way to approach things, what would you suggest?”
“Like I said, I’m no expert,” he shrugged, as if the matter were basically simple which – to a soldier’s mind – it probably was, “but I would leave him alone for the moment. You know how close to the chest he likes to play things, and fronting him about any of this will make him shut up shop completely. Just let him be when he wants to be alone and give him your time when he wants company… take time to rebuild whatever bridges you two might have burned over the last two years and he’ll come around eventually.”
“I wish I could be so confident about that, Evan,” she admitted, revealing more of her inner fears and vulnerability in that moment that she’d expected. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t want me around at all anymore…”
“Eileen,” Lloyd countered immediately, his tone suggesting he thought the idea ludicrous, “he may be a bit nuts at the moment but he’s not a complete bloody idiot!” He gave her a sly wink, barely managing to keep a serious expression. “Only a total headcase would not want to spend time with the hottest captain in the Royal Navy!”
“Junior bloody officers these days…!” She growled, slapping him gently on the shoulder as she her pale cheeks reddened over the unexpected compliment. “Can ye nowt be serious then…?”
“I am bloody serious!” Lloyd replied with unashamed candour, meaning every word but willing to give her an ‘out’ by adding some humour to the statement. “I admit that you’re probably the only female captain left in the navy at the moment, so it’s not as effective a compliment as it might’ve been otherwise, but I stand by it all the same…” He raised his eyebrows in a very poor attempt at mock sleaziness. “If only I were able to be a few years older…”
“Get away wi’ ye, y’ silly bugger…!” She chuckled softly, her accent becoming unintentionally heavier as a genuine smile crossed her lips for the first time. “But thanks anyway – you’re a true friend, Evan,” Eileen added softly, stepping in with a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on the grinning lieutenant’s cheek. “It makes me feel much better knowing he’s got you watching out for him.”
“And there it is: ‘friend-zoned’ again! That’s the second time this century!” He continued with a mock expression of dismay, inwardly beaming over that simple, innocent kiss all the same.
The inspiration to fight fire with fire as it were came to Eileen in that instant. As they were still quite close, it was no great effort to maintain her position, and with a mischievous, evil little smirk of her own and a ‘reassuring’ pat on the arm, she took the opportunity to whisper in his ear in the most alluring voice she could manage:
“Think yourself lucky, young fella: ...there’d be nowt left by the time I was done with ye…”
That said, she turned instantly and made off in the same direction Lloyd had originally been heading, leaving the lieutenant momentarily dumbstruck and also turning a distinctly vivid shade of red in the faint illumination from the camp. She didn’t know whether to feel mortified or elated over her own risqué turning of the tables, but Eileen Donelson knew at least one thing: if she stopped moving long enough to actually start thinking about the joke she’d just pulled on Lloyd, she’d almost certainly be too embarrassed to speak to h
im at all later.
RAF China Bay
Trincomalee, Ceylon
October 3, 1942
Saturday
The Super Galaxy had come in from the north-east and executed an almost leisurely landing, making use of a substantial amount of Runway 24’s luxurious two-thousand-metre length. Having come to a stop at the far end overlooking Tambalagam Bay, the huge transport had executed a tight left and was now slowly trundling back along the taxiway that ran parallel to the strip on its southern side. The aircraft was by far the largest Rupert – or anyone else on the planet at that time, for that matter – had ever seen. Seventy-five metres long and sporting a wingspan of almost sixty-eight, the C-5M Super Galaxy weighed in at over 170 tonnes empty.
To better suit operations in hotter, drier climates such as those found right across Northern Australia, it had been painted in standard RAF Desert Pattern of dark-earth patches over a mid-stone base with undersides of azure blue. Although only a few months old, the camouflage scheme was already peeling noticeably in numerous places all over the aircraft’s fuselage to reveal a bland undercoat beneath of featureless, ‘low-visibility’ pale grey.
Tattered strips of the outer coat fluttered at the ragged edges of the exposed sections, creating a deceptively worn-out appearance that wasn’t altogether accurate. On one of the upper wing surfaces, the RAAF ‘leaping kangaroo’ tricolour roundel had almost completely stripped away, partially revealing a quite different national insignia of mid-grey US-style ‘star and bars’ against that same pale, faded undercoat.
Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2) Page 55