A New Kind of War dda-17

by Anthony Price

  eyed Otto rounded on Audley angrily.

  ‘Well I like my meat overdone. Better a burnt sacrifice than one bloody offering, any day.’

  ‘So?’ Otto almost accepted this reassurance, but then rejected it.

  ‘But you are a child – you know no better.’ He shook his head at Audley. ‘The war has ruined you: you think you have won . . . but the truth is, you have lost.’ The shake continued for a moment, and then became a shrug. ‘We have all lost – that is the truth!’

  ‘No.’ Audley shook his head back at the man. ‘ You have lost – and the Yanks and the Russians have won –remember?’

  Otto brought both hands – white-gloved hands – in front of him, chest high and clenched. ‘But they don’t have my pig.’

  ‘But the Colonel won’t blame you, Otto – he won’t know, will he?’

  Audley matched Otto’s gesture, except that his big hands were unclenched and placatory, as though he was trying to sell the over-cooked pig.

  ‘Fuck the Colonel! It is my pig – and I know!’ Otto looked up at Audley. ‘And he was a good one – he deserves better, Captain David.’

  Audley nodded seriously. ‘Fuck the Colonel – I quite agree: a very p-p-p-proper sentiment. But – ’ Suddenly he became aware of Fred, and clapped his hand to his mouth, looking from Otto to Fred, and then back again ‘ – b-but, hadn’t you better offer Herr Major Fattorini a drink, like you were ordered to – ?’

  ‘Ach, du lieber Gott!’ Otto faced Fred, open-mouthed. ‘Sir?’

  ‘What would you like?’ Audley moved into the instant of silence.

  dummy4

  It took Fred another second to gather his wits. ‘What have you got?’

  Audley grinned. ‘You name it – we’ve got it. Except ... if you’ve acquired a taste for that dreadful Greek retsina . . . and we’re not actually very good on Italian wines, either.’ He paused. ‘Bordeaux and Burgundy . . . we have some unconsidered trifles, which are almost settled down now. But we shall be offering them with Otto’s pig. And I would personally recommend the Haul Brion, rather than the lighter clarets. But, then, I am not a Burgundy man

  – Otto thinks that is a sign of callow youth, but it’s still my opinion

  – right, Otto?’

  Otto spread his hands. ‘The Haul Brion is superb.’

  ‘Ex-Luftwaffe Haut Brion.’ Audley nodded. ‘But we’ve also got some delectable Hocks and Moselles – very refreshing and invigorating. And you can still have the Haut Brion with the pig – ’

  He looked towards Otto ‘ – and with the deer ham before, maybe?

  Would that be okay, Otto?’

  But Otto was staring at Fred. ‘I think the Herr Major may be thinking of something stronger at this moment.’

  Christ! The Herr Major was thinking of anything! thought Fred, despairingly.

  ‘Well ... if it’s a sherry, we have it.’ Another Audley nod. “The most delicate dry sherry – also courtesy of the Luftwaffe . . . and presumably, General Franco – ‘

  ‘We have whisky.’ Otto knew his man better. ‘Ration Red Label and VAT 69. Black Label. Single Malt – and an Islay Malt, which dummy4

  is good. And good gin, Booth’s and Gordon’s – ’ He stopped suddenly. ‘And we have also Tennessee whiskey, of Jack Daniel.

  And several other American whiskies. And rum from Puerto Rico and Cuba, as well as Jamaica. But only a little Trinidad rum, I regret.’

  ‘Yes. That’s because the Crocodile likes it. So you’d better lay off that,’ agreed Audley hastily. ‘But brandy, of course. And a whole lot of Russian vodkas, of varying toxicity . . . which I wouldn’t actually recommend. And a whole lot of other things – just try us, and see – okay?’

  Curiosity was great. But thirst was greater. ‘I’ll have a large Black Label – as soon as possible, please.’ Fred looked around. There were other officers in the gloom, but as Audley wasn’t trying to introduce them he’d better let that go. ‘You don’t travel light then?

  Alcoholically speaking.’

  ‘No, we don’t.’ Audley grinned happily. ‘We inherited all the contents of the Schwartzenburg cellars, and it was a Luftwaffe headquarters. And we’re a very small unit, you see ... So the aim is to drink the place dry by New Year’s Day, 1946.’

  Fred started to think Audley wasn’t stuttering. But then Otto materialized at his elbow, with his silver tray again, and a glass on it.

  ‘Thank you.’ The glass was large and heavy, and there was a lot in it.

  ‘We have no ice. But you would not have wanted that.’ Otto bowed slightly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen – ?’

  dummy4

  ‘Go on, Otto, go on.’ Audley waved at the man. ‘Just make sure you keep the Crocodile’s glass full, that’s all –I want him in a benign mood this evening.’

  ‘Because of the injury to his car?’ Otto checked, and nodded.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Oh, you know, do you? But of course you do!’ Audley leaned towards Fred. ‘All is known to Otto – Otto knows everything. Otto can get you anything – isn’t that true, Otto?’

  ‘Have no fear.’ Otto raised a white-gloved hand. ‘The master has been well-attended.’ He bowed to Audley and backed away into the gloom again.

  ‘Yes, I don’t doubt.’ Audley watched the white coat disappear before turning back to Fred. ‘Otto likes Hughie – they’re thick as thieves. Which, of course, is what they both are. So they recognize the other’s worth . . . Amazing, really, when you think about it.’

  ‘Amazing?’ Somehow, Fred didn’t think Audley was referring to the Otto-Hughie entente, from the way he spoke. ‘What is?’

  ‘Trinidad rum.’ Audley nodded. ‘It’s rather amazing that Otto very quickly discovered that it’s Major McCorquodale’s favourite tipple

  – his Achille’s heel, if you like ... in so far as a crocodile can have an Achille’s heel . . . But it’s absolutely amazing – quite incredible really – that he was then able to conjure up supplies of the stuff, here in Germany.’ He shook his head. ‘Trust our Otto!’

  ‘He’s the mess waiter – ?’ Fred sipped his whisky cautiously, aware that there were many other items of information he needed more urgently.

  dummy4

  ‘Oh ... not really.’ Audley’s unlovely features screwed up conspiratorially. ‘He’s a lot more than that. In fact, he doesn’t usually honour us with his presence before dinner . . . unless we’re entertaining top brass, anyway.’ He brought his face close to Fred’s ear. ‘I rather suspect that the white-coat-and-gloves have been put on solely for Hughie’s benefit, to make sure that Major McCorquodale is well-oiled this evening. Because one of his very few virtues is that alchohol makes him mmm-more agreeable.’

  It occurred to Fred that Audley, if not Major McCorquodale, had already drunk deeply. Which was at once surprising, but also somewhat disquieting, if there was some sort of night-operation ahead of them, as the Colonel had indicated. And with the whisky warming his empty stomach his surprise and disquiet concentrated his mind on that.

  ‘There’s something on tonight, I gather.’

  ‘Yes – uh-huh.’ Audley buried his face in his glass. There’s a kraut-hunt tonight, crowning all our recent inquiries. It’ll probably end in nothing – or disaster. But at least the weather’s on our side.‘

  ‘The weather?’ Fred recalled Audley’s umbrella.

  ‘Yes.’ Audley craned his neck, peering into their ill-lit surroundings from his full height. ‘You know, we really ought to start eating soon, or Otto’s jolly old porker will be spoilt . . . and the Crocodile does seem sufficiently well-oiled now . . . But Caesar Augustus is jawing poor old Amos again!’ He gave Fred an accusing look. ‘What on earth did you say to set him off?’

  ‘If I told you, you’d never believe me!’

  dummy4

  ‘Oh yes, I would! Where Augustus Colbourne is concerned, nothing is unbelievable – ’ Audley caught his tongue. ‘You’re not a friend of his, by any unhappy cha
nce? But no ... you are a Brigadier Clinton volunteer, aren’t you.’

  That was too much. ‘I am not a volunteer.’ Fred felt his patience stretch thin. ‘I’ve only met your brigadier once, damn it – and it was you who introduced me. So I have you to thank for being here, when I could be sunning myself on a Greek beach – eh?’

  ‘Me?’ Audley blinked at him. ‘No – honestly ... I only told him who you were, that time.’ The boy’s mouth twisted nervously.

  ‘And I actually told him mostly about Matthew – I’d never met you before . . . And that uncle of yours, who used to come down to the school, and give Matthew fivers at half-term and on Foundation Day. And he seemed to know all about him the moment I opened my mouth.’ The mouth turned downwards. ‘Maybe I did lay it on a bit thick . . . but I thought you wanted to get away, I mean – ?’

  ‘I did. And you obviously did.’ The voices all around them sounded unnaturally loud, and full of alcohol-induced argument and bonhomie .But I haven’t, have I?‘

  Audley looked crestfallen. ‘You must have impressed him. And I did warn you that he liked rich bankers, Fred.’

  ‘I’m hardly a banker.’ Fred felt himself weakening. ‘And I’m certainly not rich.’

  ‘Well, you are compared with me – I’ve just got debts, and mortgages, and things.’ The boy moved from defensive apology to bitter accusation. ‘So ... if you don’t like it, you can always dummy4

  volunteer for the Far East. And then you can start a branch of Fattorini Brothers out there . . . It’s not my fault, anyway.’

  There was no point in recrimination, thought Fred. And, in any case, young Audley was the nearest thing he had to a friend in this madhouse. ‘No – no, of course, David. I’m sorry . . . It’s just that I really don’t know what the hell is going on here tonight – ’ He smiled ‘ –like, why is the weather on our side, for a start?’

  ‘Oh . . . that’s simple.’ Audley relaxed. The rain drives the poor devils under cover – whoever we’re descending on. And it also damps down the sound of our elephantine approach, so we can creep up on ‘em more easily,’ He returned the smile as a grin.

  ‘Although, with the Yanks in attendance tonight, God only knows what’ll happen.’ The grin became almost ingratiating. ‘But it should be interesting. And as you and I are both in the front line we shall have a ringside seat, too – ’

  The silver sound of a tinkling bell somewhere out in the courtyard cut Audley off, also momentarily hushing the hubbub of loud conversation of the other officers in the shadowy room, of whom and of which Fred had been only half aware. Or less than half aware, he thought quickly, as the hubbub started up again.

  ‘Otto’s pig will be quite ruined by now. So there’s no need to hurry.’ Audley raised his glass. ‘Would you like a re-fill? I really am a terribly bad host . . . and I haven’t introduced you to anyone either, have I? Otto!’

  ‘Hauptmann David!’ The tray, with two fresh glasses on it, and then the white glove-and-arm-and-coat, appeared as if by magic, in that order. ‘One Islay malt –one Black Label . . . and the pig, as dummy4

  you say truly, is ruined, dried up, as a corpse in the desert of North Africa.’

  ‘You were never in North Africa, Otto.’ Audley swopped his empty tumbler for a well-filled one. ‘But you have been eavesdropping – eh?’

  ‘I already know all that there is to be known about the Herr Major.’ Otto presented the tray to Fred. ‘I do not need to eavesdrop.’

  Fred looked at Audley. ‘Since when have I been a major?’

  ‘It was on Part Two orders yesterday, Herr Major,’ said Otto.

  ‘Captain Fattorini FA, RE, to T/Major – my congratulations, Herr Major, on your well-deserved advancement –’

  ‘ “Promotion”, Otto.’ Audley sniffed. ‘And now, will you kindly encourage the adjutant to get the CO to get us into dinner. Because, whatever the condition of your pig, I’m bloody starving. And we’ve got work to do tonight, while you’re safe and comfy in bed . . . and tucked up with whoever you’re tucked up with. So do be a good fellow – eh? Ring the bloody bell again – ?’ Audley delayed for a moment. Then he raised his glass in Fred’s direction.

  ‘But, like the man says – congratulations, Herr Major! And . . .

  like I say ... make the best of it –okay?’ He grinned. ‘“Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish” – Book of Proverbs, chapter something, verse something-else – okay?’

  Fred drank, adjusting to undeserved promotion: who was he to argue with the British Army, right or wrong? ‘Thank you, David.’

  And yet, he had never expected to make field rank, however dummy4

  temporarily. And certainly never like this, so equivocally, which made it not quite good enough, however good the Black Label was on his empty stomach. ‘But . . . make the best of what?’

  ‘What?’ Audley had been looking around, in the hope of dinner, while he had been thinking. ‘Oh . . . it’s not so bad – ’ Using his full height again, Audley continued to look around for movement ‘

  – not if you’re like me ... no soldier – ’ He focused on Fred suddenly ‘ – no soldier, by God! Because when it was real soldiering, I was bloody-scared most of the time . . . and when I wasn’t scared, I was bored – bored – b-b-bored . . . bored.’ The focussed look became fixed. ‘But this is different: we’re VIPs now

  – we can do what we bloody-like now!’ He nodded. ‘If we tangle with anyone, we pull “Colonel Colbourne” on ’em. And he pulls

  “Brigadier Clinton” –and that rocks ‘em back on their heels, I can tell you.’ He nodded again. ‘Believe me, I know. Because I’ve seen it happen.’ Audley drank and then grinned happily. ‘Did it myself once, actually. GSO I, all red tabs and face to match, wanted to court-martial Jacko Devenish – my Sergeant Devenish – for gross insubordination . . . probably quite justifiably, because Jacko can be quite extraordinarily rude when he sets his mind to it ... and he hates staff officers . . . Yes, where was I?’ He drank again. ‘Good stuff, this malt: it completely dissolves my stutter. So I shall probably have to spend the rest of my life half-cut ... Where was I?

  Ah ... Sar’ Devenish versus this GSO I, that’s right!‘ Nod. ’Well, guilty or not, we can’t do without Sergeant Devenish. Or, more accurately, I can’t do without him. Because he sometimes does what I tell him to do – and I always do what he tells me to do.‘

  dummy4

  Grin plus nod. ’Yes. So Temporary Hauptmann von Audley rips off a smart salute and begs to point out that the grossly-insubordinate is responsible to – and on a special mission for –

  Brigadier Clinton, at the behest of Colonel Colbourne –‘

  The silver bell tinkled again.

  ‘Yes?’ inquired Fred.

  ‘Second bell!’ Audley downed the remains of his drink. ‘First bell

  – wait for the CO. Second bell – every officer for himself. Mess rules.’

  ‘Wait a moment.’ He would never get a better chance than now, Fred decided, with the young dragoon like this. Because, although Colbourne had instructed him to get an answer to his One Question from Audley, ‘no shop in the mess’ would undoubtedly inhibit him at dinner. And after that he might well be incoherent. ’I haven’t finished my drink, David.‘

  ‘Nor you have! I’m most frightfully sorry, old boy.’ Audley moved himself out of the doorway so that other officers might escape, shielding Fred from curious stares with his broad shoulders. ‘Do take your time.’

  Fred took his time, judging that malt whisky and hunger in alliance might drive Audley to indiscreet frankness. ‘You were saying – ?’

  ‘I was?’ Audley looked politely vague. ‘Saying what?’

  Fred took some more of his time. ‘Sergeant Devenish versus the GSO I – ?’

  ‘Ah! Well . . . “Instant Collapse of Empurpled Staff Officer”

  would be the Punch cartoon caption.’ Audley fidgeted slightly.

  dummy4

  ‘Lots of grunting, plus
admonitions to me about the decline of discipline. And a ferocious threat about Devenish’s military future

  – empty as a hot-air balloon, of course.’ Another familiar nod.

  ‘ Colonel Colbourne and Brigadier Clinton . . . between them, we’re all VIPs, like I said – okay?’ Audley looked at Fred’s glass, first hopefully, then with a hint of desperation in his ugly face.

  It was about time to cash in on his opportunity, Fred thought, lifting his glass almost to his mouth, and then lowering it.

  ‘VIPs . . . doing what, David?’

  Audley stared at him for a moment. ‘Christ, Fred – or is it

  “Freddie” – ?’

  Fred didn’t want him sidetracked. Take your pick, David.‘ He lifted the glass again. ’Go on – ?‘

  ‘Well – ’ Audley willed him to drink ‘ – it’s . . . it’s rather like peeling an onion if you ask me.’ He thought for another moment.

  ‘Fred.’

  ‘An onion?’ Fred decided that he didn’t wholly dislike David Audley. But, in the circumstances, he could only reward him with a sip. ‘Peeling an onion?’

  ‘Yes.’ Audley glanced into the open doorway, beyond which the rain still glinted in the lamplight as it fell. ‘Shall we go – ?’

  ‘In a moment.’ Another sip. ‘An onion – ?’

  ‘Yes.’ Audley hated him for an instant, fiercely but impotently, trapped by Good Manners and youth. ‘I mean . . . officially I’m supposed to be researching German tank development.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Which is bloody stupid, really . . .’

  dummy4

  ‘Yes?’ Knowing that he still had a lot of Black Label, Fred took another sip. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ Another twist downwards, on both sides. ‘I hate . . . tanks

  – if I never saw another tank – or “Panzer-Kampfwagen” ... if I never saw another of the bloody great things . . . and the Germans were into bloody great things, so far as my researches go – my ersatz researches . . . Because they don’t give a damn about that actually.’ Twist. ‘Colbourne doesn’t, Clinton doesn’t ... If I never saw another fucking PanzerKampfwagen, or Panzer-Befehlswagen, or prototype Panzerjager Tiger Elefant, or whatever ... I saw enough German tanks in Normandy, to last me a lifetime . . .