Bert gazed at him, face expressionless. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘And give Sergeant-Major Yeald my very best wishes for a speedy recovery.’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘And Bert...perhaps you’d be good enough to drop up to Broad Acres and put my mother and Mrs Mackinder in the picture.’
Bert hesitated for a moment. Then he said, ‘Yes, sir!’
‘Give them my love,’ Fergus told him.
‘Yes, sir!’ Bert said, and marched his brother back out.
*
Poor old Bert Yeald, Fergus thought. An almost exact contemporary of Dad. Which made him brood a bit. Mom was right, of course: sixty-two — and Dad would soon be
sixty-three — was an absurd age to be scurrying up and down mountains. He’d be the next for a heart attack, if he hadn’t already had one.
The Manly-Smiths returned a week later. ‘He didn’t make it, sir!’ Bert announced.
‘Oh, hell!’ Fergus said. ‘I am sorry, Bert. He was a fine old gentleman.’
‘We gave him a good send-off, sir!’
‘I’m sure you did.’
‘And Lady Mackinder sends you her best love, sir!’
‘Thank you, Bert.’
‘As does Mrs Mackinder, sir! And Miss Mackinder! And the boy, sir!’
‘Oh, splendid. You saw them all, did you?’
‘Yes sir! Most kind they were too, sir!’
‘Thank you very much, Sergeant-Major. Carry on.’
‘Thank you, sir! For the leave.’ Bert marched out.
He really was a bit of a scream, Fergus thought.
*
A couple of weeks later the big brass arrived. General Montgomery was accompanied by General Eisenhower himself, as well as several other high-ranking American officers. The brigade put on a display for them, charging across the Hampshire countryside in their tanks, and then parading for an inspection. Eisenhower shook hands with every officer, and then addressed them in the mess hall.
‘Some of you men,’ the Supreme Commander said, in the measured tones he always employed when on duty, ‘have fought against the Germans already, in North Africa and in Italy. You know the nature of the beast. For those who have not yet engaged the enemy, I say again, we are speaking of a beast. He is hardy, he is courageous, he is cunning, he is well armed, and he is well led. But he is still a beast. His deeds testify to that. I want every man here to remember that, and I want you all to instil that understanding in your men. Forget any preconceived ideas you may have about the glory of war, about exchanging a cigarette with a beaten foe, about shaking hands once the shooting stops. We are about to take our places in a crusade, a crusade to rid Europe of the most hideous disease with which it has ever been afflicted. It must be extirpated, so that not a vestige of it remains, so that it can never reappear to poison the lives of innocent men and women. That is our task. That is our business. And with God’s will we shall carry it out.
‘The way will not be easy. It will be hard. We are going to suffer grievous casualties. Make no mistake about that. But every man who falls will have died in a great and glorious cause, and in the performance of his duty. He will be remembered. Thank you, gentlemen.’
There was no laughter, as had so often accompanied a Montgomery briefing, and the officers felt depressed rather than exhilarated by what they had just been told.
‘Makes one feel the SAC is living in a different century,’ Allack commented. ‘With respect, padre, I have never been able to feel there is anything religious about warfare, or that religion should have anything to do with something so primordial.’
‘In many ways I agree with you,’ Long said. ‘One must of course believe one is fighting for the righteous cause...’
‘But to talk of warfare as a crusade is going a bit far,’ Fergus said. ‘Back into medieval history, as John said. Of course, the Americans have always been supposed to live in a different century to us — but it’s usually taken to mean the next one, not the last.’
*
Montgomery stayed on after the Americans had left, and dined with the Brigadier and the regimental commanders, giving them one of his famous pep talks, which considerably improved their mood. To the delight of the regiment, he was wearing the beret they had presented to him. He also found time for a quiet chat with Fergus, but of course was not prepared to discuss the weaknesses — or strengths — of their commanding general. ‘It’s good to see your fellows looking so fit,’ he said. ‘I imagine they were glad to see the back of Italy?’
‘Well, they rather felt they were running out, until they were told what happens next.’
‘Have they been told that?’
Fergus grinned. ‘In a manner of speaking, sir.’
Montgomery grinned back. ‘Well, one thing is certain; France has got to be one hell of a more suitable tank country than Italy. But the SAC was right when he said it’s going to be a tough one. You know our old friend Rommel is in command of the West Wall now?’
‘I had heard that, sir.’
‘I’m rather pleased about that,’ Montgomery said. ‘I feel we have some unfinished business. Any word on your father?’
‘No, sir,’ Fergus said, glad not to have to lie for a change.
‘Hm. At least we can say we’re now on our way to rescue him.’
‘Yes, sir. Any idea when?’
Montgomery looked down his nose. ‘I think I can safely say, it will be before Christmas, Colonel Mackinder.’
*
A weapons expert, Major Lewiston, came down to talk to them about what they were going to find across the Channel. The regiment was assembled together with its officers, who sat in front.
Major Lewiston stood on a dais, and was armed with a huge blackboard and several pieces of chalk, with which he dashed off various diagrams. ‘It is true to say,’ he told them, ‘that a large proportion of the units manning the fortifications on the Channel are what might be called garrison troops; quite a few of them are from Landwehr regiments, that is, only slightly better trained than our Home Guard. They are either too young for sustained active service, or more usually, too old. However, it would be a grave mistake to assume that they will not fight to the death. They may no longer have the wind and the stamina to carry out prolonged assaults — but they will not be doing that: we will. They will be sitting in their fortified bunkers, and they are very well armed indeed. Remember this, gentlemen.
Now, as I say, they are equipped with fortified bunkers. You may rest assured that the Royal Navy and the Americans, and the joint air forces, intend to saturate the entire landing area with high explosive before a single one of you steps ashore. However, experience in both the last war and this indicates that saturation bombing of fortified positions has no more than a very brief stunning effect. The physical damage and the casualties inflicted are always considerably less than projected, and the will of the bombarded troops to fight, once, as I say, they have recovered from that temporary numbing effect, is more often than not unimpaired.
‘In this case, the German fortifications are very solid indeed: they have had nearly four years in which to perfect them. In the First War their dugouts were always marvels of ingenuity; some of them had galleries descending into the earth for two or three levels. Nowadays, these galleries are made of reinforced concrete, and some of them go down six floors. Let into a cliff face they can present a wall of fire some seventy feet high, and they will resist anything less than a direct hit from a high-explosive shell. Even one of those is unlikely to put the whole bunker out of action.
‘These bunkers are armed with artillery, as well as machine guns, and they are emplaced to cover any possible landing areas. These are the areas you are going to have to use.
‘However, before you reach the bunkers, you must reach, and cross, the beaches. Tides will play an important part here; the range can be considerable in some places on the French coast, and it is never less than several feet. The Germans have emplaced a very large number of underwate
r obstacles to hamper our landing craft, and they have also strewn wire in the shallow water. However, your main problem will be when you reach the beaches.
‘These are sown with a great number, and variety, of mines. In the main these are anti-personnel devices; they will rely upon their artillery to destroy the tanks. But these anti-personnel devices are extremely unpleasant, and the utmost caution must be exercised in crossing any area not previously cleared by the sappers. They fall into two main categories. One is the old-fashioned dish, which carries a charge quite severe enough to blow off a man’s leg. The other is our old friend the S, loaded with ball bearings, which can cause a pretty nasty mess. But this now has a variation, which makes it even more unpleasant, to my way of thinking. It consists of a charge which fires a steel rod upwards at great speed. Obviously this is a hit and miss affair. If you tread on it with your right foot, and it is aimed to the right, it will probably fly harmlessly past your shoulder. But if you tread on it with your left foot, and it is aimed to the right, you can abandon hope of ever becoming a father.’
That raised a laugh, but it was really very grim stuff. ‘You wouldn’t think any of us had a chance of even reaching those bunkers,’ Allack commented.
‘An old-fashioned storm,’ Fergus said. ‘Badajoz and all that. Enough always survived to get in.’
They gazed at each other.
‘Well,’ Allack said at last. ‘We’ve both been damned lucky so far, Fergus.’
‘Amen,’ Fergus said.
*
Suddenly he was desperate to get home. This was disturbing. He had never been afraid before, of death or injury. Of course he had had the normal instinctive optimism of the fighting man: it’ll always be the next bloke. He had watched that proved, time and again. He had been within six feet of his brother when that bullet had torn into him, and he had been sitting next to Brown when the tank had been struck. And his total misfortune was a couple of broken ribs and various bruises and scratches. Compare that with the old man, who had been wounded no less than thirteen times, several of them quite seriously.
When did a man’s luck run out?
It was the beginning of April before the regiment had all had a brief holiday, and by then it was obvious that time was short. ‘I’m afraid you can only have three days, Colonel,’ Manton told him. ‘And as from the fifteenth all leave is out. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir?’ Fergus agreed.
Three days. But that was time enough, and perhaps it would be a mistake for it to be any longer. Yet the train seemed to be taking an interminable time to thread its way through the West Country, and when it finally reached Bath he had the problem of finding his way out to Broad Acres, as of course he hadn’t been able to let them know he was coming.
Fortunately he located a recruit on his way back to the depot, who was as thrilled as he was terrified when faced with the prospect of giving his own Colonel a lift on his pushbike’s crossbar. ‘Strictly illegal, of course,’ Fergus told him. ‘But it’s my responsibility.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the boy gasped. ‘I could take you the whole way, sir.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Fergus said. But he insisted on stopping at the depot gate and squaring the matter with the sergeant of the guard, leaving that worthy also gasping at the apparition which appeared, and then disappeared again.
Even with the assistance of Private Witherspoon, however, it was ten o’clock at night when Fergus finally reached the gates of Broad Acres. He shook hands with his ‘chauffeur’, sent him off back to the barracks, and walked up the drive. Dogs barked, but they had already been locked up for the night.
Yet he was sure there were still lights on behind the blackout curtains, as he rang the bell.
Robbins opened the door a moment later. ‘Mr Fergus? Good heavens, sir.’ Hastily he took Fergus’s haversack. ‘Lady Mackinder is in the drawing room, sir.’
‘Thank you, Robbins. Is my bed made up?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. Your bed is always made up. I’ll just make sure the heating is on in the room. Would you like a drink, sir?’
‘Indeed I would, Robbins. A large Johnnie Walker Black.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘And Robbins, I haven’t had a square meal since breakfast.’
‘Oh, quite, sir. Cold meats be sufficient? I’m afraid Cook has gone off.’
‘Cold meat will be fine, Robbins; as long as there’s enough of it.’
How good it was to be home. How the entire burden of the war dropped away from his shoulders as if it did not exist.
He opened the drawing room doors, gazed at his mother. She was listening to a music programme on the wireless, and knitting. ‘Who was it, Robbins?’ she asked, without raising her head.
‘Trouble, as usual,’ Fergus said.
Lee looked up, and laid down her work. ‘Fergus!’ She was on her feet. ‘Oh, my darling boy. You do give me some surprises.’
He took her in his arms, kissed her. ‘Always pleasant ones, I hope?’
‘Always pleasant ones,’ she said. ‘But...Oh, Fergus, I’m so glad you’re back.’
There were tears in her eyes. He kissed her again. ‘I’m always coming back, Mom.’
‘Yes.’ She sniffed. ‘I wanted to write, but...’
‘I got your last letter.’
‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘But I didn’ t...’ she seemed to square her shoulders. ‘You’ll be wanting to see Liese.’
‘Indeed I do. Is she in bed?’
‘I should think so.’
Fergus sighed, mentally; there was no warmth in his mother’s tone. ‘Ah, Robbins.’ He took the whisky, drank. ‘Thanks, I needed that. I doubt she’s asleep yet. Would you object very much if I went up?’
Lee licked her lips; it was almost a frightened gesture. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I wouldn’t object. But Fergus...don’t be angry with her. She can’t help what she is.’
Clearly they had been quarrelling again. He really would have to sort the pair of them out. But not until he had done what he had come here to do. He went up the stairs, heart pounding; he had never before actually set out to rape a woman. Only it wouldn’t be rape, with Liese. He knocked, gently.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘May I come in?’
‘Fergus!’ The door was pulled open, and she was in his arms. Naked. But of course Annaliese would sleep naked.
Her mouth was glued to his, and wherever he put his hands he found flesh, suntanned and firm and cool. ‘Oh, Fergus,’ she said.
He put the glass on the dressing table, lifted her from the floor, and carried her back to the bed, laid her on it. She gazed at him with wide eyes. ‘I only have three days,’ he said.
‘And then?’
‘All leave is out. We’re going to invade Europe. Some time soon.’
‘Oh, Fergus.’ She sat up to kiss him again. ‘Three days.’
Then she looked down at herself. ‘You will be angry.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I could never be angry with you, Liese.’
‘Fergus,’ she said.
He was hungry. But hungrier for her. He held her breasts. For how long had he wanted to touch those breasts. She unfastened his buttons. For how long had he wanted her to do that. Now at last Monique Deschards was finally exorcized.
Naked, he held her in his arms. Her body writhed against his, and they rolled across the bed together, kissing and holding each other. Her hand was on his penis, and his was between her legs. They loved with a desperate passion born of a four years’ wait. Then he was inside her, and spent only moments later. She continued to move beneath him for some seconds, before lying still.
‘My God!’ he said. ‘I should have done that long ago.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I wish you had.’
He rolled off her to lie on his back, and she got up and went into her bathroom, returned with a warm wet cloth to wash him, kneeling beside him, while he took in her breasts and belly and legs and pubes and bottom, all the magnifi
cent things that went to make up a woman. And realized that he had, at last, fallen in love with her.
‘Have you seen Aunt Lee?’ she asked, her face serious as she worked.
‘Yes. She’s downstairs. So’s supper. I’m starving.’
‘Then you must eat. I’ll come down with you.’ She got off the bed, pulled on a dressing gown, picked up the glass he had left on the dressing table and drank some of it. The simplest gesture in the world, yet the most intimate — somehow, more intimate than the act of love. He felt like bursting into song as he got dressed.
*
They went downstairs, hand in hand. The cold meat, bread, butter, lettuce and tomato were already set on the dining table, together with a bottle of Chablis.
Lee gazed at them in consternation. Poor dear Mom, Fergus thought: doesn’t she yet know what a man and a woman do in a bedroom for half an hour together?
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Everything is just wonderful,’ Fergus told her.
‘But he has only three days,’ Annaliese complained. ‘Only three days.’
Lee gazed at her, hesitated, then kissed her on the cheek. ‘Then you must make the most of them,’ she advised.
Fergus kissed them both and sat down to eat, while the two women sat on either side of him. Robbins poured them each a glass of wine. Annaliese was perfectly relaxed, but Lee kept looking from one to the other, as if expecting them to tell her something. But for God’s sake, Fergus thought: she couldn’t possibly want it spelled out, chapter and verse.
He finished his meal, and Robbins gave him a large Hine. He lit a cigar and leaned back with a sigh.
‘It must be hell, waiting,’ Lee said.
‘There are better ways to spend an evening,’ he agreed. ‘This way. Any news about Dad?’
‘Only that he’s alive and well. And apparently living with a lot of Communists. Can you believe it? Dad?’
‘Well, we’re all on the same side at the moment.’ He finished his brandy and yawned. ‘Would you mind very much if I went to bed?’
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