by Gee, Colin
“Indeed, thank you for asking Crisp.” Hand extended to the unknown British officer, “Sir.”
“THE Ramsey of the Black Watch I presume? Your excellent reputation precedes you Major. Cedric Prentiss, 23rd Hussars.”
Prentiss affected a typical scatty English gent’s accent but his array of decorations informed Ramsey that the man had seen his own fair share of action.
Prentiss turned and resumed his position in a voluminous and extremely comfortable looking armchair, seeking out his brandy glass and enjoying its contents with great satisfaction.
“Good quality stuff here Ramsey. Can’t fault the frogs for that, eh Crisp?”
“They sure can throw a party that’s a fact Colonel. I musta put on ten pounds this last week, even with my running and believe me, these hills are murder!”
Prentiss and Crisp shared a small laugh, but Ramsey was confused.
“All week? My joining instructions say I’m here until Friday and I have the battalion boxing championship to referee on Saturday.”
“Ah, steady old chap,” calmed Prentiss, lighting a Craven A cigarette and holding the pack out to both Majors, who took one on cue. “Our friend Crisp here isn’t staying through choice.”
Lighting first Ramsey’s then his own, Crisp stuck his lighter back in his pocket.
“I rather gathered from earlier that you had problems Major.”
“Yes indeedy. My Colonel decided it wasn’t errr… prudent I think he said, to send a vehicle here on Friday and again today. So I am stuck here until the next man gets here and I can hightail it back in his jeep.”
A silver platter descended in front of Ramsey’s eyes as an orderly brought his requested sandwich. However, this sandwich would have sustained a family of six for a week. Lean cuts of pork and beef, aromatic sausage, tomatoes, salad and pickled vegetables were piled high on a warm and delicious smelling fresh baguette.
To the other two, Ramsey’s face was a picture.
“Say hi to your first two pounds Ramsey,” laughed a very relaxed Crisp.
Prentiss leant forward. “Fortunately Crisp warned me before dinner so I ordered light. We also took the liberty of ordering the wine for you. A light Moselle to ease your feast down old chap.”
Despite the humour at his expense, Ramsey suddenly felt very hungry. He attacked the plate, and listened to his companions pick up where they had left off.
“For myself I am just glad to have survived this ghastly business Crisp. Too many good chaps didn’t. Still, let’s not be maudlin eh?”
“No sir. I did feel aggrieved at not going to the Pacific for the assault, but now I guess it’s meant to be and I will just go out there when the army says it’s good and ready. And then back home and pick up where I left off.”
“Same for me old boy. What did you get up to before the match kicked off?”
Crisp could never quite get used to the understated British descriptions of the bloodiest war the planet had ever seen.
“I had entered my father’s law firm but it isn’t for me. Sure the money was there but now I think I will need more in my life than just money.” Prentiss nodded in agreement and Ramsey tried hard not to choke on a piece of pickled cauliflower.
“Dad will be none too pleased and that’s a fact. Always saw me following in his footsteps all the way to the court, but not now.”
Prentiss waved at an orderly and indicated his and Crisp’s empty glasses.
“Two more brandies, there’s a good fellow. Thank you.”
Again, relaxed back into his chair, Prentiss took his turn.
“Same issues with my kith and kin. Father was very much the politician don’t you know. Dead now, poor blighter. Cannot see myself in that line to be frank. Far too much hot air and duplicity for my taste. Not a career for an honest chap such as myself.”
Both men acknowledged the arrival of full glasses and silently toasted each other, which toast Ramsey joined with his exceptional Moselle.
“Our family has an estate in Bonnie Scotland. Rather hoping I can spend my time there communicating with fellow creatures that neither wish to shoot at me nor intend to deceive me.”
The ‘sandwich’ was getting the better of Ramsey and it showed.
“Struggling old chap? Need a brandy to ease it down?”
“No thank you sir, the wine is quite sufficient. If that is the standard of the food here then I can understand your weight problem Crisp.”
“I’m for dropping the names thing if that’s ok. Call me John.”
That was his second name of course, but it saved explanations.
“Indeed. Call me John too.”
All three smiled broadly as they realised the problem.
“Ok damn it; guess I’m gonna be Marion then,” and holding up his hands dramatically, “Yes there is a story there ok!”
“Well far be it from me to stop this heartfelt comradeship from spreading. You may call me Cam in these present surroundings. And there is a story there too gentlemen.”
Ramsey wiped his mouth on his serviette and fell back into the voluminous chair, stuffed to the brim for the first time since he left Blighty.
Suppressing a satisfied belch, Ramsey rummaged in his pocket.
“Splendid. Now then Marion, you seem to have a story to tell so fire away.”
His Players cigarettes came out and did the rounds before Crisp started.
“Short and sweet version gentlemen. My father has never touched a drop of liquor in his life, until the day I was born that is. Unfortunately, he celebrated mighty hard with my Uncle, who then took him down to the County office, to make my birth official.”
The two British officers had no idea where this story was going.
Crisp’s voice took on the style of an old storyteller starting into a well-loved anecdote.
“Apparently Uncle Ralph was propping Dad up and couldn’t get much sense out of him. Incidentally, he hasn’t touched hard liquor since.”
Crisp grinned at the glass in his hand and, taking a sip of his very large brandy, continued.
“The woman clerk was getting mighty uppity the way Uncle tells it and so he tried hard to get the details from Dad, who was not best placed to be cooperative. Mind you, Ralph is only just a tad more sober than Dad, the way Dad tells it.”
Crisp’s face took on a serious look.
“Don’t forget that Judge John Ryan Crisp, my father, is a man of some distinction and a pillar of the community, which pillar is now, apparently, decidedly horizontal in the county clerks’ office.”
Prentiss stifled a snigger but grinned from ear to ear none the less.
“You see, by this time Dad was lying on the floor singing, leastways Uncle Ralph says he was singin, but Dad isn’t a musical man by nature. Anyway, so there is Ralph on the floor with him, in front of a whole line of people, all with official business in the office, trying to coax the very necessary details of the birth out of a drunken man.”
Both now had the amusing image fixed directly in their minds.
“Apparently, there was much annoyance developing with the good townsfolk and Ralph was told in no uncertain terms that he should get on with it and get Dad the hell out of there.”
More brandy and Ramsey, to his surprise, finished the last of his Moselle.
“And so it was that Uncle Ralph called for silence and asked what the boy’s name was.”
“Bear in mind now, that there is my Dad and Uncle lying side by side on the floor of the county office, with a dozen annoyed people leaning over them, straining to hear the not-so-whispered conversation.”
Adopting affected drunken whispering tones that represented his father and uncle, Crisp re-enacted the scene.
“What’s the boy’s name John?”
“Which boy?” says Dad.
“Your boy,” says Ralph.
‘My boy?’ says Dad.
‘Your boy,’ says Ralph.
“Ah, my boy, my boy.”
“My father spoke my name
and the rest is history.”
More brandy consumed as the climax approached.
“Marion John Crisp was what my Uncle stated to the clerk.”
A pause for full effect, perfectly timed followed.
“Daddy swears he said to Ralph ‘My Ryan’. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”
Neither of the other two heard the second sentence as they were both braying loudly, Prentiss on the verge of choking with glee. They made so much noise that the other officers, mostly French, stopped to see what was entertaining the eccentric British Colonel and his friends.
“Apparently the listeners were divided on what had been said, and an argument occurred. They all decided to stop wasting time and democratically resolved the issue. Majority vote went to Uncle Ralph’s version and the rest is a matter of public record. The clerk wrote it down as fast as her hands could do the deed, just to get them all the hell outta Dodge! ”
“Wonderful Marion, wonderful.”
Ramsey shook his head, still enjoying the metal images conjured up by Crisp’s story.
“That simply isn’t true is it…err….Ryan?”
“It certainly is Cam. You don’t think I could make that up?”
His look of innocence was not convincing but it didn’t matter. It was a damn good story.
“So we will go for Ryan I think. Agreed?”
Prentiss extended his arm and offered his glass forward. The others clinked theirs to his.
“Agreed,” spoken as one.
“Right then sir." Ramsey recovered his poise. “You said Cam?”
“Ah nothing so fabulous and enthralling as our good friend Ryan here. Merely my initials. I am the possessor of some tiresome names and the family shortened them, for which I am extremely grateful.”
“Well I got the Cedric part earlier. Best you ante up with the rest ‘old chap’,” said Crisp, obviously feeling the warm spreading effects of some superior French brandy.
“Quite so Ryan. I am blessed with the names Cedric Arthur Moreton, hence the very simple abbreviation ‘Cam’.”
Both Majors’ brains were working overtime with the additional possibilities.
‘Prentiss?’
“And before either of you ‘gentlemen’ goes further into the possibilities of my initials I should warn you that I make a very implacable enemy!”
Nothing was said but the grins were loud and clear.
All glasses were now empty and Prentiss again beckoned to the passing senior orderly.
“Three more Brandies if you please.”
The old orderly looked extremely uncomfortable.
“I very much regret Colonel Sir Lord; I am under orders to govern the intake of all officers this evening. You are now at the limit set by my General and say I must decline to serve you further. Apologies Colonel Sir Lord. I may serve Commandant Ramsey of course, and Commandant Crisp may continue as he will be leaving us.”
There was not a lot that could be said about that without causing a scene, so Prentiss asked for a Perrier instead.
“Tight ship they run here it seems chaps.”
“Colonel Sir Lord?” ventured Ramsey.
“Yes well, very tiresome. Let’s not be bothered by it. Sure that damn fellow used to wait tables at the Savoy you know.”
The continuing looks from his two companions stirred him further.
“Oh alright. I am Viscount Kinloss, Sir Cedric Arthur Moreton Prentiss, not really a lord chaps, or at least, not a proper one.”
The additional drinks arrived, but neither Major felt comfortable with drinking the fine brandy in front of an envious Prentiss.
“Well Gentlemen,” Prentiss rose, “I will take a short stroll before retiring to my chamber. I do hope to see you both in the morning,” he paused for humorous effect, “My Ryan, but if you are gone my best regards to you for the future. Pop up and see me in my Scottish seat when you get a chance. I will be easy enough to find.”
A hand extended and a firm handshake shared.
“Thank you Cam. It has been real fine to meet you Sir.”
Crisp stepped back to let Prentiss past.
“I will see you again Sir.”
“Indeed you will Ryan. As I will see you in the morning John.”
“Indeed Sir. Cam.” Ramsey swiftly corrected himself.
More handshakes and Prentiss took his leave. “Good night Gentlemen.”
“A good man that, John.”
“He certainly seems to be, Ryan.”
Before the last of the brandy disappeared, Ramsey had a question that was burning away inside.
“So tell me Ryan. You have done the week here. What’s the story?”
Crisp considered his reply, factoring in the closing words of the French Brigadier General last Friday afternoon.
“John, I cannot spoil the surprise but I will tell you this. You and I are soldiers and both of us have seen combat and all it has to offer. You will meet some more soldiers this week and they will teach you a very great deal about war. This has been a week I will never forget. And that is all I can tell you my friend.”
Both men stood on cue and firmly shook hands.
“I wish you well Major John Ramsey.”
“All the best to you Major Ryan Crisp.”
Crisp returned to his room as the clock was striking midnight and was asleep within minutes. Ramsey followed close behind.
Neither man expected to see the other again. They were both wrong.
Across Europe a line had been drawn. It could not be seen. It could not be touched.
None the less, it was real, and it marked a divide.
A divide not just between Armies but also between ideals and philosophies.
The western side of that divide lay at rest, save for a few men patrolling the line, guarding their sleeping comrades and the civilians of liberated Europe.
On the other side of that divide, there was little rest, as men gathered themselves and prepared to unleash hell.
The greater the state, the more wrong and cruel its patriotism, and the greater is the sum of suffering upon which its power is founded.
Leo Tolstoy
Chapter 36 – THE GENERAL
0104 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Enns, US Occupied Upper Austria.
Finally, the barge nudged into the modest moorings at their destination. After a long journey up the Donau, they had turned into the tributary river, also bearing the name of the city they were about to enter.
Enns was asleep, or so it seemed, the sole sounds of note were now the gurglings of its eponymous river, although the striking of one o’clock by the clock in the famous Enns Tower had only recently faded away into the night.
Uhlmann and Braun were tucked away in the hold, and Pförzer left Shandruk in the wheelhouse as he greased the palm of the bored sentry, who immediately slid away to secrete his bottle of Stroh rum, ready to sample later when he was relieved.
Quickly the group converged on the wooden stage and followed Pförzer’s giant frame as it slid between flimsy wooden structures before stopping at the door of a solid brick building.
With the padlock removed, Pförzer opened the door and counted the group in before closing it behind him.
It was pitch black inside but clearly Hub knew his way around and within seconds two candles were burning brightly, granting enough light for the surroundings to become clear. Within the building, whatever it was, for there were no openings save the one door, the roving eyes saw crate after crate of goods. Bottles of whisky and wine, stacks of cigarettes, smoked meats hanging from ceiling hooks. There were perfumes, nylons, and army ration boxes by the dozen.
Rolf picked up an opened bottle of Courvoisier Napoleon Champagne cognac and then marvelled at the dozen or so bottles on the shelf behind it.
“Unfortunately Kameraden, we need clear heads tonight, “ said Pförzer, carefully taking the Courvoisier from Rolf’s hands and indicating some bottles of Hungarian ‘Egri Bikavér’ and olive drab cans of Budweiser
beer.
A bottle of the ‘Egri’ or ‘Bull’s Blood’ as it was more commonly known was quickly opened. Small measures were poured whilst Pförzer scurried around the storeroom, gathering food which he set before them on a wooden board perched on a crate.
A reasonably fresh loaf of bread was hacked open and consumed with slices of Liptauer cheese, frankfurter sausages, and cornichons. A stone jar of Powidl apricot jam appeared and swiftly became a favourite with Shandruk.
Quickly disappearing into his treasure trove, Pförzer returned with three wristwatches, giving each man one in turn, British Army Vertex style for Uhlmann and Shandruk, and a US Army Hamilton design for Braun.
Once the edge was off their hunger and they had settled to more relaxed eating, Pförzer set out his plan.
“As you can see, I am not unfamiliar with the city of Enns, Kameraden.”
He pushed the Liptauer to one side and put down a sheet of paper. Pulling a pencil from an inside pocket, he quickly drew a few lines and squares.
Looking up to make sure all were paying attention, he continued.
“This is the Hotel Lauriacum, where tonight sleeps the man we need to see.” The pencil switched locations. “Here is the place where my American friend is billeted.”
He indicated some lines running back from the billet to the square that obviously represented their present location.
“This is the track I use to conduct my business with him. I think we should be ok getting close to here,” he indicated one of the horizontal lines and labelled it ‘Basteig’ and made a circle.
“This is a fire damaged house. Deserted. It will be safe enough and we will stop there.”
He stifled a small belch with his one good hand.
“Obviously we have the curfew. I have my papers, which permit me to be out. You three do not, so you must shadow me as I walk openly ok?”
He looked up at Rolf and received an accepting nod.
“Good. I will then go on and speak with my contact. You will be safe there, no problem. However, from that point we have no plan of course, and we must improvise as we go. My friend will help, if I can make him see the urgency of this.”