The Devil's Pact (2013)

by James Holland

  Tanner had stood over the medic, watching him tighten the tourniquet around Peploe’s thigh. His friend looked in a terrible way: bloodied and battered. Unconscious.

  ‘What do you think?’ he had asked the medic.

  ‘We got to him quickly,’ he said. ‘He’s still alive. If we can get him to a hospital quickly he might make it.’

  ‘He might?’ said Tanner. ‘Only as good as that?’

  ‘With a bit of luck he’ll pull through.’

  Tanner had walked with the stretcher-bearers back to the far side of the valley. B Company were still following through, small-arms fire resounding from beyond the valley towards Sortino. He’d seen Ivo Macdonald, who had hurried over to him. ‘Jack, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand it. I ordered the FOO not to open fire. I specifically ordered him not to.’

  ‘We know who was responsible for this,’ Tanner had snarled.

  He’d not seen Creer. Not then. It had been just as well. Rage had consumed him. He’d told Peploe the truth: he’d never murdered before, but he would have done then, gladly.

  And so his great friend had gone, patched up, taken away by stretcher-bearers, and bundled into an ambulance. Was he alive or dead? With a bit of luck … With a bit of luck, he was out of the field hospital and on a ship back to Malta, away from the war, away from Creer. Safe. Three years they’d fought together, been friends, confidants. He would miss Peploe. He would miss him terribly.

  At least he still had Sykes. He glanced at him now, watched him smoking his cigarette in the way he always did, almost cupped in his hand between thumb and finger.

  ‘We’re all going to miss him,’ Sykes said, reading Tanner’s thoughts. ‘Him and Mac. I try not to get sentimental when blokes get the chop, but it’s hard with them two. Mac was a hell of a good lad, and the major – well, they should have kept him as OC. God knows what the desk-wallahs were thinking.’

  ‘I just hope he’s all right.’

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’s a fighter.’ Sykes began making himself another cigarette. ‘The battalion’s changed, hasn’t it? You remember when we first joined? You and me were right outsiders, weren’t we? Me from London, you from the country down in the south. Surrounded by Yorkshiremen, we were, but now look. All sorts. Hey, Kernow, whereabouts in Cornwall are you from?’

  ‘Bohortha, sir. It’s near Falmouth.’

  ‘Didn’t fancy joining the Navy, then?’

  ‘No. We’re farmers, not fishermen.’

  Tanner smiled. ‘It’s not just the battalion that’s changing. Everything is. Better kit, plenty of air cover, soldiers being promoted through the ranks. They’ll be giving you a commission next, Stan.’

  Sykes laughed. ‘No chance. Wouldn’t take it anyway. I like where I am now. Best of both worlds, if you ask me. I was never in it for the money.’

  ‘And you think I was?’ Tanner grinned.

  They were silent for a moment, and then Sykes said in a low voice, ‘So what we going to do about Creer?’

  ‘I was all for lynching him yesterday,’ said Tanner, ‘but you and Fauvel stopped me.’

  ‘And with good reason. I know what you’re like when you get the rage. You probably would have bloody killed him and then you’d have been strung up too. The captain and I kept you away for all the right reasons, let me tell you that, Jack.’

  Tanner said nothing.

  Sykes picked a bit of loose tobacco from his teeth, then said, ‘I don’t want to add to your woes, but that story’s still doing the rounds. You murdering that bloke. It’s now moved on so that you murdered Gulliver too.’

  Tanner sighed. ‘Do you know what, Stan? I’m not sure I give a toss any more. Yesterday, maybe, but not now. They can think what they bloody well like.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve been nosing about a bit. Turns out Croaker told Stainforth, his batman.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘And, of course, Stainforth told his mates, who told their mates and so on. Chinese whispers.’

  ‘He’s doing it to undermine me,’ said Tanner.

  ‘Of course, but two can play at that game, can’t they?’ He looked at Tanner, a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Yes, I suppose they can.’

  ‘The blokes like me, Jack, and they know me. I’ve been with the battalion for bloody ever. And, unlike Blackstone and Creer and their sort, I don’t win them over by running some kind of battalion protection racket. That counts for something at times like this, I reckon.’

  ‘What are you thinking? We need to be careful. Start blaming him openly for what happened yesterday and it could damage the whole battalion. That’s not the way.’

  ‘I agree. You need to deal with that. Major Macdonald knows the truth, doesn’t he? He ordered that FOO not to fire, but was overruled by Croaker. You need to write to the brigadier, and get it signed by Macdonald and maybe some of the others. I’ll put my name to that. So would Captain Fauvel and Mr Shopland.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘And send copies to General Dempsey and even Alexander. Don’t get mad, get even, as my American pals would say.’

  ‘Exactly. So you leave the rumour-mongering to me, and you get on with writing that letter. We’ll play that bastard at his own game and he’ll be gone soon enough.’

  ‘Just so long as he doesn’t kill us first.’

  ‘I won’t let that happen, and nor will you.’

  Tanner smiled. ‘Thanks, Stan.’

  Another brief silence arose. Tanner glanced at Sykes. ‘Come on, what is it? Spit it out.’

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, will you? I mean, I know you’ve been hit hard by Mac and the major. But we all have. The lads – they’re pretty low. They’ve fought bloody well since we landed but yesterday’s victory doesn’t feel like one.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ve neglected them.’

  ‘We’ve lost almost a third of our strength and mostly because of our own shells. I’ve done what I can, and so has Captain Fauvel, but they need you. You’re the boss.’

  Tanner got to his feet. He suddenly felt ashamed. He’d been wallowing in self-pity, which was not the behaviour of an officer and company commander.

  Sykes stood up too. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Tanner nodded, then gripped his friend’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, Stan,’ he said. ‘That bastard’s not going to win.’

  Sykes winked. ‘That’s the spirit. Don’t get mad, get even. I like that. That’s exactly what we’ll do.’

  At Brigade Headquarters in Syracuse, Colonel Creer listened to Brigadier Rawstorne outline the plans for the next stage of the campaign. German troops had arrived – information was a little hazy, but from a couple of prisoners, it seemed they were facing a German battle group known as ‘Group Schmalz’. This, Rawstorne told him, was probably brigade strength and made up of troops from the Hermann Göring division.

  ‘But we have two divisions against them, us in the Fifth, and the Fiftieth, so we mustn’t be cowed. We’ve faced sterner opposition than this Schmalz Group before.’ Rawstorne leaned on the map table. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘Monty’s got an ace up his sleeve. This bridge, here, over the river Simeto is the key.’ He pointed to a river some seven miles south of Catania. ‘Primosole Bridge. We’ve got an airborne drop going in tonight. The Paras are going to land north and south of the bridge and take it intact. They’ll establish a blocking position half a mile to the north in case of any counterattack. Our job is to make sure we smash through Villasmundo. We’ve got Thirteenth Brigade pushing on towards Lentini and some commandos are being landed at Agnone as well. Monty’s bullish. Reckons we’ll be in Catania before the weekend.’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan, sir,’ said Creer. ‘What will our role be, sir?’

  ‘You chaps will be in reserve for the time being. We’re pleased with the Rangers’ performance so far, but what the hell happened yesterday?’

  Creer cleared his throat. ‘A rather inexperienced FOO, I fear,’ he said. ‘When I spoke to him, he told me the attack ha
d become bogged down. He said he could fire ahead of them. The situation was compounded by Major Peploe disobeying my direct orders in attacking without artillery support.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like Peploe. In any case, you’d decided to launch a silent assault, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but we had been allocated a battery of twenty-five-pounders and it seemed prudent to have them in support in case we needed them.’

  Rawstorne eyed him. ‘All right. These things happen in war, I know. And maybe your FOO wasn’t quite up to it. But I want a written report on this.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Creer’s stomach churned.

  ‘And who’s going to be your new two i/c?’

  ‘I thought Major Mallinson, sir. B Company.’

  ‘What about Tanner?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir. There are a few question marks over Tanner, sir.’

  ‘Really? I hear his company have led the way so far. Led the assault on D-Day, took that gun position and Cassibile and led the attack yesterday.’

  ‘That’s true, sir, but Mallinson is a major and deserves his chance.’

  ‘So does Tanner. He’s the most experienced soldier you’ve got and the most decorated for that matter. It would reflect well on you, Creer. A man who has risen through the ranks like that.’

  Creer felt the blood draining from his face. ‘I’m not sure how far Tanner can be trusted, sir. There are rumours going around the battalion that he murdered a man.’

  ‘Rumours? Any facts?’

  ‘A man from the Wiltshires was caught up with our lot in the landings. He recognized Tanner. Apparently, Tanner murdered a man, fled, changed his name and joined the Army, sir. Later in the day, this man was killed.’

  Rawstorne raised a hand. ‘Sounds like poppycock to me, Creer. Rumours and nothing more. The chaps thrive on such tittle-tattle. Have a quiet man-to-man with Tanner and ask him straight. In any case, the British Army has always been full of murderers, thieves and disreputable types. As long as they fight well and don’t thieve or murder our own, who are we to care?’

  Creer smiled weakly. ‘I suppose so, sir.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t met any bad hats before – all that time out in India you must have run into a few, eh?’

  ‘One or two, sir, yes.’

  ‘There you go, then. You’re to make Tanner your second-in-command, Creer, and he’s to be promoted to temporary major with immediate effect. Captain Fauvel will take over A Company. We’ll get replacements to you just as soon as we can, but in the meantime, the Rangers will remain in reserve.’

  Soon after, Creer was dismissed. Driving back to Melilli with Stainforth he stared out at the passing scenes. Syracuse had been only lightly hit, but there were still collapsed houses, rubble spilling onto the streets, and even a burned-out Sherman tank. Italians watched them speed by.

  ‘I have to admit, sir,’ said Stainforth, ‘I’d no idea these Eyeties were so poor. You’d never have thought it from the newsreels of Mussolini before the war, would you? I mean, look at ’em. Most of the kids haven’t got any shoes. Skin and bone. Terrible, really. What beats me is why old Mussolini went to war in the first place, cos he clearly weren’t up to it.’

  Creer glanced at him. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. Just saying how the Italians all look half starved.’

  ‘Their bloody fault for allowing that imbecile to take charge.’ He turned his head away, and began chewing one of his fingernails. Bloody Rawstorne, he thought, then cursed himself. He’d been foolhardy. The A Company attack on the Sortino position – he hadn’t thought it through properly, he realized now. So Peploe had been taken out of the equation – might even be dead by now – but Tanner was still alive, turning up like the bad bloody penny he always had been. And he hadn’t reckoned on Ivo Macdonald being there with that idiot Stokes. He would have to ensure Stokes took the rap when it came to writing the report. He’d have to talk to Macdonald too. For God’s sake! He tapped a hand on his leg. And now Tanner was his new second-in-command. He groaned inwardly. Tanner, Tanner, Tanner. What was he going to do about him?

  He thought hard. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing. Better the devil you know. He would be taking Tanner away from A Company, and Sykes and Fauvel and those NCOs he appeared to have known since the start of the war. What was more, when the Rangers next went into battle, he would be able to make sure Tanner went too, which was more than could be said for A Company. Having faced the brunt of the fighting so far and, thanks to yesterday, now much depleted, he knew he could not send them into the van of an attack again – not until the other companies had had their turn, at any rate.

  Creer smiled to himself. Next time the Rangers went into action, they would be led by Major Tanner.

  15

  Tanner couldn’t sleep. The ground was hard, his bedding simple, but these were not the reasons. A rubberized canvas rain cape that doubled as a ground sheet and two blankets, one for a pillow, the other to wrap around himself, were hardly the lap of luxury but he, like the rest of the men, was well used to sleeping rough. A few hours at night was all he needed, with a handful of catnaps, if possible, during the day, to recharge his body’s batteries. That night, though, his mind refused to find the sleep that usually came all too easily.

  The air was still. No breeze, just the faint snores and coughs from the other men. He could hear Fauvel, sleeping nearby, breathing heavily. Tanner sat up, drank some water from his bottle, then lay down again on his back, staring up at the branches of the olive tree above him and the twinkling stars beyond.

  His thoughts turned to McAllister once more. The fear in the lad’s eyes haunted him, as though Mac, so hardened after three years of war, had become a boy again. Tanner tried to banish the image; it was unlike him to dwell on death like this. After all, he’d seen a lot worse. War rarely killed people cleanly; the Italian officer had been fortunate in that regard. Modern war, with its shards of white-hot jagged metal hurtling through the air at lightning speeds, made human flesh and bone seem very soft indeed. A head might be ripped off as easily as the stalk of a tomato, or a body sliced in two as if a knife had passed through soft butter. A bullet could cause the most horrific, deforming exit wounds.

  He closed his eyes and told himself to think of something else, but found Mac’s dying form replaced instead by an image of his father, lying there in the wood. It was dark, lit only by the moon, and, like McAllister, his father’s stomach was a dark, sticky mess of blood. Tanner was lying beside him, his father’s head in his lap, urging him to stay alive.

  ‘They’ve got me this time,’ his father was saying.

  ‘No, Dad. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Listen to me, Jack,’ his father was telling him, ‘you’ll be all right. You’re smart, you’re strong, you know how to look after yourself.’

  ‘Shush, Dad. Please.’

  ‘Listen to me. Promise me this, Jack. It’s an unequal world we live in, but you must always stand by your beliefs. Stick up for yourself. Do what you think is right. Understand? Do what is right.’ He had spluttered and Tanner had seen blood pour from his mouth. His father had gripped him. ‘Promise me.’

  ‘I promise. Dad, you’ll be all right.’ His father’s grip had loosened. ‘Come on, wake up, hold on. You’ve got to.’ But it was over. His father had gone. Murdered at almost point-blank range by the poachers he had been trying to catch for weeks. He’d survived three years of the trenches, only to be cut down by a bunch of local thugs he’d known since they were boys.

  There hadn’t been a day since then when Tanner hadn’t thought of his father. He’d tried to keep the promise he’d made him too. Do what you think is right. Earlier, Creer had summoned him and offered him promotion to major and Peploe’s old position as second-in-command. Tanner had been completely wrong-footed. After a brief moment when he had wondered whether he had heard right, he had refused.

  ‘I’m offering you an olive branch,’ Creer had said. ‘I did when I
first joined the battalion and I’m doing so again now. I’m trying to put our differences from the past behind us. For the sake of the men.’

  ‘For the sake of the men!’ Tanner had laughed incredulously. ‘But you’re a murdering bastard. You ordered the shelling of your men. Of me and my men.’

  He had watched Creer visibly wince. ‘No, Jack. If you remember, Peploe went in with the attack against my direct orders—’

  ‘Because the orders were completely impossible to carry out! We had agreed a silent attack, but that attack had to go in at very first light. If we’d waited any longer it would have been too late.’

  ‘And yet the attack became bogged down.’

  ‘Hardly. We’d taken four of the six pillboxes before the stonk began.’

  ‘Then the fault was the FOO’s. He was my eyes and ears. I gave the order to fire on the advice of an experienced artillery officer.’

  ‘That’s bollocks. Major Macdonald has vastly superior experience to any gunner subaltern. He had all the fire support we needed and he specifically ordered the FOO not to fire. You countermanded that.’

  ‘I did what was best for the attack. After that ten-minute stonk the position was won. In command one has to make tough decisions. I understand that, Jack.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. It was already won. That stonk wiped out a third of my company. If we’d needed extra fire support, we’d have called for it. At best, sir, you showed gross incompetence, at worst, you were willingly firing on me, Peploe and my men.’

  Tanner could see the fury in Creer’s face, his jaw muscles twitching, his fists clenched.