Fred watched the two men start down the runway, past a line of Dakotas, towards a low huddle of Nissen huts, the civilian purposeful and guardsman-straight –
policeman-straight? – and Number 16 trying to keep up with him, but walking as though his feet hurt, or his shoes didn’t fit. And it continued to feel strange to feel sorry for a German so soon after he had hated them all indiscriminately, and even stranger to feel guilt also.
But . . . vae victis, as the Romans said – as Colonel Colbourne might have said?
‘You don’t want to worry,’ murmured the flight-lieutenant. ‘He’s only a policeman of some sort. And there’s a couple of long-haired types waiting for your prisoner, down in the end hut here – they’re the real reception committee.’
‘He’s not my prisoner, damn it.’
‘Sorry!’ The flight-lieutenant grinned disarmingly.
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‘And you’re right, of course. Because they’re certainly not policemen, is what I mean. In fact, they look more like boffins of some sort, from Cambridge just down the road. So he’s getting the proper VIP treatment.’ He grinned at Fred again, and pointed. ‘And so are you, major: top brass on your reception committee. And you better not keep ’em waiting, because your return flight’s due off at 1500 hours. So cheerio then, major.‘
Fred saw Brigadier Clinton standing on the edge of the tarmac, with another officer beside him and the full length of the runway stretching beyond them. But he couldn’t identify the other man as anyone he’d seen on that night in the Kaiserburg on the limes, or in the Schwartzenburg afterwards, or anywhere in the Teutoburg Forest these last few days.
‘Thank you, Flight-Lieutenant – ’ But the wind blew his thanks away, and the young man had already gone with it, on the wings of his own signed responsibility, prudently leaving Fred and Number 16 each to their reception committees and their respective fates.
Belatedly, Fred felt that he ought to be experiencing some sense of occasion, and couldn’t quite believe that he had overlooked it, after all he’d dared to imagine: because this was his homecoming at long last – even if it was suddenly in the middle of England, not the welcoming White Cliffs of Dover seen from a smelly troopship, which he’d always longed for –
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But Brigadier Clinton was waving at him, acknowledging his presence. And that was the reality of his homecoming, and he had to bow to it, and march towards it.
‘Fred – my dear fellow!’
‘Sir.’ The answer came easily. But already he felt different chains binding him, very different from the old military ones to which he had become accustomed when his soul had not been his own. ‘I’ve just handed . . . Number 16 ... over– ’ To a brigadier, in the presence of an anonymous major of artillery, his salute was automatic, even though it felt foolish ‘ – as per Major M’Corquodale’s orders, in the absence of Colonel Colbourne.’
‘Well . . . thank God for that, then!’ Clinton tossed his head, and then nodded at the gunner. This is Colonel Stocker, Fred. Give your release to him . . . and then we can be done with playing Housey-Housey, thank God!‘
Fred looked directly at the major-who-was-no-longer-a-major, who had a pale desk-bound face which didn’t fit his Royal Artillery badges and his double deck of medal ribbons. And for an instant the scrap of paper fluttered in the wind between them. ‘Sir!’
‘Major Fattorini.’ The new colonel’s mask relaxed slightly, into a curiously old-maidish smile. ‘How are things with TRR-2?’
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Fred didn’t know how to answer that. ‘Sir – ?’
The smile tightened, but the eyes above didn’t change.
‘How have they taken what happened? How is M’Corquodale coping?’
Fred amended his first confused impressions radically.
Gunners (even if they weren’t sappers) were rarely old maids. But, more than that, this was a dyed-in-the-wool Clinton follower. And that called for extra caution.
‘Major M’Corquodale had things well in hand when I left this morning, sir.’
‘Oh yes?’ The gunner colonel cocked his head slightly.
‘And in the absence of Colonel Colbourne – as you put it so diplomatically – what is your official story? About what happened when you finally made contact with Number 16?’
So that was the way the land lay. ‘One of our civilian contacts was bringing in a German for questioning, sir.’ He carefully didn’t look at Clinton. ‘But we had some serious trouble with an armed band of Ukrainian DPs and Russian deserters who were holed-up in the forest. And that was when the adjutant and the RSM
unfortunately became casualties. And one of our German contacts was caught in the cross-fire. And we have one other German civilian in custody, pending further inquiries.’
‘And that is your story?’ The gunner also didn’t look at dummy4
Clinton. ‘And you’re sticking to it?’
‘Yes. Until I’m told otherwise.’ Fred went so far as to touch his battle-dress blouse, over his heart and his envelope. ‘Or until I’m demobilized back to civvy street, sir – whichever comes first.’
‘I told you, Tommy.’ Clinton seemed to speak from far away. ‘He is a sapper . . . and he comes from a long line of close-mouthed merchant bankers. And that’s a damnable mixture.’
‘Yes. Thank you, Freddie.’ The scrutiny still remained.
‘And if I told you that I’ve already talked face-to-face with Colonel Colbourne, major? And if I added my considered opinion that you made a pretty fair balls-up of your first assignment with TRR-2 – what would you say then, major?’
With his envelope safe in his pocket and his feet on English ground, Fred decided that he had nothing to lose, and maybe a lot to gain. ‘I’d say that’s a fair enough opinion – from someone who wasn’t there, sir.’
That just about burnt his boats, and his return ticket to Germany with it, he judged. ‘And then I’d say that maybe I’m due for demob sooner than I’d expected.
But now that I’m in England again at last . . . that won’t be too difficult, sir.’
‘Indeed?’ The gunner smiled his deceptive smile again as he turned at last to Clinton. ‘All right, Freddie: I give you the best with this officer. Or ... I’ll grant you dummy4
him, if not young Audley.’
Even without understanding what the man meant, Fred wasn’t going to let that pass now. ‘I’d also say that Captain Audley is a promising young officer, whatever Colonel Colbourne may say.’
‘You would?’ The gunner nodded slowly. ‘Very well.
So now I will say several things, major: First, Colonel Colbourne will not be returning to Germany. Second, as of this moment I am in command of TRR-2, and when I need your advice I shall ask for it.’
Fred stiffened automatically, and held his tongue.
‘ Third ... I need to promote a new senior NCO or warrant officer, in place of the late and unlamented Mr Levin. So who do you want, then?’ Colonel Stocker closed his mouth on the question, but then opened it again as Fred’s own mouth opened wordlessly.
‘Actually, that wasn’t quite in the right order. I should have said . . . third, you are my new adjutant and second-in-command de facto. Which makes the new RSM – or new senior warrant officer anyway, to run the show – fourth. So who do you want?’
‘Who do I want?’ Fred repeated the words almost automatically. But then they suddenly became a statement of fact, requiring nothing except an adjutant’s instant decision. ‘Sergeant Devenish, sir.’
‘Why Sergeant Devenish?’
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