‘I’m proud of that,’ admitted Pitman. ‘1952 was the toughest year… three of the boys died in as many months.’
‘Tricky Richards, Corporal Arbenz who had the car accident and Moose Menzies. Yes, I remember,’ said Stein. ‘Yeah, that was a real bad year.’
‘I paid out the families without having any proper authority from the syndicate,’ said Colonel Pitman. ‘It was complicated. We were deeply committed to fixed-interest investments.’
‘You did wonders, Colonel.’
‘I’ve always tried to be fair,’ said Pitman, He stopped at a traffic light ‘I was never a great financial brain, or very good at administration. You know that I was never much of a soldier… ’
‘Come on, Colonel! You… ’
‘No. We’re getting too old to go on deceiving ourselves. I was not much of an officer. It was you and Master Sergeant Vanelli who kept us going. Did I tell you that Vanelli died?’
‘Yes, Colonel, you did.’
‘You kept us going. You understood the men better than I ever did.’
‘We were all too gung-ho,’ said Stein.
‘I was a hot-head trying to get the Congressional Medal of Honour in my first hour of combat. Major Carson realized that, he warned me against myself.’
‘You nearly made it, Colonel.’
Pitman allowed himself a faint smile. ‘Yep, I nearly did. Chuck. The trouble was, I wiped out half the company in the attempt.’
‘It’s time you forgot all that, Colonel. You did what seemed best at the time.’
‘Some fine men died that day, Corporal.’ Colonel Pitman’s eyes half closed as he relived the worst and the best moments of his life. ‘Your brother and Major Carson. Arias who tried to get back to the machine-gun. Kaplan and Klein-next-door neighbours who signed on together and stayed together right until the end. Sergeant Scott, who didn’t know how to drive that damned truck but wouldn’t get out of the driver’s seat. Sergeant Packer who said he’d shoot the last man to go forward… ’
‘And then trod on the S mine,’ said Stein.
‘Heroes,’ said Pitman.
‘Not heroes,’ said Stein calmly. ‘Not cowards, Colonel. Not cowards the way that the newspapers and the Limeys and the brass wanted to pretend they were. But not heroes either. It’s time to face up to that, Colonel.’
‘We were raw troops. Even during our combat training we didn’t have more than half a dozen men on the training staff who’d ever heard a shot fired in anger. What chance did we stand against those German veterans?’
‘We ran,’ said Stein softly. ‘We ran, Colonel.’
‘It was politics. Washington wanted Americans in action and wanted them commanded by Eisenhower. It was all part of the political plan to put Eisenhower into the job of Supreme Commander Europe in time for D-day. Without some American blood spilt the Limeys would have got Montgomery into that Supreme Commander slot.’
‘Ike did a good job,’ said Stein. He could not share the colonel’s bitterness. ‘With that son of a bitch Monty in command we’d still be there, waiting to start the invasion.’
‘Why did they wait so long before bringing Georgie Patton in to command the corps?’ said the colonel. ‘The shame of that damned week still remains with me. I remember it every day. Can you understand that, Corporal?’ It was Corporal now, and Pitman’s voice had that shrill ring to it that Stein had not heard for nearly four decades.
‘The top brass were right,’ said Colonel Pitman. ‘I cursed them every day for years, but they were right. We would never have had the guts to go into battle again. We were write-offs… ’
‘Retreads,’ Stein corrected him. ‘OK, so we were humiliated-tankers dumped into a redeployment depot, then relegated to the quartermaster corps-but we did what had to be done. We gave a few years of our lives, and fought the war that put the Nazis out of business.’
‘It was all I ever wanted,’ said Pitman softly. ‘That commission in a first-class unit with men I liked and respected. It broke my heart to see them driving those damned trucks.’
‘And what about after the war?’ Stein said consolingly. ‘We wouldn’t have got a few million bucks in bullion if we’d stayed with those tank destroyers.’
‘I had nothing to lose, that’s why,’ said Pitman, as if an explanation was being forced from him. ‘Could I have gone to lunch at the University Club and returned those stares I would have got after my friends read about Kasserine?’
‘I feel no guilt,’ said Stein stoically. ‘We faced the best the Krauts could throw at us, and we ran. But we slowed them up a little, Colonel, don’t ever forget that.’
‘Don’t fool yourself, Charles. They brushed us aside like bed bugs in a whore house.’ Pitman reached up to adjust the driving mirror.
For a while the two men sat in silence, Pitman driving with exaggerated care, while Stein stared out at the suburbs of Geneva with unseeing eyes. On that warm Saturday evening in August everyone who could afford it was spending the weekend in the countryside or along the lake. These suburban streets were silent and empty.
‘You heard Major Carson order me to turn back,’ said Pitman suddenly. ‘You heard him, didn’t you?’
‘You were absolved, Colonel. I gave evidence to the little curly-haired captain from the judge advocate’s staff who flew down from Algiers. Delaney told him the same. You remember.’
‘Goddamn it, Corporal,’ said Pitman in an uncharacteristic display of bad temper. ‘I’m not asking you whether you got me off the hook. Answer my question: did you hear Major Carson or didn’t you? I need to know.’ He was shouting by now.
Stein looked out of the window. It was all a long time ago. What the hell difference did it make? In Stein’s world, trouble arrived, was dealt with and then forgotten as soon as possible. Why travel back into the past to rake over old worries, when there were so many right here and now, just screaming for attention? Stein looked at his colonel-his bald head made ridiculous by the curly hair around his ears-and then looked back at the wide, graceless streets of the city. No one had heard Carson talking with Pitman. The two officers had deliberately walked far enough away in order to avoid being overheard. Pitman knew that. Stein said, ‘Sure I heard him, Colonel. You didn’t want to pull back but he insisted.’
‘That’s right,’ said Pitman triumphantly. ‘That’s exactly what happened. I was obeying orders.’
Stein nodded. He had other more pressing things on his mind than the colonel’s battle with his conscience. ‘Maybe we both should scram,’ said Stein. ‘We’ll both go to Mexico or Canada. You wait there while I go to New Jersey using my Brazilian passport. I’ll take passport photos of you with me, see Petrucci and bring passport and papers for you.’
‘Shall I keep on the airport road?’ said Pitman. He bit his lip. Why did he always ask Stein what to do?
Stein took his time in replying. Every damned road out of Geneva, except the north lakeside road and the autoroute alongside it, led into France. Stein wondered whether the French CRS men who policed the border crossings would have received orders to detain them. Did the French work that closely with the British? And what would they charge them with? Perhaps the French would simply confiscate the Hitler Minutes as contraband and then deport them; he had heard of such things happening to people time and time again. The Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité were a law unto themselves. ‘The autoroute,’ said Stein.
‘I think we are being followed,’ said Colonel Pitman eyeing the mirror. ‘The same car has been behind us ever since we left Rollins. It’s a white Mini.’
‘Put your foot down. It’s fast, this Jaguar, isn’t it?’
‘I doubt we could pull far away from him,’ said Pitman. ‘I’m not any kind of ace driver. I suppose he must have seen us.’ He flicked the right indicator and watched anxiously until the indicator of the car behind them was also flashing. ‘He’s following us,’ said Pitman. ‘There’s no doubt now.’ He felt another twinge of pain and rubbed his chest. If only he could belch as readily as Stein could.