Fortunes of War

by Olivia Manning

  ‘That’s what they said about the scorpion.’

  ‘I know, sir, but you don’t have to kill scorpions. The other’s different — it’s what we’re here for.’

  Following the attack on the enemy trucks, there was a long period when no enemy was seen. Ridley had discovered that the New Zealanders had been moved to an encampment near the Ridge and Captain Hugo Boulderstone was still with them. As the days passed vacuous with sun, heat and the drone of flies, Simon decided to make another application for leave to visit his brother. The major, his glasses trained, as usual, on nothing, turned fiercely at Simon’s request.

  ‘You mad, Boulderstone, or something?’

  ‘I just thought, sir . . .’

  ‘It’s not your job to think. Your job is to stand by and await orders.’

  Going back to his bivouac, he murmured to Ridley, ‘The major does great work with those field glasses.’

  Ridley, inflating his cheeks, let the air break through closed lips but that was his only comment. Now that Hardy was in command, Ridley did not openly criticize him and Simon felt the need to justify his remark.

  ‘I asked for leave to visit my brother and he jumped down my throat.’

  ‘Not surprising, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. They say on the intercom the Kiwis are up to something.’

  ‘An attack?’

  ‘Could be, but don’t worry, sir. Might be no more than a twitch.’

  A few days later, waking before dawn, Simon heard the rumble of distant artillery and the thud of aerial bombardment, and knew this was the attack. He imagined Hugo in the midst of it. He sat up on his elbow and saw Ridley, wearing nothing but his drawers, peering between the leaguered lorries in the direction of the hill. A waning moon, a big, lop-sided face, cast a dismal half-light over the camping area. Going to Ridley, Simon whispered, ‘What’s up?’

  Ridley whispered back at him, ‘Don’t know, sir, but it’s my belief jerry’s up to something over there.’ He nodded towards the hill where lights, faint, as from a dark lantern, were moving on the upper slopes.

  ‘Think I should wake the major, sarge?’

  ‘No point. Can’t do much before sparrow-fart.’

  But Simon, unable to contain his information, went to where Hardy lay and finding him awake, excitedly reported what had been seen.

  ‘Who saw these lights?’

  Simon had to admit that Ridley saw them first. ‘But I confirmed it, sir. I thought you’d want to know at once, sir.’

  ‘Quite right, Boulderstone. When it’s light we’ll let them know we’re here.’

  Rising before dawn, prepared for the noise of gunfire, Simon stood with the other officers beside the HQ truck, seeing the hill appear in the sudden, startling whiteness of first light. They could see black figures moving quickly as though to take cover before day would reveal them.

  Martin shouted an order to the gunners: ‘All right, give them half a dozen rounds.’

  As the guns opened up, the figures fell out of sight. Hardy, surveying the hill through his glasses, said, ‘No sign of life now. Probably only a patrol but I’ll get through to air reconnaissance and advise a check.’

  Soon after, a Leander, slow and sedate like an elderly mosquito, went over the Column and several times circled the hills. Half an hour later the report came that the hill was still occupied and there were signs that the enemy was turning it into a miniature fortress. The ground before it on the east, had been disturbed as though mines had been laid, and store puts for weapons had been dug on the western side.

  The guns started again and continued their fire at intervals during the afternoon. After the four o’clock brew-up, Simon and Trench were ordered to report to Hardy. The HQ truck was dug into the shelter of a rock ridge and Hardy and Martin were lying on top of the ridge, both training field glasses on the hill.

  Simon and Trench, standing a couple of yards apart, did not look at each other as they waited. Though circumstances forced them to associate, they did not do it willingly. Each felt in the other an awareness that something was wrong, though neither could have said what it was. Even now, sharing the anxiety of the summons, antagonism was alive between them.

  Hardy, turning his head to look at them, gave a long sigh of dissatisfaction, saying, ‘The enemy’s still in position. I hoped our fire would rout them but there’s more of them than we thought. The trouble is, we’re short of ammunition.’ He said something to Martin then slid down from the ridge and spoke to his two lieutenants. ‘There’s nothing for it, I’m afraid, but to send in the infantry. Make a direct attack, give them a blow, a real knock-out, that’ll drive them off the hill.’

  Both young men said, ‘Yes, sir,’ sounding as enthusiastic as they could. Simon, glancing obliquely at Trench, saw him staring at his feet, his fine, long mouth half open, obviously uncertain what was expected of him.

  Hardy said, ‘You’ll lead your platoons into action tomorrow, starting out before dawn.’

  Simon again glanced at Trench and seeing his lips quiver, thought, ‘He’s more scared than I am.’ For a moment, he felt a gleeful sense of triumph, then his own fear came over him. When they met later for the evening meal, Simon, for the first time since Trench joined the Column, felt able to speak freely to him. ‘Do you think we should leave letters or write out cables, or something?’

  ‘You mean, for our people?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got a wife, too. What do you think?’

  They had heard of men writing letters, letters that often enough proved to be letters of farewell, and they self-consciously considered whether or not to do the same thing. Trench decided, ‘I don’t think we should. It’s a bit like asking for it.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  Sharing the immediacy of the attack, their antagonism seemed to have gathered itself together and vanished like the mirage. They began reminding each other of incidents during their days on the Queen Mary and almost at once their old sense of intimate understanding came back. Remembering their laughter on board ship, they started to laugh again, recalling Codley’s jokes. Their excitement was like a renewal of love but it was a febrile excitement. They could not put from their minds the fact that at daybreak they would be under fire. Yet the laughter, like alcohol, gave them a sort of courage and they were still together, scarcely able to bear the thought of being separated, when Hardy came round the camp. He stopped beside them. ‘Boulderstone? Trench? Try and get some sleep before the balloon goes up.’ He spoke kindly, as he might to his own children, and both men were emotional with gratitude and a willingness to obey him to the end.

  Simon did not expect to sleep but he was sleeping when the guard’s voice roused the camp. ‘Wakey, wakey, you lazy bastards.’ Sitting up in the darkness, he found Arnold standing beside him and asked, ‘For God’s sake, Arnold, what time is it?’

  ‘Three ak emma, sir.’

  The reason for waking at that hour was too shocking to contemplate. The men rose groaning and swearing at the intense cold. Simon, in a daze, could not contemplate the ordeal ahead but maintained a sort of half sleep, stumbling as he pulled on his sweater. Hardy was also up and when the two platoons assembled he came, fully dressed, to tell them that Martin and his artillery would accompany them and give them covering fire. The sappers would go in first to check whether or not mines had been laid at the base of the hill.

  Waiting for the all clear, the men silent behind him, Simon had to swallow down the nausea that rose from the pit of his stomach. If it forced itself up, where, he wondered, could he go to vomit unseen? But it remained what it was, a phantom nausea, a sickness of the nerves, and as soon as they moved, he forgot about it.

  The enemy seemed to be on the alert. Repeated gun flashes dotted the German positions and the men, who were in close order, instinctively kept closer than need be as they marched into no-man’s-land. The moon had set and they moved by starlight. There was little to see and Simon thought it unlikely that anyone had seen them, yet, a few hun
dred yards from their objective, a flare went up from the hill-top, blanching the desert and revealing the two close-knit platoons. Immediately there was uproar. Red and yellow tracer bullets, like deadly fireworks, passed overhead and machine-guns kept up their mad, virulent rattle. Simon shouted, ‘Run for it,’ but the men had not waited for an order. They were running for their lives through the shrieking, whistling, rustling, thunder-filled air.

  Pelting towards the hill, Simon told himself, ‘We’re running straight into it,’ but the hill itself was cover. Simon’s platoon had arrived without loss and he called to Trench, ‘What about your chaps?’ Trench’s breathless voice came to him from the darkness, ‘All right, I hope.’

  There was no let up by the gunners on the hill but now Martin’s artillery was sounding a reply and Simon, crouching with his men, waiting for the barrage to cease, began to hope that the guns would settle the matter. Then Martin came over and, speaking under the noise, instructed him to take his platoon to the left of the hill and advance upwards till battle was joined. Trench and his platoon would go to the right In a low, grumbling tone that suggested the whole business was something of a bore, Martin told both the young men, ‘The order is: accept no more casualties than the situation justifies.’

  Simon’s voice had become a croak as he asked, ‘Casualties, sir?’

  ‘Pull yourself together, Boulderstone. D’you imagine there won’t be casualties? Now — go in and show fight.’

  The firing had stopped but as Simon started to move off, Martin seemed to change his mind. He said, ‘Wait.’ No sound came from the hill and for an elated moment Simon imagined the enemy had been wiped out, then the machine-guns began again.

  The sky broke and a livid light showed them to each other. Looking from one drawn face to another, Simon thought, ‘We’re mad to be here.’ Ridley, head hanging morosely, was waiting to fix up a field telephone. Martin was also waiting, no one knew for what. Arnold gave Simon an affectionate, reassuring smile as though he had been through all this before and he knew it would be all right.

  ‘Now,’ Martin whispered, ‘get on with it Give the hun a bloody nose. Should be a piece of cake but if you hit a snag, send a runner back and we’ll sort you out. If we can. Off you go, and good luck.’

  Glancing back, Simon had a glimpse of Trench’s face miserably contracted and he thought, ‘Poor old Trench.’ He, himself, was revivified now action had begun. Reaching the left flank of the hill, he drew his revolver and ordered his men to fan out. They made their way crabwise up the grey, cinderous lower slopes. Their feet, sinking into the ground, made little noise but the defenders were prepared for them. As the first of them came in sight of the machine-guns, hand grenades showered down on them. They bent double, drawing together for mutual protection while Simon shouted, ‘Fan out . . . fan out,’ not expecting to be obeyed.

  A palisade of flat stones and rocks had been built at the crown of the hill. Seeing a head rise above it, a hand lifted to pitch a grenade, Simon fired, and was amazed to see the man leap up and fall backwards. His shot, his first shot with intent to kill, had found its mark. He had wounded someone, or even killed him. Either way, he’d put one jerry bastard out of action. The satisfaction intoxicated him. In his excitement, he lost all sense of danger and did not hear Arnold shouting, ‘Keep down, sir. For God’s sake, keep down.’ In an ecstasy of joy, he rushed into a fusillade of machine-gun bullets, thinking he had discovered the thing he had wanted all his life.

  His euphoria faltered when a bullet whined past his ear. He realized the ground about him was bouncing with bullets and Arnold’s cries suddenly made sense. He threw himself down behind a rock and saw that the other men had taken cover. The cover was not much. The upper slopes of the hill were littered with rocky outcrops but so low that the men were lying behind them with their heads down. The battle now settled into a give and take of rifle fire, then a howl of anguish went up. The Germans had hurled a mortar bomb. Arnold, dodging from rock to rock, reached Simon and lay down beside him. ‘Three chaps hit, sir. Two badly. One of them a gonner.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  The dead man was Brookman and Simon asked himself how many casualties the situation did justify? The machine-gun fire, having died down, opened up on the right-hand side of the hill. He realized that Trench was getting it and he was free to act He said to Arnold, ‘Run back. Tell Martin we’ve been under heavy fire but there’s a lull. Say I propose to rush the enemy lines. Ask for further orders.’

  Arnold went down the hill in leaps and Simon ordered the others to fix bayonets and wait. If they went in soon, they could draw the fire off Trench. Here was an opportunity to rush the palisade and perhaps behind it there was no more than a token force. He became impatient of the delay and looking down the hill, saw that Arnold had just started the ascent. Bent low, he was taking it cautiously. Simon shouted to him to hurry and, eager to comply, he straightened himself, ran forward, threw up his arms and fell.

  Simon called to him, but he did not move. Screaming his name, Simon ran down to where he lay, white faced, eyes open. He had been hit in the chest. In spite of the fixed stare, Simon believed that something might still be done for him. Testing his weight, finding him light enough to carry, Simon lifted the thin, young body on to his shoulder and went at a half-run down to the foot of the hill.

  Astounded by the sight of him, Martin shouted in fury, ‘You damned fool, what do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘It’s Arnold. He’s my batman and driver. He’s been shot in the chest.’

  ‘Put him down at once and get back to your men.’

  ‘You’ll look after him, won’t you?’

  ‘Get back, I tell you. You could be court-martialled for this.’

  By the time he reached the hill-top, the Germans had leapt the palisades and had met his platoon in hand-to-hand combat. Coming face to face with a blond, pink-skinned German youth, Simon fired in a fury, saying, ‘Damn you. Damn the lot of you,’ and the pink face opened and spilt out redness, like a pomegranate.

  This was hatred, all right. Simon felt he could do battle with the lot of them but the defenders had already had enough. They turned, scrambled back over the palisade and stumbled down the western side of the hill. Their trucks awaited them and as the victors bawled after them in triumph, they piled in and drove towards the main German positions.

  Returning to base, Ridley caught up with Simon to say, ‘Not a bad show, sir.’

  ‘Not too bad, sarge.’

  ‘You heard, sir? Mr Trench copped it.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Dead as mutton, poor bloke. They say, just before he was hit, he was putting up a tremendous fight.’

  ‘Just what I’d expect,’ Simon said, ashamed that he had expected nothing of the sort. He could not understand now his earlier contempt for Trench. Trench and Arnold had been his friends and he had lost them both. He wondered, as Arnold had wondered when Ted and Fred went from him, how he could live without them.

  The engagement had cost the Column eight men, all told. The bodies were brought back and buried before supper. Hardy said to Simon, ‘You acted unwisely, leaving your men, but I understand your desire to help Arnold. You did pretty well, so we’ll forget what happened. Have you anything to say?’

  Looking back over the events of the day, Simon could think of nothing. He shook his head. Bereaved and very tired, he only wanted sleep.

  Eight

  A new general came to displace Auchinleck. The displacement was discussed in Cairo but no one could say why one general had gone and the other had taken over the command. Harriet, walking in Suleiman Pasha, saw Auchinleck on the opposite pavement. It was, she learnt later, the very day on which he was leaving Egypt for good. She stopped to watch him. He was a very tall man with a grave, handsome face and a broad brow: the ideal of those leaders, those demi-gods, whom she had seen as ordering the lives of common men, yet he, too, owed obedience and had been sent away. Though she had not met him and would probably nev
er see him again, she felt a profound sadness as she watched him disappear into the indifferent crowd.

  Harriet, too, had lost her import, small though it was. No one now asked her for news because she knew no more than anyone else. If, among all the rumours that spread out from civilian ignorance, she learnt of some true event, she could not act upon it or pin it to a map. She wanted to replace her job at once and put it about that she was free and looking for work, but there was little work for English women civilians in Egypt.

  She asked Guy if she could take up Miss Pedler’s job in the library but before anything could be decided, Miss Pedler returned. Most of the evacuees, tired of life in the Jerusalem camp, were finding their way back to Cairo though nothing had happened to change the situation from which they had fled. The very fact that nothing had happened was satisfactory enough. An invader who was so long in coming might not come at all.

  Even Pinkrose had returned. The Pringles, going into Groppi’s to meet Aidan Pratt, saw Pinkrose sitting in front of a plate of cakes. It was mid-day, the sun burnt through the canvas of the umbrella, but Pinkrose was muffled like a Bedouin and perhaps for the same reason. He hoped his hat, scarf and woollen suit would protect him against the heat. His hat pulled down to his eyes, his scarf up to his nostrils, he was intent on four cakes, creamed, candied, decorated with fruit and sweets, the richest that Groppi could provide. His problem was which to eat first.

  When Guy and Harriet stopped beside him, he did not lift his head but put out a hand as though warding them off. He slid his eyes up at the intruders and said, ‘Ah, Pringle, it’s you!’ Having accepted the invitation to lecture, he had to accord Guy some slight civility.

  Guy said, ‘You know I’ve been appointed Director here?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I gathered that. Um, um, I gathered that.’

  ‘I feel I have you to thank for the appointment. It was, I believe, the result of your cable to Bevington.’