Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  The next three days had seen continued fighting, particularly in the north where the Australians had been caught up in vicious battles near Tel El Eisa near to the coast. Vaughan had visited one infantry battalion that had fewer than a hundred and fifty men left – more than seventy-five per cent were now casualties.

  Only once had he seen the chief flustered and that was when General Alexander had visited Tac HQ the previous day, with Dick McCreery, his chief of staff, and the minister of state, Dick Casey, in tow. Monty had presented his visitors with his plans for his final offensive, which he had codenamed, with typical vigour, Supercharge. As with the opening of the battle, it was a night-time infantry attack with the armour behind and following, launched in the north through the Australian position. Not so wide this time, either – just four thousand yards – and neither were there the vast numbers of mines to clear. The RAF would play its part too, pounding the enemy in a sustained round-the-clock bombing before the barrage got under way – a barrage, Vaughan had been pleased to note, that involved more guns over a narrower area.

  As far as Vaughan had been aware, the visitors had approved of the plan, but a short while after they had gone, the chief had emerged from his caravan and announced that he had decided the planned attack was too far north. Instead, it would take place further south, just above the existing northern corridor. The objective would be a trig point called Tel El Aqqaqir, which lay beside an ancient desert road, the Rahman Track, that ran south-west across the length of the west side of the battlefield. This had always been one of the main lines of communication for Rommel’s forces. Cut it, and the Panzer Army would be cut in half too.

  Later, Vaughan had asked de Guingand whether Alexander had said anything to the chief about switching the location of Supercharge.

  ‘That’s an indelicate question, Vaughan,’ de Guingand had replied. ‘If the chief says it was his idea, then it was his idea.’ But then he had winked.

  Now Vaughan was on his way to check on the final preparations. The light was fading, but as he passed through the formations of armour and infantry and reached the Minefield Task Force, he was glad to see the Yorks Rangers.

  ‘A Company, sir?’ said a Yorkshireman, as Vaughan stopped to ask directions. ‘Just up ahead, sir. At the head of the column.’

  Of course. As always.

  Tanner and Peploe seemed pleased to see him, and invited him to stay for a brew and a bite to eat.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Why not?’ He knew he would eat with the chief later but, well, he was hardly likely to stuff himself now.

  They sat around a little fire beside Peploe’s command truck, which until now had been left out of the battle. His carrier had been one of the many vehicle casualties at Grouse.

  ‘Where’s your cook? Er, Mudge?’ asked Vaughan.

  ‘Bought it during our scrap with the panzers,’ said Sykes.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Damn sad,’ said Peploe. ‘He was a good chap, Mudge. But we got off lightly, you know. Sixteen dead and twenty-four wounded. Incredible, really. At the start of the day I thought we’d be bloody fortunate if any of us got through it.’

  ‘Is this it, now, sir?’ asked Hepworth, squatting by the fire to stir the hash that was heating over it.

  ‘I think so. One last push.’

  ‘I thought we’d be left out, to be honest,’ added Hepworth. ‘Thought we might have done our bit.’

  ‘Argue that one with the Aussies,’ said Vaughan. ‘They’ve been fighting without a break since the start. I visited one company yesterday that was down to just twenty-seven men.’

  ‘So be bloody thankful, Hep,’ said Tanner. ‘Anyway, the Minefield Task Force is a cushy one. A bit uncomfortable, perhaps, but I’m sure it’ll be easier this time round.’

  Away to the west, the sun was casting a golden glow like a veil behind the permanent pall over the battlefield. Soon, as they drank their char and ate their hash, they heard the drone of aircraft rising from the east, and then they were over, wave after wave, dark crosses in the sky, coming to pound the enemy positions.

  Ripples of explosions peppered the horizon.

  ‘Now that,’ said Tanner, ‘is hellfire.’

  By half past nine the following morning, the armour in their lane had successfully passed through and the Minefield Task Force was dissolved. Ordered to retrieve their carriers and trucks – including Tanner’s new Bedford – they had moved forward behind the din of battle, and for the next two days had followed the armour and the air force as they relentlessly pounded the enemy.

  The level of destruction had surprised even Tanner. The dead lay everywhere, amid discarded ammunition boxes, empty shell cases, burned-out tanks, half-tracks, trucks and smashed aircraft, but one scene had disturbed him more than others. It had been on the evening of 2 November, as they had driven through the site of a fierce tank battle earlier. Already, the heavy breakdown tractors were busy towing knocked-out Shermans and Crusaders clear, and ambulances were scouring the desert with stretcher parties. Tanner had spotted the crew of one trackless Crusader on the ground around it, and as thousands of flies had swarmed into the air at his approach, he had immediately recognized one of the dead. Harry Rhodes-Morton lay clutching a letter, a dried pool of blood staining the sand dark brown. Tanner stooped and took the piece of paper from his hand. It had not been from a lover, or even his parents, but from his younger sister, writing about life on the farm, about an argument she had had with her best friend, and hoping he was all right. There was a sketch of his horse, too: I’ve been riding Mr Kitts as much as possible but he’s still pining for you, Harry, so you better hurry up and beat the Germans and get back to him.

  Carefully, Tanner put it into his pocket. When the battle was over, he told himself, he would send it back.

  As dawn was breaking on Wednesday, 4 November, the Rangers were emerging from their night-time leaguer just to the east of the Rahman Track – not all that far from Kidney Ridge. For an hour, as they brewed up and smoked, they listened to the infantry attack and yet another artillery barrage a short distance to the south. Suddenly, at around seven, the barrage lifted and a strange calm descended. No guns boomed, no aircraft roared overhead. All they could hear was the crackle of small arms. Then, from the east, a low thunder began, a rumble that grew louder and louder. Suddenly, a hundred yards to their south, the British armour emerged, bursting into their corner of the desert in a massive swirl of dust and smoke, like a tidal wave, and pushing on across and beyond the Rahman Track.

  ‘Jesus,’ muttered Tanner, as he sat in his truck drinking tea and smoking. ‘Will you look at that?’

  ‘Gladdens the heart, don’t it?’ grinned Sykes. ‘We’ve got the bastards beat.’

  Orders arrived soon after for them to press on and mop up any enemy resistance, help corral prisoners, then work their way towards Daba. Later that afternoon, some fifteen miles east of Rahman Track, they cut across a column of Germans hurrying towards the coast road. A few bursts of Bren fire soon halted the half-dozen trucks, but as Tanner and Peploe strode over to the lead truck – a British Morris, as it happened – it was clear that the decision to surrender had been far from unanimous.

  An exhausted-looking major and a Hauptmann barely able to contain his anger were stepping out.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ Peploe asked the major.

  ‘Ja,’ he replied. ‘A little.’

  ‘Then tell your men to get out of the vehicles and lay down their weapons.’

  The Hauptmann now interjected and berated the major.

  ‘Hey,’ said Tanner, grabbing his shoulder, and in that moment, the German, with a speed that almost caught Tanner out, swung a lightning fast left hook, his clenched hand speeding towards his jaw. Tanner only just managed to duck and, with equal speed, produced an upper cut that crunched into the man’s head, causing him to stagger backwards and collapse, unconscious, on the ground.

  For a moment, the major stared, open-mouthed, then Peploe sa
id, ‘Please tell your men to lay down their weapons.’

  But Tanner had walked away. That left hook. It had jarred something in his mind, almost a déjà vu. The German had swung his fist in exactly the same way that Tanja’s murderer had done, but that night Tanner had been too drowsy – too drunk – to dodge out of the way. But why would someone go for a left hook first, rather than the more obviously stronger right hook? Because they’re left-handed.

  Of course! Tanner put a hand to his head. He had not got to know all the operatives at SIME, but he had met most of them. And there was only one, as far as he knew, who was left-handed. No, he thought. It can’t be. Behind him, the prisoners were clambering out of the trucks, throwing their rifles, pistols and other weapons into a pile, the cocked Brens on the Rangers’ trucks pointing at them. Tanner was oblivious to this. Wandering away, he lit a cigarette, then went over in his mind the events of the week he’d spent at Red Pillars. Christ, I’ve been a fool. Why hadn’t he seen it earlier?

  ‘Sir? Sir?’ Brown was standing beside him.

  ‘What? What is it, Browner?’

  ‘Time to go, sir. We’ve got to get moving.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘What about the PoWs?’

  ‘Some other troops have arrived, sir. They’re taking them.’

  In the truck the men were happily going through some of the booty they had acquired: pistols, knives, even sub-machine guns, like the MP40 Tanner carried. Sykes had picked up an Italian Breda. ‘’Ere, look at this one, sir!’ he said, showing it to Tanner.

  Tanner barely glanced at it. ‘Good for you, Stan,’ he said.

  ‘You all right, sir?’ asked Sykes. ‘You had a nasty turn or something?’

  ‘You could say that,’ said Tanner. ‘I’ve just realized who killed Tanja Zanowski.’

  Later they reached the large landing grounds, from where so much of the Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica had flown since the beginning of July. More prisoners were being rounded up as they arrived there – mostly air-force ground crew by the look of it. The place was utterly wrecked. Bomb craters littered what had once been a vast, flat, open aerodrome, while wrecked aircraft lay everywhere: blackened skeletons and smashed, contorted hulks of aircraft. Others looked to be almost airworthy. They drove past a row of Messerschmitt 109s, which had obviously been undergoing minor repair – a few pieces of engine cowling were missing – but which had been hurriedly abandoned as the front had collapsed.

  The battalion leaguered soon after, by the sea where the men could swim and clean themselves for the first time since the battle had begun. Afterwards, as they prepared supper, Tanner sought out Peploe.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘could I have a word? In private?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Peploe. ‘I was going to ask you the same. You’ve barely said a word since we took those Jerry prisoners.’

  They walked along the beach. No bombs were falling, no small arms were chattering. Even the skies were quiet. The only sounds were the faint laughter of the men, the clang of cooking pans and the lap of the sea breaking on the shore.

  ‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Peploe. ‘All this peace and quiet after the near-constant din we’ve been living through for the past fortnight. I can still barely believe we’re in one piece.’

  ‘It’s been a hell of a battle,’ agreed Tanner. ‘I really think that’s it and we won’t be coming this way again. God knows how long it’ll take, but I reckon we’ll knock them out of North Africa this time.’

  ‘Incredible. And when one thinks how we were all feeling back in July – it all seemed so touch and go then.’

  Tanner was silent for a moment. Then he took out his cigarettes and passed one to Peploe. ‘But it’s because I don’t think we’ll be back in Cairo again that I wanted to talk to you, John.’

  ‘Is it Lucie?’

  ‘No, no – no, it’s not Lucie. It’s to do with what happened when I was away from the battalion. The work I was doing with Vaughan.’

  ‘All that hush-hush stuff you were involved with?’

  Tanner nodded. ‘Yes.’ He had decided earlier that he would tell Peploe everything, and now he did.

  ‘My God, Jack,’ said Peploe, when he had finished. ‘I had absolutely no idea that this sort of thing was going on.’

  ‘Neither had I. And it’s a world I’d rather not know about, frankly. But you see, this afternoon, when that Jerry officer tried to hit me, the penny suddenly dropped. I saw something that had been staring me in the face ever since Tanja was murdered. And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I know I’m right. I know who the mole was. I know who this Orca bloke really is.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I want to find Vaughan. I want to tell him and I want to make sure this bloke gets what’s coming to him. Those SIS characters – they’re clever, all right, and some of them are very clever, but they’re mostly a bunch of amateurs, really, making it up as they go along.’ He paused. ‘I have to fnd Vaughan. I have to make sure that justice is done and that this bastard doesn’t wriggle out of it and get away scot-free.’

  Peploe looked out over the darkening sea. Away to the west, just a thin strip of light remained on the horizon – light that was almost blood red against a strip of gun-metal cloud. ‘All right, Jack. Why don’t you take your truck and try and get to Tac HQ now?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. We’re going to be here until morning. Go now. It’s not that far, is it?’

  Tanner reached Eighth Army’s Tactical Headquarters more than two and a half hours later. The journey was less than forty miles but there had been, inevitably, plenty of traffic on the coast road. Still, it was before nine o’clock when he got there.

  ‘It’s Major Vaughan I’m here to see,’ Tanner told the sentries. ‘Tell him it’s urgent.’

  He was kept waiting ten minutes, then led down to the mess. There was laughter and talking from inside the tent, but Tanner kept his distance. It wasn’t his place to pry. Then the flap opened and Vaughan was walking towards him. ‘Jack,’ he said, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Sorry, Alex, but it’s important.’

  ‘So’s my dinner with General von Thoma.’

  ‘Von who?’

  ‘The commander of the Afrika Korps. He was captured earlier. The chief’s invited him to dinner.’

  ‘Look, Alex, I couldn’t give a stuff about some Jerry general. This is about Tanja.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about, Jack?’

  ‘I know who killed her. I know who Orca is. I’ve worked it out.’

  He explained about the dust-up with the German captain earlier, and about how once he’d worked out who the mole was, everything else had fallen into place.

  ‘My God, Jack,’ said Vaughan. ‘You’re right. You’re bloody well right.’

  ‘So don’t you see, Alex, that you’ve got to get back to Cairo? You’ve got to make sure he’s brought down. That justice is served.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Vaughan. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Talk to the chief. Get yourself back to Cairo. Promise me.’ Tanner looked him in the eye. ‘You owe it to Tanja.’

  ‘Yes, Jack, I will. It’s a good time to ask.’ Vaughan smiled. ‘He’s understandably in rather a good mood.’

  Tanner shook Vaughan’s hand. ‘Good, and let me know how you get on.’

  The following morning, having made it back to Daba, Tanner was summoned to see Vigar.

  ‘This has just come through, Jack,’ said the colonel, passing Tanner a thin piece of signal paper.

  Tanner read the message: FROM ARMY COMMANDER TO OFFICER COMMANDING 2 YORKS RANGERS STOP LT J TANNER TO REPORT TO EIGHTH ARMY TAC HQ 12 NOON 6 NOV 42 STOP EXPECT ABSENCE 48 HOURS STOP

  He read it again, his heart quickening.

  ‘What d’you make of that, Tanner, eh?’ said Vigar. ‘What the devil are you up to?’

  ‘It’s a very long story, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘It’s to do with the secondment I had to SIS a
nd C Detachment. It’s a matter of seeing justice done.’

  Vigar sighed. ‘I don’t know, Tanner. If Monty’s asked for you, who the hell am I to argue? An order’s an order, but when you get back, it would be good to have you stay with us, all right? No one can deny you’re a fine soldier, but it doesn’t look good if you keep buggering off. Wouldn’t want people to think you’re getting special treatment.’

  ‘No, sir. I completely understand. And you have my word, sir, that I don’t want to leave the battalion again.’

  ‘All right,’ said Vigar. ‘Well, you’d better get going, then. Just make sure you get back as soon as you can, all right?’

  Tanner saluted and left him.

  *

  He had got a lift to Montgomery’s headquarters, where he had met Vaughan, and together they had driven to Burg El Arab, then got seats on a Hudson to Heliopolis. By three o’clock that afternoon, they were back in Cairo, sitting in a car that had been sent specially from GHQ to collect them.

  It seemed Vaughan had told the Army Commander everything, much as Tanner had told Peploe.

  ‘The timing couldn’t have been better,’ Vaughan had told him. ‘I’ve never seen him in a better mood. Of course, everyone’s absolutely thrilled about the victory, but it must be particularly intoxicating for the Army Commander. Anyway, I knew he was pleased with us ADCs – he’d told us so earlier. To be honest, I think he prefers us to most of his generals. And when I told him what had been going on, he absolutely insisted that you come with me.’

  It struck Tanner as slightly unreal to be driving calmly through the city he now knew so well. Everything was so familiar, and as they entered the curving, leafy boulevards of Garden City, it was as though the days of intense heat and intrigue in August had been just a week ago, rather than three months earlier. It was cooler now – far more pleasant – although the sun still shone strongly, and the sky above was as deep a blue as ever.