by Len Deighton
They passed right into the loosely formed leaguer. The vehicles were all widely spaced, as was the practice in daylight. At night they were moved in closer together. Soon they reached the place they were looking for: regimental HQ. The ground was hard and uneven. A sentry was standing on the top of a tank so that he could see across the stony plain on all sides.
Wallingford waved to him. The sentry waved back. There was no threat likely from ‘soft-skinned’ vehicles like this one. When the Germans attacked, they came in tanks.
The truck was bouncing across the hard rock when Wallingford spotted Captain Darymple. He was standing near a tent at the very edge of the encampment. He looked like a veteran in his bleached shirt and ragged trousers, but his nervousness became evident as he ran forward and greeted them.
‘Wally! Where have you been?’
‘I’m dead on time, Robbie. What’s wrong?’
‘We’ve got to talk.’ Darymple had been standing in the hot sun; his shirt was black with sweat and clinging to his body. His face was wet too. A film of dust covered his perspiring flesh, so that it looked as if he were made of sand. He hauled himself up, swung into the driver’s cab and slammed the door. Then he said, ‘Keep going along the track. Get away from here.’
‘We’re sleeping here, you twit,’ said Wallingford.
‘No, Wally. Something has happened. Keep going, just keep going.’
‘Jesus Christ, Robbie. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?’
For a moment or two Darymple just sat back in the seat and caught his breath. Then he said, ‘I have seen a ghost, Wally. That’s exactly what I have seen – a bloody ghost!’
‘Spit it out, man. What is it?’ Wallingford was becoming irritated by this melodrama. He was tired. He wanted a drink and a chat and a sleep. He didn’t want Darymple pulling faces and trying to tell him where to go and what to do.
‘It’s that little Corporal Cutler. Did you ever meet him?’
‘I might have done. Yes, I think I did: the pianist. What about the little sod? Is it something to do with that smashing girl of his? You’re sweet on her, aren’t you? I knew you were.’
‘Cut it out, Wally. Listen to what I’m telling you. That little corporal isn’t a little corporal.’
‘No, he’s Napoleon Bonaparte.’
‘Listen, Wally, damn you. That little corporal is a major. What’s more he’s a major in Field Security or one of those army Special Investigation outfits. You know. He’s a bloody Gestapo man, Wally.’
‘Is he here?’
‘Very much so. He’s with that sod Anderson. Anderson’s been made up to colonel if you can believe it. And this jumped-up little bugger is with him. They are drinking and laughing together.’
‘Never mind all that crap. Get to the point. What’s all that got to do with me?’
Darymple looked at Wallingford with resentment. It was typical that Wally was only concerned with himself. ‘I thought he was a deserter or something when I saw him parading around with crowns on his shoulder, so I arrested him.’
Wallingford turned his head slowly as the words sank in. As he came to face Darymple, his face lit up in a big smile. ‘You arrested him?’
‘I thought he was a deserter.’
‘You arrested him? And he’s a Special Investigation Branch major. That’s rich, Robbie.’
‘I was in the right.’
‘Of course you were,’ said Wallingford. He laughed again and hammered the steering wheel with his fist.
‘He’s after you, Wally,’ said Darymple, more to stifle Wallingford’s laughter than because it was his considered opinion.
Very casually Wallingford turned to Percy and told him, ‘Go back and see if everything is all right with the others, Percy. Tell them not to get out. We might be moving on.’
Percy knew he was being got rid of. He put on his hat and slowly climbed down out of the truck.
Only when he’d gone did Wallingford say, ‘Why would he be after me?’
‘I walked past the CO’s tent a couple of times. I could hear what they were saying. He’s got a Gyppo bank note with blood spots on it and your fingerprints. He says it will get you done for murder.’
‘The hell he does!’ And then he was calm again. ‘Any more gems, Robbie?’
‘He’s trying to find out who’s leaking all these secrets to the Hun.’
‘Is he, though?’ said Wallingford reflectively.
‘Oh yes, that’s his real job. He said he’s got to plug the leak of secrets. He said he’d get Adolf Hitler off with a reprimand, if he helped solve that one. Or words to that effect,’ Darymple added, as he realised he hadn’t heard it in full.
‘Even Adolf?’
‘It was a joke, of course.’
‘Yes, I thought it might be, Robbie.’ Wallingford waved flies away.
Darymple watched his face, but he couldn’t tell what effect the news had brought. ‘What are you up to?’
Wallingford shifted in his seat until he could see the distant figure of Percy reflected in the exterior driving mirror. ‘If I told this Gestapo man what he wants to know, Robbie, would he let me off the hook, do you think?’
‘You’re joking,’ said Darymple and gave a nervous smile.
‘No, I’m not. Have you got a cigarette?’
‘You know?’ He found a packet of Players with four cigarettes. ‘Keep them all if you want them.’
‘That’s right; I know.’ Wallingford lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply before blowing smoke. ‘Bloody flies!’
‘You know who’s given the Hun our secrets?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Jesus! How long have you known that?’
‘Never you mind, old boy. I have a tame Hun who knows all the answers. He used to be on Rommel’s signals staff.’
‘Percy, your Hun?’ Now Darymple twisted round to catch a sight of the German deserter as he walked back to the second truck.
‘The point is, will your SIB chum do a deal with me?’ Wallingford said.
‘How should I know that?’
‘Go and talk to him, there’s a good chap.’
‘I’m not in a good position to talk to him, Wally. I told you; I arrested the little blighter.’
‘Talk to him. Just say you know someone who knows what he wants to know. But I’d want to come out of this as clean as a whistle. Make sure he knows my conditions. Do that for me, will you, Robbie?’
Darymple seemed doubtful.
Wallingford said, ‘It’s what he so desperately wants to discover, isn’t it? He’ll welcome you with open arms, old boy.’
‘I suppose he might. Okay, I’ll talk to him.’
‘No names, of course. All for one, one for all. That’s how it always was.’
‘And always will be, Wally.’ Once again the Wallingford charm had worked its magic. All Darymple’s hoarded resentments and hatreds had evaporated. Once again Wallingford was the star of the school cricket team and Darymple his faithful admirer. ‘What will you do now?’
‘We’ll push on to the squadron area. Do you know where the box ends?’
‘Keep going on the marked track. You’ll see the tyre marks of the echelon vehicles where the going gets soft. Then there’s a line of barrels and a sign. Thunder is in charge up there. He’ll look after you.’
‘Jump down, Robbie. Thanks for the tip-off, old sport. And by the way, don’t go back to Cairo. Old Mahmoud has put a price on your head.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t explain it all right now. But stay out here in the blue, and you’ll be all right. I’ll fix it when he’s calmed down a bit.’
‘Good God, Wally. Are you serious?’
‘I’m serious, old boy, and so is Mahmoud. These Arab johnnies get very touchy when you don’t pay your debts. It’s not like going into the red with your local high street bank in Blighty.’
‘Can you straighten it out, Wally?’
‘See what you can do for me with Sherlock Holme
s. If he says he can give me what I want, you send a message to me up at squadron. Okay?’ Wallingford touched the accelerator to show that he was impatient to pull away. Darymple climbed down from the running board.
‘I’ll do anything that will help,’ said Darymple.
‘And I’ll keep Mahmoud off your back,’ said Wallingford. ‘One for all and all for one.’ He leaned his head out of the truck. ‘Come along, Percy, I’m waiting for you!’ he bawled, and flicked the cigarette butt so that it whirled away to land in the sand.
They drove ten miles forward before finding the squadron area. It was an armoured unit placed at the forward position, as far west as the lines stretched. Wallingford spotted someone he knew. The young lieutenant was seated on an armoured car with one bare foot twisted, so that he could trim his toenails. He was dressed in a ragged shirt, a greasy beret and shorts. His skin was tanned dark by the sun, and his face had not been shaved for a few days. His name was Rodney Benton, but at school his personal habits had given him the name of Thunderbum. In course of time this had been modified to Thunder and its origins almost forgotten.
Benton was another of the regular contacts by means of which Wallingford navigated through the desert. He gave himself a minute to put on his cheery manner. Then he waved a bottle of scotch out of the window and called, ‘Hello, Thunder. How are you?’
The lieutenant brightened and quickly pulled on his long woollen socks and slipped into his battered suede desert boots. Wally had cemented friendships everywhere by his cheery manner, his funny stories and Cairo gossip, and his judicious gifts of whisky and brandy.
The armoured cars were carefully spaced out and camouflaged with netting. Apart from Thunder, the crews were sitting under the netting in the shade of their cars. It was a hot day. Most of the soldiers had cast off their shirts and were clad only in shorts and shoes or boots. Some of them were eating and others, having finished their meal, had stretched out and were asleep.
Thunder greeted the newcomers and took them over to the tent where the radio was set up. The tent was dug into the sand so as to be invisible to enemy aircraft and patrols. To get inside it was necessary to stoop down almost on hands and knees. Once there, an excavated floor made it possible to stand up. When he did so, Wallingford discovered they were not the only visitors to this forward area. In the tent he found Harry Wechsler and Chips O’Grady.
‘We have another visitor,’ announced Thunder. ‘And he’s brought whisky.’
Harry Wechsler was washed and carefully shaved. His bush shirt was clean. He got up from the ammunition box he was sitting on and shook hands with a firm grip and hearty pumping action. ‘Good to see you again, lieutenant commander,’ he said.
Wallingford nodded but gave no sign of having met him before.
‘Whisky,’ said Thunder again. Harry Wechsler smiled at him and wondered whether he was being told that all visitors were expected to bring such gifts.
‘Mr Wechsler writes for American newspapers,’ said Thunder. ‘He’s come here waiting for Rommel to attack.’
There was an unmistakably sardonic tone in Thunder’s voice, but Wechsler gave no sign of recognising it. He said to Wallingford, ‘These guys think Rommel is going to sit on his ass out there, waiting for you all to get ready.’
‘And you don’t?’ said Wallingford, watching Thunder pour whiskies for them all. It was hot inside the little tent, and there was a ceaseless buzz of flies.
Wechsler said, ‘On past performance, Rommel will hit you early and in the place you least expect it. That’s what he did at El Agheila in January. It’s what he’s always done before, so why not now?’
‘The Germans aren’t supermen,’ said Wallingford, calmly providing the official point of view. ‘Rommel has done his bit of dashing and advancing. Now he needs time to refit and regroup. Maybe he’ll be ready to attack in a month or so – July or August – but by that time we might have done a bit of attacking ourselves.’
‘I’ve got to get back to my chaps,’ said Thunder, downing his drink. ‘I can hear the echelon vehicles arriving early. I must get them unloaded and away again. I’ll leave you two discussing Rommel; after you’ve agreed on what he’s going to do, you can let me know.’ He grinned. ‘We’ll be sending a patrol out later, Mr Wechsler. You’re welcome to come and have a shufti at the way things are done.’
‘Thanks, kid.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to have a conducting officer with you?’ Wallingford asked them when Thunder had departed.
‘We are let off the rein every now and again. Even conducting officers need a little rest and relaxation.’ Wechsler winked. ‘Chips here knows the ropes. He’s been working this beat since before the fighting started.’
‘Good luck,’ said Wallingford and sipped his whisky. He approved of men with independent spirit.
‘Maybe you don’t remember me,’ said Wechsler. ‘We met at Prince Piotr’s apartment. There was a party. Remember?’
‘Yes, I do.’ He waved flies away from his face. To some extent one got used to them, but they were always trying to settle upon the moisture of the mouth and nostrils and eyes.
‘A guy with navy gold on khaki isn’t forgotten easily.’
‘I suppose not. And do you still think fighting Rommel is a sideshow?’
‘Is that what I said?’
‘You said that the real battle … the real battle is the fight for the Jewish homeland. You said the Jews in Palestine must be given guns to fight it.’
‘Did I say that?’
‘Yes, you did.’
Wechsler laughed without revealing if his views had changed. The laughter stopped abruptly as Thunder came scrambling back into the tent. They turned to see his crouched figure framed in the glaring sunlight of the open tent flap. He seemed to relish their attention. ‘First prize for crystal-ball gazing, Mr Wechsler,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Our friend Rommel seems to be on the move.’
‘What?’ said Wechsler. ‘Now, this is the development I needed.’ In some instinctive and nervous reaction to the news, he pulled a pencil from his pocket and put a thumb upon the point of it to see if it was ready to write.
‘I’m glad you are pleased,’ said Thunder and immediately added, ‘But that means I’m getting you gentlemen away from here. Civilians are not supposed to get mixed up in the more sordid and personal aspects of warfare.’
‘Tell me how much you really know,’ said Wallingford calmly. ‘Have you spoken with Battalion? With Division?’ When Thunder didn’t respond he said, ‘I’m the ranking officer here, I think.’
‘We are not at sea, Wally,’ said Thunder primly. ‘This is the army’s patch, and I’m running the show.’ Having said that, he became more conciliatory. ‘Those echelon vehicles that we heard. They weren’t arriving. They were vehicles that left here this morning. They were coming back.’
‘Coming back empty?’ said Wallingford.
‘They were fired upon,’ said Thunder. ‘By German tanks and field guns … probably tracked artillery. They didn’t hang around to identify exactly what it was. One of the water-tank wagons was lost. Can’t blame them for doing a quick about-turn.’
‘To the east of here? Could it have been a mistake, friendly fire?’ said Wechsler.
‘We’re not likely to start firing at ourselves deep behind our own lines, Mr Wechsler.’
‘It has happened,’ said Wechsler.
‘Perhaps. But this time I think we have to believe their story. There are Germans or Italians, or both, on the track to our rear. To get this far, Rommel must have started moving last night.’
‘To the east?’ said Wallingford. ‘That’s impossible. There are minefields along this front, all the way south to Bir Hacheim.’
‘I wish it were impossible,’ said Thunder.
‘They would have to have swung miles to the south and then north,’ said Wallingford, leaning over the map that Wechsler had opened and spread out on the ground.
‘Oh, boy!’ said Wechsler softly, as he
realised what distances were involved and how fast Rommel’s men had moved. ‘Rommel swung south last time,’ he said. ‘He went through Msus and panicked your Armoured Brigade into flight.’
Thunder didn’t look at the map. He didn’t want to be reminded of that disaster. He said, ‘I can’t get anyone on the air, and the land line has been out of action for almost a week.’
‘So what do you propose to do, Thunder?’ Wallingford asked. ‘Will you try to get everyone back to Regiment?’
‘Too many soft skins to fight our way back. Normally, I would leave our odds and ends to their own devices, but having Mr Wechsler here changes everything. I can’t leave him, and neither can I leave you here, Wally.’
‘We’ll take our chances,’ said Wallingford. ‘If we move off after dark, we’ll have no trouble slipping right through the Hun.’
‘And that goes for me too, buddy,’ said Wechsler. ‘It will be a great story. We’ll be all right, won’t we, Chips?’
‘Ah! Sure we will,’ said O’Grady.
Thunder looked at one and then the other.
Wallingford said, ‘I’ll take responsibility for Mr Wechsler and Mr O’Grady, if that gets you off the hook, Thunder. You get in your sardine cans and give a hand tormenting yonder Hun. We’ll wait here until it gets dark. Then we’ll move down the track very quietly and very slowly until we get to Regiment. Don’t worry, we’ll be all right.’
Thunder stared at them and then shook his head slowly. ‘No. Better we all go together. We’ll abandon the echelon vehicles and everything else we don’t absolutely need. After dark, we’ll form up my cars with three of the best trucks inside the formation. If they spot us, my cars will divert their attention, while the trucks push on.’
Wallingford saw that it was a strategy Thunder had decided upon before coming into the tent.
Gently Wechsler said, ‘I think we would have a better chance to get through without your armoured cars, lieutenant. I’ve got a specially strengthened four-by-four. It will go anywhere.’
‘I can’t take that risk, sir.’
His gentle persuasion having failed, Wechsler became more forceful. He said, ‘There is no good reason for you escorting us in your damned cars, except that you’re scared of getting a rocket for leaving us.’
