Round and round the room she ran, eight times in all, and then Hunt said, ‘Now, Monique!’
The reloaded gun lay on the table. Monique stopped running, picked it up, turned, her left hand coming up to join her right as she levelled the weapon at the illuminated target. The six shots rippled away almost as one. The first missed, but the next three cut into the thick cardboard, as did the sixth.
‘Good shooting, Monique,’ Hunt said. ‘This time I would say that he is dead.’
Mrs Bryant stepped back into the corridor, and Murdoch followed her, closing the door. ‘She is excellent material,’ Mrs Bryant remarked. ‘In every way. It would be a great shame were she to be expended too soon.’
‘Sit down, Mrs Deschards,’ Murdoch invited. ‘Mrs Bryant has given you a very good report.’
‘Thank you, General.’ Monique sat in front of his desk and crossed her knees. He thought she might have lost a little weight; that would hardly be surprising. But she was more attractive than ever.
‘How did you find the training?’
‘Very thorough. I did not know you English were so thorough.’
‘Our faults are mainly those of over-confidence, rather than carelessness,’ Murdoch said. ‘Now, Mrs Deschards, I want you to think very carefully. This is your very last opportunity to change your mind.’
‘How can I?’ she asked. ‘Now that I know so many of the secrets of your organization?’
‘Oh, you cannot quit my organization now,’ Murdoch agreed. ‘But I could employ you here in England. Perhaps as an instructress at the academy.’
‘Do you make this offer to everyone?’ Monique asked.
‘Almost,’ Murdoch lied.
Monique smiled. ‘I wish to fight the Germans. Tell me what you wish to do with me.’
I, Murdoch thought, wish to invite you out to lunch, and then take you to a hotel, and go to bed with you, and stay with you there all night. No doubt Lee had been away too long. But this was more than an idle fancy, he knew. Had the circumstances been at all different, the situation less serious...and had he not had to send her to her death at the end of it. Perhaps, when she returned, he thought.
‘There is a plane leaving England tonight,’ he said. ‘I wish you to be on it. Commander Methuen will give you all the information and gear you need. There will be people waiting for you at your destination, and they will give you further instructions.’
‘Thank you, General,’ she said.
‘I wouldn’t, Monique. You can thank me when you get back.’
‘When will that be?’ she asked.
As soon as I can decently arrange it, he thought. ‘When you have completed your tour of duty,’ he said. ‘In about six months.’
She nodded. ‘I will look forward to it.’
So will I, he thought. He stood up, and she did also. He held out his hand, and she shook it. ‘I would like you to come back, Monique,’ he said. ‘So be careful.’
She gazed at him. ‘I would like to come back too, General,’ she said. ‘I will be careful.’
The door closed, and he sat down again. For several minutes he was unable to concentrate. But a week later he was distracted in another direction: the Germans invaded Russia.
5
The Desert, 1941-42
‘I am sorry, Colonel Mackinder, but my daughter Monique is no longer here,’ said M. Soubret.
Fergus gazed at him in dismay.
‘She became bored with Cairo,’ Soubret explained. ‘She wanted to be doing something to avenge her Robert, eh? So I managed to get her a passage back to England, to join General de Gaulle and the Free French.’
‘Good Lord,’ Fergus muttered.
‘So...but perhaps you would come in and have a coffee,’ Soubret invited.
‘Ah...no, thanks very much. I’m only in Cairo for twenty-four hours. I just dropped by to pay my respects. If you are in touch with your daughter, would you give her my regards?’
‘Of course I will do that, Colonel. She will be honoured to know that so distinguished a soldier has called upon her.’
Because of course, all Cairo knew that he was to get the VC. All Cairo knew everything. But all Cairo had suddenly turned into a drab, dreary, disappointing dump.
How his heart had leapt when he had been informed that replacements were arriving, and in Cairo rather than Alexandria: the Mediterranean had become just too dangerous for British shipping, and so it was being routed round the Cape of Good Hope, which of course entailed even longer delays in the always awaited appearance of men and munitions.
It was unusual, to say the least, for the colonel of a regiment to travel two hundred miles to meet a bunch of recruits. But it had been the only way he could legitimately give himself leave to visit Cairo — there had been no time for holidays during the previous three months, as the Afrika Korps and the battered Eighth Army had glared at each other across the sand, each trying desperately to build up sufficient strength for an offensive.
There had been limited attacks and counter-attacks. General Wavell had been duly reinforced after the collapse of March and April and a special convoy laden with the new ‘I’ tanks — which hopefully would be able to stand up to the German armour — had been rushed, at whatever risk, through the Mediterranean to replace the Eighth Army’s losses. The operation had been code-named Tiger, and thus the tanks had been christened Tiger Cubs. They were splendid pieces of machinery but — perhaps due to the haste with which they had been dispatched — subject to more than the usual number of defects and breakdowns. The General had made an abortive attempt to relieve Tobruk, which had failed, mainly due to those weaknesses in his armour —especially galling to those who had to drive and fight the tanks. Yet in fact Tobruk was doing very well, supplied by sea. The Royal Navy had actually been able to take off half the garrison — as demanded by the Australian Government, which apparently felt their soldiers were being abandoned to do all the fighting in Tobruk while the rest of the army basked in the sun and bathed in the sea — and replace them with fresh troops. On the other hand, as the Germans and the Italians built up their submarine fleet in the Mediterranean, and German long-range Condor bombers were stationed in Italy itself, the casualty lists grew amongst the ships, and it was obvious that a land offensive was going to be very necessary if Tobruk was to be retained. As it had to be, as much for propaganda value as anything else. It was Britain’s sole trophy in North Africa.
But a large-scale attack had been delayed, partly because of the decision to route the supply convoys round the Cape, and partly because General Wavell was being replaced. The troops on the ground viewed this with mixed feelings. Wavell had directed O’Connor to that great victory over the Italians, and had then been forced to weaken his army by sending so many men to Greece. He had also, while all of this was going on, masterminded a brilliant campaign in East Africa which had destroyed the Italian armies in Ethiopia and Somaliland and Eritrea, and restored the Emperor Haile Selassie to his throne in Addis Ababa. To be sacked after all that was unjust, almost everyone felt. Yet most of the troops also felt that they would have been defeated in the desert even had they remained at full strength. The suddenness and vigour of the German attack, the deadly power of those eighty-eights, the complacency with which their own forces had been spread out, were facts nobody could gainsay.
Morale had certainly not fully been re-established. The men would obey orders to go into action, but they expected to be beaten...and that was no recipe for victory. So perhaps a new commander-in-chief was the answer. Fergus personally was happy with the new man. General Sir Claude Auchinleck had a brilliant record. Only three years younger than Dad, Fergus knew, Auchinleck had been a junior contemporary of Murdoch Mackinder at Wellington College, before following him to Sandhurst. The two men were good friends, and indeed their careers had in many ways been similar, for Auchinleck had also served in both France and the Middle East during the Great War, and on the North West Frontier of India, although his tour of duty had been in th
e middle thirties. He had been involved in the abortive expedition to Norway in 1940, before being sent to India to organize the defences there against a possible Japanese attack. He was due to arrive any day now, and then surely things would take a turn for the better.
With him, as Chief of Staff, was coming General Neil Ritchie. A relatively young man, only forty-four years old, Ritchie had been on Auchinleck’s staff for the past year, and so the two men obviously worked well together. While Auchinleck’s choice as the new commander of the Eighth Army was General Sir Alan Cunningham, who had actually led the victorious forces in East Africa. There was all to look forward to.
In the desert. But not in Cairo. Because, Fergus knew in his heart, he had come here to take Monique to bed and know once again the utter joy of that night last November.
His whole being was directed to that, to clear his sexual decks, as it were, before taking on the Germans again. Of course he was being terribly lucky. Had she been there, had they slept together again, he might well have fallen in love with her. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t half done so anyway. And that would have been the most caddish thing in the world to do, when Annaliese was waiting for him at home. But if he could so easily fall for another woman, how deep was his love for Liese? This bothered him. He was not by nature promiscuous. He wanted to direct his love and maintain it in a steady stream at a particular woman. Annaliese. So he had been terribly lucky, that temptation had been withdrawn.
So what you do, Fergus my boy, he told himself as he stood on the pavement and inhaled the sights and sounds of Cairo, is get hold of the porter at Shepheard’s, and tell him you want a good bint, and let him organize it, and screw her until she can’t move, and then put all women out of your mind until the coming battle is over. That was a sensible approach to the problem, the sort of approach, he felt, that Dad would adopt.
He turned briskly.
‘Colonel Mackinder, sir!’
Fergus checked and turned back, saw Bert Manly-Smith striding towards him, wearing a new, smart uniform —complete with a corporal’s stripes on his arm — and beret, brightly polished boots gleaming in the sunlight, and now drawing himself to attention and snapping a salute, regard-less of the passers-by who had suddenly to avoid walking into this rock erected without warning in their midst.
‘Bert!’ Fergus saluted in turn, then said, ‘At ease,’ and shook hands. It’s good to see you. I see they’ve given you your stripes back.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m told it was on your recommendation, sir.’
‘Well, I think you were treated a little harshly last year, in all the circumstances. And now you’re fit again?’
‘As a fiddle, sir. Just completed three days’ leave.’
Fergus frowned at him. ‘You could have gone home, you know, Bert. After a bad burn like that, it would have been the right thing to do.’
‘I wanted to stay here, sir. I wanted to rejoin the regiment.’
‘And the regiment will be pleased to have you back, Bert. Well, tomorrow you can help me meet some replacements, and get them out to Mersa Matruh in one piece.’
‘Yes, sir. I shall look forward to that, sir. Joey will be with them.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Wrote me, sir. He’s joined up. Well, the regiment, of course. He said he’d be here some time this summer.’
‘Well, that’s splendid. I’ll look forward to meeting him again.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Very good, Corporal. Carry on. Meet me at Shepheard’s Hotel at eight thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, sir. Sir...’ Bert suddenly turned crimson, and resumed standing to attention.
Fergus frowned at him. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘It’s just that...I never thanked you for saving my life.’
‘Yes, you did, Corporal. In your letter.’
‘Yes, sir. But...’
‘You also apologized. I assume for rather disliking our decision to demote you. We had no option. The Egyptians have to be kept at least prepared to accept our troops here. We can’t go around beating them up, no matter what the provocation. But the matter is now closed.’ Fergus smiled. ‘And between you and me, Corporal, you did a damned good job.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Bert looked as if he wanted to say more, then saluted again. ‘Oh eight thirty tomorrow, sir, at Shepheard’s Hotel.’ He marched off.
He was an extremely odd fellow, Fergus thought. But he had a lot to offer as a soldier. If he could just keep out of trouble he might do quite well.
At the same time, he was a bloody nuisance. Seeing him, especially at that moment, had reminded Fergus too much of home, and Annaliese. There was no way he was going to enjoy an Egyptian whore now. He sat in the bar at Shepheard’s and got quietly drunk, instead.
*
General Auchinleck was a large man with craggy, deter-mined features. He looked out across the faces of the officers seated in front of him, and gave them an encouraging smile. ‘At ease, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘You may smoke if you wish.’ He waited while various cigarettes and pipes were lit before resuming. ‘It is a pleasure to be here. But I must tell you that I am here to carry out a specific purpose. That purpose is, firstly, to relieve Tobruk, and secondly to recapture Cyrenaica. I may regret as much as you that General Wavell has not been permitted to complete the task he so ably began, but that decision was not mine. Mine, ours, is the burden of completing that task.
‘Now, let us consider the situation. The enemy still occupies Halfaya Pass, and in some strength. Our reconnaissance estimates that he musters something like four hundred tanks. I’m afraid these are in the main heavier and more heavily armed than the best of ours; our tank battles will therefore have to be fought at close quarters and with superior numbers. We also know that he has fortified his position, with minefields, to a considerable depth. He relies upon the fact that the Quattara Depression prohibits any wide turning movement. We are therefore faced with a situation that our attack must be delivered approximately where he expects it — we may feint with one hand and punch with the other, but it will still have to be over a limited area. It will still have to penetrate those minefields. And it will still have to face heavy losses in tanks, and men, from those eighty-eights. These are facts we have to look in the face. I know there is not a man here will shirk the business of advancing, regardless of the risks involved, but I am determined not to fight a battle until we are certain to win it, and I am equally determined that this time, when we arrive on the borders of Tripolitania, we are going to stay there until we are ready to advance to Tripoli itself.
‘This means that I am not going to launch any attack until I have the materiel to do so successfully, and to sustain our advance. I wish you all to be clear about this, and to make sure your men understand it too. We are here to win, not to indulge in vain heroics to satisfy the politicians at home.’ He paused. And I can tell you there are quite a few of those who expect us to advance tomorrow, simply because I am now here. However, I have informed those who matter of my intentions, and I look to their full support. My estimate is that we require at least a two-to-one superiority in tanks, or say, three armoured divisions, to carry out our purpose on the scale and with the results I am determined to achieve. It is my task to see that I obtain that margin of superiority over the enemy. It is your task, at brigade and regimental levels, to see that your men, and your machines, are maintained in the highest possible state of readiness and fitness for the coming offensive. There will be an offensive, gentlemen, and it will be a victorious one. You have my assurance on that. Thank you.’
*
‘What’s so big about a German?’ demanded Corporal Manly-Smith. ‘We fought them in Flanders, didn’t we?’
‘And got licked there too,’ Sergeant Butler pointed out.
The group of NCOs sat on the beach, basking in the sunshine, and watching the troopers bathing. As he had felt so often before, Bert found it difficult to appreciate that they were actually at war, an
d virtually in the front line. ‘Like hell we did,’ he argued.
‘Well, they certainly licked us back in March,’ Butler insisted. ‘While you were in hospital, Bert. You weren’t there. You didn’t see.’
‘You trying to tell me we can’t beat them now?’
‘I didn’t say that. I’m just saying they are one hell of a lot tougher than the Eyeties. And that fellow Rommel is pretty smart.’
‘In Flanders we were fighting under the General,’ remarked Corporal Hennessey.
‘The Colonel is all right,’ growled Sergeant-Major Brothers. ‘If they’d give him a chance. It’s the brass bothers me.’
‘I think they’re doing the right thing,’ Butler argued. ‘Wait till we’re ready, I say.’
‘And suppose Rommel attacks first?’
‘Then we stop him first. That might make our job easier.’
‘Only if everybody stands and fights,’ Brothers said.
Oh, we’ll stand and fight, Bert thought, and watched the naked body of his younger brother emerging from the sea. They were in different squadrons, and therefore did not see as much of each other as he had feared; for all his pretended pleasure to Fergus Mackinder, he had been appalled to hear that Joey was coming out to serve in the regiment. The fact was that he and Joey had never been close. He supposed Mum’s feelings had had something to do with that. Because if he wasn’t actually a bastard, Mum had been pregnant when she had married. She hadn’t confessed that to him until he had been a teenager. Then she had wanted to share things.
He had been resentful. Not, oddly, of the fact that he had been so nearly a bastard. He thought he would actually have preferred that. What he resented had been the condescension of that fellow Ralph Manly-Smith — he could never truly consider him as Father — in marrying the sergeant-major’s daughter he had put in the family way. Everyone, even Grandpa Yeald, seemed to think he had acted like a proper gentleman. But he hadn’t, in Bert’s opinion: he had acted like a proper squire, and he had, by doing so, made all of their lives into a mishmash of attitudes and uncertainties.
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