Tanner rubbed his face again. ‘He was in the Second Battalion when I first joined out in India. I went out there as a boy soldier in ’thirty-two – but you know that, Stan. Christ knows why I’m telling you this.’ He sighed. ‘But I didn’t join the battalion until a couple of years later, when I’d turned eighteen. Creer was a platoon commander then.’
‘In your platoon?’
‘No. He was in a different company, but then our company second-in-command got ill and Creer was promoted. So I had Creer as company two i/c, and Blackstone as CSM.’
‘Blackstone?’
‘Remember him?’ Tanner smiled wryly.
‘That murdering treacherous bastard?’ Sykes took off his service cap and smoothed down his hair.
‘He made my life a misery,’ said Tanner, ‘and had Croaker wrapped around his finger. He wasn’t a traitor then, mind, although he probably murdered a few. I certainly wouldn’t have put it past him. He was always on the bloody scam. Thieving, up to no bloody good. And he protected himself with bribery. He’d draw people into his little gang. Promise to make their life easier if they’d just do one little thing for him – look the other way when he was nicking something, lend him a truck to pick up dodgy goods. That kind of thing. And, of course, when they’d done wrong once, he had them. There was no turning back. My problem was that I wouldn’t ever dance to his tune. I don’t like bullies, Stan.’
‘And Creer?’
‘Creer was in on it. Thought the sun shone out of Blackstone’s arse. Blackstone gave him backhanders, made sure he looked good. He was called Croaker because he twice avoided action during the Loe Agra campaign. First he had dysentery, next he got himself wounded. Made out he was at death’s door, but it was little more than a scratch. Both times Blackstone covered for him.’
‘Couldn’t you do anything about it?’
‘I was only a youngster. You know what it’s like. No one was going to listen to some nineteen-year-old private.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus. I can honestly say I’ve not given Croaker a thought in years. I assumed he’d been found out and kicked out.’ Tanner groaned. ‘Sod it. Of all the bloody people, Stan, here he is, a bloody half-colonel and commanding the battalion. There’s no justice in this world. There really isn’t.’
Sykes eyed him. ‘He might be different without Blackstone. Maybe he’s changed.’
Tanner grunted. ‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘And you’re not a private any more. You’re an officer and a company commander. A respected and decorated one, an’ all. I don’t see what he can do even if he wanted to play silly buggers. And don’t forget the major. Major Peploe’s not going to put up with any shenanigans, is he?’
‘Stan, he can make life difficult,’ said Tanner, ‘that’s what he can do. He’ll make A Company lead the attack, send us forward under fire, do his damnedest to make me look bad. And he’ll do so because he hated my guts and because he’s a right bastard. Believe me, I’d love to be proved wrong, but a leopard doesn’t change its spots. Not in my experience anyway.’
‘Sir?’ said a voice from outside, then the flap opened and Trahair, Tanner’s batman, appeared.
‘What is it, Kernow?’ said Tanner.
‘Sorry, sir, but Major Peploe’s coming this way and he’s got the new boss with him. Just thought you ought to know, sir.’
‘Thanks,’ said Tanner, putting his cap back on. He turned to Sykes. ‘Here goes. Keep what I’ve just told you under your hat, will you?’
‘Course,’ said Sykes, standing up. ‘Right,’ he added. ‘Let’s have a look at this bloke.’
Stepping out of the tent into the warm evening sunshine, Tanner saw Creer and Peploe just twenty yards away. Walking towards them, he stopped and saluted.
‘Ah, there you are, Jack,’ said Peploe. ‘I understand you’ve served under Colonel Creer before. Colonel Creer is our new officer commanding.’
‘Yes, sir. The colonel and I were in India together.’
Creer took a step forward. ‘Tanner,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’
Tanner eyed him. The moustache had gone, but otherwise he was much as he remembered: the same ears sticking out, the wide cheekbones and the narrow chin, giving his face a slightly triangular shape. Dark eyes and thick brows. Tanner cursed to himself. Creer had not gone with the rest of the battalion to Palestine – what had it been? Polio? No, something else. Not as serious as polio. Of course it wasn’t. Croaker Creer. Christ. How did he get here?
‘It has, sir,’ said Tanner.
‘And now look at you.’ Creer turned to Peploe. ‘When I last saw Tanner, he was a mere private and now here he is, bold as day, an officer and a company commander. It’s a funny old war, Peploe, it really is. ORs getting field commissions, native Indians getting commissions. What a changing world we live in.’
‘There are, though, Colonel, plenty of cases of British soldiers rising through the ranks. It’s a question of whether they’re up to the job, not whether they were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. I would say most in those circumstances make excellent officers. After all, they’ve had to overcome more to reach that position.’
Creer turned sharply to Peploe, an eyebrow raised. ‘An interesting thought, Peploe.’
‘And, I can assure you, Tanner here is first class. His record speaks for itself.’
‘Careful, Peploe – you’ll make the man blush.’ He turned back to Tanner. ‘Anyway, Tanner. Here we are – reunited after, what? Six years it must be.’
‘Yes, sir. Six years would be right. You left the battalion before operations in the Lower Shaktu area. You were ill, if I remember rightly.’
Creer eyed him carefully. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘I was laid a bit low then.’
Spotting Sykes, Peploe now said, ‘And this is A Company’s CSM, sir. Warrant Officer Sykes.’
Sykes saluted.
‘Tanner and Sykes have served together since Norway,’ added Peploe. ‘We’re lucky to have him in the battalion.’
Creer chuckled. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t give you a commission as well, Sykes.’
‘Me too, sir. It’s criminal.’
Tanner winced inwardly as he heard Sykes stress ‘criminal’.
‘Maybe it’s because of your lip, CSM,’ said Creer.
‘Sorry, sir. Just joking, sir.’
‘Hmm,’ said Creer. Then, his face lightening, he suddenly clapped his hands together. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Must get on. Do the rounds. I’ll catch up with you later, Tanner. We can have a chinwag about the old days. Eh?’
Tanner watched them go, saw Peploe glance back at him, then turned to Sykes.
‘Blimey,’ said Sykes, ‘he’s a piece of work, ain’t he?’
‘He’s an arse, Stan,’ said Tanner. ‘An absolute bloody arse. And to think we’ve got to bloody well go to war with him in charge. Jesus.’
And where they would be going to war was revealed later that evening by Brigadier Rawstorne at a gathering of battalion and company commanders, although he stressed that under no circumstances were they to tell their men. He was telling them now only because they were here in the desert and confined to camp. The rest of the men would not know until they were on ship and steaming across the Mediterranean.
It was, to no one’s surprise, Sicily. Operation HUSKY would be the largest seaborne invasion the world had ever seen, two armies, the British Eighth and the American Seventh, side by side, supported by an immense aerial and naval armada. He could not tell them when precisely the invasion would be but he could assure them it would be soon. Training was progressing, he said, although the newly arrived Yorks Rangers would have to work hard in the ensuing weeks to catch up.
‘I cannot stress to you enough,’ Brigadier Rawstorne told them, outside Brigade Headquarters, ‘the importance of what we are about to undertake. We are, after nearly three long years, re-entering Europe. The tide has turned. Hitler’s gamble is backfiring, his Thousand Year Reich beginning to crumble after just ten. We will in
vade Sicily, defeat the Axis forces there and occupy the island. It is probable that Mussolini will fall, and with him Fascism, and that Italy will be forced out of the war with catastrophic and far-reaching consequences for Nazi Germany.’ He paused and looked around at them all. ‘I know many of you have already fought long and hard in this war, but the world needs you to fight some more. We are taking part in a moral crusade, a battle for freedom and a return to peace that our families, children and future generations will enjoy. Do not underestimate the rightness of our cause.’
Tanner wondered about that. He supposed the brigadier was right, and knew that men like Peploe and even Hepworth had joined not because they had to but because they had felt it was the morally right thing to do; they believed it was their duty to help rid the world of Hitler and the Nazis. But what was the price? Deals with men like Don Calogero Vizzini, who, it seemed to him, was little more than a vigilante. Deals with Russia. As far as he could tell, Communism was every bit as bad as Fascism, and Stalin hardly much better than Hitler. Peploe had told him about Stalin’s purges: tens of thousands rounded up and executed. And yet Stalin was now an ally. He looked up at the sky, the endless, cloudless blue, Brigadier Rawstorne’s voice, crisp and assertive, ringing out over the still desert air.
Then Fauvel nudged him. ‘Psst, Jack,’ he whispered. ‘Over there.’
Tanner glanced to his left. ‘What?’ he hissed.
‘Look at those Green Howards bods. See that one in the middle – the captain? That’s Hedley Verity. I’ll swear it is.’
Tanner squinted. A man of medium height, greying hair at the sides and a thin mouth. Tanner smiled. ‘I think you could be right, Gav.’
‘He’s only the world’s best spin bowler. What the hell is he doing here?’
‘Even great cricketers have to do their bit in this war.’
‘I suppose so.’
Brigadier Rawstorne had finished and the assembled officers were dismissed. As they began dispersing, the group of Green Howards officers moved towards them.
‘Look,’ said Fauvel, ‘they’re heading this way.’
Peploe drew alongside Tanner and Fauvel. ‘Don’t drag your feet, chaps,’ he said.
‘It’s Gavin,’ said Tanner. ‘He wants to meet Hedley Verity.’ He nodded in the direction of the Green Howards.
‘Good God!’ said Peploe. ‘Why’s he here?’
‘That’s what I said.’ Fauvel grinned.
‘I saw him take nine for forty-three against Warwickshire at Headingley in 1937,’ said Peploe. ‘I simply have to shake his hand.’
‘That was rather what I was thinking, sir,’ said Fauvel.
A moment later they were face to face with the Green Howards officers.
‘Captain Verity?’ said Peploe.
‘Yes, sir?’ said Verity, glancing at the crown on Peploe’s shoulder.
‘John Peploe, Yorks Rangers. May I just say what an honour it is to meet you?’
Verity smiled. ‘Why, thank you, sir. Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure.’ He spoke softly, with a pronounced Yorkshire lilt.
They shook hands, then Peploe said, ‘And this is my A Company commander and his two i/c, Captain Jack Tanner and Captain Gavin Fauvel.’
‘Tanner?’ said Verity. ‘I’ve heard of you.’
‘Really?’ said Tanner, surprised.
‘You’re the chap who did that raid on Tobruk,’ said another. He held out his hand. ‘Captain Bill Synge. How d’you do?’
They shook hands.
‘Yes,’ said Synge. ‘I read about that somewhere. War Illustrated, I think.’
Tanner felt embarrassed. ‘All exaggerated, I’m sure. It didn’t come from me, at any rate.’
‘Tanner’s being modest.’ Peploe smiled. ‘He was given a DSO for that. His second. He has a DSO, MC and Bar, as well as a DCM and MM.’
‘Brave fellow,’ said Verity.
Tanner shrugged. ‘I’ve been lucky. These things are a bit meaningless in many ways. There are lots of people who do brave things and never get given gongs.’
‘I was telling my friends that I’ve seen you get a nine-wicket haul,’ Peploe said to Verity, ‘and I’ve enjoyed watching you play many times.’
‘Thank you,’ said Verity. ‘I’ve been lucky too. To play cricket for a living is a great privilege.’
‘I’ll say,’ said Peploe.
‘Anyway,’ said Verity. ‘Now we know where we’re heading. Do you think the Italians will have the stomach for much of a fight?’
‘I hope not,’ said Peploe.
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind some of your experience. You Rangers have seen it all, haven’t you? We’re all a little green in the First Green Howards. No pun intended.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Tanner.
‘Still playing any cricket out here?’ asked Fauvel.
‘A few games. There’s talk of fixing up a pitch out here.’
‘Out here?’ said Peploe. ‘But it’s just sand.’
‘They put coconut matting down,’ said Synge. ‘It’s not too bad, actually. We’ve been challenged by the KOYLI.’
‘Can we challenge you too?’ said Peploe. ‘The lads would love a game. Especially if you were playing, Captain Verity.’
Verity smiled. ‘Tell you what. If you don’t mind passing on a few tips about fighting to us new boys, I’ll turn my arm over. We’ll have to clear it with the colonel first, though.’
Peploe grinned. ‘It’s a deal.’ They shook hands and went their separate ways.
‘How about that?’ said Peploe. ‘This war really is extraordinary. I’ve seen ancient wonders of the world that I thought I’d never visit and now it seems I’ll get to face the great Hedley Verity. It’s not all bad, is it?’
The prospect of a cricket match against Verity and the Green Howards had lifted Tanner’s spirits, but they were dashed again when he returned to find an order waiting for him to see Colonel Creer.
Cursing, he hurried off to Battalion Headquarters and reported to Creer’s tent.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Creer, as Tanner entered. The colonel was sitting behind a makeshift trestle-table desk, a hurricane lamp hanging from the central pole. He stood up and, from a bottle of Scotch, poured two measures into the tin mugs before him.
‘A little chota peg, Tanner,’ he said, passing him one of the mugs.
Tanner took it. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
Creer sat down, leaned back in his chair, eyed Tanner, then said, ‘This is a friendly warning. Just between you and me, all right?’
Tanner sipped his whisky.
‘I don’t mind admitting, Tanner, that my heart sank when I discovered the arrogant little shit I had known out in India was now my A Company commander. I’m sure your heart sank too when you learned I was your new officer commanding.’
Tanner said nothing.
‘I’d be within my rights to give you the chop if I so chose, but the men seem to look up to you and you have a supporter in Major Peploe. What’s more, I understand you’ve only just rejoined the battalion. More’s the pity, but there you go. So.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘For the time being we’re stuck with each other.’
‘So it seems, sir.’
‘I should tell you that I don’t approve of promoting people through the ranks. You may be an officer now, Tanner, but you’re certainly no gentleman.’
‘For God’s sake,’ muttered Tanner.
‘I beg your pardon?’ snapped Creer.
‘We’re trying to win a war, sir, not keep the peasants in their place.’
Creer sat back again. ‘Still insolent. I wonder whether you’ve learned anything, Tanner. That’s what I remember about you – your refusal to toe the line, and your insistence on making life difficult for others in the battalion.’
‘You mean I wouldn’t play to Blackstone’s rules.’
‘Blackstone was a very popular CSM, Tanner. A character, a real battalion man.’
‘He was a bully. He was corrupt.�
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‘He ran the company smoothly and successfully. Everyone played the game in India – it was a way of life. Everyone but you, Tanner.’
‘You’re wrong, sir. He wasn’t popular. The lads were just scared of him or went along with him because he had something on them. You know what peer pressure is like among young lads in the Army. He took advantage of that.’
‘You’re talking rot, man! Tell me what young rifleman isn’t scared of their CSM.’
‘Sir, in France he murdered German and British troops and two French civilians. He betrayed his men and his country. I’m glad I stood up to him all those years ago.’
‘That will do, Tanner,’ Creer snarled. ‘You haven’t changed, I see. Still as arrogant as you always were. And as disrespectful.’
‘Not to those who deserve respect.’
‘Now, listen to me,’ hissed Creer. ‘I want you to understand this, Tanner. I’m going to be watching you. Watching very carefully indeed. You might be the big hero around here, but I am the officer commanding now. If you cross me, or try to make life difficult, I’ll see that you regret it. Is that clear?’
Tanner clenched his fists. One strike – that was all it would take: a clean, short, sharp thrust of his arm, his fist ramming into Creer’s temple.
‘Is that clear, Tanner?’ Creer repeated.
‘Crystal,’ muttered Tanner.
‘Good. Dismissed.’
Tanner saluted, turned and walked out.
He went slowly towards his tent, having pulled out and lit a cigarette. It was dark, but still warm, the sky bright with stars. He wondered what he should do. Request a transfer? Start again? No. That was running away from the problem and, in any case, he liked being around Sykes and Peploe and the other lads. He trusted them too. They were good soldiers – soldiers he could utterly depend on in battle. Tanner sighed and kicked the ground. Bloody hell! Stopping a moment, he looked around. A sea of tents, rows of faint shapes in the darkness. There was still the smell of cooking on the air, and low voices. No, he thought, he would stay. Stay and keep his head down. Look after his company, make sure they trained hard, and avoid Creer as much as possible; he would have to because he didn’t trust himself with that man. And it wasn’t like it had been in India. He’d been a boy, a private, the lowest of the low. Now he was a company commander, and while he did not think too much of medals, they did help. Decorated men were held in high regard by most. What was more, Peploe would always stick up for him – Creer had admitted as much. The thought cheered him. He paused to light another cigarette. So long as Peploe was second-in-command of the battalion, there was little Creer could do. Surely …
The Devil's Pact (2013) Page 8
