The Devil's Pact (2013)

by James Holland

  Tanner patted Hepworth on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Hep.’

  Hepworth stood up, walked away and kicked the ground. ‘I’ve seen too much of this, sir. I’m sick of it. Christ, I’m only bloody well twenty-two. I should be out chasing girls, not watching me mates bleeding to death in front of me.’

  Tanner put an arm round his shoulders. ‘Come on, Hep. It’s hard, I know, but you’re a sergeant now. You’ve got your men to think about. They look up to you.’ He took out one of his American Camels and handed it to him. ‘This will all be over soon enough. You’ll still have plenty of time to chase all the girls you ever wanted.’

  Hepworth nodded. ‘Sorry, sir.’ He drew on the cigarette.

  ‘And here,’ said Tanner, passing him his hip flask. ‘Yankee whiskey. Have a sip.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Hepworth. ‘I’m all right. I’m just sorry about Bill. He was a pal.’

  Tanner left him and hurried back down the road, urging the men to their feet as he passed. He saw the two Wiltshiremen, Gulliver and Loader, nudge one another and nod in his direction. Jesus, that’s all I need. The last thing he wanted was them gossiping. He hoped that Cassibile would be easily taken, that they might then get the Wiltshiremen back to their own unit without delay. At the head of the column, he found Fauvel and Sykes waiting for him.

  ‘We’ve had a dekko,’ said Sykes. ‘The town’s just around this corner up ahead. A straight road heading right through it, houses and buildings either side. An old-fashioned linear town, boss. Seems quiet enough.’

  ‘Too quiet?’ asked Tanner.

  ‘I wouldn’t say so. If I was an Eyetie, and there was an invasion on my doorstep, I reckon I’d get inside and lock the door.’

  ‘What about either side of the town?’

  ‘Fields,’ said Fauvel, ‘with stone walls. A few olives, but no more citrus groves. Enough cover, though.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘All right. But we’re going to do this by the book. Call the platoon commanders, will you, Stan?’

  Sykes hurried off and returned a few minutes later with Shopland, Harker and Braithwaite.

  ‘Right,’ said Tanner, clutching his map. ‘Cassibile looks quiet enough, but we’re doing this properly. One Platoon will go around the left-hand side of the town, Two Platoon the right. Three Platoon can approach the main road through. I want each platoon split into covering groups and clearing groups. Company HQ can provide the fire section. We’ll set up at the edge of the town covering the main road through. Any idea where the church is?’

  ‘About seventy-five yards on the left once you enter the town,’ said Fauvel. ‘You can see it from just around that corner up ahead.’

  ‘Good. That’s got to be One Platoon’s priority.’ He turned to Shopland. ‘I’ll lead with you, Jim.’ To Sykes, he said, ‘Company HQ will also provide an ambush group. Stan, you can lead that. Take Griffiths with the Bren and the Wiltshiremen. Head around the town and set up at the far end covering any line of retreat.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sykes. ‘I’ll get going right away.’

  ‘Stan?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Keep those boys from the Wiltshires in order, all right?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Sykes whistled to Griffiths, called over the dozen men from the Wiltshires, then looked at his watch. ‘What time?’

  ‘Oh six fifty,’ said Tanner. ‘We’ll go in then. That gives us fifteen minutes. Enough time for you?’

  ‘Should be. It’s not far.’

  ‘Good. Now get going.’

  He watched Sykes’s group hurry off into the groves, then turned back to the others. ‘Now, listen,’ he said. ‘Chances are, the town’s undefended. So don’t let your men start hurling grenades about and firing at anything that moves. Civvies are civvies, not enemy soldiers.’ He turned to Fauvel. ‘I want you to stay with the fire group.’

  ‘Right,’ said Fauvel. ‘There’s a two-storey barn right at the edge of the town. Looks right down the main street.’

  ‘Perfect. Get that covered. That will be the killing ground if it comes to it.’

  Leaving his rifle with Trahair and the fire section, Tanner led 1 Platoon into the town, split into sections spaced apart and on either side of the street. The first houses were low, one-storey buildings. There was graffiti written on the wall of one: a painted stencil of Mussolini with the word ‘Vincere’ underneath, but a cross had been splashed across it in red paint and the words ‘Cazzo Mussolini’.

  ‘What does that mean?’ said McAllister.

  ‘I’ll tell you one day when you’re old enough,’

  Tanner replied. They walked on cautiously. Up ahead, a dog wandered into the road, paused, barked a couple of times, then trotted out of view. Another low building. The shutters were back and Tanner saw an elderly couple cowering inside. Suddenly a door opened, and a middle-aged man stepped out almost in front of Tanner. He pointed his Beretta at the man, who immediately thrust his hands into the air.

  ‘Non sparare! Non sparare!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Noi siamo gente pacifica qui!’

  ‘What’s ’e saying?’ said McAllister.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ muttered Tanner, then looking at the man he said, ‘Soldati? Italiano soldati?’

  ‘No, no!’ He pointed repeatedly towards the far end of the town, stabbing the air for emphasis. ‘Nella caserma.’

  ‘What?’ said Tanner, irritation in his voice.

  ‘Caserma,’ said the man again. ‘Nella caserma. Soldati. Ca-serm-a.’

  ‘It’s bloody Eyetie gibberish,’ said McAllister.

  ‘He means the barracks, I think,’ said Tanner. ‘Kaserne is German for barracks. Is it the same in Italian?’

  McAllister shrugged. Tanner looked across at Shopland, whose section had halted on the other side of the street and was watching the exchange. He turned back to the Italian man. ‘What about the church? The chiesa? Soldati in chiesa?’

  ‘No, no,’ said the man, then jabbed his hand towards the far end of town once more.

  Tanner sighed, then called Shopland across, who glanced up the street, and hurried over. ‘This bloke is saying there are troops at the far end of the town. I think he said there are some barracks.’

  ‘How do we know he’s telling the truth?’

  ‘We don’t. But we’ve got this place covered, and if he is, Sykes might not have enough men so I’ll hurry up the road with Mac, Three Section can clear the church, and you can get the rest of the platoon to move smartish down this street.’

  ‘All right. It certainly seems quiet enough.’

  Tanner patted him on the shoulder, then said, ‘Come on, Mac, iggery, all right?’

  They hurried off, past the church, half walking, half jogging, turning and watching carefully. Behind them, more Italians were emerging from their houses as the Rangers passed. Not a shot had been fired. Inexplicably, Tanner felt his heart beating faster. He gripped his Beretta tightly. He could see the end of the town, the last of the buildings. A small place, just a few streets wide, like something out of a western he’d watched at the cinema in Cairo. A few shops, still shut before the day’s trade, some houses and a church and not much more. Too quiet. Where the hell was Sykes?

  They were now at the end of the town, level with what appeared to be the last house. There was an alleyway, then just one more long, low building, boarded up, covered with dust, just a few yards ahead, and what appeared to be open country beyond. Tanner looked down a narrow alley and movement caught his eye. Immediately crouching, he looked more carefully. It was Hepworth, lying on the ground. Tanner whistled softly and saw him turn, then point. Up ahead.

  ‘What?’ Tanner mouthed.

  Suddenly there was a loud explosion. Tanner jolted, instinctively pressing himself against the wall. Recovering his composure, he glanced at Hepworth again, saw him rise and, with several others, move forward.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ called McAllister, behind him. ‘What’s going on, sir?’

  ‘Follo
w me and we’ll find out,’ Tanner called back.

  He ran on to the end of the low building, then paused and peered around it. Smoke was rolling upwards into the air, debris and grit clattering down. Faintly, through the smoke, Tanner could see several rows of wooden huts, then figures emerging, dark shapes escaping the smoke. Bren and rifle fire opened up and now the men were shouting, stumbling and falling.

  ‘Come on,’ said Tanner, waving McAllister and the others forward. He ran, then saw more men staggering out as the smoke cleared, their arms held high.

  ‘Ci arrendiamo! We surrender!’ shouted an Italian.

  ‘Cease fire!’ yelled Tanner. He waved to McAllister to fan out with his men. ‘Cease fire!’

  An Italian officer stumbled towards him, coughing, hands still raised.

  Tanner waited, watching. He could not understand why the barracks had not been marked on their maps, not picked out by those examining the stream of detailed air-reconnaissance photographs. How many men were based here? There were two rows of low wooden huts; a company at least.

  The Italian stood before Tanner, straightened his tunic, saluted, then handed over his pistol.

  ‘I am Captain Angelo Brasco,’ he said, in faltering English. ‘I have the honour to be commander of the Third Company of the 207th Coastal Regiment.’

  ‘Honour,’ muttered Tanner. ‘It’s all you bloody Italians ever talk about. Didn’t fancy much of a fight, then?’

  ‘I see no point in needlessly wasting the lives of my men, Captain.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tanner, conscious of Shopland standing beside him. ‘Your surrender is accepted. Please order your men to lay down their weapons, then form up here. Detail a party to attend to the dead and wounded if you wish.’ He turned to Shopland. ‘You’re in charge of watching over them here, Jim, all right?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Shopland.

  Tanner turned back to Brasco, who saluted.

  ‘Carry on, Captain,’ Tanner said, still holding Captain Brasco’s pistol, a semi-automatic Beretta, then turned. Where the hell was Sykes? Two of the huts were burning fiercely, while a gum tree overlooking the barracks had also caught fire. Spotting Hepworth, he walked over to him. ‘Seen the CSM, Hep?’

  ‘He’s rounding up Eyetie prisoners, sir.’

  ‘So what the hell happened?’

  ‘It was the CSM, sir.’

  Sykes was now walking towards them, grinning.

  ‘I’d never have guessed,’ Tanner replied. ‘All right, Hep, tell Lieutenant Harker to take his platoon back through the town and inform Captain Fauvel what’s going on. And well done. Good work here.’

  When Hepworth had hurried off, Sykes approached Tanner and said, ‘Some of those Eyeties were still in bed!’

  ‘I suppose it is quite early.’

  ‘How can they not have heard what’s going on, though? D’you think it’ll always be this cushy?’ He pushed his helmet to the back of his head.

  Tanner shrugged. ‘God knows. We were told these coastal divisions were likely to be a bit piss-poor, weren’t we? What happened, Stan?’

  Sykes had begun rolling a cigarette. ‘Well, we got here without being spotted, no problem. Plenty of cover – walls, shrubs, trees. Then we spotted these Eyetie bashas here. To be honest, I thought they might be some kind of farm, but then we saw some guards out front. They was watching some planes and occasionally pointing out to sea, but otherwise just standing out front doing sweet Fanny Adams. So I dug out a stick of dynamite, got the boys ready, and lobbed it towards the end of the huts. Then, whoomp! The Eyeties have the worst wake-up call of their lives and we nail the lot.’

  ‘You made me nearly jump out of my skin.’

  ‘Sorry, boss.’

  Tanner grinned and patted him on the back. ‘Well done, Stan. Good work.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Not sure. Where are bloody B and C Companies? I thought they’d landed just behind us.’

  ‘Busy corralling prisoners?’

  ‘Well, I wish they’d get a shift on.’ He looked at his watch. It was only a little after seven. ‘I’d better find Captain Fauvel and get Siff on the radio again.’ He scratched his cheek as one of the burning huts collapsed. ‘To be honest, I want to get rid of those Wiltshire boys, too.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Sykes, ‘I was going to talk to you about them.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘There’s two that know you.’

  Tanner sighed. ‘Gulliver and Loader.’

  Sykes nodded.

  ‘I thought they’d recognized me earlier. Bollocks.’

  ‘They knew you by your other name, though. Scard.’

  Damn it, damn it. Tanner pulled out a cigarette and lit it. ‘I really ought to get back to Fauvel,’ he said. ‘Do me a favour, will you, Stan? Keep an eye on them. Don’t let them start talking to any of our lads.’

  ‘That’s not all, though, sir,’ said Sykes.

  Tanner’s heart quickened. He drew on his cigarette.

  ‘They said you killed a man,’ said Sykes, in a low voice. ‘That you killed him, then ran. Never to be seen again. Until now, but with a different name.’

  Tanner turned on Sykes. ‘And what do you think, Stan, eh? That I’m a murderer?’

  ‘No, of course not. But you’re always so bloody mysterious about your past. How long have we known each other? Three years? I still don’t know why you left home, or why you’re called Tanner and not Scard. And I’ve never asked either. None of my business.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ Tanner snapped. ‘It isn’t.’ He flicked away his cigarette. ‘Do as I ask, please, Stan. Keep your eye on those Wiltshire boys. I don’t want them blabbing to the men, all right? I’m heading back to see Captain Fauvel.’

  Tanner walked down the main street of Cassibile, cursing his misfortune. People were coming out of their houses. Through a window, he saw a young man hastily changing out of his uniform and into civilian clothes; he froze, but Tanner walked on. He didn’t care that one Italian should avoid becoming a prisoner of war; as it was, there were already too many. His own company had captured several hundred, and he could only guess how many more had been taken that morning. The town was shabby: dusty, poor and charmless. It was already getting hot, and the summer heat would be intense in this part of the world. No doubt plenty of mosquitoes too; certainly, they had all been given malaria pills. He spotted a thin, mangy cat skulking on a wall. What a place to live, he thought, and once again he found himself filled with thoughts of home, its green, lush, curving chalk hills, little streams, brick and flint cottages. Cattle, sheep and crops. The call of a cock pheasant in frosty autumnal undergrowth.

  And then he thought of Gulliver and Loader and what they had told Sykes. Curse them. Of all the rotten luck. He could rely on Sykes to keep his trap shut, but he knew only too well how soldiers liked to gossip. Like bloody housewives. He had to do something about them. Have a word with Gulliver and Loader. Threaten them, maybe. Tanner wiped his brow. Damn it.

  Fauvel greeted him cheerily outside the company command post. A runner and 1 Platoon had already told him about the capture of the barracks at the far end of town. Several of the men stood around a small stove.

  ‘Char?’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Curious that the barracks hadn’t been marked up,’ he said, as he handed Tanner a mug.

  ‘I thought so too,’ agreed Tanner, ‘although I suppose it was quite well hidden by the gum trees there. Mistaken for farm buildings, maybe. Anyway, hardly made much difference. Sykes had it covered.’

  Fauvel smiled. ‘He’s a fine soldier.’

  ‘He is.’ He looked towards Phyllis, who sat on the ground, leaning against a wall, his radio set beside him. ‘So, what news? Where the hell are the others? I really thought they’d be here by now.’

  Fauvel rolled his eyes. ‘Seems B and C Companies had landed, but not at How Green. They ended up at Jig Sector.’

  Tanner laughed. ‘All t
he best-laid plans, eh?’

  ‘I suppose it was dark, the water choppy.’

  ‘One Eyetie beach looks much like another.’

  ‘Something like that.’ Fauvel grinned.

  ‘So what do we do?’ He took out his map again. ‘There’s Case Nuove on the coast to the east of here. Should we take that too, or keep going towards Syracuse?’

  Fauvel shook his head. ‘No. Seventeenth Brigade are on our flank and have been given Case Nuove. We’re to head a short way north of Cassibile and set up a roadblock until the rest catch up.’

  ‘All right. Where are Battalion Headquarters?’

  ‘They landed at How Green, as planned. They’re co-ordinating the arrival of supplies and B Echelon, and waiting for D Company to come ashore and for B and C Companies to catch up. They’re expecting to join us before midday.’

  ‘When we’ll be one big happy family once more.’ Tanner drank his tea. ‘Right. Let’s get going.’

  Back at the far end of the town, the Italian prisoners had been disarmed and corralled. Tanner had decided he would give the task of sending the prisoners back to the beaches to the dozen Wiltshiremen; it would, he hoped, kill two birds with one stone.

  He found them drinking tea and chatting with some of the Rangers. Much to his annoyance, there was no sign of Sykes. He noticed Gulliver and a couple of 3 Platoon men look up furtively as he approached.

  ‘Where’s the CSM?’ he snapped.

  ‘Gone for the call of nature, sir,’ said Corporal Cooper, a section commander in 3 Platoon.

  ‘Gulliver,’ said Tanner, looking at the man. ‘A word.’

  Gulliver looked around – What, me? – then stepped forward, following Tanner a short way from the others. ‘What is it, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Come with me.’ Tanner walked on, back towards the main road through the town and to the alleyway before the last building. When they were out of earshot and sight of the others, he stopped and turned to face the other man, eyeing him coldly. Tanner could see the fear in Gulliver’s face: eyes darting, the heavy bulge of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the slight movement from one foot to the other.

  ‘What, sir?’ he said, trying to avoid Tanner’s gaze.