‘I hope so,’ said Tanner.
‘Don’t you want to stay as officer commanding then, sir?’
‘I’d happily step aside for Peploe.’ He lit a Camel, then passed them round.
‘Not black-market goods, I hope, sir?’ said Brown.
Sykes cuffed him over the head and Brown swerved. ‘Hey, what was that for?’ he asked.
‘Being cheeky to the major.’
‘Play your cards right, Browner,’ said Tanner, ‘and you might be given some too. The man we’re going to see is always very generous with his cigarettes, you know.’
They reached Enna in good time and, having climbed up the road that led to the strange hilltop town, found themselves speeding down a network of narrow winding streets. They found the Municipio easily enough, not least because several Jeeps and military vehicles were parked outside. It was a grand, ornate building, with four columns at the front and steps leading up to the main entrance. Telling the men to wait in the Jeep, Tanner went in alone.
Inside, there were a number of American servicemen as well as Italians, but Wiseman spotted him and called from an open office door.
‘Jack, you made it! Come on in,’ he said, beckoning to him.
Closing the door behind him, he said, ‘Have a seat. How d’you get here? Take the N92?’
‘Yes. It was a good ride. Hot, but not unpleasant with the breeze from the Jeep.’
‘Great. Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Coke? Lemonade?’
‘A Coke maybe, thanks.’
‘Sure,’ said Wiseman. ‘Be back in two shakes.’ He disappeared and Tanner looked around at the sparse room, with its bare desk, three chairs and whitewashed walls.
Wiseman returned. ‘Here you go,’ he said, handing Tanner a bottle.
‘You’re not based here, are you, Charlie?’ said Tanner.
‘No – just a little business to attend to for a day or two. I’m usually either at AMGOT in Palermo, these days, or at Seventh Army Headquarters and CP.’
Tanner took a swig of his Coke and felt the strange carbonated liquid fill his mouth.
‘Very good of you to come anyway,’ added Wiseman.
‘One favour deserves another,’ said Tanner. ‘So how can I help?’
Wiseman leaned forward on his desk and put his hands together. ‘I’m going to be straight with you, Jack. Last time we met, I warned you not to meddle in the affairs of the Sicilians, but I hear that’s exactly what you’ve done. You’ve humiliated Camprese, shown a lack of respect, and offended his honour. He wants you dead, Jack. He’s asked his chief’s permission to have you killed.’
‘Christ, word travels fast around here.’
‘Very fast. You have no idea.’
‘I’m not scared of a jumped-up idiot like that.’
‘You should be. These guys are serious, Jack, I’m telling you. And you’ve put me in a very difficult situation.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie, really I am, but the bloke’s an arsehole. He’s a bully and a murderer. He’s been trying to use black-market American goods to coerce the people. Christ, he was unloading them under my nose, as though he were untouchable. As though we wouldn’t mind him dealing illegally in goods he had no right to have. I wish I’d never known about it, and if he’d made just the slightest effort to be a little more subtle, then maybe I never would have done. But he didn’t, I found out, and I have to do what I believe is right. And before you ask, yes, he is pestering Francesca Falcone. He’ll never leave her alone. He wants it all: power, riches, the beautiful girl. I don’t know about other places. Maybe other Mafia mayors are cut from a different cloth. But I do know about what’s going on in Motta, and much though I want to help you, Charlie, I can’t sit back and let this bad-mash win. Ask me anything, Charlie, and I’ll do it, but not that.’
Wiseman sighed and leaned back, his arms behind his head. ‘All right, Jack, you win. I’ll see what I can do, but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. You’ve been a good friend, but you take these guys on at your peril. As long as you know that.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Jack.’
Outside, Tanner found the others sitting across the street in the shade. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
‘Did he give you any Camels, sir?’ asked Brown.
‘No, sorry, not this time,’ said Tanner. ‘But tell you what, Browner, get us back without any more swerving and I’ll give you a packet of mine.’
They drove out of the town and back down towards the Dittaino valley. Etna still dominated the skyline, even from forty miles away. Tanner watched the view for a while, still thinking about what Wiseman had told him, then felt his eyelids begin to droop. The sun, the heat, the drone of the engine and the whirr of tacky rubber on the road had a soporific effect. He closed his eyes. Sykes and Brown were talking but then he stopped listening and his head lolled forward.
He awoke with a jerk as the Jeep swerved violently and shots rang out.
‘Jesus Christ!’ yelled Brown. They had slowed on a corner but now the Jeep was wildly out of control. More shots and a burst of sub-machine-gun fire, and Tanner was conscious of men either side, firing from behind rocks and scrub, bullets pinging into the metal.
‘Keep driving, Browner!’ shouted Tanner, as he opened fire wildly with his Beretta.
‘I can’t – front tyre’s flat!’
The Jeep continued to swerve.
Sykes was firing short bursts with the Bren as shots continued to zip and ping around them. Then the Jeep seemed to right itself, only to slide again. This time it came off the road fifty yards from the hairpin and jolted to a halt in a ditch, Tanner cracking his head on the windshield.
‘Get out!’ he cried, blood already running down his face. Jumping clear, he dived into the ditch in front of the Jeep and felt Brown and Sykes land beside him.
‘Where’s Siff?’ he said in alarm, as he wiped his face with his sleeve.
‘Jesus!’ said Sykes. ‘Siff!’ He poked his head up above the bonnet as another bullet cracked into the windscreen. ‘He’s been bloody hit!’
‘Siff!’ Brown yelled.
‘I’ve been hit,’ said Phyllis. ‘I’ve been bloody hit!’
‘Well keep your sodding head down!’ shouted Tanner.
‘I am! I’m keeping as low as I can.’
‘Just stay there, Siff, don’t move.’ He crawled under the Jeep and peered back up the road. There were men either side, lying on the rising ground to the left, and in the trees on the right as the ground fell away. How many? Eight? Maybe a couple more?
‘We’ve got to get Siff!’ said Brown.
‘No, we don’t,’ said Sykes, crouching low behind the radiator and fumbling in his bag. ‘We’ve got to kill those bastard Eyeties first.’
‘What’ve you got, Stan?’ said Tanner.
‘Six grenades, spare mags and some TNT.’
‘All right,’ said Tanner. ‘Unless they’ve got grenades or manage to set fire to the Jeep, we should be all right here for the moment. They know we’re armed.’
‘So we’ll throw one of the blocks of TNT onto the road, which will kick up lots of dust and grit. They’ll all lie low and we dash forward with grenades and our weapons.’
‘Good plan,’ said Tanner, wiping his face again. Bullets continued to zip onto the road, and into the Jeep. ‘Browner and I will go to the right of the road, you go to the left, Stan.’
Sykes nodded, gave them each two grenades, then lit the fuse, mouthed, ‘Four seconds,’ and hurled the block of TNT as far as he could. Several of the Italians shouted in panic, and a moment later the TNT exploded. Without waiting for the blast to subside, they jumped up, Tanner and Brown sprinting across the road, then crouching, away from the blast. Smoke and dust swirled into the air, a man cried out, others were coughing, and Tanner was pulling the pin from the grenade and throwing it towards the Italians. A gasp and a fleeting glance at Brown, then his finger was around the second ring, pulling the pin clear again – count to two – an
d hurling it through the air. Seconds later, a staccato of dull explosions, cries and yells, then Tanner was running forward again, firing at the shapes of several men through the smoke and dust. Pulling out the magazine, he grabbed another from his pocket, rammed it home, saw a man running away, up the hill, as across the road, the Bren sputtered and barked. Tanner aimed at the fleeing man, fired, felt the Beretta vibrate in his hands, and watched the Italian stumble and fall.
And then, suddenly, silence. As the smoke and dust cleared, Tanner counted four men dead on the cliff ledge above the road and walked over to the fifth, still sprawled on the ground, a dark pool of blood seeping out onto the dusty soil beside him.
‘Browner, get back to Siff. Stan? You all right?’
‘I’ve got four here,’ said Sykes.
Tanner hurried over, clambering down the cliff overlooking the road and across to the trees where Sykes was standing, the still-smoking Bren now across his shoulder. Three were dead, one nearly so. Tanner stood over the Italian, who stared back, his mouth moving wordlessly.
‘He’s still alive!’ called Brown, from the Jeep. ‘He’s been hit in the shoulder.’
Tanner looked down at the Italian once more, but the man was dying, his face a waxy white, the life force seeping away. Then he jerked and fell back, dead.
Brown was wrapping dressings around Phyllis’s shoulder. ‘Why were those bastards shooting at us?’
‘I think because we upset Mayor Camprese,’ said Tanner. He turned to Phyllis. ‘We’ll get you out of here, Siff, don’t you worry. You’ve got that wadding on tight, haven’t you, Browner?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ve been bloody shot,’ mumbled Phyllis.
‘You’ve been bloody lucky,’ said Sykes. ‘Straight through and probably missed your lung. Play your cards right, it might even be a Blighty.’
‘We’ve got to get the Jeep back on the road and see if we can start it. Here, Browner, we need you a moment.’
The three of them moved to the Jeep and heaved. Slowly it inched out of the ditch and onto the level.
‘That front tyre’s shredded!’ exclaimed Brown. ‘No wonder I lost control.’
‘What’s the spare look like?’ asked Sykes.
‘All right. The fuel can’s been hit and there’s a fair few marks back here, but it could be worse.’
Sykes hopped into the driver’s seat, switched on the ignition and pressed down the starter button next to the throttle. ‘The moment of truth,’ he said. The engine turned a few times, then coughed into life. Sykes grinned.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Tanner. He lowered the shattered windscreen onto the bonnet. ‘It’ll be a dusty ride back, but at least we don’t have to walk.’
With the tyre changed in less than ten minutes, they started the Jeep once more and sped on their way, leaving the dead Italians lying where they had fallen.
‘We can’t let Camprese get away with this, boss,’ said Sykes, as they drove east, the wind and dust battering them.
‘No,’ said Tanner, ‘we can’t.’ But was it Camprese? As they drove on, a feeling of unease spread through him, a suspicion that refused to go away.
25
Monday, 9 August, late afternoon. The battalion had gone. Trucks had arrived at the edge of the town early that morning and off the men had marched, leaving the place suddenly much quieter.
‘We’ll be back in a few days,’ Tanner had told her. ‘Enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘I will.’ She had laughed, but in truth, she missed them already. The men had brought cheer and kindness, both to her and Cara, whom they had showered with attention, while the officers had been courteous and considerate; they had been friendly and open too, but never obsequious or lustful as Kranz had been. She had felt comfortable around those men and trusted them. They reminded her of Nico, in a way – the same kinds of conversation she had shared with her brother; the playfulness. Good, decent young men. She had enjoyed their company.
She had not been left entirely alone. Jerry Masters had remained, along with a number of the Headquarters staff, but it wasn’t the same without Sykes and Ivo Macdonald. It wasn’t the same without Jack.
As she walked with Cara towards the baker’s, ambling slowly across the square, she thought of Tanner and wondered whether she was not falling a little bit in love with him. He was unquestionably handsome, she thought, but that was not it. Even Camprese was good-looking, and she could think of no man she despised more. Rather, it was the slightly haunted melancholy about Jack Tanner, that distant expression. Then someone would say something, and he would break into a smile. He was a serious man, but humour was never far away. And he stood up for people. He had stood up to Camprese, even though it was dangerous for him to do so; even though the Mafia had tried to have him killed. Poor Phyllis. She had helped Captain Howell clean and dress his wound, and then he had been driven away to hospital. Jack had been next, sitting at her table as Captain Howell stitched a gash across the top of his head. ‘Scarred for life,’ he’d said.
‘But it’s above your hair line,’ she’d replied.
He’d grinned and winked. ‘Let’s hope I don’t lose my hair, then.’
But there was something more about Jack Tanner that had attracted her. He had been the last man to speak to Nico, and he had arrived, by coincidence, or perhaps it had been Fate, at her door, and recognized her. He had told her the truth about her beloved brother. It was almost, she thought, as though Jack had been sent to her because Nico had gone. She chided herself. Nonsense. Life is not like that.
She looked down at Cara, happily swinging her arm as they walked.
‘When will the soldiers be back, Mamma?’ she asked.
‘Soon, I hope, little one,’ she told her. ‘Soon.’
She was still thinking of Tanner when, a few minutes later, two men drew alongside her, gripped her arms, cupped a hand over her mouth and steered her with Cara down one of the narrow side alleys that fed off the street. They pushed her into a dark, empty house, shutting and bolting the door behind them.
Wednesday, 11 August, 5 a.m. About a mile ahead lay the two villages of Rinazzo and Milo, nestling against the eastern slopes of Etna, towering above them. The battalion had been on the go for thirty-six hours, and although in that time Tanner had not fired any of his weapons, they had been mortared and shelled every step of the way.
This battle was between the gunners and the sappers, as the Germans fell back ever closer to Messina. This, Rawstorne had told him the previous evening, was the endgame. ‘Jerry’s retreating across the Strait,’ he’d told Tanner, from the seat of his still-running Jeep. ‘We’ve smashed the Etna Line so what’s left are the rearguards. It’s simply a delaying action to enable as many of their men as possible to get to the safety of the mainland.’
That had meant mines and booby traps, harassing machine-guns and mortars, then being shelled by German gunners. Forward would go the sappers, protected by the infantry as Allied aircraft harried the enemy and British artillery shells hurtled through the sky in return. When the Germans stopped firing, it meant they had left the town ahead. The engineers would inch forward again, and then, as the infantry and sappers together entered the town, the German gunners would open up once more.
It would probably happen ahead too, Tanner thought. On their right, the Green Howards were about to enter Milo. The smaller Rinazzo had been allocated to the Yorks Rangers.
A brief consultation with the sappers, then on they went, A and C Companies leading, with B Company in reserve, men scurrying low along the road, while other platoons scampered across the terraces and through the trees that overlooked both villages. Tanner watched from a curve in the track that ran along the slopes and terraces above Milo, peering through his binoculars, his body tense as he waited for the sound of a machine-gun or a mine exploding.
But this time none came, and shortly after half past five, a signal arrived from A Company that they were in Rinazzo and the Germans had gone. Tanne
r followed with Battalion HQ, and had just reached the village when German guns opened up and the sky was alive to the sound of screeching, screaming shells. Most fell on Milo, and on the Green Howards, who had entered the town at the same time as the Yorks Rangers had taken Rinazzo.
Almost immediately, the British guns replied, pouring counter-battery fire on the German positions some two miles further up the coast. Twenty minutes later, it was over, and calm resumed.
For several hours, the Rangers remained at Rinazzo, smoking, drinking tea, eating some rations and looking at the view.
‘I knew a chap who had his honeymoon here,’ said Macdonald, as they sat on a stone terrace wall and gazed out across the sea towards the toe of Italy. ‘Or, at least, it was near here. Place called Taormina a little further up the coast. He was a submariner. Nice chap.’
‘So this is a holiday destination, is it?’ asked Tanner.
‘Oh, yes. It’s rather well known for that. You have to admit, the coastline’s stunning.’
‘Now that the smoke and dust have gone, yes,’ agreed Tanner, ‘I’ll give you that, Ivo. It’s very nice.’
Then at around eleven a staff officer from Brigade arrived in a Jeep and told them 5th Division was being released.
‘Message from the brigadier,’ said the lieutenant, passing the note to Tanner. He waited while Tanner read: Op Baytown being advanced to 1/9/43. Return to Motta Sant’Anastasia and await instructions. Congratulations to you and all the men on magnificent effort.
‘Thank you,’ said Tanner.
‘Transport will be waiting for you in Zafferana, sir.’
‘All right,’ said Tanner. ‘That’s only a couple of miles back. Tell the brigadier we’ll be moving right away.’
The lieutenant saluted and left, then Tanner turned to the men around him. ‘Well, that’s it, boys,’ he told them. ‘Our part in the Sicilian Campaign is over.’
They reached Motta Sant’Anastasia in the early evening, and as Trahair parked the Jeep outside Battalion Headquarters, Tanner stepped out and looked up to see swifts circling the church, their strange cries clear in the otherwise quiet evening sky.
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