Eight
Later, back in the car, Les asked, ‘Do you trust the black bastard?’
Major England came back with, ‘Not wholly. But not because he’s black, because he’s cleverer than me.’
I asked them, ‘Aren’t I holding you back? Aren’t you supposed to be going somewhere?’
England told me, ‘No. We’re still ahead of schedule. We came back early to facilitate your little trip: Cliff arranged it.’
‘That’s the Cliff newly revealed to be a spy?’
‘A facilitator of spies. That’s the one. The Front’s static at the moment anyway; we don’t need to move until it does. Then we need to be up there with it. Monty’s stuck, Simp’s stuck, Horrocks is stuck, Brad’s stuck, they’re all stuck. Useless shower of bastards. Who’s not stuck, Les?’
‘The Russian General Zhukov. He’s not stuck, sir: it’s positively running out of him.’
‘How d’you know that?’
‘I have my sources,’ Les said huffily.
James then summed up for me. ‘So we’re in no hurry at present.’
‘What happens if you fall behind schedule?’
‘Ditch you, and steal all your money I should think.’
Then they had this conversation as if I wasn’t there.
‘Shall we show the boy the Elephant bet?’
‘Yes, Les. Why not? As good a way to spend the afternoon as any; then go and see Mrs Maggs. She might put us up – should have thought of her before.’
‘Pushing your luck there, sir, I should have thought.’
‘We’ve been pushing our luck for months.’
‘About the Elephant, sir. Are you on for five bob again this time?’
‘Not this time, Les; half a crown. Half a crown says they’re gone.’
‘Half a crown says they ain’t.’ Then, ‘You’re a lucky little bugger,’ Les told me. ‘The Major and me don’t share the Elephant bet with everyone, you know.’ They both appeared to find this excruciatingly funny.
I had noticed the whip aerial sticking up over the near-side rear wing before. Now was the time to show me what it did, or ‘earn your corn,’ as the Major put it.
He and I swapped places. I was put in the back seats, and given a small leather suitcase. When I opened it I found a small transmitter/receiver.
‘German job,’ Les told me. ‘Smashing, isn’t it? Bosch and Schmelling. Its transmit is Morse only, but you can tune it to receive anything: it has a very nice little speaker. You can even hear the Brylcreem boys dying over Germany on it, if you want to.’
I didn’t rise to the bait. In truth it was the neatest job I’d ever laid eyes on; and I’m a professional. I wanted it immediately. It connected to two small glass-cased batteries in a battered old doctor’s bag.
‘We borrowed it from a Jerry agent who parachuted on to the Isle of Wight by mistake.’ That was James again. ‘The Home Guard got him. I am afraid that they were rather robust with him; hence the stains inside the lid.’
‘It’s smaller than anything we do,’ I said, ‘and its build quality is amazing. What do you use it for? I mean what kind of message? Clear or code?’
‘Encrypted. One-time code pads. Nothing special. Old Raffles here drives me about a bit. I make a note of how many people I can see, and how much food’s lying about – usually sod-all. Then I do my sums, adding in soldiery and prisoners. Encrypt it, and tap out my shopping list back to base. They send it forward on five-tonners the next day. Couldn’t be simpler.’
‘That’s what Cliff told me. He also said that whenever it went wrong you got shot at.’
‘Cliff’s an old woman.’
‘What do you want me to do with it, James?’
‘Can you check that it’s OK? Then tune it to some decent station, and get us some music. It blows the knickers off the Froggie as we cruise past her with music pumping away like some portable orchestra.’
The aerial lead plugged into a neat jack plug above the rear seats. It only took a minute to warm up, and then we were in business. I got them an American Forces station from Spa, in Belgium, in the middle of a Tommy Dorsey programme. I hummed along with ‘After You’ve Gone’, until the Major turned and frowned at me.
Les drove us onto the Bois de Boulogne and somewhere beyond. Somewhere around the Bois we overtook a pretty woman cycling at the head of a short column of Boy Scouts. Her skirts billowed up as her knees pumped, and seeing us looking at her legs she waved and laughed. The boys laughed and waved as well. I had that thought again: This is what peace must be like. I turned to watch them out of the oval back window, but they were already stopping, and turning off the cobbled road.
I met the Elephant at the other end of the Bois: a few miles on. You’ve heard that joke – when is a something not a something? When is an Elephant not an Elephant? In this case, when it’s a fucking great tank: the biggest you’ve ever seen. It was on the grass verge facing Paris, and had a strip of its metal track stretched out behind it. Grass was growing through that, so it must have been there some time. Its huge, long gun barrel pointed vaguely upwards in a sad show of defiance. Les drove past, pulled up and parked. I was still looking at the beast. I said, ‘Strewth!’
‘A few Tommies have said that. Big bastard isn’t it?’
‘What is it?’
‘We told you: Jerry calls it the Elephant, an’ it’s not really a tank – it’s a self-propelled gun:
