The Major gave his wry smile. I could sense him relaxing. He asked, ‘What does this Colonel Gatcombe think?’
‘No idea, sir. The Colonel started to pray as soon as the Krauts came over the hill: they’ve shipped him Stateside in a strong jacket laced up with tapes. The fight-back at Ganda was organized by a Quartermaster Sergeant and a black cook.’
‘And they stopped a half-company of Paras?’ That was Les.
‘Well, Mr Finnigan. Maybe not a company. The Colonel might have got excited.’
‘So can we go through to what was the rest area?’ James asked. ‘The Padre here needs to speak to a Lieutenant . . .’
‘Grayling. Albert Grayling. Albie. I met him once at the American Red Cross Officers’ Club in Bedford.’
‘Yeah, Padre. Albie’s there. Acting Captain now. They’ll need to find him a few more tanks before he moves on.’
‘Is he OK?’
The Yank paused before replying. He seemed like a straight guy.
‘Yeah, Padre. He’s OK. They’ve taken a hell of a pounding moving up to the river . . .’ There was only one river on people’s minds these days. ‘He lost half the squadron, so they went into R & R to wait for reinforcement. There ain’t much for them up here, but they’ve set up a half-decent bar, and a couple of chow tents. One of our Entertainments Officers found some films. There’s a bathing unit up there as well. They were OK until the Jerry came marching down the road behind them. It spoiled their party.’
‘That’s happened to us,’ Les offered. ‘It never does seem fair, does it?’
I asked, ‘So what are you telling us?’
‘That you might find Albie and his pals are a mite nervous just now.’
‘And a big mob of Germans are still in a nearby castle overlooking their position?’
‘Not overlooking, sir; but near enough to make you feel antsy.’
The Major asked him, ‘Is there any good news?’
‘The Bath Unit, Major. They stood and fought: saved the day. When they ran out of soap, they threw facecloths and scrubbing brushes. The Jerry turned and fled.’
‘Into the castle.’ It was James again. ‘. . . and they’re still there?’
‘Yeah,’ the American said, and suddenly looked his age, which wasn’t much. ‘It’s a bit of a pisser, isn’t it, sir?’
Fourteen
Oliver came on with us. There were two more checkpoints to pass through. The Yanks must have believed in capital punishment for the politically radical, because his directions to Les were peppered with hang a left here, and hang a sharp right, now. Once the idea was lodged in my head I snorted each time he used the phrase. He began to look at me as if he thought I was a bit touched.
James said, ‘Don’t mind the Padre: God puts him under pressure now and again.’
‘To tell you the truth, Major, the Padre is going to be the only one of the three of you that’s welcome down there.’ He probably had an IQ of about seven. Command material.
I revised my opinion of him as we turned into the olive drab campsite we had come so far to find. It looked like a Boy Scout jamboree, but with mud. He said, ‘I’m sure that we can find you a rear saloon window to replace the one you lost, but I’m not so sure of the one on the driver’s door. We may just have to cut a sheet of Clear-Vu, and rivet it in. That OK?’
‘Whatever you say, Lieutenant.’ That was James. ‘God says we should be grateful for small mercies: I’m not going to argue with that; the Padre wouldn’t let me.’ He chuckled. The bastard was taking the piss again. He was also taking the piss out of God. That’s not so clever. God has a really long memory.
Albie’s R & R area had become tacked on to the biggest field hospital Les had ever seen. (He told me that later.) Tanks and armoured vehicles were holed up over a huge area that had once been a dozen fields on a gentle hillside. It was churned to buggery, and soldiers in fatigues with mudcoloured legs were moving around on wooden-board pathways. My old man would have felt at home in something that looked as much like a First War back area as this. There was no guard or checkpoint, just a field gateway on high ground: the camp stretched down away from you and above you, smothering the bloody hillside. It was the first bit of Holland I’d seen that wasn’t flat, and I didn’t fancy it one little bit.
Our Yank, Oliver, asked Les, ‘Would you mind leaving your car up here, soldier? You’re as like to get bogged in down there, as not. I’ll send a Maintenance Unit up here to have a go at the busted windows.’
Les stuck it in close to the hedge, and we all decamped: he kept his Sten, and strolled like I’d seen him do before, with his arm resting on it, as if in a sling. When we reached wooden-plank pathways Oliver said, ‘Welcome to Boardwalk City. The problem is that I don’t know where Albie is likely to be. Would you mind if we split? If the Major and his driver would care to move down among the tanks, and ask for Albie’s unit, I’ll take the Padre up the hill to the hospital and the recreation tents. We could meet you in the Quonset – that’s the bar, the wooden thing with the flag over it – in say, an hour. One of us should have had some success by then.’
I wasn’t too keen, and it must have shown in my face. James said, ‘Take it easy, Charlie. If Mr Oliver was going to arrest you, he would have
