‘Would I get to meet her? If I stuck around, that is?’
‘She’s in Hamm.’
‘That’s in Germany.’
‘Yeah. I only get to go home to see her at weekends.’
‘Have we got that far yet?’
‘Some of us have, Charlie. Don’t worry; the regular Army will catch up one day. Your friend Tommo has bought half of Munsterland already. I help him with the language. His basic Kraut is OK, but he has no dialect.’ Then he said, ‘Go inside, Charlie; your friends will be getting anxious. I’ll pick you up in a couple of days.’
‘How will you know where I am?’
‘I’ll ask a friend.’
‘Pete . . . I take it there’s nothing particularly legal about what you’re doing?’
‘Erwacht Charlie. The Kraut is collapsing. There is no legal over here: there’s just do what you want. Go over there and fill your boots, just like the rest of us. To the victors the spoils.’
‘That would make a great name for a film after this lot is over,’ said James. The bastard had come creeping up on me again. ‘The Victors. I think I’ll write that down. Who’s your pal?’
Pete and I stood.
‘Pete. This is my Major, James England. Pete used to fly with me, James.’
England glanced at the Poland flash on Pete’s shoulder.
‘You’re not the foreign johnny that seems to get into every district just in front of me, and buys up all the food before I get there?’
‘No,’ Pete said. ‘Must be some other Pole. Goddam race of goddam thieves.’ Only Pete could say that without smiling.
‘Pete was shot down and evaded. He’s making his way back.’
‘Would he like us to help him?’
‘No.’ That was me. ‘He’s shifting all right for himself. I’m coming in now. Are there any of those sandwiches left?’
‘Les and your old man are standing between a plateful and Mon Général, but I’d get a move on if I was you; the ravenous old sod will outmanoeuvre them before long.’
Pete was already moving unhurriedly away. He said, ‘So long, Charlie. I’ll see you later.’
When they handed me my first E & T at the bar I realized that although Pete had commented on my scarecrow’s mix of uniform, he hadn’t asked me very much about what I was doing. That was interesting. I wandered over to the piano with a couple of spamwiches in one hand and a hefty drink in the other. The pianist was playing a local arrangement of ‘In the Mood’. He smiled white tombstone teeth at me and said, ‘Nice medal, boss!’
We both knew what he meant, and grinned at each other. Pop danced past with his nursie: I thought that it was early in the day for her tits to be out again. It was the first time I noticed what a good, light dancer he was – up on the balls of his feet. As he passed he mouthed, ‘Off tomorrow,’ to me.
‘Where to?’
‘Home.’
James danced past like a bear in wellies. It was the first time I noticed that he couldn’t dance at all. He had the girl from the latrine in his arms. He took his tongue from her ear long enough to say, ‘Make the most of it Charlie. Moving on tomorrow. The girls won’t like you where we’re going.’
I looked around for Lee and her pals, and couldn’t see them. Maybe I had imagined her. Albie was in a group with some tankies and James Oliver. He held his drink in his left hand; his right was buried in a sling. I asked him, ‘How’s that finger?’
‘Dead and gone to heaven.’
He produced the right hand. The bandage wasn’t there; neither was the middle finger. Not even a stump. There was just a neat plaster covering the gap between his first and ring fingers. I asked him, ‘Will that be a problem?’
‘Not unless I want to be Pad-u-wreski, or a New York cabdriver. Old Tits-Out was right as usual: gangrene or something. Bloody McKechnie had it off before I had time to whistle “Marching thru’ Georgia”. I whistled the Last Post instead.’
‘He’s turning into a good cutter. I’m pulling out tomorrow.’
‘So am I. I’ll be across the Rhine in two days.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘Why not? The Brass have got it wrong so often that they’re bound to be right sooner or later.’
‘Do you think that my medal party is going to last long?’
‘All day. Eat, drink, and be merry, Charlie . . . for tomorrow we die.’ We had used that excuse on the squadron.
‘Not you, Albie – you’ll just lose another bit. Seen Les?’
‘He was tapping up some American supply side Sergeant last I saw him; doing a deal down near the rattlesnake.’
‘What rattlesnake?’
‘That fat bastard of a diamondback that bit Pete Wynn last year. It’s in a glass box at the far end of the bar. There’s a table beside it which is a good place to be if you don’t want no other company.’
The rattlesnake and I were acquainted. I had met it on a USAAF base in England where its guardian, a Red Indian, used to let it roam free. I went to the farewell party they threw for their squadron’s Major. His name was Peter Wynn, and I had counted him a friend of mine. The Indian was killed over Lübeck, and Wynn got it in the arse from his snake when he went to clear the Indian’s kit out. I wished the snake dead, but Wynn hadn’t blamed it, and made everyone promise to keep it going. It was going to be a particularly well-travelled reptile. The snake recognized me. It raised its head about an inch off the sand in its big Plexiglas box, and gave me a lazy rattle with its tail. Its eyes twinkled at me. In a human being you would have taken that for good humour: with the snake I wasn’t so sure.
Tommo shared the table with Les. When the snake spotted me Tommo said, ‘She likes you. Siddown why don’t yuh?’
I put the words back together
