‘Do you want me to mark it for you?’ I asked him. ‘I could use one of your remaining radios to get an exact position for you if you liked.’ The tank gave another lurch. Soil trickled onto its turret top again.
‘Could you?’
‘Not a problem, sir.’ Although I had my doubts.
I used his own tank, Watson’s wavelength, and my Morecambe call sign . . . and was pleasantly surprised to get a good signal. M’smith wanted to know what I was doing. I asked him to set up a triangulation on me. He wanted to know why.
‘Don’t bloody argue, Hector. Just bloody do it.’
‘Do you want me to tell the boss?’
‘Might as well: he’ll probably use it as evidence at my trial.’
‘Are you in the shit again, Charlie?’
‘That is an exceptionally good guess; now do your job, and lose yourself. The man I’m with has other signals to make.’ It was as hot as hell inside a bloody tank, despite the blowers, and even with it just ticking over, it was difficult to hear yourself speak over the engine noise. I was damned glad to climb out into the air again.
‘Why don’t we stay with you until you reach the road?’ I asked the Lieutenant.
‘Won’t that annoy your temporary guv’nor with Sergeant Clare’s patrol?’
‘I’ll radio him. Considering the state of our relationship at present, one more bit of disobedience won’t make any difference. I’ll tell him you need my radio skills. If you put a rope around my waist I’ll get inside your sinking giant, and pull the radio out. You won’t want to leave that for the wogs.’
‘Don’t worry about that, we’ll just blow her up where she is.’ I suppose sharp decision making is what we pay young Army officers for, and should be grateful when we find one capable of it.
That’s exactly what he did, and the leviathan settled another couple of feet as he prepared her. It was like watching the end of The Flying Enterprise on a cinema newsreel, except that no one put her out of her misery, did they? The Army is exceptionally good at blowing things up: from a quarter of a mile away they made a very satisfying bang . . . which was followed by a number of others as the blank ammo went up in sympathy, and a black cloud of oily smoke. Everyone looked happy except Sergeant Owen, his driver and two men. They looked as if they’d lost a friend. Then we went back, and filled the hole in with spades. That took a couple of hours, and everyone took a shot. I needn’t have worried about an excuse for Smart Alec, since the tankies needed me and my jeep to get their tankless crew back to civilization anyway – they would have fried riding on the tank hulls.
We drove out of the blue, and back onto the black stuff two days later, and an hour down the road came across Smart Alec’s little convoy waiting for us. I swapped the jeep for the old Austin again. Trigger hopped down at the Deversoir turn-off; we stood in the road and shook hands. Peter Clare also came back to shake hands with me. We didn’t say much as an insistent bleating horn from Smart’s jeep contracted the goodbyes.
Clare said, ‘This was an interesting trip, sir, but don’t take it to heart. We get them right sometimes.’
‘I know you do, Sergeant. A lot of that crap was out of your control.’ I regretted the phrase as soon as it came out. He grinned.
Trigger said, ‘So long, sir. See you in Ish sometime.’ I’ll swear that the word Charlie was on the end of his tongue.
I had to queue at the Deversoir gate behind a line of Water Carriers – Commers, I think – and as I drove the old Austin up to its slot behind the stores shed I felt kinda blue.
I needed a bath and a beer. Let’s run that again, and put the words the other way round: first things first.
PART THREE
Snap, Crackle and Pop
Chapter Seventeen
Love me or leave me
When I awoke the tent was beginning to light up with the morning. A shadow passed the tent wall silhouetted by the early sun. It was low, slinky and lion-shaped.
Nancy lay on one side on his camp bed, his head propped up by hand and elbow. He was watching me.
He said, ‘Hello, Charlie.’
He was wearing exactly the same clothes I had last seen him in. They looked OK, except maybe a little charred around the edges. He smelt of gasoline and cooked pork, which was a smell I was familiar with – a very pink smell.
I was so tired that I literally couldn’t lift a limb. I managed, ‘I’m still asleep, aren’t I?’
‘If you say so, old boy. I wish I was.’
‘Go away. I’ve seen things like you before. You’re dead.’
‘Got it in one. Dead and gone to Heaven.’
‘What’s Heaven like?’
‘Just like the Muslims tell us; all wine and willing women they have a much better Heaven than us, so I chose theirs.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘I don’t quite know. I was looking down, fiddling with a camera, when it happened.’
‘When what happened?’
‘When I died; just like that – I never felt a thing.’
‘Where’s your aircraft?’
‘Where do aircraft usually go when they die? Buggered if I know.’
‘You know what I mean, Oliver.’
‘Yes, but I’m trying hard not to think about it. Somewhere out in the Sinai, I suppose.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Apart from your company? Nothing much . . . nice to say à bientôt, though,
