‘Did he say when the column was coming back?’
‘They aren’t. He said they were on the move eastwards after our lot.’
‘Right, boy, let’s get as many of these signs as we can, then we’ll bring up the three-tonner and mebbe have a sniff around to see what we can find.’
With daylight, the storm had gone and the air was sweet and the sky serene in a mass of gold and vermilion clouds. The inhabitants of the town, slipping back in with the Italian lorries from the desert, had been badly shaken by the air raid and near the little harbour a tremendous argument was going on. An ammunition ship was on fire and the ammunition was smouldering while everybody discussed whether they should move it out or not. Those who lived and worked nearby were eager to see the back of it while those who didn’t couldn’t have cared less.
By this time scattered lorries, in ones and twos and in groups, were moving eastwards from the lorry park near the fort on to the road that ran through the town. None of the occupants looked twice at the four men in Italian jackets and caps standing by the Bedford lorry bearing a scorched red and green palm tree insignia and the words Combattere, Obbedire, Vincere on the side.
The officer’s jacket they had picked up had had a bundle of Italian banknotes in the pocket and, while they hadn’t the courage to use the money to buy anything, they were able to fill up the watercans they had found at a standpipe in the street before heading back to the warehouse where the others waited.
In the courtyard of a wrecked building the Italians had erected a cookhouse. Fires were burning and several large iron cooking pots were simmering, and men with dixies were waiting in a queue. The smell of cooking meat and tomatoes reminded them how hungry they were. A few of the Italians waved and shouted and vehicles passed, towing guns, but nobody stopped them.
When they reached the ruined warehouse Dampier had been busy. He had taken one of the flats from the Ratbags’ equipment and erected it. On it were scratched some of the few Italian words Dampier knew – 64 Unito di Riparazione.
‘Thought I might as well make us look as if we belonged here,’ he said proudly.
Stuffing the documents they had salvaged into his already bulging briefcase, Rafferty smiled approvingly but Morton gave it a cold look.
‘It’s Unità,’ he said. ‘Not Unito.’
With the tools and equipment that Clutterbuck and his cronies had been pretending to use, Dampier had set up a repair unit of sorts to go with the sign. A sullen Clutterbuck had lifted the bonnet of Dampier’s car and had his head in the engine space.
Dampier explained. ‘I thought some show of activity might put off anybody who came our way. After all, if the British army has vehicle depots in the desert, surely the Italians do, too. It seems to me, Mr Rafferty, that we have certain advantages that other units might lack. Such as two men who speak excellent Italian, a set of Italian tools, which, though it might not pass muster at an inspection, will do for the time being, two mechanics, one of them one of the Italian speakers; and one – Clutterbuck – who’s skilled with Italian Lancias and, I might add, possesses certain other skills, such as deluding the authorities. In addition, we possess three Italian uniforms.’
‘More now,’ Rafferty smiled. ‘We picked up two more jackets and several caps.’
Dampier nodded, looking like Napoleon outlining the plan for Waterloo to his marshals. ‘Disadvantages: we seem to be totally surrounded by enemy troops. But I’ve done my best to make us look like a functioning Italian unit so no one will bother us and we can make plans to disappear as soon as we get the chance.’ He looked round at the others in his pompous military fashion. ‘When we move, the staff car will lead, the heavy vehicles following. I’d better wear the Italian officer’s jacket and cap, I suppose.’
‘No, sir.’ Morton’s voice jerked their heads round. ‘Not you. Me!’
Dampier stared for a moment. ‘What do you mean, you?’
‘Can you speak Italian – sir?’ Morton’s look had become sardonic.
‘Dammit—!’
‘I may be only a corporal in the British army – sir’ – Morton was obviously enjoying himself – ‘but in the Italian army, I would have to be the officer. Because I speak the language. If we’re addressed by an Italian officer it wouldn’t be a corporal who would answer him. It would be the officer.’
‘Good God!’ This was something that hadn’t occurred to Dampier.
‘We can fit us all out now either with an Italian cap or a helmet. That ought to be enough to have us accepted at first glance as Italians. If anyone comes, those of us who can’t speak Italian would be wise to remain in the background and leave the talking to those who can: Me. And Caccia.’
‘Who gives the orders then?’ Dampier asked.
‘Oh, I do, sir.’ Morton was smiling and self-confident. ‘However, it would be necessary to consult with you and Mr Rafferty, naturally. It might be wise, in that case, if Caccia wore a sergeant’s stripes and you wore a private’s uniform because, as I’ve discovered from experience, private soldiers are seen and not heard.’
Dampier went red but Rafferty was smiling. ‘The boy’s got a point, sir,’ he said. ‘Mebbe, sir’ – Rafferty’s eyes were twinkling – ‘we could arrange for you to be the general dogsbody. Just for the twenty-four hours till we leave, of course. Fillin’
