The Triumph Page 4

  ‘Yes,’ Churchill said. ‘That’s why I chose you for the job. You are a fighting soldier. You’ve never shirked sending men into battle.’

  ‘With respect, Winston, I have always led them into battle, before.’

  ‘Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. I know it’s a grim assignment. But if any man can make it work, you can. So pick your agents carefully. Make sure they are trustworthy. They will also need some training. Spears here will give you the details on that. But Murdoch, remember...haste is imperative. Every day Hitler grows stronger. Hopefully, from now on, so will we. But he has an enormous head start. We have to chip away at that.’

  Murdoch nodded. ‘You’ll have your secret army, Prime Minister. Just as soon as I can raise it.’ He stood up, saluted. ‘Starting today.’

  *

  ‘Murdoch,’ Lee said. ‘Murdoch, wake up.’

  Murdoch opened his eyes, listened to the wail of the siren. ‘Christ,’ he muttered. ‘Every God damn night.’

  Lee was already out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown. Now she held his out for him. ‘Let’s hurry.’

  Already they could hear the crump-crump of explosions in the distance and the sharper replies of the anti-aircraft batteries. They switched off the lights and followed the beam of Murdoch’s torch down the stairs, joined now by the various other residents of the block of flats; this fortunately had its own deep cellars which had been reinforced for use as an air-raid shelter, and so there was no necessity to go out on to the street. Indeed, so used had everyone become to retreating to the cellars over the past fortnight of constant bombardment that each family now had its own little floor space; Lee, with her passion for organization, had brought down two camp cots and these were always made up, so she and Murdoch merely got back beneath another set of blankets, while she poured them cups of tea — only recently put on the ration list — from her Thermos and waited for the others to settle and the vast dormitory to be still.

  Now the noise of the explosions was much closer, and occasionally the whole building would shake. ‘There goes another picture,’ Lee said.

  Her calmness was magnificent. He had never doubted her courage, and their joint experiences on the North West Frontier in the late twenties had proved it was more than merely a passive acceptance of danger. But he couldn’t bear to think of her harmed. ‘By the law of averages,’ he said, speaking in a low voice to avoid being overheard by their immediate neighbours, who were only a few feet away, ‘one day this building is going to take a direct hit. Why don’t you go back down to Somerset?’

  ‘Then who’d look after you?’

  ‘Do I need looking after?’

  ‘Every man needs looking after. And you more than most. I’m not going to chance any other little ATS driver moving in.’ She reached across to squeeze his hand. ‘Forget I said that. But I do worry about you. You’re working too hard.’

  ‘So is everybody else.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you looking so strained. It’s the new job, isn’t it?’

  ‘I imagine so.’

  ‘Care to share?’

  ‘I’d love to share, my darling girl. But I can’t. It is absolutely top secret.’

  ‘And grim,’ she suggested.

  Murdoch finished his tea and lay down. ‘Grim.’

  ‘For you?’

  ‘Not physically. But for the people I’m commanding, it very well could be. Very grim.’

  This time she leaned across to kiss him. ‘With you as the boss, they’ll manage.’

  The all clear went some three hours later, but they stayed in the cellar until daybreak, then found their way upstairs again. Amazingly, only one picture had indeed fallen off the wall in the lounge, but when they drew the blackout curtains the sight was horrifying. A huge pall of smoke lay over the stricken city, and there were damaged buildings in every direction, while across the morning seeped the sound of sirens and bells, and of people too, shouting and wailing.

  ‘I’ll get breakfast,’ Lee said.

  Murdoch shaved, heard the doorbell, and then Lee’s excited voice. ‘Fergus! Oh, boy, Fergus. Where’d you spring from?’

  ‘The fens, I suppose. Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Right here.’ Murdoch stood in the doorway. ‘When did you arrive?’

  Fergus grinned at them. ‘I was supposed to get here last night, for a twenty-four-hour pass. But all the trains were out. So I hitch-hiked. Now I’m down to eight hours. God, what a mess this town is in. Broken water mains, shattered houses, fires burning everywhere...’

  ‘Last night was a heavy raid,’ Murdoch acknowledged. ‘And we still have water.’ Lee had returned to the kitchen. ‘Eggs on their way.’

  ‘How are things on the beaches?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘They don’t change. Not a German in sight, save those washed up by the tide. But Dad, I have the most tremendous news.’

  ‘Tell us?’

  They sat at the breakfast table in the kitchen. ‘Two days ago the Italians invaded Egypt. Did you know about that?’

  ‘It hadn’t reached me yet. And you call that good news?’

  ‘Well, for the Westerns. Seems General Wavell has called for reinforcements. So we’re elected.’

  Lee came in from the kitchen, frying pan in hand. ‘You’re going to Egypt to fight the Italians?’

  ‘That’s it. Gosh, it’ll be great to be fighting someone.’

  Lee looked at Murdoch, who shrugged. Fergus had to get back into the war some time. ‘Last time around they were on our side. The PM has a notion a lot of them may wish they still were. Shouldn’t be too rough.’

  ‘But he’ll be in the desert...ugh.’

  ‘You fought in the desert, Dad. In the last show. What was it like?’

  ‘As your mother says, ugh. But it should be good tank country. Lots of open space.’

  ‘I can hardly wait.’

  ‘Men,’ Lee said sadly, serving. ‘Just remember there’s nobody else in the cupboard at home.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fergus said, suddenly serious. ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

  Lee and Murdoch looked at each other again. He had not confided any of Annaliese’s behaviour to her, but she was an observant woman, and had obviously formed her own ideas on both the slight stiffness between her husband and her daughter-in-law, when they had attended the investiture, and equally, the increasing warmth between Annaliese and Fergus before he had left.

  ‘So?’ she now asked.

  Fergus was embarrassed, as usual. ‘The fact is...we’re embarking from Plymouth, and we’re driving down there in our own tanks and transport, so the regiment is returning to the depot for one night on its way. I rather thought I’d stop by at Broad Acres.’

  ‘Why not?’ Lee asked, and allowed him a cue. ‘I’m sure Philippa and Annaliese will be pleased to see you. It must be very boring for them down there; they don’t even have any air raids to worry about.’

  ‘Yes. I...ah...there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’

  ‘I thought you were doing that,’ Murdoch remarked. ‘Yes. Well...the fact is, as you say, Mom, I am the last male Mackinder...at least on this side of the Atlantic.’

  ‘I didn’t actually mean that,’ Lee pointed out. ‘I meant of your generation. We still have little Ian.’

  ‘That’s exactly it,’ Fergus said eagerly. ‘I think he should have a father.’

  They gazed at him, and he flushed. ‘It’s not illegal.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’ Lee asked.

  ‘Well...in a manner of speaking. I didn’t actually come out and ask her, if that’s what you mean. I mean, I haven’t seen her since last month, and Ian was only dead two months...’

  ‘He’s only been dead three months now,’ Murdoch said quietly.

  ‘I know. Believe me. And I wouldn’t dream of it now, if we weren’t being sent overseas.’

  ‘You mean you want to make her a widow twice over as rapidly as possible,’ Lee said, with a rare touch of bitterness
.

  ‘Of course not, Mom. I’m not going to die. Anyway, I don’t propose to marry her until the war is over. That would be too much. But if it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask her now. Become engaged.’ He looked from face to face.

  ‘Mightn’t it be better, if you don’t mean to marry until after the war, not even to become engaged until then?’ Murdoch asked, still speaking very quietly.

  ‘Well...if I don’t put a ring on her finger, she might go and marry someone else.’

  ‘And you love her,’ Lee said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Fergus said. ‘Oh, yes.’

  There could be no doubting that he did.

  ‘And she loves you?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘Well...I think she might. There’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘Well, then...’ Lee looked at Murdoch again. ‘Will you be able to let us know what she says?’

  ‘Maybe you should go down with him,’ Murdoch suggested.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll want me butting in. Just let us know, Fergus. And if it works, congratulations.’

  *

  The bombers returned that night, long after Fergus had left to rejoin the regiment, and Lee and Murdoch sat in their cots together and listened to the rumbling crashes. ‘I think he’s going to be safer in Egypt than we are in London,’ Murdoch said. ‘Fighting the Italians.’

  ‘Um,’ she replied. ‘And is he going to be safe down at Broad Acres?’

  He turned his head to look at her. ‘She’s what he wants. And I suspect he’s what she wants.’

  ‘I never wanted her as a daughter-in-law,’ Lee said.

  ‘I know. But...’

  ‘I’ve got her. So I may as well lie back and enjoy it,’ Lee agreed. ‘Twice. God, I hope she never lets him down. Because if she does...’

  ‘I’ll say amen to that.’ Because Murdoch knew that Lee could be quite as ruthless as himself, when aroused.

  2

  Egypt, 1940

  ‘Come along there, look lively,’ snapped Corporal Albert Manly-Smith at his tank crew, as the hoists were adjusted to crane the huge vehicle on board the troopship. Theirs was one of the last of the sixty to be loaded, and he was determined his men should be as smart as all those before.

  The Crusaders were not easy vehicles to load. If not so heavy as the ‘Matildas’, as the huge twenty-six ton infantry tanks were nicknamed, they were still considerably larger than the Ts with which the regiment had been equipped before the war, and more strongly armoured as well. But they were no better armed, carrying only a two-pounder gun. Even so he, and everyone else, was itching actually to use them against the enemy.

  And to leave England again? It was an exciting prospect, to be sailing for Egypt, especially just as the English summer was drawing to a close. Bert had heard his mother speak of serving in exotic overseas climes, but he himself could only just remember India, as a very small boy, before Father had been killed charging the Mahsuds, and they had all come home. To a very different life, that of the village shop Grandpa had bought after his retirement from the regiment, where Ma had served behind the counter, and he had himself worked on the paper round. Then he and Ma had joined up, almost together. There had been no question but that he would join the Royal Westerns. Even had Father not been an officer, Grandpa had been the RSM.

  If Father had lived, Bert thought, he himself might have gone to Sandhurst, and also been an officer. Oddly, he had never regretted that, until this summer. But then, he hadn’t really known how to live, until this summer.

  The hoist tightened, and the tank, shrouded in netting and cables, slowly lifted from the dock. Men on the ship shouted instructions, and the troopers gazed at their charge, half in apprehension and half in relief.

  It was odd, Bert thought, how one morning could so change a man’s life. He had always admired Annaliese von Reger. He could remember when she had first come to live at Broad Acres, and how she would sometimes drive into the village with Lady Mackinder. He had only been fifteen then, but quite old enough to appreciate that tanned and almost boyishly slender body, so excitingly set off by the lustrous golden hair and the splendidly moulded features. He supposed he had had his first wet dream about Annaliese von Reger, had willingly cycled the three miles out to Broad Acres with the papers every day in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her. He hadn’t, as a rule. She slept late. But had become more exciting in her absence, because one day during the summer holidays, when he had been helping out in the shop and Lady Mackinder had telephoned for something special, he had volunteered to run it up on his bicycle, as ever in the hopes of seeing the German girl. Again, he hadn’t. But Mr Robbins, the butler, had sent his mind whirling through space by warning him not to go round the back of the house, because Miss Annaliese was out there, sunbathing. ‘With nothing on,’ Mr Robbins had added, with lordly disapproval.

  Bert had wondered if Mr Robbins had ever seen her, and been quite jealous. But his dreams had grown even more demanding.

  ‘Squad ‘tention,’ he snapped, and the men came to attention. ‘By the left...’

  Their boots clumped on the dock and then on the gangway as they entered the bowels of the ship where Sergeant Butler waited, in the midst of milling officers, ship’s and regimental, and milling men, too. ‘C Troop, Section sixteen, Sergeant.’

  Butler consulted his pad. ‘D Deck, starboard side, cabin seven. That means the right side, Corporal.’

  Butler thought he was an ignorant ninny. ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ Bert said. ‘Are we allowed on deck to wave Blighty goodbye?’

  ‘When your gear is stowed,’ Butler told him. ‘And you’d better make it snappy.’

  Bert led his three men forward, along various corridors, passing other men still hunting for their accommodation, others already in their cabins and arguing over who was to have which bunk. To reach D Deck it was necessary to descend another set of stairs. ‘For Chrissake,’ commented Trooper Mullings. ‘We’re going to be below water level.’

  They were all recruits, and all in a state of high excitement and apprehension. That their corporal was younger than any of them was irrelevant; he was the only one who had seen action.

  ‘You’ll never know it,’ he assured them, finding the right number and opening the door. ‘That porthole stays shut the whole voyage.’ He surveyed the four bunks. ‘All right. Mullings and Payne, top bunks. Griffiths, you can have the other lower.’ Griffiths was inclined to fart in his sleep, and Bert didn’t want him on top. ‘Now, get this gear stowed, on the double.’

  They fell to work. Three large, sweaty, exuberant West Country boys. But then, he supposed he made a fourth. Only he was light years in front of them. He had been in battle, and seen men killed. He had stood on the beach at Dunkirk, behind the General, and watched his comrades die. Amongst them, the General’s own son. Annaliese’s husband. But there too he had been light years ahead of his men.

  He hadn’t been jealous when Annaliese had married Captain Mackinder, as Ian had then been. He had long recognized that she was to be ranked with the various film stars, such as Veronica Lake, whose pin-up photographs adorned the interior of his suitcase, but who would never be near enough to be touched. In many ways Annaliese reminded him of Veronica Lake, physically — except that she was taller. And having her married to a Mackinder meant that she would be remaining at Broad Acres, for him to see from time to time. He had been genuinely sorry to see Colonel Mackinder, as Ian had become so rapidly under the stress of war, dying from a Jerry bullet. He felt almost related to the Mackinders, in an outside way. But he had felt more sorry for poor pregnant Annaliese. He had not supposed he would after all see much of her in the future.

  ‘Atten-tion.’

  The voice roaring down the corridor could only belong to Regimental Sergeant-Major Brothers.

  ‘Bit early for a kit inspection,’ Griffiths muttered. But they promptly stood to attention in front of their bunks, shoulder to shoulder.

  The Sergeant-Major loomed in the doorway, then s
tood to attention himself to allow Colonel Wilkinson to look inside. ‘All well, Corporal?’ the Colonel inquired.

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Very good. Carry on.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  The Colonel and Sergeant-Major disappeared, and the adjutant appeared instead, following them, accompanied by a sergeant with a clipboard and paper.

  ‘Ah, Manly-Smith,’ Major Mackinder said. ‘Any complaints?’

  ‘Not as yet, sir!’

  ‘Well, let’s keep it that way. At ease.’ Fergus Mackinder followed his commanding officer.

  ‘I suppose their cabins are on A Deck,’ Mullings remarked.

  ‘With private shower and toilet,’ Payne added.

  ‘They’re the brass,’ Bert reminded them. ‘That’s what being brass is all about. Privileges.’

  But the brass didn’t have all the privileges, he thought, as he continued with his unpacking. Perhaps because they were brass, and unable to see the good things in life which lay just beneath their noses. He would have bet a year’s pay that Major Fergus Mackinder had never gone sunbathing with his beautiful sister-in-law. Or if he had, would have known what to do about it.

  But he had. He had not expected it to happen the way it did, but now he looked back on it, he knew that it had all been inevitable. When that day last month Mr Robbins had told him that although the General and Lady Mackinde were out he could wait for them to return if he cared to do so, and had suggested he sit in the conservatory, he had added. ‘And mind you stay indoors.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Bert had said. ‘Mrs Mackinder is sunbathing.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Mr Robbins had agreed. ‘So you stay put, young Bert.’ Mr Robbins had not been impressed even by the two stripes on his sleeve.

  But Mr Robbins, in then leaving him to himself, had been guilty of a grave dereliction of duty — if it had been his duty to guard Mrs Mackinder’s privacy. No sooner had he been sure that the butler had retired to his pantry, or wherever it was butlers spent their time, than Bert had slipped out of the conservatory door, and taking care to keep the various hedges which surrounded the garden between him and the kitchen wing, had walked, apparently aimlessly, hands in pockets and beret tilted on to the back of his head, down the slope. And he had found what he had been looking for.