A New Kind of War (18 page)

Click-click-click!

For Christ’s sake
! thought Fred, in a panic: he should have been clicking and he’d clean forgotten!

Click-click-click!

‘Fred?’

Utter darkness, all around him: dripping, utter darkness.

And … ‘
This is how it must have been
,’ Audley had said. But what had he meant?

‘David?’

A sodden, muted-crunching sound. ‘Thank God for that! I thought I’d never find you—I’ve been straining my ears, but I couldn’t bloody-well hear a sound … You have been clicking, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He still couldn’t really see Audley. But somehow the voice created the person.

‘It’s the rain.’ Amos de Souza’s voice came out of an adjacent area of darkness. ‘Don’t let it confuse your senses.’

‘It doesn’t seem to confuse
you, I
must say,’ Audley half-grumbled. ‘But I suppose we should be comforted by that. Or is it just adjutant’s quiet, misplaced confidence?’

‘Probably. Hullo there, Freddie. Sorry you’ve been left alone like this. Hope you’re not too wet.’

‘I’m fine. David gave me his umbrella.’ He could just make out the loom of them now. And de Souza’s quiet confidence was somehow comforting. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Yes, there is, actually. David explained what’s happening, did he?’

‘Ah … no, I didn’t actually—’

‘Why the devil not?’ De Souza’s tone sharpened.

‘Hold on, Amos! I didn’t get the chance before dinner—or after. And then we had the devil of a job getting to the start line here, I tell you. So there just wasn’t time. Apart from which we should have left him behind, in any case—’ Audley caught his complaint. ‘I don’t mean that insultingly, Fred. But we had Caesar Augustus’s briefing before you arrived. And I thought you’d rather have a decent night’s kip than tag along behind this shambles—’

‘Do shut up, David, there’s a good fellow.’ Mild reproof overlaid de Souza’s earlier sharpness. ‘It isn’t a shambles—’

‘Thank God for that! We can’t afford another—’

‘
Shut up
…
Captain Audley.’ De Souza paused just long enough to make sure that discipline had been reestablished. ‘Let me assure you that it isn’t a shambles, major. In fact, thanks to the efficiency of our loyal American allies, it seems to be going strictly according to plan at this moment.’

A shaded flashlight illuminated the ground between them suddenly in a pale yellow circle. ‘Don’t worry, major—we’re a mile from the objective, and several hundred feet of well-forested undulations. But I want to show you the map. And then Captain Audley can fill you in with the details … Just hold your umbrella up, over us—okay?’

Fred glimpsed a cellophane-covered map, and below it a soiled canvas bag at de Souza’s feet on the edge of the yellow circle, as he raised Audley’s umbrella over them both.

‘We’re here—’ The flashlight seemed to be attached to de Souza’s waterproof jacket somehow, leaving him a free hand ‘—that red circle marked “A1”. And next we’re moving up to “A2”—there.’

It was not an issue map. But that didn’t matter—what mattered was that he could see the operation at a glance: the objective was an isolated building in thick forest, and there were a number of routes—forest tracks?—converging on it; and each was marked with a series of numbered letters and times which brought different groups to precise points simultaneously on the circumferences of ever-smaller circles, until they reached the centre.

‘Yes, sir?’ It all seemed rather elaborate, until he remembered all TRR-2’s ‘bad luck’ in the past. And it wasn’t for him, as a new recruit, to criticize, anyway. ‘Nobody’s going to get out of there.’ But then he became aware of the darkness outside their own yellow circle. ‘Except … it is damnably dark—?’

‘Don’t worry. Our American friends are bringing up searchlights—“B”, “D” and “F” will illuminate the objective at 0230 hours precisely. Then it’ll be brighter than daylight around the whole perimeter. And in case you’re wondering how we’re going to manage a silent final approach, just don’t give it a thought.’

‘No—yes?’ Fred had been worrying about no such thing, but the mention of the American involvement made de Souza’s confidence all the more surprising. This was their zone, of course, so presumable they had a right to be involved. But he remembered floundering all-too-noisily in Italian darkness (and Italian mud), hauling equipment across country to several disastrous river-crossing attempts.

‘Yes.’ De Souza chuckled softly. ‘Dealing with silence will be Major Jake Austin’s contribution—you met him this afternoon, off the plane, I believe—?’ The adjutant bent down to retrieve the canvas bag. ‘A most efficient officer, Jake … But here, Freddie—’ He thrust the bag at Fred ‘—you hold on to this, and follow David here … And David—
you
tell him what’s what, eh? Any questions?’

Audley emitted a strangled sound, but then silenced himself.

‘You were going to say something David?’ The torch went out, leaving them in blind man’s darkness. ‘Spit it out, man!’

How the hell were they going to find their way to A2
? thought Fred despairingly as he hugged the bag.
For Christ’s sake ask that
!

‘N-no.’ Audley trailed off.

‘Good. Then I’ll see you again at A2. And do try to be on time for once.’

Gradually Fred’s night-sight returned, so that he could just make out the large vague shape of Audley as he squeezed the bag’s contents. It had an incomprehensively soft feel to it … but it wasn’t
entirely
soft: in fact, from its weight it almost certainly contained a weapon of some sort, wrapped in some sort of thick material … and also what felt uncommonly like … a pair of boots.
A pair of boots
—
?

There were two slight crack-crunch sounds as de Souza trod on fallen branches in departing. Then the sodden, dripping forest-silence closed in on them—a not-so-quiet silence, to go with the not-quite darkness.

‘God, it’s miserable, isn’t it!’ exclaimed Audley. ‘Although, you know, I don’t think it’s raining quite so hard, actually. And the American weather chaps said it would be clearing from the west before dawn—that was Jake Austin’s final contribution at this afternoon’s briefing before he went off to collect you … Do you think it’s clearing, Fred?’

Dawn was still a very long way away
, thought Fred. ‘Jake Austin is the pig-fancier, is he?’

‘Yes. Good chap, though—jolly efficient, like Amos said. Ex-Mustang pilot … but into all sorts of nefarious enterprises now. Shall we go, then?’

He sounded confident
! ‘You know which way to go, then?’

‘Oh yes—sure … You know, it
is
raining less—good show! Actually, I’m blind as a bat at night—it was a great mercy that we couldn’t fight tanks in the dark, in the late nastiness … “Just follow the rear light of the tank in front”, when they wanted to get us somewhere before dawn, out of the laager … and I could depend on my driver for that. But at least they didn’t expect us
to fight
. Next time round, it’ll be done by radar—goggling at screens and pushing little buttons. But with a bit of luck I shall n’t be there—I
hope
I’ll be too old … or doing something safer, somewhere else … Shall we go?’

Next time round
? ‘What’s in this bag?’

‘The bag? Oh yes! Battle-dress, blouse and trousers, medium size … belts—one, gaiters—two, boots GS—one pair … beret—one. But don’t ask me about badges and rank, and all that—Amos has a funny sense of humour there, so it could be anything. And he forgot to tell me, anyway.’

Christ
! ‘What’s it all for, David?’

‘Ah … ’ A shielded light showed suddenly. ‘Sorry about this—but I can’t read my wrist-watch in the dark … it just doesn’t seem to show up, the way it should … or maybe I need spectacles, I don’t know—
ah
! Okay! We’ve got a full five minutes in hand, actually. So … what’s it all for, did you ask? It’s quite simple, really: we are about to deceive our loyal American allies, that’s all.’ The light went out.

‘How?’
Madness
! ‘Why?’

‘How? Ah … well, you remember what we’re doing—I did tell you just before dinner. Rather hurriedly, I admit. But I did. Number 21, and all that—remember—?’

‘Number 21? The man in the photograph?’

‘That’s right: “Key-of-the-Door”, like in Housey-Housey—a mindless game of quite excruciating boredom, which I shall never forget because we were obliged to play it endlessly while we were in readiness for Normandy. You know it?’

‘For Christ’s sake, David!’
Steady
! ‘Number 21—we’re going to pick up Number 21—does he have a name?’

‘He does. But he won’t be using it tonight, and neither will we. For our purposes he’s now “Keys”, Fred. But the name you’ve got to remember is “Krausnick” in any case—“Krausnick”—okay?’

‘Is that his real name?’

‘Lord no! Krausnick is an entirely different fellow—a scientific fellow … But he’s the one we’re
officially
supposed to be picking up tonight, you see. Are you with me?’

It was no good saying ‘no’. ‘Yes. We’re pretending to go after a scientist named Krausnick. But we’re actually after … “Keys”. And that’s the deception?’

‘Partly. Because … actually, we’re not going to get him, of course.’

‘Keys—?’

‘No. Krausnick.’

‘Why not?’

‘We don’t want him. Or … I suppose we
do
want him, actually. But he won’t be there anyway. In fact, the truth is, he’s probably
nowhere
. Because the last time he was spotted was in Berlin, back in late April, at the very end of things there. So the Russians have probably got him, if he’s still alive.’

‘So why are we after him? Or pretending we are—?’

‘Ah! Well, he’s big-time stuff still, even if he is “Missing, presumed” et cetera. On everyone’s “Most Wanted” list, with his picture in every sheriff’s office, Fred, is friend Krausnick.’

‘A big-time Nazi?’

‘Nazi? No … or maybe he is—
was
that, too. But nobody seems to be worrying much about that now—not with scientists, anyway.’ Audley was shaking his head: Fred couldn’t see him doing it, but he was, nevertheless. ‘Krausnick’s a rocket-propulsion expert—one of the Crocodile’s alleged specialities. So when we’ve got the prisoners all lined up, the old Croc will be striding up and down muttering “Krausnick” loudly, and f-frowning at each of ’em and saying “Not that one—not that one”, and so on … All for the benefit of the Americans, you see?‘

It was still no good saying ‘no’. At least, not directly. ‘But this isn’t the deception—or only partly?’

‘Right.’ This time it was an invisible nod. ‘Because they’ll be watching us like a hawk. Because they’re hellbent on picking up every rocket-expert they can lay their hands on, Fred. Because …
because
…
the word is that the Germans had plans for super-rockets which could fizz their way clear across the Atlantic. And you just imagine rockets landing among all those skyscrapers—eh?’ Audley allowed him time for a brief catastrophic vision. ‘In fact … if, by any remotest accident, Herr Krausnick
did
turn up in the line-up … then they’d probably grab him from us—and apologize afterwards, the old Croc says. But maybe he’s doing them an injustice. But …
but
…
the possibility of that happening has wonderfully encouraged their co-operation, at all events. Hence the searchlights. Plus a large number of their military intelligence chaps too, more’s the pity! Although, of course, they don’t take us too seriously—or not Caesar Augustus, anyway!’

There was method in Colonel Colbourne’s madness, decided Fred. But there was also rather too much risk-taking for his taste. ‘Did we tell them about Krausnick?’

‘Lord, no! But we did accidentally let them find out, just to encourage them to help us.’ Audley’s torch went on again, illuminating his wrist-watch. ‘We’ll have to go soon, Fred —’

‘Just to deceive them?’ Routine Anglo-American military double-dealing had been par for the course in Italy, Fred remembered. And everyone had tried to fuck-up the French, as a matter of routine enmity (although the Frogs had had the last laugh—and his admiration with it). But this was all curiously depressing, nevertheless. ‘Why?’

The torch went out. ‘We had to tell them
something
—
for God’s sake, Fred—they’re not
stupid
: they know we’re up to
something, I
mean!’

The depression hardened him. ‘So what is our deception then—our real deception? Just picking up “Keys”, instead of Krausnick?’

Audley said nothing for a moment. ‘Wait and see. We ought to be moving now—’

‘No.’ Apart from the hardening, there was the prospect of blundering about in the sodden darkness of the forest. ‘If I’m going to carry this bloody bag … then, apart from what the adjutant said—what he told you to do, David … I want to know what’s happening, damn it!’

Again, Audley said nothing for a moment. ‘Oh … very well, then!’

Fred waited for another moment. ‘Yes?’ He lowered the umbrella, and found that Audley was substantially right about the weather: apart from the spattering drips from the thick foliage above, the rain had almost ceased. ‘And you can have your brolly back now, David.’

‘I don’t need it—you can have it, Fred.’

The very last thing Fred wanted to be seen carrying, either by his commanding officer, or by the Americans, was an umbrella. ‘I don’t want it, David—thank you.’

‘Oh … have it your own way!’ The umbrella was seized from him with an accuracy which suggested that Audley’s night-vision wasn’t really so bad. ‘Here—you take this, then.’

It was … a stick? A walking stick? ‘Thank you.’ That wasn’t so bad, anyway. ‘All I want is an answer to my question, David.’ He felt himself almost pull rank—over-inflated majority over over-promoted captaincy—and weakened slightly. ‘I’ve had a long day, you know.’

‘Sure—of course!’ Audley accepted the olive-branch. ‘Okay. So … we go into this damn place like a dose of salts … It’s a house, with some out-buildings. Like stables—or kennels, I don’t know … I think it was an old hunting lodge of some sort, in the Kaiser’s days. When he hunted Otto’s boars hereabouts, and suchlike—I don’t know … But it’s been empty for years, anyway. Because it’s in the middle of nowhere, Amos says. Right?’