Gunner Kelly Page 16

  Audley had never intended to let him go. He was merely sugaring the pill now.

  “And, to be strictly honest, I don’t trust you either, Benedikt, my dear fellow … ‘A good German’, I’m sure you are … a loyal ally and all that, but goodness isn’t the prime quality of the Bundesnachrichtendienst, in my experience—it’s smart fellows they like … Or, let’s say, that I do trust you nine parts out of ten—”

  “Nine parts?” He had to react somehow to this.

  “Nine parts—I do believe my contact, you see … And, to put it another way again, when I came here it was killing they were up to, and then burying deep. Only I’ve put a stop to that—it’s capturing now, they’ve agreed on.” He looked hard at Benedikt. “Now that we’re close to the house again let’s turn around and admire the view, eh?”

  Benedikt turned obediently, and Audley pointed towards the ridge. “See there—if those trees were a few feet lower we could see the banks of the Duntisbury Rings … No, I don’t trust you one hundred per cent. But I trust them even less—and I don’t trust Gunner Kelly at all out of my sight, because I’ve this lingering suspicion that he’s still after blood. I want to know a lot more about him therefore.”

  David Audley and Colonel Butler both.

  “In fact … I want the Old General’s killers and Gunner Kelly, you might say—” Audley pointed to the right “—that’s the way Caesar’s Camp lies, as you will know, for it was a full guided tour those two terrible children gave you, wasn’t it? Yes … I’m greedy. I want to save Becky, because that’s what I promised to do. But I want all my questions answered as well. Because that’s the only way I’m going to be able to extricate myself from this business: bearing gifts to those above me … Indeed, if I wasn’t afraid that my colleagues would come down here heavy-footed, to be spotted straight away as you were spotted, I’d have thrown in my hand already … But as it is—what Miss Becky and Kelly think I’m doing now is enlisting you as another ally in the Chase—I’ve promised them I can do that… I’ve told them that, as the Germans can have no axe to grind in this—and you’re a decent chap—you may be willing to hang around and help … whereas if we knock you on the head, or more likely incarcerate you for a few days in the manor cellar—which would actually be a rather agreeable place in which to be detained, with what the Old General put in it—then there’d be hell to pay, with hordes of Teutonic Fighting Men descending on the Chase again, and trampling the place flat.” He gave Benedikt another sidelong glance. “Which, to be fair to me, is pretty much what you’ve already threatened me with—isn’t it?”

  Except, thought Benedikt, it would be Colonel Butler’s British Fighting Men. But he could never admit that now.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but the familiar snap of the postern latch cut the words off.

  “Don’t turn round.” Audley spoke conversationally, pointing again at nothing in front of them. “Whereas in fact I’m doing no such thing. Although I am certainly trying to enlist you—true enough—”

  Another enlistment? Colonel Butler had enlisted him once. And then the people of Duntisbury Chase, where no one seemed to trust anyone, had wanted him. And now—

  “But I want you just for myself. Because I need an ally here more than anyone—now you can turn round—” Audley followed his own instructions “—ah! Gunner Kelly! Are the boys ready?”

  “Ready and waiting, sir.” Kelly looked inquiringly from Audley to Benedikt. “And the Captain?”

  “He’s coming with me,” Audley smiled at Benedikt. “Okay, Benedikt?”

  That was taking acceptance for granted—alliance for granted—without leaving the ally any real choice.

  He smiled back at both of them. “Okay, David,” he said.

  There was at last another German foederatus in Duntisbury Chase. But this one, at least, would be on his guard, he decided.

  VII

  ALL MILITARY establishments were somehow alike, decided Benedikt critically, but one had to allow for national peculiarities.

  The alikeness here—the true alikeness, apart from the unnaturally tidy ugliness—was its aura of impermanence. It wasn’t that the buildings weren’t substantial… the brick-built barracks and married quarters which he had glimpsed were if anything more solid than some of the ancient Dorset villages through which they had passed … But those little thatched cottages and small corner shops were part of the landscape, where God and man both intended them to be, while this place had merely been drawn on a map by some far-off bureaucrat to serve a finite need, and when that need evaporated it would decay quickly.

  Yet at this moment, as Audley slowed the car to turn across the traffic, the British peculiarities were more obvious: not only was this camp bisected by a public road, without any visible sign of security, but there were children climbing on that tank—and wasn’t that an ice-cream van—

  The last of the oncoming vehicles passed by, and his view was no longer partially obstructed.

  It was an ice-cream van. And there were several tanks, and they were all festooned with children, the nearest of whom machine-gunned them noisily with his pointing fingers as they came within his range.

  And there were more tanks—and a pale grey howitzer of ancient aspect—it was all antediluvian equipment in a graveyard of armoured elephants: he craned his neck to the left as the car halted, towards a harassed mother shepherding her ice-cream-licking offspring from the van to the nearest monster; and then to the right, where on the roadside forecourt in front of a hangar-sized shed, he caught sight of the distinctive rhomboid of the sire of all these beasts, squatting on an angled concrete plinth facing the road, which until now he had seen only in old photographs, but which had once crawled out of the smoke and mud against Grandpapa.

  “These are the ones they don’t care about,” said Benje disdainfully from behind him. “The proper ones are inside.”

  “These are just for kids to climb on,” supplemented Darren. “You can’t climb on the ones inside.”

  Benedikt looked questioningly from one to theother. “Inside?”

  “Inside the museum.” Benje raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you know where we were going?”

  “The museum?” The progression of questions was beginning to make him feel a trifle foolish, but Audley was too busy finding a space in an already well-filled car park to rescue him.

  “The tank museum,” said Darren.

  “Museum machinationum,” said Benje, seizing this unlikely opportunity to demonstrate his Latin vocabulary further. “Or it could be plain machinarum—lacuum doesn’t sound right … But David says why not testudinum, from the way the Romans used to lock their shields together into a testudo—what do you think?”

  “Yes.” What he thought was that Benje’s obsession with all things Roman, unleashed on the mistaken assumption that Herr Wiesehöfer was a fellow enthusiast, was as exhausting as it was surprising. But Papa would never forgive him for discouraging a young classicist, so he must consider the problem seriously. “Testudo—a tortoise … I suspect, if there had been armoured vehicles in the Roman Army they would have had a proper name, as we have in my country—whatever the Latin for Panzerkampfwagen may be … or perhaps Schuetzenpanzerwagen might be closer to what they might have had. But for a nickname I think testudo does very well—unless the Roman who invented that objected to such an infringement of his copyright.” He frowned at Benje. “Was there a Roman copyright law?”

  Benje returned the frown. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of that. They had a lot of laws … What do you think, David?”

  Audley had finally found a space and was nosing into it. “I think testudo—there is actually an appalling monster in there called ‘The Tortoise’ … 78 tons and quite useless—we started building it in ‘42 and finally got it to move in ’46, to no possible purpose that I can imagine, unless they wanted to play snooker inside it under fire.” He applied the handbrake fiercely. “But I think also that I do owe you an apology for failing to tell you where
we were going, Herr Wiesehöfer. Actually, I thought I had—but it’s young Benjamin’s fault for monopolising you with his theories on Boadicea—”

  “Boudicca,” the boy corrected Audley sharply. “Everyone gets it wrong, Mr Burton says. ‘Boadicea’ is a spelling error— ‘Boudicca’ means ‘Victoria’, and she was Queen Victoria I, not to be confused with Victoria II, 1837 to 1901.”

  Darren shook his head at Benedikt. “He just talks all the time, that’s his trouble.”

  “It’s not me. It’s what Mr Burton says,” snapped Benje.

  “What Mr Burton says is that you’ve got verbal diarrhoea—” As he spoke, Darren squared up to resist physical assault.

  “Out of the car!” Audley shot an arm between them. “I’ve got a surprise for you both.” He winked at Benedikt.

  Benedikt climbed out of the car, and then stared at Audley across its roof. “And for me—a surprise also?”

  “For you the museum is the surprise. It’s strictly old hat for these two time-expired legionaries.” Audley led the way towards the entrance to the hangar. “They have to have something new every time—semper aliquid novi ex Bovingtonio, as Mr Burton would say.”

  “What’s new?” Darren, skipping backwards in order to face them, overtook them.

  “They do collect new things all the time—” Benje started out in a blasé tone for Benedikt’s benefit, but suddenly an idea lit up his face and he switched to Audley “—have they got one of those Argentinian personnel carriers from the Falklands? Is that it, David? Is that it?”

  “No … but you’re warm, young Benjamin.” Audley cocked an eye at Benedikt. “They may very well have bits of General Galtieri’s war surplus before long, they do collect such unconsidered trifles … They acquired their Russian SU-100 self-propelled gun from Suez in ‘56—they’re probably negotiating with the Israelis for a Syrian T6a, I shouldn’t wonder. Though where they’ll put it, God only knows.”

  Benedikt measured the enormous hangar with his eye. “That is filled with tanks?”

  “Bursting at the seams.” Audley nodded proprietorially. “They’ve got pretty well the whole British range, from 1915 onwards, including experimental vehicles and the ‘funnies’ from the last war—Crabs and suchlike … and armoured cars … And a very fair foreign cross-section, too—French and American, and all your Panzer marks.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “They’re particularly good on Tigers. Got a 1942 one, and a Royal Tiger with the Porsche turret… and a bloody great Hunting Tiger the size of a London bus.” He squeezed his eyes shut again, and then looked directly at Benedikt. “I met a Tiger once, on the edge of a wood in Normandy … I don’t know which one it was, I didn’t wait to find out. All I remember is this enormous gun traversing, and I knew we couldn’t get out of the way quick enough—it was like looking Death himself in the eye and knowing that it was me he’d been expecting all morning… We were in a Cromwell, half his size, and we’d lost half our troop already since breakfast.” He shrugged. “Very nasty moment.”

  “What happened?” inquired Benje politely. “Did you shoot him—the Tiger?”

  “With my pea-shooter? Not likely! We just looked at each other for about a quarter of a second—maybe he was out of ammunition, having used it all on my late comrades … or maybe he’d had his ration of Cromwells for that morning, and he was feeling generous—I don’t know—but in the next quarter-second he didn’t shoot, and after that I’d remembered a pressing engagement for lunch elsewhere.”

  “You retreated?” Benje sounded disappointed.

  “Well … let’s say I advanced in the opposite direction.” Audley looked at Benedikt. “You know, for years I couldn’t bring myself to visit this place. I hated the very thought of tanks, Cromwells as well as Tigers—and Panthers, they were just as bad, if not worse … And then one day it didn’t matter at all: it was as though there was a Statute of Limitations on bad memories, and after a certain time the badness no longer had any power. Or perhaps men change, and I have changed … I don’t know. It’s interesting, though.”

  The boys were fidgetting now, a little disappointed with Audley’s lack of heroism and quite lost with his theories on the healing quality of time, but above all desperate to discover the nature of their surprise.

  Audley observed their impatience. “Shall we go in?”

  It was a museum without an entrance fee, but the entrance hall was like a shop dedicated to selling tanks in every form: in books and booklets, pictures and picture postcards, models and elaborate construction kits; and through a wide opening to his right Benedikt caught a glimpse of a vast hall packed with Panzers.

  But right in front of him were two soldiers in uniform who showed no sign of moving out of the way, and both of them were looking at Audley.

  One of the soldiers came to attention. “Mr Audley, sir?”

  “Yes.” Audley’s lack of surprise indicated that this, in some form, was the surprise. “Major Kennedy sent you?”

  “That’s right, sir.” The soldier wore sergeant’s chevrons on his arm and the mailed fist of the Armoured Corps on his beret. And now he was looking at Benje and Darren. “And these are the lads, eh?”

  “They are.” Audley turned to the boys. “The sergeant here is going to take you both for a ride. In a Scorpion.”

  “That’s right.” The sergeant gave the boys a brisk nod. “The Scorpion tracked reconnaissance vehicle, as used recently in the Falklands to put the fear of God up the Argies. Aluminium alloy armour, and a Jaguar 4.2 litre engine—road speed 55 miles per hour. A very nice little runabout if you don’t have to pay for the petrol. What would you say to a ride in that, then?”

  Surprisingly, Benje looked slightly doubtful.

  The other soldier, a button-nosed corporal who reminded Benedikt slightly of Gunner Kelly, grinned at the boys. “And you can drive it, too—what about that?”

  Benje thought for a moment. “We haven’t got driving licences,” he demurred.

  “Don’t need ‘em for where we’re going, my lad,” said the sergeant. “No coppers or traffic wardens to worry about, you take my word for it.” He looked at Audley. “About an hour, sir—would that be right?”

  “Come on Ben!” Darren encouraged his friend. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing to it, lad,” the sergeant supported Darren. “Remember those pictures on the telly of the Scorpions coming ashore at San Carlos Bay?”

  “Off you go, then!”Audley gestured to push the boys towards the door. “I can look after Herr Wiesehöfer for an hour, don’t worry.”

  “Ben—” Darren caught his friend’s arm “—come on!”

  “All right!” Benje shrugjed off the hand, but looked at Audley. “And you’ll be here with … with Mr—Mr Veezehoffer?”

  “I won’t step out of this place. I’ll just show him the tanks,” promised Audley. “Don’t wcrry about us, we’ll be okay, young Benjamin.”

  Benedikt watched them depart—Darren eagerly, Benje with the backward look of a prisoner going to a firing squad.

  “Hmm …” murmured Aadley. “A clever little boy.”

  Benedikt turned to him. “But frightened? No … ?”

  “No.” Audley met his gaze. “Our young Benjamin has led a sheltered childhood—he hasn’t learnt to be frightened yet. He’s just too clever for comfort, that’s all. God help Oxbridge when it gets him … Perhaps we should put his name on the list, though—to get him inside our tent.” He shook his head slowly.

  Benedikt stared at the Englishman.

  Audley sighed. “He knew I was getting rid of him—the chance to drive a Scorpion … and he still knew it!” He shook his head again.

  “Get… get rid of him?”

  “Oh, yes. Kelly’s got Benjamin sewed up tight—and I haven’t had time to unsew him.” Audley nodded. “Young Benjamin is Mr Gunner Kelly’s spy-in-the-sky on this trip— make no mistake about that. I got away last night because I’d given them you and your contact lenses on a plate, and th
ey had to trust me … And then I gave them Captain Benedikt Schneider for good measure, to justify that trust … But Kelly still doesn’t like anything that happens where he can’t see it—or overhear it… I told you—in Duntisbury Chase I’m still one of the foederati from outside, not one of the native Britons: when it comes to the crunch, they’re not sure whose side I’m on.”

  Benedikt struggled with this interpretation of reality, even though it coincided with his own. “And that child … ?”

  “That child is old enough to believe in a cause, if he trusts whoever is feeding him the bull-shit.” Audley’s jaw set hard. “In a year or two he’ll think for himself, and no one will make his mind up for him. But at the moment he can still remember the Old General, and he’s got adolescent yearnings for the way Becky’s shirt bulges, which he doesn’t understand … And he believes Mr Gunner Kelly is an extension of those bulges, on the side of Good and Right. And if I tried to tamper with that I’d get my fingers burnt.”

  Gunner Kelly. Mr Gunner Kelly … It always came down to him! But they were here now—and they had got rid of ‘young Benjamin’, however unsatisfactorily—

  “What are we doing here, David?” The organisation of ‘Major Kennedy’ and those Armoured Corps NCOs to get rid of the little spy could only have been encompassed during Audley’s brief period of freedom, which meant that it had been planned in advance for a reason. And there could only be one reason worth such a risk. “Kelly?”

  “Kelly.” Audley pointed to the hall of the tanks. “I had one opportunity, three days ago, to get a question out… Now we’ll see whether I’ve got an answer to it. Shall we go and find out?”

  Benedikt strolled into the hall alongside him. On one side there was a line of Panzers which could obviously hold their own on any modern battlefield, so far as any armoured vehicle could in the present state-of-play on the North German killing ground … while on the other—the museum was ranged anti-clockwise, he could see that at a glance—while on the other there were those crude rhomboid-shapes—God! But they must have been brave to have faced such things, crawling out of the smoke, crushing barbed-wire and men in their remorseless advance—the ultimate horror of machine against flesh-and-blood on the ground, before rockets and computers had abstracted the collision of the two to petty imagination—