Walcot. Brian Aldiss

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ we had anticipated. The Germans are making the progress we did not anticipate. We are in some danger of being cut off. The Prime Minister of France, Paul Reynaud, is talking of giving up the struggle.’

      ‘I always said the French were a bunch of cowards,’ said Travers. He was a wiry man with a lean, hard face, handsome in its way. You had always found him reserved and unfriendly. ‘I’ll wager they lose their nerve.’

      Montagu frowned, but let the remark pass. ‘If France packs it in, we shall have a few problems on our hands. Indeed, we have some already.’ The nod of his head was directed towards your men, who were standing in front of their vehicles, rifles pointed at a group of ten or more men and a woman, who were attempting to take possession of the two supply lorries.

      One of the soldiers fired his rifle in the air, low over the heads of the advancing group.

      The major removed his hands from behind his back and marched briskly to where his men stood. He addressed the French mob in English. He told them that you were a detachment going to help defend their capital city, that their actions threatened to upset military plans, and that the Boche were closing in rapidly on their position.

      ‘In other words, clear off, the lot of you!’

      Whether the refugees understood what he said was doubtful. But his firm, reasonable and authoritative voice had its effect. The mob slunk away and returned to help their wounded comrades.

      ‘Danke schön,’ said Montagu calmly, turning back to you officers. ‘Now then, I have received orders for a slight change of plan. Somewhere to the west of here lies the city of Rennes, in Brittany. About one hundred and seventy miles away as the crow flies. There’s a firm in Rennes called Colomar, part British-owned. Their HQ is on the Place de Bretagne, a main square, thik hai?’

      ‘What’s all this to do with us, Major?’ Travers asked.

      Montagu continued as if he had not heard the question.

      ‘Colomar currently hold three-million-pounds-worth, sterling, of industrial diamonds. We don’t want this haul to fall into German hands. You, Fielding, what are industrial diamonds used for?’

      You replied, ‘They are essential for the manufacturing of machine tools, and tools necessary for making armaments.’

      ‘Full marks. The way the war is going, we do not want these diamonds falling into German hands, for obvious reasons. Our orders are for one of us to press on immediately to Rennes, take charge of the diamond stock, and to transport it to Saint Nazaire, a port on the south coast of Brittany at the mouth of the River Loire. I gather there may be some difficulty in persuading the company to hand the diamonds over. However, we are armed and they are not. A persuasive point.’

      He stood there sturdily in the middle of the road, looking at you.

      ‘Rennes is a long way from home. Why is it up to us, for God’s sake?’ asked Travers.

      ‘Because we are on the spot, Captain. We happen to be British troops farther to the south than other units.’ He spoke briskly, before turning to you.

      ‘Fielding, you are young and brave, I am delegating you the task of taking one of the vehicles and collecting the diamonds from Colomar.’

      You asked why there was this sudden change of plans.

      ‘Better ask the fornicating Germans that.’ Montagu continued with his instructions.

      ‘You will drive with the diamonds, going like the clappers, to St Nazaire in the south, where a Royal Naval ship will deliver you and the valuables back to Britain.’

      You were horrified. ‘Why me, Sir?’

      As you asked the question, you remembered the OCTU report in a stray roster you had caught sight of. There lay a summary of your qualities: ‘6ft 2ins. Good-looking, good accent. Knows how to handle knife and fork. Officer material.’ Nothing was said there about a capacity to collect diamonds from a distant French city.

      ‘Why not Captain Travers, Sir?’

      Montagu gave a low growl.

      ‘Captain Travers has a poor opinion of our French allies and does not speak French. You do speak French, Lieutenant. You are young and foolhardy. You will do well.’

      ‘But, Sir … well, I can’t deal in diamonds, Sir. I’m a Socialist.’

      In a quiet voice, Montagu said, ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Fielding. There are larger issues at stake than your political conscience. The whole continent of Europe totters on the very brink of falling to Hitler’s armies. Britain will then stand alone. We need those industrial diamonds and so do the Huns. We must secure them. Take one of the gharies and two volunteers and a Bren gun and off you go. Jaldhi!’

      ‘Not my tank, Sir?’

      ‘The ghari is much faster. Stop arguing and go, will you?’

      ‘What’s the name of the ship I have to rendezvous with, Sir?’

      ‘You’ll find out when you get there. Starting from now!’

      You stood poised to move. But there was a further question, born of the danger you were all in.

      ‘What about you, Sir?’

      Montagu gave you a rictus that passed for a smile. ‘The rest of us will continue on to “Gay Paris” as ordered. The way you are going, away from the immediate combat, should be less dangerous. If you get a move on.’

      You found yourself reluctant to leave the presence of this forceful officer. ‘Hope you make it, Sir.’

      Montagu put his hands behind his back and stuck his chin in the air. ‘I rely on the motto of the Montagus, forged on the Khyber Pass, Numquam wappas – Never backwards!’

       11

       Carnage on the Road

      The vehicle Major Montagu referred to as a ghari was a five-ton lorry. Among the few supplies loaded into the back of it sat Private Furbank, manning the Bren gun. Private Pete Palfrey was driving the ghari. You swung yourself up into the front seat beside him.

      You were entering the hilly country to the south of Bernay, where no refugees filled the roads – where indeed it seemed there were no inhabitants. Signs of human occupation were few – a barn here, an old tractor there, a dilapidated house with a picket fence. Apple trees lined the road, in full blossom, turning hedges white and pink. But not a man with a spade, not a woman hanging out washing, not a child leading a dog along. It was as if the tribes of mankind, having finally got things going, had themselves gone.

      Here the spring had come, in contrast to the carnage you had witnessed in Yvetot, the season announced in the trumpets of daffodils by roadsides, and not only there. Cuckoos called from nearby hills. Other birds sang, warbling from tree to tree. The spring enfolded them with its calming presence.

      And СКАЧАТЬ