Black August (46 page)

The reader of the Proclamation hesitated, faltered, stopped. For a second an unearthly silence filled the square, then the woman's voice came fierce and shrill.

‘Shoot!'

There was a rattle of shots. A groan went up from the crowd; three Greyshirts dropped from sight, but their leader still stood unharmed. With a sudden shout he flourished the Proclamation and charged up the steps.

‘Down with the Reds,' bellowed Kenyon. ‘Long Live the Prince!'

A hundred faces in the crowd turned to stare at the windows whence this clarion call had come, and another voice took it up. ‘Down with the Reds! Come on, chaps—foiler me!' It came from a burly carter in a leather apron.

The cry was taken up on every side. A little phalanx of blue-clad policemen had appeared from somewhere and, with an
inspector at their head, were thrusting their way towards the Town Hall.

The reports from the rifles of the Red soldiers echoed sharply again. The Greyshirt leader fell backwards, shot through the head, but the rest were fighting at close quarters seeking to wrest their weapons from the guards.

A solitary rifle cracked from a window at the side of the square and the woman who had urged on the Communists clutched wildly at her chest, her mouth dropped open as though to shriek, then she pitched forward under the feet of the struggling mob.

‘It's jus' turned seven o'clock,' said Rudd.

Next minute a body of Communist cavalry came charging out of a side-turning into the crowd. Two were pulled from their saddles, a third fell from his horse, struck on the back of the head by a brick, but the rest cleared a wide lane through the mass and, turning at the far end of the square, galloped at full tilt again into the shrinking, struggling mob of people.

The troops on the steps poured another volley into the fleeing pedestrians, and in another minute the square was empty except for the Soviet soldiers and the wounded.

‘Blimey!' exclaimed Rudd bitterly, ‘if we ain't sunk after all.'

Kenyon nodded sadly. ‘I'm afraid that was our last chance, and they may come for us any minute now.'

‘No,' cried Ann. ‘Listen! What's that?'

The sound of wild cheering came from somewhere out of sight along the street. The mob surged back into the square, and in their midst a lorry nosed its way into view.

‘Troops!' yelled Veronica shrilly. ‘Hell's bells! we've won!'

A machine-gun stuttered, checked, and then burst into a violent chatter. The horses of the Red cavalry reared, plunged and fell: another lorry came into view, a third, a fourth, a fifth—all packed with khaki figures. Under the death-dealing zip of the machine-gun bullets the Soviet infantry fled, jostling and fighting among themselves to be first through the doors of the Town Hall.

Careless of the barbed wire at the windows the prisoners leaned out waving and shouting wild encouragement; then Rudd's voice came above the din. ‘There 'e is—I knew 'e'd come back fer us. Go on, sir—give 'em ‘ell!'

‘It
is
—it's Gregory!' Veronica cried, almost off her head with joy.

As he caught Rudd's stentorian shout Gregory, still in his tattered khaki, the golden oakleaves on his scarlet banded hat now frayed and grimy, looked up at them from the leading lorry and waved a smiling greeting. Ten minutes later he was with them in the room, answering a hail of excited questions.

‘I couldn't have done it if you people hadn't given me the chance to get away,' he told them, ‘and finding out the real situation was a bit of luck, the rest was dead easy.'

‘Tell us, tell us!' Veronica insisted.

‘Well, when I got into that lane beside the Town Hall I knew I was certain to be hunted through the streets if I was spotted in this rig-out, so I shinned up a fire-ladder and scrambled over the roofs as hard as I could go, but I slipped on a loose slate and pitched, feet foremost, through a skylight—that's where the luck came in!'

‘Go on,' urged Ann. ‘Go on!'

‘Be patient, pansy face,' he chaffed her; ‘the place happened to be the temporary hiding place of an Ipswich policeman. He wasn't in his uniform of course, but as soon as he saw me he came out of his shell, and he was a remarkably intelligent chap. He joined a secret organisation, composed mainly of reliables in the old force, early in the troubles, and with half a dozen others has been keeping an eye on things here, and then passing on his reports to people higher up for transmission to Headquarters at Windsor. Naturally I had been racking my brains as I came over the roofs as to how to get you out of it, but this chap had all the dope about the Counter-Revolution having taken place this morning; and he said that having secured the great industrial centres they would be mopping up the other towns tonight. I didn't dare to wait though, and when he told me he felt certain loyal troops would be in Colchester already, I borrowed his push-bike and beat it. I was chivvied through the streets before I got out of the town but the rest was easy.'

‘Easy?' echoed Veronica, raising her eyes to Heaven.

‘Yes.' He smiled with his old air of superb self-confidence; ‘I flung my weight about a bit and, seeing all my blood-stained bandages, they thought me no end of a tiger so I got away with half a company.'

‘Won't you get into awful trouble now that the Government
is restored?' asked Kenyon anxiously.

He laughed gaily; ‘No,
Old Soldiers never die.
I'm just going over to the Town Hall to see that the job has been properly completed, then I propose to shed the purple, and as the song has it, gently
Fade Away
!

They followed him downstairs and at the entrance to the hotel he turned and smiled at them. ‘You'd better stay here for the moment, I won't be long.' Then he shouldered his way into the press.

For a few moments they stood on the pavement watching the cheering jostling crowd, then Veronica seized Kenyon's arm and pointed to another lorry that was slowly entering the square.

‘Look, look! on the box!' she cried, ‘there's Alistair!'

‘Why, so it is, old Hay-Symple by all that's wonderful.'

‘Alistair you brute!' shrieked Veronica; ‘I adore your ugly face, come here!'

Major Hay-Symple heard her shout, looked his amazement in seeing her there and, jumping down, pushed his way towards them. As he stepped on to the pavement Veronica flung her arms round his neck and Kenyon thumped him on the back; but he took it all quite calmly, surveying their ragged clothes and the unshaven faces of the men with mild amusement. His own attire was as faultless as if he had just come off the parade ground; his firm chin seemed newly shaven, and his moustache was brushed stiffly upward as of old.

‘My dear, where have you been, I'm terribly glad to see you,' he smiled affectionately at Veronica.

‘Oh, everywhere,' she waved her arms, ‘all over England, and Scotland too I think!'

‘By jove!'

‘But tell us,' she urged, ‘what's been happening, we've only heard the Proclamation on the wireless.'

‘Well really, I don't know,' he stroked the fine brown moustache. ‘We've just been carrying on, most of us. It's all been done from Windsor; we occupied Maidenhead for a few days, ordered there you know, then last night we were ordered back to London, and there you are.'

‘You maddening person, surely you were in the fighting?'

‘Oh, rather, if you call it that, but of course it was of no value as experience to a soldier, beastly work and the men hated it as much as we did.'

‘Hark at him!' Veronica appealed wildly to the darkening sky. ‘To hear you talk anyone would think that there had never been a revolution at all!'

‘Oh, well, there was a nasty patch in the middle of last week, but the sailors did most of the—er—laying on of hands, if you know what I mean!'

‘The sailors? but I thought they'd all mutinied?'

‘There was a little trouble with them in the earlier part, but when things began to look really sticky they turned themselves into special police.'

‘Well done the Navy!' laughed Kenyon.

‘Yes, good show, wasn't it? But tell me about yourselves quickly because I've got a job to do.'

‘Darling,' gasped Veronica, ‘it's been too thrilling, first we were all nearly murdered in the East End somewhere, but we were rescued and taken on board a destroyer—' She paused suddenly as Gregory appeared from behind Silas's broad back.

‘Hullo!' exclaimed Hay-Symple sharply.

‘Hullo!' replied Gregory with a twisted grin.

‘By God! you're the bogus Brigadier,' cried the Major, thrusting his way past Veronica. ‘The crook I've been sent from Colchester to get; you're going to be court-martialled my fine fellow—and shot!'

‘Don't be a fool,' Veronica burst out; ‘Gregory's been marvellous, we should all have been dead a dozen times if it hadn't been for him.'

‘I'm sorry,' Hay-Symple shook his well-groomed head. ‘You don't understand the enormity of the thing. It would have been bad enough if he had only dressed himself up in a uniform he had no right to wear, but to divert half a company of troops at a time like this is treason of the blackest kind, and, of course, the moment you mentioned a destroyer I tumbled to it that he's the same chap who got away with a platoon and the
Shark
a month ago. I was ordered to follow him up from Colchester and arrest him, and I shall.'

‘You can't!' stormed Veronica, ‘you can't.'

‘My dear I'm sorry, terribly so if he's been decent to you, but you must realise that plain murder is nothing to what he has done.'

‘But you don't really mean to shoot him, do you?' Kenyon asked in a shocked voice.

‘Not personally.' Hay-Symple beckoned to some of his men. ‘But my orders are to take him back to London for court-martial, and there's no doubt about the verdict or the penalty. He will undoubtedly be shot.'

As Hay-Symple's soldiers surrounded him Gregory began to laugh, quietly at first, then louder, until he rocked where he stood, shaken by gargantuan bursts of laughter.

‘I see nothing humorous about it,' said the guardsman acidly.

‘Don't you? I do.' Gregory sighed as he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. ‘First I'm to be shot by mutineers because they thought I was an officer; then by Communists because they thought I was a King; and now despite the fact that I've regained this town for the Government, by you, because I've got myself up in your stupid fancy dress. If that's not funny …'

Hay-Symple's face turned a darker shade of red. ‘You will refrain please from insulting His Majesty's uniform.'

‘Go to hell, you brainless idiot,' cried Gregory with a sudden burst of fury.

Veronica flung herself between them. ‘Don't take any notice of him, Alistair,' she pleaded, ‘he's overwrought; we've all been through the most appalling time.'

‘Then make him keep his tongue between his teeth.'

Gregory shrugged. ‘I didn't mean that personally; it's just that I loathe your type.'

‘There, my dear,' Veronica begged, ‘do try and forget that you're a professional soldier for a moment. We're all
alive,
Alistair, and that's what really matters. How can we get back to London?'

The guardsman gave her half a smile. ‘I've no desire to quarrel with this chap, only to hand him over to the proper authorities. As for London—I've got to take him there, so I can take you too, if you like; that is if you don't mind going in the lorry?'

‘Of course not! And you'll take the others as well?'

‘Yes, I don't mind.' He glanced round quickly and his eye fell on Rudd. ‘Who's this man?'

‘Batman to the General, sir,' said Mr. Rudd.

‘Oh, you're the minor crook, are you? Well, I'm glad we've roped you in,' he swung round on Gregory. ‘You see, it happens that, quite apart from this business at Colchester, I heard all about your first exploit from the Colonel whose men you trundled off with. He's a particular friend of mine, and he'll be better pleased to see you shot than to get another bar to his D.S.O.'

‘Will he?' sneered Gregory, ‘he's a fool then, he'll never live this story down, you know. “The Colonel whose troops were marched off by a civilian, in a hired suit from Clarksons!” I'd hush the whole thing up if I were you.'

‘And let you off scot free? No thank you. In due course you're going to get it in the neck, my friend, so you'd better make up your mind to it. Are the subalterns from Colchester still here or have you sent them off to the War Office with another fake message?'

The ex-king of Shingle Street laughed. His furious anger at being caught had given way to his habitual philosophy. This
earnest soldier was more a matter for amusement than abuse. ‘You'll find them in the Town Hall,' he said cheerfully, ‘a nice pink-faced youth, and a tall spotty one; Spotty is the senior, but the cherub's got more brains!'

‘Thanks.' Hay-Symple nodded to the escort. ‘Put these two men in the back of the lorry while I go across and see that things are all right. You others had better make yourselves as comfortable for the journey as possible.' He turned and thrust his way into the crowd.'

When he returned they were all settled among the half-dozen privates on the sacking in the back of the vehicle with the exception of Veronica; despite Silas's protest she had elected to take the only place that would be vacant on the driver's seat. Hay-Symple climbed up beside her.

Slowly the lorry was turned and edged through the seething mass of people. The whole population of the town seemed to have congregated in the square and principal streets; they were singing, cheering, and carrying soldiers, Greyshirts and policemen shoulder high as they swayed and rocked before the Town Hall. From the windows men were making speeches which had no chance of reaching their enthusiastic audiences, others were waving Union Jacks dragged forth for the occasion.