Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (41 page)

“Nothing McEwan, just thinking out loud son.”

The young driver looked at his commander and made the wrong assumption.

“Dinnae fret yersel major. The week will be gan afore ye know it. Onyways, it isnae that far back tae base.”

Deciding not to overly tax his young driver, Ramsey contented himself with an affirmative grunt. The Austin had stopped at the third checkpoint, where Ramsey was invited to disembark. Documentation was thoroughly checked and some casual questions asked, which Ramsey certainly felt were checked off against some list already in the possession of the Officer of the Guard.

“I’ll be back for ye next Friday at 1600 hrs Sir. Enjoy yersel and look after yer shudder.”

Internally Ramsey smiled, for try as he might, he could not imbue McEwan with the virtues of military niceties. That the man was the finest shot the Major had ever seen and possessed the courage of a lion went a long way with a soldier like Ramsey.

“Indeed Corporal, thank you. 1600 hrs on the dot McEwan or no weekend pass for you,” he said with forced sharpness.

The Captain looked up at Ramsey and then McEwan, swiftly reading from the two grinning faces that this was a well-rehearsed act between two comrades. He moved off to the post phone to report Ramsey’s arrival. When he was out of earshot, Ramsey spoke again.

“Safe drive home Mac, and do take it careful round those bends. They will be lethal in the dark, son.”

McEwan prepared to move backwards to the hairpin where he would turn his vehicle.

“Ach dinnae worrae aboot me Sir, il be fine. See ye Friday".

With a swift salute, cut short by the necessity of changing out of forward gear, the staff car was quickly reversed and exited the ramp on its way back to its base.

Ramsey felt a hand on his case and turned to find a smart orderly trying to take it from him. He relinquished his grip but retained his briefcase and walking stick, his sole eccentricity.

A British officer serving in a senior position within a jock battalion simply had to have something to emphasise his Englishness, and the black and silver cane was it.

He had purchased it new from a Gentleman’s outfitters in Glasgow, but a legend had grown, and as far as his veterans were concerned it was the very cane carried by Sir Robert Munro at the Battle of Fontenoy in 1745, as presented to their slightly mad Major by clan chieftains. Ramsey did nothing to shatter that illusion. It served a purpose and did no harm. In fact, on two occasions, he had thrown the cane forward, much to his men’s horror, encouraging his highlanders to advance when under fire to retrieve the ‘prize’.

“Commandant, please follow me.”

The orderly moved off and up a rising stone path before turning left and entering the building, past another small guard station where both went unchallenged. Ramsey followed the man at distance, taking in as much of his surroundings as possible, climbing the worn stone stairs carefully. Halfway down those steps was an American paratrooper Major, looking extremely dejected.

Ramsey put his cane in his left hand with his case and saluted. The Major, having an eye for certain details, beat him to it, despite his frustration.

“Good evening Major, and I hope that your face is not telling me how bad this place is?”

“Far from it Major. I just heard your car and prayed it was my own vehicle. I’ve been waiting here since Friday and transport is supposed to be bringing another officer for tomorrow. I was just hoping he had chosen to arrive Sunday rather than Monday. It seems I will be staying another night.”

A hand shot out.

“Crisp, Marion J. 101st US Airborne.”

Hands were shaken warmly as Ramsey gave his own introduction.

Crisp ushered Ramsey along after the disappearing Frenchman who was already up the stairs and moving across a small drawbridge and through the Lions gate.

Both officers increased their pace and made up ground, although more was lost as Ramsey automatically checked the chasm under the drawbridge.

Entering the Well Towe, more steps confronted them, echoing softly with the sound of a disappearing orderly.

“There is no shortage of steps here Ramsey. It’s a bit of a warren to be honest, but by Thursday you will be fine.”

Grinning back, Ramsey automatically looked down the old well before moving off again in search of his guide.

Reaching the side gallery of a small courtyard, Crisp spoke quickly.

“When the orderly has you settled down, wander on down to the mess room.” He indicated its location with a simple gesture. “Their chow here is superb Ramsey, and the cellar is very well-stocked.”

“That is a date my dear chap. See you then.”

Ramsey took two steps at a time behind the orderly who had not stopped moving forward.

Out through the arches, across the small courtyard and up the hexagonal main stairs to the next floor, where Ramsey was introduced to his bedchamber for the week.

He was no less impressed than the previous occupants, especially as a hot bath was filled and waiting his pleasure.

The orderly, once of the Ritz in London, placed the suitcase on an ornate ottoman at the base of the four-poster bed.

“If there is nothing else Commandant, I will leave you to your toilette. I shall inform the kitchen of your arrival. May we anticipate you for dinner by 10pm sir?” The orderly’s eyes flicked to the mantle clock as he spoke.

Checking his own watch Ramsey, noted 2135 hrs, did the maths in his head and confirmed his attendance.

“Thank you, but no dinner for me. A modest sandwich will be quite fine.”

“It shall be as you say Commandant. If you need anything, just press the button by your bed sir.”

The door closed behind him and Ramsey swiftly
undressed and immersed himself in the first bath he had experienced for some months. For him, showers were a necessary evil when the real thing wasn’t available.

2158 hrs Sunday, 5th August 1945, Château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg, French Alsace.

Having been shown the way by an imposing but accommodating commando Corporal, Ramsey arrived at the cellar where the pupils and teachers normally gathered to exchange more stories over wine, beer and spirits. On Sundays, the teachers were never there, in order to preserve the impact of the well-practised introduction.

He handed his cane and cap to an orderly and made his way to the low table where Crisp sat deep in conversation with a British Lieutenant Colonel of Cavalry, nodding in acknowledgement to other allied officers who looked up as he moved by.

Both rose courteously as Ramsey approached, the eyes of the Cavalry Colonel flicking to the simple maroon ribbon.

No cap, no salute.

Crisp shifted his cigarette into his left hand and extended his right.

“Settled in then Ramsey?”

Hands shaken and Ramsey shifted his eye to the man behind Crisp.

“Indeed, thank you for asking Crisp.” Hand extended to the unknown British officer, “Sir.”

“THE Ramsey of the Black Watch I presume? Your excellent reputation precedes you Major. Cedric Prentiss, 23rd Hussars.”

Prentiss affected a typical scatty English gent’s accent but his array of decorations informed Ramsey that the man had seen his own fair share of action.

Prentiss turned and resumed his position in a voluminous and extremely comfortable looking armchair, seeking out his brandy glass and enjoying its contents with great satisfaction.

“Good quality stuff here Ramsey. Can’t fault the frogs for that, eh Crisp?”

“They sure can throw a party that’s a fact Colonel. I musta put on ten pounds this last week, even with my running and believe me, these hills are murder!”

Prentiss and Crisp shared a small laugh, but Ramsey was confused.

“All week? My joining instructions say I’m here until Friday and I have the battalion boxing championship to referee on Saturday.”

“Ah, steady old chap,” calmed Prentiss, lighting a Craven A cigarette and holding the pack out to both Majors, who took one on cue. “Our friend Crisp here isn’t staying through choice.”

Lighting first Ramsey’s then his own, Crisp stuck his lighter back in his pocket.

“I rather gathered from earlier that you had problems Major.”

“Yes indeedy. My Colonel decided it wasn’t errr… prudent I think he said, to send a vehicle here on Friday and again today. So I am stuck here until the next man gets here and I can hightail it back in his jeep.”

A silver platter descended in front of Ramsey’s eyes as an orderly brought his requested sandwich. However, this sandwich would have sustained a family of six for a week. Lean cuts of pork and beef, aromatic sausage, tomatoes, salad and pickled vegetables were piled high on a warm and delicious smelling fresh baguette.

To the other two, Ramsey’s face was a picture.

“Say hi to your first two pounds Ramsey,” laughed a very relaxed Crisp.

Prentiss leant forward. “Fortunately Crisp warned me before dinner so I ordered light. We also took the liberty of ordering the wine for you. A light Moselle to ease your feast down old chap.”

Despite the humour at his expense, Ramsey suddenly felt very hungry. He attacked the plate, and listened to his companions pick up where they had left off.

“For myself I am just glad to have survived this ghastly business Crisp. Too many good chaps didn’t. Still, let’s not be maudlin eh?”

“No sir. I did feel aggrieved at not going to the Pacific for the assault, but now I guess it’s meant to be and I will just go out there when the army says it’s good and ready. And then back home and pick up where I left off.”

“Same for me old boy. What did you get up to before the match kicked off?”

Crisp could never quite get used to the understated British descriptions of the bloodiest war the planet had ever seen.

“I had entered my father’s law firm but it isn’t for me. Sure the money was there but now I think I will need more in my life than just money.” Prentiss nodded in agreement and Ramsey tried hard not to choke on a piece of pickled cauliflower.

“Dad will be none too pleased and that’s a fact. Always saw me following in his footsteps all the way to the court, but not now.”

Prentiss waved at an orderly and indicated his and Crisp’s empty glasses.

“Two more brandies, there’s a good fellow. Thank you.”

Again, relaxed back into his chair, Prentiss took his turn.

“Same issues with my kith and kin. Father was very much the politician don’t you know. Dead now, poor blighter. Cannot see myself in that line to be frank. Far too much hot air and duplicity for my taste. Not a career for an honest chap such as myself.”

Both men acknowledged the arrival of full glasses and silently toasted each other, which toast Ramsey joined with his exceptional Moselle.

“Our family has an estate in Bonnie Scotland. Rather hoping I can spend my time there communicating with fellow creatures that neither wish to shoot at me nor intend to deceive me.”

The ‘sandwich’ was getting the better of Ramsey and it showed.

“Struggling old chap? Need a brandy to ease it down?”

“No thank you sir, the wine is quite sufficient. If that is the standard of the food here then I can understand your weight problem Crisp.”