Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (42 page)

“I’m for dropping the names thing if that’s ok. Call me John.”

That was his second name of course, but it saved explanations.

“Indeed. Call me John too.”

All three smiled broadly as they realised the problem.

“Ok damn it; guess I’m gonna be Marion then,” and holding up his hands dramatically, “Yes there is a story there ok!”

“Well far be it from me to stop this heartfelt comradeship from spreading. You may call me Cam in these present surroundings. And there is a story there too gentlemen.”

Ramsey wiped his mouth on his serviette and fell back into the voluminous chair, stuffed to the brim for the first time since he left Blighty.

Suppressing a satisfied belch, Ramsey rummaged in his pocket.

“Splendid. Now then Marion, you seem to have a story to tell so fire away.”

His Players cigarettes came out and did the rounds before Crisp started.

“Short and sweet version gentlemen. My father has never touched a drop of liquor in his life, until the day I was born that is. Unfortunately, he celebrated mighty hard with my Uncle, who then took him down to the County office, to make my birth official.”

The two British officers had no idea where this story was going.

Crisp’s voice took on the style of an old storyteller starting into a well-loved anecdote.

“Apparently Uncle Ralph was propping Dad up and couldn’t get much sense out of him. Incidentally, he hasn’t touched hard liquor since.”

Crisp grinned at the glass in his hand and, taking a sip of his very large brandy, continued.

“The woman clerk was getting mighty uppity the way Uncle tells it and so he tried hard to get the details from Dad, who was not best placed to be cooperative. Mind you, Ralph is only just a tad more sober than Dad, the way Dad tells it.”

Crisp’s face took on a serious look.

“Don’t forget that Judge John Ryan Crisp, my father, is a man of some distinction and a pillar of the community, which pillar is now, apparently, decidedly horizontal in the county clerks’ office.”

Prentiss stifled a snigger but grinned from ear to ear none the less.

“You see, by this time Dad was lying on the floor singing, leastways Uncle Ralph says he was singin, but Dad isn’t a musical man by nature. Anyway, so there is Ralph on the floor with him, in front of a whole line of people, all with official business in the office, trying to coax the very necessary details of the birth out of a drunken man.”

Both now had the amusing image fixed directly in their minds.

“Apparently, there was much annoyance developing with the good townsfolk and Ralph was told in no uncertain terms that he should get on with it and get Dad the hell out of there.”

More brandy and Ramsey, to his surprise, finished the last of his Moselle.

“And so it was that Uncle Ralph called for silence and asked what the boy’s name was.”

“Bear in mind now, that there is my Dad and Uncle lying side by side on the floor of the county office, with a dozen annoyed people leaning over them, straining to hear the not-so-whispered conversation.”

Adopting affected drunken whispering tones that represented his father and uncle, Crisp re-enacted the scene.

“What’s the boy’s name John?”

“Which boy?” says Dad.

“Your boy,” says Ralph.

‘My boy?’ says Dad.

‘Your boy,’ says Ralph.

“Ah, my boy, my boy.”

“My father spoke my name and the rest is history.”

More brandy consumed as the climax approached.

“Marion John Crisp was what my Uncle stated to the clerk.”

A pause for full effect, perfectly timed followed.

“Daddy swears he said to Ralph ‘My Ryan’. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

Neither of the other two heard the second sentence as they were both braying loudly, Prentiss on the verge of choking with glee. They made so much noise that the other officers, mostly French, stopped to see what was entertaining the eccentric British Colonel and his friends.

“Apparently the listeners were divided on what had been said, and an argument occurred. They all decided to stop wasting time and democratically resolved the issue. Majority vote went to Uncle Ralph’s version and the rest is a matter of public record. The clerk wrote it down as fast as her hands could do the deed, just to get them all the hell outta Dodge! ”

“Wonderful Marion, wonderful.”

Ramsey shook his head, still enjoying the metal images conjured up by Crisp’s story.

“That simply isn’t true is it…err….Ryan?”

“It certainly is Cam. You don’t think I could make that up?”

His look of innocence was not convincing but it didn’t matter. It was a damn good story.

“So we will go for Ryan I think. Agreed?”

Prentiss extended his arm and offered his glass forward. The others clinked theirs to his.

“Agreed,” spoken as one.

“Right then sir." Ramsey recovered his poise. “You said Cam?”

“Ah nothing so fabulous and enthralling as our good friend Ryan here. Merely my initials. I am the possessor of some tiresome names and the family shortened them, for which I am extremely grateful.”

“Well I got the Cedric part earlier. Best you ante up with the rest ‘old chap’,” said Crisp, obviously feeling the warm spreading effects of some superior French brandy.

“Quite so Ryan. I am blessed with the names Cedric Arthur Moreton, hence the very simple abbreviation ‘Cam’.”

Both Majors’ brains were working overtime with the additional possibilities.

‘Prentiss?’

“And before either of you ‘gentlemen’ goes further into the possibilities of my initials I should warn you that I make a very implacable enemy!”

Nothing was said but the grins were loud and clear.

All glasses were now empty and Prentiss again beckoned to the passing senior orderly.

“Three more Brandies if you please.”

The old orderly looked extremely uncomfortable.

“I very much regret Colonel Sir Lord; I am under orders to govern the intake of all officers this evening. You are now at the limit set by my General and say I must decline to serve you further. Apologies Colonel Sir Lord. I may serve Commandant Ramsey of course, and Commandant Crisp may continue as he will be leaving us.”

There was not a lot that could be said about that without causing a scene, so Prentiss asked for a Perrier instead.

“Tight ship they run here it seems chaps.”

“Colonel Sir Lord?” ventured Ramsey.

“Yes well, very tiresome. Let’s not be bothered by it. Sure that damn fellow used to wait tables at the Savoy you know.”

The continuing looks from his two companions stirred him further.

“Oh alright. I am Viscount Kinloss, Sir Cedric Arthur Moreton Prentiss, not really a lord chaps, or at least, not a proper one.”

The additional drinks arrived, but neither Major felt comfortable with drinking the fine brandy in front of an envious Prentiss.

“Well Gentlemen,” Prentiss rose, “I will take a short stroll before retiring to my chamber. I do hope to see you both in the morning,” he paused for humorous effect, “My Ryan, but if you are gone my best regards to you for the future. Pop up and see me in my Scottish seat when you get a chance. I will be easy enough to find.”

A hand extended and a firm handshake shared.

“Thank you Cam. It has been real fine to meet you Sir.”

Crisp stepped back to let Prentiss past.

“I will see you again Sir.”

“Indeed you will Ryan. As I will see you in the morning John.”

“Indeed Sir. Cam.” Ramsey swiftly corrected himself.

More handshakes and Prentiss took his leave. “Good night Gentlemen.”

“A good man that, John.”

“He certainly seems to be, Ryan.”

Before the last of the brandy disappeared, Ramsey had a question that was burning away inside.

“So tell me Ryan. You have done the week here. What’s the story?”

Crisp considered his reply, factoring in the closing words of the French Brigadier General last Friday afternoon.

“John, I cannot spoil the surprise but I will tell you this. You and I are soldiers and both of us have seen combat and all it has to offer. You will meet some more soldiers this week and they will teach you a very great deal about war. This has been a week I will never forget. And that is all I can tell you my friend.”

Both men stood on cue and firmly shook hands.

“I wish you well Major John Ramsey.”

“All the best to you Major Ryan Crisp.”

Crisp returned to his room as the clock was striking midnight and was asleep within minutes. Ramsey followed close behind.

Across Europe a line had been drawn. It could not be seen. It could not be touched.

None the less, it was real, and it marked a divide.

A divide not just between Armies but also between ideals and philosophies.

The western side of that divide lay at rest, save for a few men patrolling the line, guarding their sleeping comrades and the civilians of liberated Europe.

On the other side of that divide, there was little rest, as men gathered themselves and prepared to unleash hell.

The greater the state, the more wrong and cruel its patriotism, and the greater is the sum of suffering upon which its power is founded.

Leo Tolstoy

0104 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Enns, US Occupied Upper Austria.

Finally, the barge nudged into the modest moorings at their destination. After a long journey up the Donau, they had turned into the tributary river, also bearing the name of the city they were about to enter.

Enns was asleep, or so it seemed, the sole sounds of note were now the gurglings of its eponymous river, although the striking of one o’clock by the clock in the famous Enns Tower had only recently faded away into the night.

Uhlmann and Braun were tucked away in the hold, and Pförzer left Shandruk in the wheelhouse as he greased the palm of the bored sentry, who immediately slid away to secrete his bottle of Stroh rum, ready to sample later when he was relieved.

Quickly the group converged on the wooden stage and followed Pförzer’s giant frame as it slid between flimsy wooden structures before stopping at the door of a solid brick building.

With the padlock removed, Pförzer opened the door and counted the group in before closing it behind him.

It was pitch black inside but clearly Hub knew his way around and within seconds two candles were burning brightly, granting enough light for the surroundings to become clear. Within the building, whatever it was, for there were no openings save the one door, the roving eyes saw crate after crate of goods. Bottles of whisky and wine, stacks of cigarettes, smoked meats hanging from ceiling hooks. There were perfumes, nylons, and army ration boxes by the dozen.