Into Battle Read online

  Copyright & Information

  Into Battle

  First published in 1997

  © Estate of Michael Gilbert; House of Stratus 1997-2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  The right of Michael Gilbert to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  This edition published in 2012 by House of Stratus, an imprint of

  Stratus Books Ltd., Lisandra House, Fore Street, Looe,

  Cornwall, PL13 1AD, UK.

  Typeset by House of Stratus.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress.

  EAN ISBN Edition

  0755119207 9780755119202 Print

  0755132297 9780755132294 Kindle

  0755132297 9780755132294 Epub

  0755146697 9780755146697 Epdf

  This is a fictional work and all characters are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance or similarities to persons either living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  www.houseofstratus.com

  About the Author

  Born in Lincolnshire, England, Michael Francis Gilbert graduated in law from the University of London in 1937, shortly after which he first spent some time teaching at a prep-school which was followed by six years serving with the Royal Horse Artillery. During World War II he was captured following service in North Africa and Italy, and his prisoner-of-war experiences later leading to the writing of the acclaimed novel ‘Death in Captivity’ in 1952.

  After the war, Gilbert worked as a solicitor in London, but his writing continued throughout his legal career and in addition to novels he wrote stage plays and scripts for radio and television. He is, however, best remembered for his novels, which have been described as witty and meticulously-plotted espionage and police procedural thrillers, but which exemplify realism.

  HRF Keating stated that ‘Smallbone Deceased’ was amongst the 100 best crime andmystery books ever published. “The plot,” wrote Keating, “is inevery way as good as those of Agatha Christie at her best: as neatlydovetailed, as inherently complex yet retaining a decent credibility, and asfull of cunningly-suggested red herrings.” It featured Chief Inspector Hazlerigg, who went on to appear in later novels and short stories, and another series wasbuilt around Patrick Petrella, a London based police constable (later promoted)who was fluent in four languages and had a love for both poetry and fine wine. Othermemorable characters around which Gilbert built stories included Calder and Behrens. They are elderly but quite amiable agents, who are nonetheless ruthless andprepared to take on tasks too much at the dirty end of the business for theiryounger colleagues. They are brought out of retirement periodically uponreceiving a bank statement containing a code.

  Muchof Michael Gilbert’s writing was done on the train as he travelled from home tohis office in London: “I always take a latish train to work,” heexplained in 1980, “and, of course, I go first class. I have no trouble inwriting because I prepare a thorough synopsis beforehand.”. After retirementfrom the law, however, he nevertheless continued and also reviewed for ‘TheDaily Telegraph’, as well as editing ‘The Oxford Book of Legal Anecdotes’.

  Gilbertwas appointed CBE in 1980. Generally regarded as ‘one of the elder statesmen ofthe British crime writing fraternity, he was a founder-member of the BritishCrime Writers’ Association and in 1988 he was named a Grand Master by theMystery Writers of America, before receiving the Lifetime ‘Anthony’ Achievementaward at the 1990 Boucheron in London.

  MichaelGilbert died in 2006, aged ninety three, and was survived by his wife and theirtwo sons and five daughters.

  Part One

  PORTSMOUTH

  Chapter One

  Korvetten Kapitan Willem von Holstern, being the senior of the twelve German naval officers in the private dining room at the back of the Royal Duke Hotel in Portsmouth, was, naturally, allowed the floor whenever he wished to speak.

  “I observed,” he said, and the babble of competing voices quietened deferentially, “the hulk of Lord Nelson’s old battleship Victory rotting in the harbour. This seemed to me to be symptomatic of the so-famous British Navy. Imposing in reputation but rotten at the core.”

  A burst of applause and laughter greeted this sentiment.

  “Might I add, sir,” said Oberleutnant Zimmer, “that a determined attack, delivered from below and above, should be sufficient to demonstrate most amply what you have said.”

  “Über and unter,” came the chorus. It was like the baying of a pack of hounds.

  In the passage outside, the young waiter, Andrew, had his chair tilted against the wall. This was not only comfortable, but also enabled him to hear most of what was being said. “Indeed,” he thought, “if they say it much louder it will be heard in the street. Oh, oh. Here comes trouble.”

  This bit of trouble was Leutnant Felix Sauervein, a foxy-faced character who had been out of the room on some business of his own and now appeared at the far end of the passage.

  Andrew, hastily tilting his chair forward, overdid the movement and landed on his hands and knees on the floor. The German officer stood for a moment looking down at him dispassionately, then kicked him to his feet.

  “You are here,” he said, “to take our orders. Not to lounge outside the door or to crawl on the floor. Come, stand upright when a German officer speaks to you.”

  This was in German, and the waiter seemed to understand the meaning of the last words, or, perhaps, of the gesture that accompanied them and pulled himself up into a sloppy parody of attention.

  There came a bellowing from the dining room.

  “Allow me to translate,” said Sauervein. “They require a replenishment of the beer. To be brought without delay. You understand that?”

  Andrew bobbed his head.

  “Then fetch it. Schnell, schnell.”

  As Andrew, who seemed incapable of moving quickly, was starting to shamble toward the door at the end of the passage, it was thrown open and a man appeared, blocking his way. Andrew knew him as a Major Richards, a regular patron of the Royal Duke, whom he had disliked at first sight, with his coarse red hair and his hooked nose.

  “You are having trouble, Lieutenant?”

  “Nothing that I cannot handle, Herr Major.”

  “I observe that you have the right technique for dealing with these peasants. They understand only a direct order and its ruthless enforcement. Tell me, am I to understand that your visit terminates in two days’ time?”

  “That is so. We have orders to be ready to depart at an early hour on the day after tomorrow.”

  By this time, Andrew had managed to extract himself. The major looked after him thoughtfully. Then he said, “On behalf of the people of Portsmouth, allow me to say that we shall be sorry that the goodwill visit of such a splendid unit of the Imperial German Navy as the Panzer Schlact Kreuzer Kobold should terminate so abruptly. We had been told that you would be with us for another week at least.”

  “Orders,” said Sauervein. “Orders that brook no delay. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes. I understand the importance of orders. Ah, here is the faithful peasant.”

  Andrew had staggered in, carrying, with some difficulty, a small keg of beer. The tap on it appeared to be badly fitted, or only partly closed, as a thin line of beer followed him as he tacked toward the dining room door and pushed it open with his foot. His arrival was g
reeted with a volley of orders, some of them in German, some in what the speakers imagined to be English. Gathering the general import of what was wanted, the waiter dumped the new keg on the table, picked up the empty one, and turned to go.

  He was stopped by a shout from the captain. Then he saw that twelve used mugs had been arranged on a tray and that there were twelve unused glasses beside it. He gathered that he was to remove the dirty mugs, and himself, in preparation for some ceremony that was to follow.

  To carry a keg, even an empty keg, and a tray was clearly impossible. His lips moved as he tried to work out the answer to this problem.

  The captain gestured to one of the young sublieutenants, who, after considering rapidly whether it would be more demeaning for an officer of the Imperial Navy to be seen carrying a keg or a tray of beer mugs, seized the keg, while the waiter picked up the tray and followed him out. As soon as the sublieutenant was back in the room and the door was shut, the twelve empty glasses were charged.

  “In truth, gentlemen, it should be wine,” said the captain. “But since the toast that I will propose is, in a sense, directed toward our hosts, it is appropriate that we should honour it in their own national beverage. And might I ask you to moderate, if not your zeal, at least your voices. Very well, then, gentlemen. Der Tag.”

  The waiter, who was by this time back at his post outside the door with a trayful of fresh mugs, thought that “Der Tag,” repeated in a sibilant whisper, sounded more menacing than if it had been shouted. However, this was not his principal concern. What he was wondering was how many times the mugs were going to be filled and emptied before the party was over. A great many times, he feared.

  And feared truly, as the draining of bumpers was followed by singing, and the singing by further drinking. Andrew, with one eye on the clock, began to wonder whether there was any chance of his getting home to his own supper, which would already be in the oven.

  When he came to Portsmouth, he had found lodgings with a retired petty officer, a Mr. Stokes, and his wife, who was an excellent cook. Their charges were moderate, which was as well, since the rewards of casual labour, in the hotels around the docks, would not be considered large, even if occasionally increased by tips from satisfied customers. He did not anticipate any generosity from the German naval officers. Indeed, he would be lucky if he avoided a complaint about his sloppiness and inefficiency.

  When the party finally broke up and the Germans started out, in varying degrees of steadiness, for the picket boat that would take them back to the cruiser, it was with scant hopes of a pat on the back that Andrew received a summons to present himself in the manager’s office.

  Here he found the manager talking to Captain von Holstern. He was relieved to note that both men were laughing. They had been conversing in excellent and idiomatic English. No doubt, thought Andrew, one of the reasons for selecting this particular officer to head a goodwill mission would have been his command of their language.

  The manager extracted a crumpled ten-shilling note from his wallet and handed it to the waiter. He said, “Your fee, as agreed. Very well. Be here tomorrow, promptly at nine o’clock. We shall have further work for you.”

  It seemed, then, that the captain’s report had not been adverse. A surprise, but a pleasant one.

  “Since, Captain, you are honouring us with your presence for tonight, I must see that your room is made ready for you. So, if you will excuse me.”

  A second surprise. The captain of a warship deserting his command and doing so when departure was imminent. There must have been any number of last-minute arrangements to make.

  Or was all that sort of thing left to his first lieutenant, allowing the captain a last night of relaxation onshore?

  As the manager bustled out, von Holstern signalled to Andrew to stay. He said, “You are surprised, perhaps, that I made no complaint of your conduct. Your lounging outside, when you should have been standing behind my chair to attend to my wants. Your clumsy handling of the beer, so that much of the last cask was wasted. Well?”

  “Yes, sir. I was surprised. But pleased.”

  “And you have no idea why I was so friendly to you?”

  “None at all, sir.”

  “Or why I have bespoken a bed here for tonight?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The reason should have come to your mind every time you faced a looking glass. Come and stand by me.”

  Andrew shuffled forward.

  “No. Closer. Much closer. That is better. Has no one ever told you that you were a very attractive boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Now you are being modest. And I imagine you are not so well off that a small gratuity – shall we say five pounds? – would be unwelcome.”

  “That would depend, sir, on what I had to do to earn it.” The tone was still respectful, but there was a hard edge to it that the captain either failed to notice or chose to ignore.

  “The answer is very simple. No, stand still. All you have to do is to come back, in about two hours’ time, when the last of the customers is leaving. I will let you know which is my bedroom. I shall expect you there.”

  This was put more in the tone of a command than a request. When Andrew said nothing, the captain added, more sharply, “You understand me?”

  “Yes. I understand you. And I find the idea entirely unattractive.”

  “The money is not sufficient, perhaps?”

  “It is not a question of money. The suggestion you have just made is a filthy one and unworthy of an officer in the navy. In any navy. Even a German one.”

  Before von Holstern had time to say anything Andrew had gone out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Had the captain not been so angry he might have noticed that, for the first time, the waiter was speaking like an educated man. But he was too shaken with rage to think of anything except the incredible fact that he, an officer of the German Navy, had been insulted by a waiter. “Even a German one!” And this from a common, vulgar boy trained to fetch and carry, like a house dog, who should have been honoured to have his head patted.

  He was unaware that he had been speaking aloud and that the door behind him had been opened, until Major Richards said, “Your pardon. I heard you talking and hesitated to intrude if you had someone with you. But since I am on the point of departing and may not see you again—”

  Feeling that he was, at least, dealing with a man of his own class, who would sympathise with him, von Holstern said, “I was talking to myself. I apologise for such eccentricity. To tell you the truth, I was doing it in an effort to calm myself.”

  “Has something occurred—?”

  “What has occurred is that I have been insulted.”

  “By the young man whom I observed scuttling down the passage?”

  “Yes. By him.”

  The major said, “I ought to be surprised. But really I am not. I have noticed, recently, a tendency in the lower classes to speak with less than proper respect to their superiors. It is not something, I imagine, that would be tolerated in your homeland.”

  “In my homeland, which is Prussia, it would not have occurred. But I can assure you that if, inconceivably, it had occurred, it would have been punished by a public whipping. I only regret that such a measure of redress cannot be exacted here.”

  “Perhaps something of the sort might be arranged. Unofficially.”

  The captain looked at him for a long moment, then whispered, “If only it could be. But I do not see how.”

  The major had settled himself on the edge of the table and was swinging one of his neatly shod feet. He seemed to be weighing up the advantages and disadvantages that might accrue from this unexpected development. He said, “You sail at an early hour on Thursday. That is, the day after tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then if the ceremony that I have in mind took place tomorrow evening, you would be away before any possible repercussions could occur. If, in fact, there were any repercussions, which
I doubt. No great power is likely to upset its relationship with another great power over the sore backside of a potboy. More particularly, at a delicate moment like the present. The days are past when England was prepared to go to war because a merchant skipper forfeited one of his ears.”

  As the major spoke, he was, without appearing to do so, watching von Holstern very closely. He could see the desire for revenge battling with the prudence his position demanded. He thought it might be interesting to prod him a little further.

  He said, “Of course you would not, yourself, appear in the matter. You will be returning to your ship tomorrow and will be staying aboard until you depart.”

  “Correct.”

  “But you have reliable subordinates.”

  “Very reliable.”

  “Men who would be as enraged as you were to think that the German Navy had been insulted.”

  “Their pride is no less than mine.”

  “And I have one or two equally reliable friends in the town. One of them happens to be a butcher. He has a useful van in which steaks and chops and offal of all sorts are transported.”

  “Offal,” said the captain. He was beginning to smile. “Yes, offal indeed.”

  “What easier than to pick up this youth when he returns home tomorrow evening and transport him to some suitable location. I had in mind the strip of Southsea Common that runs down there to the edge of the sea. It is usually deserted in the evening. There, what has to be done could be done. Your ship is lying off the South Parade now. With a good glass, you might even be able to witness the punishment. Or, at least, to hear the screams that the prisoner will utter when the whip is applied.”

  “Yes,” said von Holstern, his thin lips coming together. “I think that would be appropriate. Most appropriate.”

  When Andrew got back to his lodging, which was in Eastry behind the Royal Marine barracks, he found that Mr. and Mrs. Stokes were out at some naval function that included womenfolk. They would not, he guessed, hurry home. It would be such an excellent opportunity for them to discuss and dissect the rumours that were circulating – rumours of mobilisation, rumours of war. Upon Portsmouth, the head and the heart of the navy, such rumours would flock like starlings coming home to roost.