“Smooth,” Sir Franklyn murmured. “And slippery.”
“The people have had a bellyful of war,” Weatherby said. “I keep saying it because it keeps being true. No more war. I can think of only one thing that might conceivably change that. If the Bolsheviks start exploding bombs in Whitehall and St Paul’s and Arsenal football ground, people might get angry enough to want to drop a few shells on Lenin and his friends.”
Sir Franklyn stretched his long legs and slid deeper into his armchair. His hands steepled until they touched his chin. “You make it sound like stamping out piracy in international waters, James,” he said.
“So it is. They’re brigands, savages. What they’ve done in Russia…” Weatherby shook his head. “We don’t want that here.”
“Foul baboonery,” Fitzroy added helpfully. “That’s what Churchill called them in the Commons.”
“They boast about world domination,” Stattaford said. “Did their worst in Austria and Germany. Why wait? Retaliate first. Avoids a lot of bloodshed.”
“Alone?” Charles Delahaye said. It was the first word he had spoken since he arrived and it hung in the air. Nobody wanted to be the first to answer.
“Oh, bother,” Fitzroy said. “And we were going along so well. I suppose the question must be faced. Foreigners, I believe, are the province of the Foreign Office.”
Sir Franklyn sat up straight. “If you are hoping for allies to assist in a punitive expedition, then the list is short. Not Italy. Italy’s manpower died on the battlefield. Not Japan. It has two divisions in Vladivostock, which is about as far from Moscow as we are from Canada, the journey takes a month, and Japan doesn’t give a toss what Moscow does anyway. Not America. They’ve picked our chestnuts out of the fire once already, and they’ve got elections coming up. Not the Empire. We played the Mother Country card in the war, and we can’t play it twice. That leaves France. After the Armistice they sent two divisions into the Ukraine and kicked out the German occupying army, the only real force for law and order, treated the place like a French colony and made themselves despicable. French troops never wanted to be there, they mutinied, they departed faster than they arrived. Forget France. Yes, it’s a very short list.”
Nobody spoke. Stattaford got up and walked to a window, exercising his left leg as he went. Rain turned the glass to a wandering blur. “Bit of Hun ironmongery,” he said, still flexing. “Doesn’t like this weather.”
A tap on the door, and a maid came in, wheeling a trolley. The ceremony of tea helped dispel the feebleness of Allies. Well, former Allies. Platitudes about the weather were exchanged. They all agreed it was beyond a joke. “I’ve got a beat on the Test,” Sir Franklyn said sadly. “Can’t cast a fly in this deluge. Hampshire’s just a lake.” He bit into a custard cream.
“If it keeps up, the whole country will be washed away,” Jonathan Fitzroy said. “End up floating into the Atlantic, I expect.”
“The Navy will save us,” Weatherby said. “Always does.”
“The Navy’s in the Baltic,” Charles Delahaye said. “How do I know? Because the Treasury pays its bills. Hefty bills, too.”
“Not the whole Navy, surely?” Fitzroy said.
“A significant fleet. Not cheap.”
That took their minds off the rain.
“Doing what?” Weatherby said. He looked at General Stattaford.
“I’m a soldier, old chap. Ask an admiral.”
“Doing its duty,” Sir Franklyn said. “We are mounting a vigorous diplomatic campaign to protect the Baltic States against Bolshevik attempts to seize them. The Navy provides a presence.”
“A presence,” Weatherby said. “Does it go bang-bang, by any chance?”
“When requested, the Navy assists by discouraging enemy troop movements. We also discourage interference by the Soviet Navy. It has a large base at Kronstadt, at the head of the Baltic. Guarding Petrograd.”
“Discourage. Is that a diplomatic word for ‘sink on sight’?”
Sir Franklyn had said enough. He found a handkerchief and blew his nose and re-folded the handkerchief and took his time over it.
“In brief,” Fitzroy said, “we keep this fleet in the Baltic to bombard Bolsheviks ashore and afloat. Since this is not common knowledge, nor likely to be, I don’t quite see how it helps us to reassure the British people about why we are in Russia.”
“I do,” Stattaford said. “The railway runs from Petrograd straight to Moscow. Five hundred miles. Give the Navy a free hand. Sink the Russian fleet. Land two brigades of Guards, and I guarantee we’ll be in Moscow in a week. The Reds will be dead. Problem solved.”
“Splendid,” Delahaye said. “Just as long as we don’t interfere in Russia’s internal affairs.”
Weatherby chuckled. Fitzroy sighed. Sir Franklyn stared at the ceiling and stroked his jaw. Stattaford glared. “Is that a joke?” he demanded.
“Only if the Prime Minister was joking,” Delahaye said. “It’s what he told the House of Commons. I was there, I heard. He said you should never interfere in the internal affairs of another country, however badly governed.”
“The Daily Express agrees,” Weatherby said. “They say — and I quote — the frozen plains of Eastern Europe are not worth the bones of a single British grenadier. Big circulation, the Express.”
“Beaverbrook’s grubby rag. The man’s a damned Canadian. Got no loyalty to this country.”
Fitzroy clapped his hands. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Aren’t we barking up the wrong tree? Surely it’s not intervention when we are simply assisting the Russians to cleanse their own house? Help them achieve what all honest, decent, patriotic Russians are fighting for?”
“The damn plains aren’t frozen,” Stattaford growled at Weatherby. “It’s summer, for God’s sake. Have some common sense.” He sat in silence for the rest of the discussion. Eventually Sir Franklyn suggested something along the lines of Answering the call of freedom and justice. Nobody cheered, but nobody could improve on it.
There was nothing seriously wrong with the Chevrolet ambulance. Russian drivers, both Red and White, had failed to service it and after much bullying its engine had quit. A couple of springs were broken. The steering had hit so many potholes that it was cross-eyed. But all this was nothing that an R.A.F. squadron of fitters and metal-bashers couldn’t repair overnight. They gave it back to Lacey after breakfast. “Thanks awfully,” he said. “I shall have you all Mentioned in Despatches.” He gave them a case of Guinness.
Count Borodin turned up at ten, freshly shaven and alert.
“All our party-goers are sleeping like the dead,” Lacey said. “How do you do it?”
“I’m accustomed. Banquets like that are routine in Russia. One learns to pace oneself… Is the ambulance tickety-boo? We should drive somewhere.”
Lacey looked around. “Is there somewhere? It’s all anywhere. Steppe is steppe.”
“I’ve been thinking about your missing Nine. If Pedlow and Duncan are dead, they deserve a decent burial. And if they’re not…”
“Two British airmen can’t just vanish. Even in Russia.”
“Well, you’re still the C.O. Take command of the situation.”
Lacey saw Maynard admiring the Chevrolet, and went to him. “Good news, Maynard. I’m delegating my authority,” Lacey said. “You’re temporary acting C.O. in my absence.”
“I say, Lacey. That’s a bit thick. Where are you going?” Lacey told him. “I shan’t know what to do,” Maynard said.