'Good, good.' He nodded. 'Well, let me introduce you to Lieutenant Peploe. You and your men will be joining his platoon.'
The subaltern next to him now stood up and shook Tanner's hand. 'How do you do, Sergeant?'
'Well, sir, thank you.'
Peploe smiled. 'Glad to have you on board.' It was said sincerely. The lieutenant had a rounded yet good- looking face, blue eyes and a wide, easy smile. His hair was thick strawberry blond, slightly too long and somewhat unruly, as though it refused to be tamed by any amount of brushing. His handshake was firm and he looked Tanner squarely in the eye; it was something the sergeant liked to see in an officer. He hoped they would get on well enough.
Barclay tapped his fingers together and shifted in his seat. 'I see you've been decorated, Sergeant.' He noticed the blue, white and red ribbon of the Military Medal sewn above Tanner's left breast pocket.
'A few years ago now, sir.'
'Do you mind me asking what it was for?'
'Nothing much, really, sir. A bit of a scrap with some Wazirs, that's all.'
Blackstone laughed from his armchair. 'Such modesty, Jack. Honestly, sir, Tanner's single-handed defence of Pimple Hill is the stuff of legend - at least,' he grinned, 'the way he tells it. Isn't that right, Jack? I've heard the story a few times now and it gets better with every telling - especially with a bit of the old sauce inside.'
You bastard, thought Tanner.
Blackstone laughed, and shot Tanner another wink, as though it was nothing more than friendly ribaldry between two old comrades.
Barclay raised an eyebrow. 'Well, I'm sure you deserved it, Sergeant.'
Tanner shifted his feet, aware that he was betraying his discomfort. What could he say? He knew Blackstone was baiting him, daring him to rise. He had never spoken of that September day, four and a half years before, in the hills around Muzi Kor - not once - but Barclay wouldn't believe that now. He cleared his throat. 'I was proud enough to be awarded it, sir, but there are many brave deeds carried out in battle and most go unobserved. And there were certainly other men braver than me that day.'
'Yes, well, I'm sure you're right. In any case. . .' Barclay let the words hang and fumbled for his tobacco pouch. 'So,' he said at last, 'were you briefed in Leeds, Sergeant?'
'The regimental adjutant told me that this is still really a training company, sir. That most of the men have been hurried through formal training and have been sent here to do coastal and airfield guard duty.'
'That's about the sum of it. Since Norway, everyone's expecting Jerry to make a move against us in the Low Countries. With the Second Battalion in Palestine and the poor old Fifth in the bag, the First Battalion's a bit stretched. The idea is that our recruits can do a bit of soldiering of sorts and carry out more training while they're about it. But, of course, we need experienced men like the CSM here and yourself.'
'And the men Sergeant Tanner has brought with him, sir,' added Peploe.
'Absolutely.' Barclay lit his pipe, a cloud of blue-grey smoke swirling into the still air of the office. 'I hear you had quite a time of it out in Norway, Sergeant.'
'Yes, sir.' Tanner knew the captain wanted to hear more, but he was not going to indulge him. Not in front of Blackstone.
'Sounds like you were lucky to get out.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I don't know how you do it, Jack,' interrupted the CSM. 'Most of the Fifth Battalion get themselves put in the bag, but you manage to get yourself safely back to Blighty.' He sniggered. 'I tell you, sir, Tanner's one of those lucky soldiers. Always gets himself out of a tight fix.'
Tanner glared at Blackstone. Then, too late, he saw that Peploe had seen.
'We need men like that,' said the lieutenant. 'If what the CSM says is true, Sergeant, I'm very glad to have you in my platoon.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Tanner.
Barclay put another match to his pipe. 'Yes, I'm sure we can all learn something from you, Sergeant. Anyway,' he leaned back in his chair, 'what else do you need to know? We're a small company. Three platoons, most not quite at full strength although Mr Peploe's will be, now that you're here. We rotate duties between training, guarding the airfield and a stretch of the coast at Kingsgate - do you know it? Between Broadstairs and Margate. Big castle there. It's a hotel and, incidentally, out of bounds to servicemen. Not very taxing stuff, I'm afraid, but important work all the same.'
'So, do you think we'll be going to France, sir?'
'Yes - I meant to say. That's the point of us being down here. In effect we're the reserve for the First Battalion. A hop across the Channel and we'll be right alongside them. Now,' he said, placing his hands flat on the desk. 'Is there anything else?' He turned to Blackstone, who was absent-mindedly picking at his fingernails. 'CSM?'
Blackstone looked up. 'Shall I brief the sergeant on duty rotas, or will you do that, Mr Peploe?'
'I can do that, thank you, Sergeant-Major,' said Peploe. 'I want to meet Tanner's men in any case.'
'Very good, sir.'
Barclay clapped his hands to signal the end of the interview, then suddenly said, 'Oh, yes - I almost forgot, but there is something else you should know. I'm afraid we've had some thieves here at the airfield.'
'Sir?'
'Two nights ago a dozen barrels of fuel were stolen.
Understandably, the station commander's livid about it. He rather wants us to get to the bottom of it.'
'It's those Poles, sir,' said Blackstone.
'I really don't know how you can be so certain,' said Peploe.
'You'll see, sir,' said Blackstone. 'I'd put good money on it.'
'Poles, sir?' Tanner asked Peploe.
'Yes. Former soldiers and pilots, mostly. They've come over since the fall of their country, poor devils. They're being housed here for the moment.'
Barclay raised an eyebrow at Peploe, then said, 'We've got several dumps here, you see, Sergeant. Lorries deliver the fuel in barrels - presumably from a refinery somewhere - a couple of times a week. They're taken to the fuel stores and then the bowsers siphon the petrol from there. One of these dumps was broken into and the barrels swiped. Of course, the fuel's got dye in it but that hardly stops people using it. After all, once you've put it in your car or what-have-you, who's to know? It's all high- octane stuff but apparently that's of little concern on the black market.'
'Why do you think the Poles are responsible, sir?' Tanner asked Blackstone.
'I saw several of them skulking around the store in question the other day. And a number of them are employed around the airfield and camp, some as drivers. You couldn't nick all those barrels without a number of men being involved, and I can't see any of the military personnel doing it. We've a war to fight and win, not help lose by pinching fuel needed for the aircraft here. No, it's those Poles, all right. Certain of it.'
'Anyway, the point is, Tanner,' added Barclay, 'we need to be vigilant. You see anything suspicious, you tell one of us right away.'
'Yes, sir.'
Barclay dismissed Tanner and Peploe, but not Blackstone. To Tanner's surprise, the CSM took out another cigarette and settled back in the armchair next to the OC's desk. Blackstone. Tanner sighed. Christ, but that man had made his life difficult during the Nowshera Brigade days, yet when the CSM had been wounded he'd thought it would be the last he'd ever see of him. Of all the luck! And he was just the same - five minutes in front of Captain Barclay had proved that. Tanner clenched his fists. He had an urge to hit something very hard.