“Splendid, Sir.”
“Thank you again, Sir Roger. I won’t forget this, I can assure you.”
Churchill stubbed his cigar out with a celebratory flourish and stood, cueing the others in to do likewise.
“One last thing, Sir Roger.”
“Sir?”
“The dollars. Where are they?”
“Haven’t the foggiest idea, Sir. No intelligence on them whatsoever.”
“Best we give our cousins a warning then.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.”
Chapter 180 – THE SCHEMERS
Dictators, unlike Democrats, depend on a small coterie to sustain their power. These backers, generally drawn from the military, the senior civil service, and family or clan members, have a synergistic relationship with their dictator. The dictator delivers opportunities for them to become rich, and they protect him from being overthrown.
1107 hrs, Saturday, 30th November 1946, 2nd Grenadier Guards Maintenance Section, Kolberg, Poland.
The gathering at the maintenance section was graced by nearly all the senior officers from 2nd Grenadier Guards, including its commander, Lieutenant Colonel Cecil Keith.
‘C’ Squadron’s commander was absent, still looking for the missing items whose absence had drawn so much unwanted attention upon the maintenance section.
2nd Lieutenant Charles, recently returned from his officer training, was under the spotlight from the moment Keith and his entourage had arrived.
“Is this your signature, Lieutenant?”
“No, Sir.”
Pansy Flowers handed another document over to his commander, who turned to Corporal Wild.
“Is this your signature, Corporal?”
Making a play of checking closely, Wild shook his head.
“So neither of you signed for these acceptance forms, so neither of you are responsible for this missing vehicle or the other one.”
They wisely stayed silent.
Keith’s attention turned to Flowers, the WO2 in charge of all matters paperwork within the maintenance section.
“So, Flowers, what have you got to say for yourself? 27th November these vehicles were signed out. The 27th, man!”
“Colonel, Sir, I can’t say. I wasn’t here when the vehicles were signed out. Either of them. I’ve just got back from a spot of leave in Rostock, Sir. It was Lieutenant Charles’ enquiry that prompted my checks on the paperwork, as I noticed both vehicles had gone. I’d noticed their absence previously, but assumed they’d been picked up… err… by the right parties. Sergeant Ferris was responsible for signing the two vehicles out. He’s just in from England, so he wouldn’t know either Lieutenant Charles or CSM Head by sight.”
The Colonel interrupted.
“So where is Ferris now?”
“Sir, he’s out with the redcaps trying to spot those responsible for… err… removing the vehicles.”
Godfrey Pike, B Squadron’s commander, piped up.”
“Sir, I was with Peter Carington when he interviewed Ferris. He provided a good description of all four men. Procedures were followed. The sergeant’s not to blame as Peter and I see it.”
Pike was never slow in stating his opinion.
“After all, I mean, who on earth steals tanks and transporters?”
Keith, whose battalion was light two Centurion Mk IIIs, two Diamond T M-19 tank transporters, and their M-9 trailers, controlled his anger.
“Well quite clearly someone does, Pike!”
He swallowed and forced himself to calm down.
“Right. We’ll sort out the whys and wherefores of this bloody mess later. For now, I want parties out searching for the vehicles first and foremost. Find them, we find the swine who did this, and heaven help them if I get my bloody hands on the sods. I’ll have their guts for garters.”
He turned to Charles and Wild, wagging an admonishing finger.
“And if I find out that you lot have anything to do with this, I can guarantee you an extremely unpleasant time before your courts-martial!”
He leant forward.
“Are we clear, Lieutenant… Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Right… get out there and find your bloody tank!”
Keith strode from the office with the rest streaming in his wake, almost running in an attempt to keep up.
Charles and Wild remained at attention long after it was necessary.
Flowers, also at parade attention, broke the silence.
“Fucking hell. He’s not a happy puppy, is he?”
Charles relaxed and moved closer to Flowers.
“For that matter, Sarnt-Major… neither am I. That’s my bloody tank that some bastard is gallivanting ‘round the Polish countryside with and, quite bloody frankly, I’m not fucking happy! If I find that your man Ferris has anything to do with this, then I will visit myself upon you… mates or no fucking mates. Understand, Pansy?”
“No need for that, Andy… no need at all…”
“There better not be, old son, or I’ll have a set of garters of my own. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Excellent. You hear anything, I wanna hear it before the echo’s died away or else.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Now, we’re off, and woe betide anyone who is involved in this fucking abhorrence!”
“Right, Laz. Before some other busybody works out that we don’t have a tank, get the boys rounded up, organise a jeep, and we’ll go off on a jaunt and find Lady Godiva smartish. Can’t have gone far, and unless I miss my mark, we should start with either the Coldstreams or the Irish… and I’m betting that our dear friend Cuthbert le Lièvre from His Majesty’s Coldstream Guards has a hand in this… you mark my words, Laz.”
“I hear you, boss. Never forgiven us for the kipper wheeze.”
In the German War, le Lièvre and Charles had a run in over a shared route, where the Coldstreams were off course and on the wrong road.
The Channel Islander had crossed their paths a few times since, one of which had resulted in bad feeling and, by way of a reprisal, Lazarus Wild introducing two fish into the exhaust system of le Lièvre’s tank.
Such things never go unrevenged, and it was Charles’ hunch that the Coldstreamer had a hand in recent events.
1311 hrs, Sunday, 1st December 1946, Pardubice, Czechoslovakia.
The meeting was jovial, even though none of the visitors were getting what they wanted.
Not that they had expected to, given the shortages.
New vehicles had been allocated from France, from American sources, and even from Germany, the latter for reasons that were not wholly clear to the Legionnaires of Camerone and Alma, but they were not about to refuse.
Over the weeks, the foraging parties had turned up with some surprises, some of which were cherished additions to the order of battle, others received less warmly, depending on their state or nature.
All in all, the reforming units of the Legion Corps D’Assaut received a reasonable boost from official and unofficial sources.
Uhlmann was just into his questioning on the mechanical state of three Felix vehicles from his regiment when items from a clearly unofficial source arrived in clouds of diesel smoke and much rattling of chains.
The four officers looked up from their table and, collectively, their jaws dropped.
Fiedler, the workshop’s commander, immediate thoughts turned to where he could get the spares from.
Felix Jorgensen thought nothing of them particularly, as they clearly weren’t going to be for his anti-tank unit.
Uhlmann admired their lines and appreciated the fact that he was looking at something that was probably extremely potent on the modern battlefield.