The Eagle's Cry Read online

  Denton had persuaded Butler to fly regularly with him, and obtained Squadron Leader Fry’s approval, simply because he had been so impressed with his marksmanship. Butler was, in Denton’s opinion, far and away the best shot on the squadron. Events on that first operation had confirmed this. Also, he liked Butler for his quiet, reserved manner which was similar to his own. Butler was a shortish, chunky chap with widely-spaced, guileless blue eyes and hair of an indeterminate brownish hue, conspicuously large hands and deft fingers which could strip his guns in the dark with quick assurance.

  Denton had once asked Butler why he had joined the R.A.F.

  “Four in a bed, sir.”

  “What?”

  “Me dad’s a miner, like. Got eight kids. I had to share my bed with my three young brothers. Did a year down the pit meself.. Like being a bloody mole. No thanks. First time I can remember having a bed to meself was my first night in the Mob.”

  Denton had put the same question to Critchley.

  “Bound to be a war, old boy. Conscription. Could have found myself in the Army. Didn’t fancy the idea of all that marching and being bawled at by drill sergeants. Even worse if I’d found myself in the Navy: months at sea without a girl in sight. Might as well be a eunuch.” Critchley had shuddered dramatically.

  “You won’t do much better out here. All the white women are spoiled rotten. Even the ugliest of ’em are in demand for parties and dances and even for mere female company. With the good-lookers there isn’t a chance. Not on a P.O’s pay. Cairo’s full of highly-paid civilians, who get the first choice. All the bints out here want is a good time: which means expensive outings. Since the war, the competition’s grown worse. Cairo’s bulging with senior officers in Staff jobs who’ve got ten times as much money to spend as chaps like us. And, of course, the cavalry have all got private incomes; so even a blasted subaltern has an advantage over a P.O. Bad luck, Ian.”

  Critchley had shown his white, even array of teeth in a wide smile. “It’s not only a big income that counts, old boy. I’ve got something to show the bints that is the biggest of its kind in captivity: that’s what matters. And you’d be surprised how quickly the word gets around.”

  “What d’you propose doing: standing on the steps at Shepheard’s Hotel and flashing it?”

  “Too dangerous. I’d be killed in the rush.”

  “I’ll be interested to see how you make out.”

  There hadn’t been much time between then and now. And here they were in hospital, with the nurses trotting in to take a look at them on every conceivable specious excuse. They were among the first dozen or so wounded in the war and therefore objects almost of veneration.

  Critchley was at once aware of their rarity value. A few days after their admission, when they had recovered from shock and the worst of their pain, he addressed the other two with complacency.

  “You know who’s going to be the smartest escort to be seen around town with, don’t you?”

  Butler gave him his habitual dour stare without comment. Denton looked up from the book he was reading.

  “Do tell us.”

  “Any wounded type, old boy. Genuine wounded heroes. Us, in fact.”

  Butler turned pink with embarrassment. Denton could not help laughing at Critchley’s smug effrontery.

  “So you’re a hero, are you?”

  “No. I didn’t have any option, did I? You’re the driver. Butler and I just have to go where you take us. And do what you decide. But the girls won’t know that. All they’ll see is me with my arm in a sling and they’ll know I’ve been in a fight with the enemy, so they’ll think I’m a bloody hero. You’ll look pretty good on crutches, Geoffrey. Butler’ll have his arm in a sling, too. They’ll be round you like bees round a honeypot, Sergeant.”

  The bullets that had wounded Butler in the side had broken several ribs and narrowly missed a lung. He was in no mood for this kind of speculation.

  “I’ll see if I can arrange to get my arm shot right off, next time, then. That should really fetch the bints, I suppose?”

  “Next time, you miserable sod? Once is enough for this crew.”

  “It’s going to be a long war.”

  “It’ll seem even longer if you’re going to be such a damn pessimist all the time.”

  “Lightning never strikes twice in the same place,” said Denton.

  Butler sucked his teeth and shifted his uncompromising gaze to him. “Aye, but that was no bloody lightning.”

  Denton judged it best to drop the subject. Butler was the worst injured of the three of them; and, if his own wounds were anything to go by, must be still in considerable pain. He caught Critchley’s eye and they exchanged a grimace. Butler seemed to be taking his wounds hard. Perhaps he was worried lest he lose his air crew medical category and find himself grounded. If so, this was not the moment at which to offer him reassurance. The time would come in a few days when he felt better.

  The half-doors swung open and Nurse MacGregor came in. She was trim, lissom and auburn-haired with a sweet mouth and a pert nose. She seated herself on Denton’s bed.

  “You don’t mind if I take a weight off my feet for five minutes, do you?” She smiled at him.

  “Be my guest.”

  “You’ll soon be able to get up and sit on the veranda. You too, Ian. Not you, yet, I’m afraid, Sergeant.”

  Butler made no reply. He looked up from a Strand Magazine, turned his head to her, sucked his teeth, nodded and resumed his reading.

  She pulled a face at him.

  “Am I going to be allowed to walk?” Denton asked.

  “We’ll take you out in a wheelchair. Doctor won’t let you try standing on that leg yet. Don’t worry: You’ll be dancing on it before long.”

  “I’ll need someone to hold me up. How about it?”

  She chuckled. “Of course. Whenever you’re ready to give it a try.”

  “That’s a date, then.”

  “I’ll keep you to it.”

  She stayed to prattle for a few minutes and when she bustled out Critchley turned towards Denton and hammed a warning look and gesture. “No trade there, Geoffrey. Wasting your time. Audrey’s the one.”

  This was Nurse Kinch, who was compact, dark, with cheeters’ cheetah eyes and a spectacular mammary development on which one could almost balance a tray.

  “You’re the expert, but let’s wait and see.”

  “I’m telling you, old boy. Jean MacGregor’s a prick-tease. I can spot her sort a mile away. Lay a hand on her and she’ll scream blue murder. Don’t lay a hand on her, and she’ll egg you on to try; and get a kick out of telling you you’re nothing but a lecherous beast.”

  A growl came from Butler’s bed. “Too bloody true, Skipper. I knew a kid as carried on just like her, in Newcastle. I took her to the dance one Saturday night when I wor home on leave and it wor just like Mr. Critchley says. Danced as close as a limpet. I took her outside and round the back of the palais, like. Kissed me like she wor frantic, but when I put me hand ... you know ... up ... you know ... she clocked me on the jaw like ... like ... well, as hard as you might’ve done, sir.” Butler grinned and rubbed his jaw. “I can still feel it. Anyway, I don’t have to worry: no nurse would be seen out with a mere sergeant.”

  Which was, Denton reflected, the truth.

  Critchley looked ruminant and technically interested. “I dunno, Butler. I mean about you and that girl. Sometimes when they pretend they don’t want it, it’s only to play hard to get. They don’t mean it. Specially if they get violent. Any time a girl slaps you, it’s a sign she’s really ready for it, just putting on an act. You shouldn’t have let a little thing like a punch on the jaw put you off. You should have tried again.”

  Without bothering to raise his eyes from his magazine, and in his studiedly flat tone, with a slight grin, Butler said “Who said anything about giving up? All I said was she thumped me. I didn’t say I didn’t have another go.”

  Critchley looked disconcerted while Denton
laughed.

  “And?” Critchley prompted.

  “Yes,” Butler replied.

  “Well, I still say Jean’s a waste of time.”

  “And I say wait and see.” Denton lay back and thought about it. It made pleasant ruminating.

  The prospects of getting Nurse MacGregor into bed gave more agreeable food for thought than the state of the British forces in Egypt, on which his mind also dwelt during these days.

  Only three weeks ago the squadron had taken part in a massed flight over Cairo intended to impress the populace with the strength the R.A.F. could muster. Ninety aircraft, mostly Blenheims and Gladiators with a few Lysanders, had flown across and around the city. The total numbers in the Command were 72 Blenheims, 63 Gladiators, 21 Lysander Army co-operation machines and 10 Sunderland flying boats.

  The Italians had 200 bombers and 200 fighters in Libya.

  In recent years there had been a lot of anti-British feeling in Egypt and much pro-German and pro-Italian sympathy had been demonstrated. The country as a whole was indifferent to the outcome of the war, but there was no particular loyalty to Britain.

  The Command badly needed modern fighters, Hurricanes or Spitfires, and bombers such as the Whitley and Wellington that could carry a much heavier load than the Blenheim.

  Junior R.A.F. officers were not privy to much secret information, but Denton was aware that the army’s strength in Egypt was low.

  If the enemy managed to drive deeply into Egypt there would be the danger of treachery. It was hard to assess the reliability of the Egyptian Army. In November, the R.A.F. had done a large-scale exercise with the Egyptian Air Force and that had also proved inconclusive. The general British view was that the Egyptians were inefficient, emotionally unstable and cowardly. It was also felt that spies, potential saboteurs and political agitators abounded. There was a new term for such people who infiltrated the defences of a country. They were know as fifth columnists: from General Franco’s apt phrase when he had four columns advancing on Madrid during the Spanish Civil War and boasted that a fifth column awaited them in the city itself.

  Their squadron commander had been to see them the day after they were admitted to hospital. He visited again a few days later, his bulging hyperthyroid eyes alight with their usual fanatical gleam. Denton often wished he knew the precise nature of Wing Commander Nash’s fanaticism. There was something as unnerving as it was odd about his style and demeanour. That he had a passion for flying was obvious. Denton suspected that he also relished danger for its own sake. Teddy Nash was the type who, if he had been born a decade earlier, would have revelled in pioneering aviation. He would have been one of the first to try a loop, a roll and a spin, just to see if they were possible. He already had two decorations before the war started: a Distinguished Flying Cross for operations in Palestine in the 1930s and an Air Force Cross for his part in winning the Schneider Trophy for Britain. With them he had campaign medals for service in India and in the Middle East as a junior officer. Denton did not doubt — nor did anyone else — that he would double or treble these before the war was over.

  Nash reminded Denton of a simmering kettle. He gave signs of being perpetually about to erupt into galvanic action. He had a flaring straw-coloured moustache that added to the wild look his pop eyes gave him. He was a dapper figure, not much above middle height, with good shoulders tapering to a slim waist. With his thin legs he looked the steeplechase jockey that he was. He had ridden six times in the Grand National and broken many bones over the jumps.

  He sat on a chair at the foot of Denton’s bed so that he could look at all three of the occupants of the small room with a quick traverse of his eyes. Sergeant Butler couldn’t take his eyes off him. The C.O. seemed to mesmerise him.

  “You chaps missed a good show yesterday. Party over Tobruk. Great sport. We pranged that cruiser of theirs, the San Giorgio. Set her on fire. She’s down on a sandbank now. Buggered up their oil storage tanks in no ordinary fashion, too. God! That stuff can burn. The Wops hardly lifted a finger: their flak was a joke and their fighters broke off every attack at a couple of hundred yards. We got four C.R. Forty-twos and we’d have knocked down a dozen if they’d pressed their attacks home. Yellow-bellied organ grinders and ice cream vendors.”

  Nurse Kinch chose that moment to flounce into the room, her bottom waggling. Nash broke off, tugged his moustache and let his gaze wander from her enormous mouth to her huge breasts and jiggling buttocks.

  Denton glanced at Critchley: he was glaring at the wing commander and Denton could read his thoughts: if the wing co beckoned, she would run to him; for his pockets were much better filled than Pilot Officer Critchley’s; wounded hero or not.

  But Teddie Nash did not catch her eye. His own eyes remained riveted to her bosom and haunches all the time she was in the room. When the doors closed behind her he heaved a deep breath and shook his head.

  “She’s no inducement to you chaps to get better and leave here. How are you doing in that direction, Ian?”

  “I’m working on her, sir.”

  “I took that for granted. Making any progress?”

  “I’m taking her out when we’re allowed into town.”

  “Better not rush it: You’ll need all your strength for that one.”

  At the end of a week the three patients were allowed onto the veranda and presently they were permitted to sit under the trees in the hospital garden: where they were invariably accompanied by three or four off-duty nurses. Sergeant Butler began to be quite optimistic about his chances of getting one of them to agree to go out with him.

  Propinquity and Jean MacGregor’s flirtatiousness were having a softening effect on Denton. Cynical though he was about the attitude of European women out East, he told himself that she genuinely liked him, she was kind — why else did she nurse? — and she was an exception to the rule. She was jolly without being hearty, she was very pretty and the shape of her lips indicated a sensual nature. During the nearly two years he had spent in Egypt he had taken two English girls out, half a dozen times each. One was a group captain’s daughter. The other was the daughter of a businessman. There had never been any hope of taking either of them to bed: and neither had even allowed him to kiss her until their third date. One night he had picked up an Egyptian dance hostess at a night club and taken her home. He was surprised when she asked him for money. He stayed, paid and left feeling degraded. Frustration and repression played their part in finding arguments to convince him that Jean MacGregor liked him for himself.

  He and Critchley were allowed out some days before Sergeant Butler. They took Jean and Audrey to tea at Groppi’s, to a cinema and to Shepheard’s for drinks. They were not allowed to stay out until dinner time. The two couples returned to the hospital in separate taxis. Contrary to his past experience, Denton found Jean readily amenable to being kissed on a first outing. She wouldn’t have let anyone else do it, she told him; and he believed her. By the time they parted he was a little in love with her.

  Critchley came into the room ten minutes after Denton.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “I gave the taxi driver a few akkers to park in a quiet spot and go off for a smoke.”

  “Wish I’d thought of that.”

  “Gave me time for a spot of exploration. Highly satisfactory. No handicap at all, having one arm in a sling.” Critchley winked. “They’re just as big and juicy as they look.”

  Butler groaned. “Don’t go on about it, sir. It’s bad enough having to stay here, without you rubbing in what I’ve missed.”

  Denton asked “Have you got yourself a date for when you’re allowed out

  Butler shook his head silently.

  Critchley remarked “Bit slow, aren’t you?”

  “Look, I’ve invited three of ’em and they all said they’re going steady. Bitches won’t go out with an N. C.O. “

  “Well, they’re the losers, not you,” Denton told him. “Don’t waste any more time on them. Cairo’s full of g
irls now who’d grab the chance to go out with you.”

  “Yes, but I don’t meet any of them here.”

  A few evenings later they were all allowed out, the two officers until 10 p.m. Butler took himself off to a senior N.C.Os’ club. Denton and Critchley took their girls to dinner and afterwards to dance at a night club in a palm grove. Their taxi journeys back were as delightful as on the first occasion. But there was no time for stopping on the way.

  Denton asked Butler if he had enjoyed himself.

  “By heck, yes, sir. Got meself fixed up with one of the girls as run the club. She comes from up North, too.”

  “What does ‘fixed up’ mean?” Critchley wanted to know.

  “She shares a flat, like, with three other N.A.A.F.I. girls. She was going off duty, so she asked me over.”

  “Any of the other girls there?”

  “No.”

  “You did all right, then.”

  “All we did was talk about home. But I’m seeing her again. She’s coming to visit me here tomorrow and I’ve got a date with her for next time I’m allowed out.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Denton.

  He determinedly stayed awake long after Butler had gone to sleep. Something about Critchley’s manner told him that his evening with Nurse Kinch had not yet concluded. An hour after their return Critchley quietly got out of bed and crept from the room. It was a good half hour before he returned as cautiously.

  “Was it worth it?”

  Critchley jinked at the sound of Denton’s voice.

  “Are you awake?”

  “I haven’t been to sleep. I saw you creep out. Worth it?”

  Critchley gave him a debonair grin he had copied from Clarke Gable. “Wizard. Bit awkward with this shoulder, but Audrey was most helpful.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “The linen room.”

  “A knee trembler?” Denton sounded disparaging.

  “God, no!” Critchley said huffily, mightily insulted. “On a pile of pillows.” He rubbed the small of his back theatrically “She’s got a fierce grip with those wizard legs of hers. Nearly cracked my spine.”