Promotion

“It was a partial success,” said Spike. His gaze wandered past Bertie, to the stained glass window behind him, and the old rectory grounds beyond. The early morning rain had stopped. The flint pebbles on the driveway, still wet, glistened in the emerging sunlight.

Bertie leaned back in his leather covered chair. He took a long, desperate drag of his dying cigarette. He exhaled deeply toward the ceiling high above him. “The initial dispatch will need some explaining. The Old Man’s seen it, I’m afraid, before I could massage it. I’ll have a chat with him. He’ll understand, I’m sure. He was at the sharp end in the last show, wasn’t he?.”

“Took one in the chest at the Somme,” said Spike. “A wonder he’s still with us, really.” He lightly tapped the black polished arm of his chair with two fingers. “The prototype made it to Scapa,”

“That’s the important bit,” said Bertie.

“Secondary objective wasn’t secured,” said Spike. “Tertiary wasn’t attempted. No point after the secondary escaped.”

“Shame,” said Bertie. He buried his cigarette in the heavy slate ashtray to his right. He picked up a fountain pen from the blotter in front of him and examined it closely. “Casualties, on the other hand.”

“Rather heavy, I’m afraid,” said Spike.

Bertie nodded, slowly.

“The aerial recce missed a sentry post, a heavy machine gun position,” said Spike. He turned his head to the right and looked at the portrait of the young King above the fireplace. “There was one blasted, tiny cloud on the whole set of photographs. The Mosquito boys did bang up work. Close up, daytime, ground level photos of the main facilities. Bang up job. But that one machine gun position.”

“Can’t be helped,” said Bertie. “The Royal Navy took care of it, as I understand.”

“Five inch shell,” said Spike, “in the dark, second shot. Incredible, really. Still, a bit late. Not their fault.”

“Thorne was a close personal friend of the Old Man’s, of course. School chum,” said Bertie.

Spike nodded.

“Yes,” said Bertie, “I suppose it would have been difficult not to be aware of that.”

“He shouldn’t have been there,” said Spike, not looking up.

“Spike,” said Bertie, focusing on the pen in his hand.

“No,” said Spike, “I’m sorry Bertie. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but he simply shouldn’t have been there. There was no reason for it. None. It was a dangerous operation from top to bottom. He thought it was a lark. No place for an old man, if I’m to be blunt. He should have stayed aboard the corvette, as we’d planned. And I will add, because of the naval fire, we had to double time it, and there was no chance of getting the secondary after all that noise. We’re lucky to have gotten the primary. In fact, we’re lucky the whole damn ship wasn’t sunk.”

A crunch of gravel announced a staff car driving up from the main road. Bertie looked back through the window behind him. “That’ll be the Old Man,” he said. He looked at the old-fashioned clock hanging on the wall near the door, ticking away the war. “He’s up earlier than usual.”

“D’you know,” said Spike, “Thorne even countermanded Conolly to get himself on the beach. He put the whole operation in jeopardy, and I’m not afraid to say it. Some good men stayed over there, and that’s a damned shame.”

“That’s not in your report, is it,” said Bertie.

“No,” said Spike.

“Good,” said Bertie. “Well, the main objective was achieved, in any case. That was a bloody important bit of kit you recovered. Machine gun nests or not. That’ll count for something, surely.”

Spike looked at the burgundy rug under his feet and nodded again.

“I have some good news for you, Spikey,” said Bertie.

Spike knew his nickname had always been ironic, since school days. There was nothing sharp about him. He didn’t mind. He’d gotten where he was by getting along, and he’d done good work. Solid work. Silent work. Joannie always said so. He looked up at Bertie.

“Your papers came through this morning,” said Bertie. “Air Commodore. Congratulations, old chap, well earned, well deserved, especially with your latest bit of daredevilry, if I may say so.”

Spike looked somber. “So it’s a promotion, then.”

Bertie brushed some cigarette ash off his thigh. “And not any old wartime temporary rank either. A proper promotion. Joannie will find the pension is quite appealing, I dare say.”

“I’m sure,” said Spike.

“I’ve heard there might be a gong in it for you as well,” said Bertie, “and for a few others on the op, I should think.”

Bertie reached for a sheaf of papers in a tray off the side of his desk. He rifled through them. “And, you’ve got a new deployment order to go with that.”

Spike looked up and frowned. “Some exotic locale, I expect. Suitably far away from the Old Man’s wrath?”

Bertie fished a particular paper out of the pile and examined it ceremoniously. “Mauritius, actually.”

“Of course,” said Spike.

“Very nice group of flying boats,” said Bertie. “Latest Catalinas. Young Wing Commander down there, highly efficient, did very well in Malta as a Squadron leader, and that was a bit of a rough time, wasn’t it? Respected by his men, needs a bit of guidance, bit of polishing before he moves up, if you get my meaning. You’re just the man, Spikey.”

Spike looked at the window’s reflection in the caps of his shoes.

“Come on, Spike,” said Bertie. “It’s an important posting. Our Japanese friends have been very active in the area. Those submarines won’t track themselves down, and the shipping needs protecting. Vital to the war effort, as I don’t have to tell you.”

“It’s not that,” said Spike.

“Joannie will love it,” said Bertie. He took hold of the large ivory-handled lighter he’d had since Burma days, and he lit up a new cigarette. “Well, that might be overstating it a bit. But family quarters are top notch. View of the ocean, breakfast on the verandah. Some Catalinas are heading there tomorrow morning in fact. They’ll take the pair of you. I’ve got your transit order here somewhere. The long way, of course. Mediterranean’s still a bit agitated, isn’t it. Safer than by sea at the moment, which is why you’re going there, actually. You just have time to pack the essentials. They’re staying over in Cape Town for a couple of days on the way over. Joannie can get some shopping done. She’ll enjoy that, won’t she? The rest of your things can follow by steamer. And if you do a good enough job of it, your trunks might actually reach you.”

“Well, thank you,” said Spike. “I’m grateful, Bertie. I truly am.”

“Quite natural,” said Bertie. “You’d do the same. Well, the Old Man should be up here any minute, now”.

“Right,” said Spike. “I really should be off.” He stood up and walked toward the heavy oaken door. He put his hand on the doorknob, stopped, and turned to face Bertie. “I’ll see you when the show’s over then, Bertie.”

Bertie leaned forward and gave Spike a wave of his cigarette. “Blue skies, Arthur. Blue skies.”