The Colonel arranged it, Lorraine’s assignation here was arranged weeks ago. There’s no secret about it. The Colonel, for reasons that may seem obscure to you but which I understand very well, prefers that Captain Harrison’s radio operator, like Captain Harrison himself, should not speak or understand Serbo-Croat. The basis of the Colonel’s security beliefs is that one should trust nobody.’
‘You must have a lot in common with the Colonel.’
‘I think that’s rather unfair, young lady.’ It was Metrovic again and he was still smiling. ‘I can confirm what the Major has said. I’m the go-between, the translator, if you like, for the Colonel and Captain Harrison. Like the major, I was partly educated in England.’
‘Enough,’ Harrison said. ‘Let us put unworthy thoughts to one side and concentrate on more important things.’
‘Such as hospitality?’ George said.
‘Such as hospitality, as you say. Be seated, please. What is your choice, gentlemen – and ladies, of course?’
They all told him what they wanted, all, that is, except Major Rankovic. He crossed to where Giacomo was seated and said: ‘May I ask what your name is?’
Giacomo lifted his eyebrows in slight puzzlement, smiled and said: ‘Giacomo.’
‘That’s an Italian name, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Giacomo what?’
‘Just Giacomo.’
‘Just Giacomo.’ Rankovic’s voice was deep and gravelly. ‘It suits you to be mysterious?’
‘It suits me to mind my own business.’
‘What’s your rank?’
‘That’s my business, too.’
‘I’ve seen you before. Not in the army, though. Rijeka, Split, Kotor, some place like that.’
‘It’s possible.’ Giacomo was still smiling but the smile no longer extended to his eyes. ‘It’s a small enough world. I used to be a sailor.’
‘You’re a Yugoslav.’
Giacomo, Petersen was aware, could easily have conceded the fact but he knew he wouldn’t. Rankovic was an able soldier but no psychologist.
‘I’m English.’
‘You’re a liar.’
Petersen stepped forward and tapped Rankovic on the shoulder. ‘If I were you, Marino, I’d quit while I was ahead. Not, mind you, that I think you are ahead.’
Rankovic turned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that you’re still intact and in one piece. Keep on like this and you’ll wake up in hospital wondering if you fell under a train. I can vouch for Giacomo. He is English. He’s got so long and so distinguished a war record that he puts any man in this room to shame. While you’ve been pottering around the mountains he’s been righting in France and Belgium and North Africa and the Aegean and usually on assignments so dangerous that you couldn’t even begin to wonder what they were like. Look at his face, Marino. Look at it and you’ll look into the face of war.’
Rankovic studied Giacomo closely. ‘I’m not a fool. I never questioned his qualities as a soldier. I was curious, that is all, and maybe, like the Colonel and yourself, I am not much given to trusting anyone. I did not intend to give offence.’
‘And I didn’t intend to take any,’ Giacomo said. His good humour had returned. ‘You’re suspicious, I’m touchy. A bad mix. Let me suggest a good mix or rather no mix at all. You never mix malt whisky with anything, do you, George? Not even water?’
‘Sacrilege.’
‘You were right on one count, Major. I am English but I was born in Yugoslavia. Let us drink to Yugoslavia.’
‘A toast no man could quarrel with,’ Rankovic said. There were no handshakes, no protestations of eternal friendship. It was, at best, a truce. Rankovic, no actor, still had his reservations about Giacomo. Petersen, for his part, had none.
Considerably later in the evening an understandably much more relaxed and mellowed atmosphere had descended upon the company. Some of them had paid a brief visit to a mess four hundred metres distant for an evening meal. Sarina and Lorraine had point-blank – and as it turned out, wisely -refused to brave the near blizzard that was now sweeping by outside. Michael, inevitably, had elected to remain with them and Giacomo, after a quick exchange of glances with Petersen, had announced that he was not hungry. Giacomo did not have to have it spelt out to him that, even among his own people,- Petersen was suspicious of practically everybody in sight.
Compared to Josip Pijade’s midday offerings, the meal was a gastronomic disaster. It was no fault of the Cetnik cooks -as elsewhere through that ravaged country, food was at a premium and fine food almost wholly unobtainable. Still, it was a sad come-down from the flesh-pots of Italy and Mostar and even George could manage no more than two platefuls of the fatty mutton and beans which constituted the main and only course of the evening. They had left as soon as decency permitted.
Back in Harrison’s radio hut their relative sufferings were soon forgotten.
‘There’s no place like home,’ Harrison announced to nobody in particular. Although it would have been unfair to call him inebriated, it would have been fair to pass the opinion that he wasn’t stone cold sober either.
He bent an appreciative gaze on the glass in his hand. ‘Nectar emboldens me. George has given me a very comprehensive account of your activities over the past two weeks.
He has not,.however, told me why you went to Rome in the first place. Nor did you seek to enlighten me on your return.’
‘That’s because I didn’t know myself.’
Harrison nodded sagely. ‘That makes sense. You go all the way to Rome and back and you don’t know why.’
‘I was just carrying a message. I didn’t know the contents.’
‘Is one permitted to ask if you know the contents now?’
‘One is permitted. I do.’
‘Ah! Is one further permitted to know the contents?’
‘In your own language, Jamie, I don’t know whether I’m permitted or not. All I can say is that this is purely a military matter. Strictly, I am not a military man, a commander of troops. I’m an espionage agent. Espionage agents don’t wage battles. We’re far too clever for that. Or cowardly.’
Harrison looked at Metro vie and Rankovic in turn. ‘You’re military men. If I’m to believe half you tell me, you wage battles.’
Metrovic smiled. ‘We’re not as clever as Peter.’
‘You know the contents of the message?’
‘Of course. Peter’s discretion does him credit but it’s not really necessary. Within a couple of days the news will be common knowledge throughout the camp. We – the Germans, Italians, ourselves and the Ustasa – are to launch an all-out offensive against the Partisans. We shall annihilate Titoland. The Germans have given the name of the attack “Operation Weiss”: the Partisans will doubtless call it the Fourth Offensive.’
Harrison seemed unimpressed. He said, doubtfully: ‘That means, of course, that you’ve made three other offensives already. Those didn’t get you very far, did they?’
Metrovic was unruffled. ‘I know it’s easy to say, but this time really will be different. They’re cornered. They’re trapped. They’ve no way out, no place left to go. They haven’t a single plane, fighter or bomber. We have squadrons upon squadrons. They haven’t a tank, not even a single effective anti-aircraft gun. At the most, they have fifteen thousand men, most of them starving, weak, sick and untrained. We have almost a hundred thousand men, well-trained and fit. And Tito’s final weakness, his Achilles’ heel, you might say, is his lack of mobility: he is known to have at least three thousand wounded men on his hands. It will be no contest. I don’t say I look forward to it, but it will be a massacre. Are you a betting man, James?’
‘Not against odds like that, I’m not. Like Peter here, I lay no claim to being a military man -1 never even saw a uniform until three years ago – but if the action is so imminent why are you drinking wine at your leisured ease instead of being hunched over your war maps, sticking flags in here, flags in there, drawing up your battle plans or whatever you’re supposed to be doing in cases like this?’
Metrovic laughed. Three excellent reasons. First, the offensive is not imminent – it’s two weeks away yet. Second, all the plans have already been drawn up and all the troops are already in position or will be in a few days. Third, the main assault takes place at Bihac, where the Partisan forces are at present centred, and that’s over two hundred kilometres north-west of here. We’re not taking part in that: we’re staying just where we are in case the Partisans are so foolish, or optimistic or suicidal to try to break out to the south-east: stopping them from crossing the Neretva, in the remote possibility of a few stragglers getting as far as here, would be only a formality.’ He paused and gazed at a darkened window. There may well be a fourth possibility. If the weather worsens, or even continues like this, the best laid plans of the High Command could well go wrong. A postponement would be inevitable. Nobody’s going to be moving around the mountains in those impossible weather conditions for days to come, that’s for sure. Days might well become weeks.’