Eric Ambler - State of Siege

It nosed out of the end of the road, and seemed to hesitate there for a moment like a dull-witted bull blinking in the sunlight of the arena. There was a black stain down the side of it that looked as if it had been made by an oil bomb. The two-pounder fired twice and I saw a streak of silver appear on the turret. Every automatic weapon in the square seemed to be firing at that moment, and the sound of the tank’s own machine gun was lost in the din. But it was the tank’s gun that was effective. Dust spurted up all around the two-pounder, and suddenly it was no longer firing. I saw one of the gunners start to crawl out of the pit, and then a second burst finished him. Two more bursts wiped out the crews of two of the machine guns.

The tank lurched forward and then made a left turn. It controlled the square now, and was ready to demonstrate the fact to anyone foolish enough to dispute it. Apparently, nobody was. The crew of the other two-pounder out in the square were scrambling for cover among the trees, and the remaining machine-gunners who, a moment ago, had been blazing away so fiercely at the tank’s armour plating, were now crouching discreetly in their fox-holes. The tank began to move along the north side of the square searching for targets. From away across the square some optimist began dropping mortar bombs near it. And then, suddenly the situation changed. There was a noise like an enormous paper bag being exploded. Immediately on top of it there was a spine-jarring crack. At the same moment the tank swung round broadside on and stopped in a cloud of dust.

The commander of it knew his job. Within a few seconds, he was putting down smoke; though not before another bazooka bomb had sent fragments of the broken track screaming up through the trees overhead. As the smoke drifted back across the tank, I could see the turret traversing rapidly and knew that the commander had spotted the bazookas’ position. If the men handling them did not move quickly, they would become sitting targets as soon as the smoke thinned; but, like innocents, they were settling down expectantly to wait for another chance to knock the tank out.

Rosalie touched my arm. I looked round and saw that Roda had come into the living room. We went back quickly into the bedroom.

After a moment, Sanusi walked out on to the terrace and looked down on to the square. Roda was talking to someone in the next room, but it was impossible to hear the conversation. When the other person went, Roda joined Sanusi at the balustrade.

There was some sort of disagreement between the two men. Roda was trying to persuade Sanusi of something and Sanusi would appear to be listening; then he would turn away abruptly and Roda would have to go after him and begin all over again. Once Sanusi turned sharply and asked a question. Roda had his document case with him, and in reply he held it up and patted it.

Down in the square, the tank’s turret gun began firing suddenly and the building shook as something crashed into it. Rosalie looked at me inquiringly. I said I thought that the tank was firing at the place where the bazooka crews were dug in, and that the shot had probably ricocheted into the building down below. She nodded understandingly, as if I had been apologising for the noise made by an inconsiderate neighbour.

Another tank had entered the square now. I could hear it squeaking along the road in the opposite direction to the first one and firing bursts from its machine gun.

Then, the sun went down, and for nearly a minute there was no sound from the square except the squeaking of the tank tracks. Along the Telegraf Road, however, the firing intensified and I could hear the thumping of grenades. The infantry were moving up now, clearing the defended houses that the tanks had left behind them. Now and again, the drifting smoke would be illuminated momentarily by the flash of an explosion below.

A shoe grated outside on the terrace.

“Mr. Fraser.” It was Roda’s voice.

I went to the window. There were no lights on in the apartment, nor was there a moon yet. He was about ten feet away and for a moment I did not see him.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Come here, please.”

I went over. Beyond him, along the terrace, Sanusi stirred and rested his elbows on the balustrade.

Roda lowered his voice. “I must speak in confidence to you, Mr. Fraser.”

“Yes?”

“It has become necessary for the General and myself to leave this headquarters.”

“Yes?”

“We have done all we can here. It is better to live for a cause than to die for it uselessly. That is our choice now. I have persuaded our Boeng that it is his duty to live.”

“I see.”

“It has been a difficult decision, you will understand.” He paused.

“I can see that.”

“More difficult than you might think.”

“No doubt.” I was trying unavailingly to understand the reason for these confidences.

“For two men, withdrawal from this headquarters is still possible. If more should attempt it, all will fail. There must be secrecy.”

“Of course.” That, at least, I could understand.

“As there was when Napoleon withdrew from Egypt.”

For a moment, I thought that he was making a tasteless joke. But no; his lips were pursed solemnly. He saw himself as the Marmont of this occasion.

I mumbled agreement.

“I tell you this, Mr. Fraser, because there is a matter in which you can help us.”

“Yes?”

“If we are to withdraw successfully we cannot go in our uniforms.”

“I see that.”

“It is the shirts. Our pants will attract no attention. We merely need civilian shirts. I think you have some.”

“Shirts?” I stared at him stupidly.

“Two will be enough. You have clean ones?”

“Yes, I have.” I also had a terrible desire to laugh.

“Then perhaps you will get them.”

“Now?”

“At once, please.”

I turned and went back into the bedroom. In there, I tried switching on the light, but the power was off. Rosalie watched me incredulously, while I struck a match and began fumbling in the drawers. I knew that I had only one clean shirt left. This round would have to be on Jebb. I found the right drawer eventually, picked out two of the oldest shirts there, and took them out on to the terrace. Roda nodded approval.

“I’m afraid they will be a bit large for you, Colonel.”

“That is unimportant.” He folded them carefully and put them in his document case. “They are light-coloured but not …”

“Colonel!” It was Sanusi’s voice.

Roda turned inquiringly.

Sanusi had moved away from the balustrade and was standing in the centre of the terrace. I thought I saw a pistol in his hand, but it was too dark to see properly. At the same moment, there were footsteps in the living room, and Aroff and Major Dahman came out on to the terrace.

“Boeng,” Aroff began, “you sent for us?”

“Yes,” said Sanusi; and then he fired.

The first bullet hit Roda in the stomach. For a second, he stood quite still; then he dropped the document case and took a step forward. The second bullet hit him in the right shoulder and he twisted forward on to his knees. He began to say something, but Sanusi paid no attention to him.

To Aroff and Dahman, he said: “I sent for you to witness an execution.” Then, he went up to Roda and shot him again in the back of the head.

Roda slid forward on to his face.

Aroff and Dahman did not move as Sanusi turned towards them. Across the square, one of the tanks began firing its turret gun.

“What was the offence, Boeng? ” Aroff said.

“He was attempting to desert. You will find the evidence in there.” He shone a flashlight on to the document case. “Open it.”