James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“We’ll do our best,” I said, noticing that Meredith was warming to Big Mike as easily as any crusty old general at SHAEF. “But now we should see Lady Pemberton and pay our respects. Is she in her sitting room?”

“Yes, go on up,” Meredith said. “The poor dear is exhausted, so please don’t tire her out. I think the events of the past few days have had their effect on her.” She wished us well and returned to her list of US Army rations.

Upstairs, we knocked on Great Aunt Sylvia’s sitting-room door. She beckoned us in with a weak voice, and we found her sitting in an overstuffed armchair by the window, a blanket on her lap. She did look tired, and quite pale as well.

“Ah, visitors,” she said, her eyes still holding a twinkle of life. “How nice. Baron Kazimierz, Captain Boyle, who do you have with you?”

“Sergeant Michael Miecznikowski, Lady Pemberton,” Big Mike said, giving her a bow that wouldn’t have been out of place at a society shindig. “I’m afraid I will be taking advantage of your hospitality for a few days. Official business; I hope you don’t mind.”

“What exactly is your business, young man?”

“Keeping these two officers out of trouble. It’s a full-time job, Lady Pemberton.”

“So I imagine, Sergeant. What did you say your name was again?” She squinted, as if she was having trouble seeing.

“Don’t even try, ma’am. I answer to Sarge or Big Mike, which is what General Eisenhower himself calls me.”

“Big Mike,” Great Aunt Sylvia said. “If ever a name fit the man, yours does. You Americans always seem so large in comparison to our English boys. Thin and pasty, many of them, while you are so fit and tanned. Even our soldiers often look puny in comparison. Boys of eighteen have been living with rationing since they were thirteen years old, raised without proper foods. There are young children in the village who have never seen an orange. Small wonder that our servicemen are often engulfed by their uniforms.” She waved a hand across her face as if banishing the image from her mind. “But my manners-please, sit down, and tell me what happened so early this morning.”

“We only have a few minutes,” I said, sitting on a couch next to Kaz while Big Mike tested the limits of a chair across from Lady Pemberton. “We’re looking for survivors from a ship that was torpedoed out in Lyme Bay. Some senior officers haven’t been accounted for yet.”

“We hope they’ve been picked up by one of the rescue vessels,” Kaz said, which didn’t sound too much like a lie.

“I think Crawford went out in his boat,” she said. “I seem to recall seeing him from my window, bicycling out shortly after you left. That was today, wasn’t it? I get up before the cock crows these days, and I think I watched all of you leave … Yes, this morning; it must have been. You’ll have to excuse my memory. This isn’t one of my better days.”

“Crawford didn’t mention going out,” I said, watching Great Aunt Sylvia furrow her brow, worrying as she tried to remember the early morning events.

“Apparently he heard from some relative who saw the explosion. He thought it was close enough in that he might find men still alive in the water. But the navy turned him away, saying it was restricted. From what Crawford reports, they have enough boats out and about.”

“Good of him to try,” Kaz said.

“Indeed,” Great Aunt Sylvia said, stifling a yawn. “I mustn’t keep you gentlemen from your duties. It was very nice to meet you, Big Mike. Good luck to you.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she seemed about to nod off to sleep. She managed a wave before her hand dropped limply in her lap.

“Nice lady,” Big Mike said as we walked downstairs.

“She’s a firecracker,” I said, pointing to her portrait on the staircase. “That’s her.”

“Geez, she was a looker,” Big Mike said.

“She did seem tired, and a touch confused.” Kaz said. “Usually she’s quite energetic and clearheaded.”

“She is ninety,” I said. “We all have our bad days.”

We picked up our ham sandwiches and went off on our search for men who would never see ninety. As we drove out on the gravel drive, I spotted Helen on a path coming out of the woods from the family cemetery. Her head was down and her arms folded tight against her breast, quick steps taking her closer to Ashcroft until she stopped and looked up at the house from the driveway. Her body was rigid except for the convulsions of her shoulders. Sobbing for her dear departed father? Or afraid of the future?

“Constable Tom Quick,” I said, introducing Big Mike outside the local police station, a small house on the outskirts of North Cornworthy. Tom had been waiting for us, helmet and rifle in hand.

“It must be important,” Tom said. “Inspector Grange sent a bicycle messenger from Dartmouth to tell me to wait for you.”

“It is,” I said. “Have you heard any news?” I wanted to see how far word might have spread.

“Nothing to warrant two jeeps and the biggest sergeant in the US Army,” he said.

“Apparently a ship was torpedoed out in Lyme Bay last night,” I said, sticking as close to the truth as I could. “We have to determine if nine specific officers are alive or among the dead.”

“That’ll be difficult if they’re at the bottom of the Channel,” Quick said. “What’s so special about these blokes?”

“Who knows?” Big Mike said. “Probably all politics. We just follow orders. It was the same thing back in Detroit. I was a sergeant then too, only in blue.” Big Mike pulled out his gold Detroit PD shield, which he carried like a good luck charm, his link to another life.

“Our squadron leader didn’t explain much besides target, altitude, and airspeed, so I know about following orders,” Quick said, inspecting the badge. “All right, so how do we handle it?”

“We’ll split up,” I said, unfolding a map on the hood of the jeep. “Colonel Harding gave us a list of Casualty Clearing Stations. Morgues, really, but we don’t want to let on how great the loss of life might be.”

“How bad is it?” Quick asked.

“They fear up to a hundred,” Kaz said, shooting me a quick glance. One lie was as good as another.

“There are clearing stations on the coast near Brixham, Stoke Fleming, Slapton Sands, and at the Start Point Lighthouse,” I said, pointing to the arc of coastline in front of Lyme Bay. “Tom, you and Kaz will start with Stoke Fleming and work your way south to Start Point. Big Mike and I are going to get a boat to take us out into the bay. I want to see the operation to recover bodies first hand. If the navy is putting in a major effort, our chances will be better. If not, then I doubt we can account for all nine.”

“What about Brixham?” Kaz asked.

“If Big Mike and I have time after we get back from Lyme Bay, we’ll head up there. We have a list of the men we’re looking for and copies of our orders from General Eisenhower,” I said, handing a file to Quick.

“Ike himself?” Quick said, a look of amazement on his face.

“Yep,” I said. “And this all has to be kept as quiet as possible. Everyone’s nervous enough with the invasion coming up. The general doesn’t want people panicking about German ships right off the coast.”

“Makes sense,” Quick said, nodding as he studied the list. “Odd, though. These aren’t all senior officers. Four lieutenants, two captains, a major, one colonel, and even a sergeant. No offense, Big Mike, but what’s so important about them? I expected a few generals, at least.”

“Ours is not to reason why,” Kaz said. It was the kind of truism instantly recognized by any cop or soldier on the low end of the pecking order, and it did the trick. Quick murmured his agreement while reviewing the list and scanning the rest of the paperwork.