Ian Slater - Rage of Battle

In San Diego, following the networks’ six-o’clock news, a story broke on San Diego affiliate KVTV that California congressman Hailey had been found dead in his La Jolla home. The TV story showed distraught staffers from the congressman’s San Diego office saying that the cause of death was not known “at this time.” Rumors that the congressman had taken his own life were vigorously denied pending an SDPD investigation.

The following morning, Mr. Jay La Roche of La Roche Pharmaceuticals, whom a reporter described as “a close friend and supporter of Congressman Hailey,” was “shocked and saddened” by the tragic news, commenting that “California has lost one of her most able and compassionate representatives.”

Within a few days La Roche Pharmaceuticals announced that two scholarship funds, in the name of Congressman Hailey, would be set up, one for a male student, one for a female, at the University of California — Stanford campus.

The army driver in Tallinn had been correct. The Americans had crossed the Weser east of Stadthagen as part of the general counterattack all along the NATO line. Whether NATO’s troops could sustain the advance was a matter of widely differing conjecture in the world capitals, but for now, Freeman, almost completely recovered from the painful paresis that had followed his back injury, undeniably had the bit in his mouth, and everywhere the Russians were in retreat.

At a crucial crossing over the Mittelell Canal at Peine, thirty miles east of Hannover, Major Norton of General Freeman’s G-2 was in one of the Bradley armored personnel carriers on the pontoon bridge when the latter came under heavy fire from an eight-gun battery of Soviet self-propelled 122-millimeter howitzers. The Russian gunners, unable to retreat because they were out of fuel, had the pontoon bridge bracketed and were bringing down a deadly rain of 21.7-kilogram HE shells, taking out three of the Bradleys, killing all thirty-six men aboard in the first two salvos. Just when Norton was convinced the APC in which he was riding was the next to be hit, the Russian fire became erratic and for the next three minutes stopped altogether, permitting Norton and the rest of the U.S. Second Armored column following to cross the canal in safety.

When the Americans overran the Russian battery site, fourteen miles farther on near Braunschweig, the Russians were gone, but the self-propelled guns and piles of discarded and unused ammunition remained. Major Norton’s bent for detail did not fail him, and he noted in his written report on the incident that the hitherto unexplained erratic fire of the 122-millimeters was due not to any fault with the lay of the chassis-mounted guns but appeared to be caused by deficiencies in the 122-millemeter HE rounds themselves, whose markings showed they had been manufactured somewhere in the Baltic republics. The letters “MJ” had been stamped on several of the duds’ cartridge seals, but as yet Norton could not explain the specific designation “MJ.”

Richard Spence, resplendent in his tuxedo at the head table, moved his arm forward on the dazzling white linen so that his sleeve would allow him a glimpse of his watch without him seeming rude. The wedding had gone splendidly, the traditional Book of Common Prayer service quite moving, and which his new son-in-law had appeared to enjoy as much as Rosemary. She had been breathtakingly beautiful in her mother’s wedding gown, and he had never seen her so happy. Anne, to her credit, as Richard’s barrister Uncle Geoffrey noted, had shown no outward sign of the devastating loss of their youngest. And the reception was a veritable feast.

“Surely they must be ready by now,” Richard said to Geoffrey.

The longer Rosemary was taking to change into her going-away outfit, the more her sixth form class from St. Anselm’s was going to devour.

“Well, Richard old boy, I should think this lot’ll set you back a few pounds,” said Geoffrey, looking out on the swirl of the dancers and on what he called the “provisioning.”

“A few pounds?” responded Richard. “I should think it’ll wipe me out. I don’t know where on earth Anne got all this food and—” Richard waited till the skirl of the bagpipes died down, secretly wishing they’d die altogether.

“Hoarding!” Geoffrey said, raising his voice. “They’re very good at it — women.”

“Even so, we’re feeding over two hundred people as well as — good Lord!” Richard sat forward, almost spilling his champagne. “Did you see that? That boy — one of Rosemary’s students, I think. He ate an entire cupcake at one gulp. Hate to think of what he’ll cost me alone.” With that, Richard sat back, sighing resignedly. “Shan’t have any money left for young Georgina.”

“Ah!” said Geoffrey, pausing over his sherry. “I didn’t know she was casting her net.”

“She isn’t,” replied Richard. “He is. The first officer-Zeldman.”

“Good grief — a bourgeois American? Don’t tell me Georgina’s giving up on Mel?”

Richard was completely taken by surprise. “I didn’t think she was going out with anyone called Mel.”

“No, no, Richard — Marx, Engels, and that awful Lenin.”

“Oh, that.” Richard smiled. “Well, she has an attack every now and then. Usually when she and Rosey get together. Cats and dogs. Quite nasty at times, though they seem to care when it counts. She gave Rosey and Robert a lovely wedding present.”

“Don’t tell me,” cut in Geoffrey. “Das Kapital. First edition?”

Richard raised his glass to a beefy, courtly man pushing his wife about the floor. “No,” he answered Geoffrey, “but you’re close. The first edition — Browning’s poems. The Portuguese.”

“Oh—” said Geoffrey. “Then, Richard, I’m afraid you’re right.”

“How d’you mean?”

“I mean, old boy, that once they start spouting that stuff— ‘Let me count the ways’—you’d better batten down the hatches to your bank account. It’ll be wedding bells and another great cake.” Geoffrey’s eyes looked over to admire the remains of the splendid three-tiered creation. “I must say, that was a magnificent icing job. A Rosemary Hallowes, I expect?”

“Yes, she’s very good. I believe they call it ‘frosting’ in America.”

“Really? They are peculiar, our cousins over the water.”

“Yes,” said Richard softly, and fell silent.

“Sorry, Richard, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s quite all right, Geoffrey. It’s just that I’m still not over it. Time, they say—”

“Cures nothing,” said Geoffrey definitively. “Merely covers it over. It’ll never go away, Richard. Why should it? He was a fine boy. Too young and too good to die.” They both fell silent for a moment, Geoffrey sipping his sherry. “ ‘Twas ever thus, Richard.”

“Yes.”

“I know it’s no help, really, but—”

“Go on.”

“Well, Georgina was telling me earlier, before the service, that Commander Brentwood’s sister wrote to you about William. His nurse, apparently.”

“Yes, it was very kind of her. And very much appreciated. Meant the world to Anne.”

“There’s another brother isn’t there — I don’t mean our young hero of — what do they call it?”

“Stadthagen.”

“Can never remember those German names — always sound like catarrh.”

“Then how about Kyle of Lochalsh?”

“Sounds absolutely revolting. Is that where they’re going in Scotland?”

“It’s on Rosey’s list. Passing through, though, I expect. The honeymoon’s to be a bed-and-breakfast tour. Western Scotland for two weeks.”