Jack Higgins - Luciano’s Luck

Which was exactly what Grant was counting on. He kept on going down, was at six hundred feet when the Junkers came in on his tail. This time the Dakota staggered under the impact of cannon shell. The Junkers curved away to starboard again and appeared to take up station.

‘Come on, you bastard! Come on!’ Grant said softly.

Behind him one of the sergeants appeared, blood on his face where a splinter had caught him. ‘Johnson’s bought it.’

‘Okay,’ Grant said. ‘He’s coming in again so get down on your face and hang on.’

He was no more than five hundred feet above the waves as the Junkers came in for the kill, judging his speed perfectly now, sliding in on the Dakota’s tail, opening up with more cannon shell. As the aircraft started to shudder under their impact, Grant dropped his flaps.

The Dakota seemed to stop in mid-air. The pilot of the Junkers banked steeply to starboard to avoid a collision and, with no space left to work in at such a speed, kept right on going, ploughing straight into the sea.

Grant, depressed, walked towards the officers’ mess at Maison Blanche, his flying boots drubbing on the tarmac. He kept thinking of the way that Junkers had gone in, imagining the men inside. That was no good at all. He started up the steps to the mess and found Harry Carter standing at the top.

‘Harry!’ Grant said in delight. ‘I heard you were in hospital in Cairo.’

‘Not any more,’ Carter told him. ‘I had business with the man himself at dar el Ouad and as I have an hour or two to spare, I thought I’d see how you were getting on.’

On the two occasions that Carter had dropped by parachute into Sicily, Grant had flown the plane, which was something of a bond.

‘Feel like a drink?’ he asked.

‘Not really. Let’s take a walk.’

They moved towards the hangars. Carter said, ‘I hear you got another one this evening.’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘And you’re supposed to be grounded.’

‘Damn nonsense. I had to see Air Marshal Sloane a few weeks ago on squadron business and he said I had a muscle twitching in my right cheek. Insisted I had a medical and the bastards stood me down.’

He was angry and it showed. Carter said, ‘We can win the war without you, Harvey, but only just.’ He put a hand on the American’s shoulder for a moment. ‘What’s wrong? What’s really wrong?’

‘I keep thinking about the men in that Junkers this evening,’ Grant said. ‘I don’t know how to explain this, Harry, but for the first time it was as if it was me. Does that make any kind of sense?’

‘Perfectly,’ Carter told him. ‘It means that the doctor who stood you down knew what he was talking about.’

Grant said, ‘And what about you? Are you going back over there again?’

‘I shouldn’t think it’s likely.’

‘And a good thing, too.’ They were passing a hangar in which ground crew worked under floodlights repairing a badly damaged Halifax. Half the tail plane was missing and the rear gunner’s compartment shattered. ‘Rear gunner and navigator both killed on a supply drop to Sicily two nights ago. The Luftwaffe really do have things their own way over there, Harry. We’ve lost four planes in ten days, all shot down, and in each case the agents they were to drop were still inside. If you asked me to fly you in again, I’d give us no better than an even chance of reaching the target and dropping you.’

‘Oh, well,’ Carter said. ‘Someone else can worry about that one.’

They had reached the end of the main hangar and he saw, to his surprise, a Junkers 88 night fighter standing there in the gloom, RAF rondels painted on the fuselage and wings.

‘What’s this, for God’s sake?’

‘Forced down up the coast a few weeks ago after dropping a couple of Arab agents by parachute. See where they cut a special door in the fuselage. This is a Ju88S, one of their best night fighters, capable of around four hundred miles an hour. We’ve been doing evaluation flights.’

‘You have, you mean.’

‘Well, an hour here and there.’ Grant shrugged. ‘Who’s to notice?’ He clapped Carter on the shoulder. ‘So, what are you up to now? Something so secret the whole future of the war depends on it?’

Carter smiled. ‘There’s no such animal, Harvey. Wars aren’t won by men any more. They’re run by large corporations, just like big business.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Grant tossed his cigarette away. ‘You want to know something, Harry? I feel tired – I mean really tired. So I don’t care any more.’

‘It’s the war, Harvey. It’s gone on too long.’

‘Good,’ Grant said. ‘I mean, that really does make me feel a whole lot better. Now let’s get back to the mess and I’ll buy you a drink.’

When the jeep dropped Carter in the courtyard outside the villa, there was a big Packard staff car outside. Carter went up the steps past the sentries and found Cusak still sitting at the desk.

‘Doesn’t anyone work around here except you?’ Carter enquired.

Cusak smiled. ‘I must admit it feels that way some days. He won’t be long, sir. He has General Patton with him.’

Carter moved out on the terrace, wondering what it was Eisenhower wanted to see him about. A further discussion of the Sicilian situation perhaps and, yet, what more was there to say? It was all decided. Within the next few weeks, the big battalions would roll, the invasion would take place and, an unknown quantity of dead men later, Sicily would be in Allied hands. The Germans had lost the war, so much was obvious, so why didn’t everyone simply get off at the next stop?

The door to Eisenhower’s office opened and General George Patton walked across the hall. He wore field cap and heavy military greatcoat, his hands pushed deep into its pockets as if cold.

As Carter moved out of the shadows, Patton paused. ‘Are you Carter?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

Patton stood there looking him over, a slight frown on his face. For a moment, it was as if he was about to speak; then he thought better of it, turned, and walked out without another word.

The telephone buzzed, Cusak picked it up. ‘Yes, General?’ He smiled briefly at Carter. ‘He’ll see you now, Major.’

The room was dark, the only light the table lamp on the desk where Eisenhower sat working on a file in a haze of cigarette smoke. He glanced up as Carter entered and put down his pen.

‘You know, one thing they omitted to tell us when I was a cadet at West Point was the amount of paperwork that went into being Commander-in-Chief.’

‘If they did, maybe nobody would want the job, General.’

‘Exactly,’ Eisenhower grinned briefly and was then all business. ‘There’s a Flying Fortress leaving Bone Airfield two hours from now, destination Prestwick in Scotland. From there, you’ll fly straight on to Washington by the first available plane, Priority One. You should be there, with any luck, by early evening tomorrow. Captain Cusak will give you your documentation on the way out.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ Eisenhower replied. ‘You don’t know what the hell I’m talking about so I’ll tell you. I liked what you said about the Sicilian situation. It made sense, particularly the bit about this man Antonia Luca and the effect he could have on the campaign if he was found and brought in on our side.’

‘I see, sir.’

‘I’ve spoken on the matter to the President during our phone call earlier this evening. He agrees that anything that can help save the lives of our boys is worth trying. To that end, I want you to proceed to this penitentiary at Great Meadow to discuss further with Luciano the whole question of Mafia involvement in the invasion.’ He passed a buff envelope across. ‘There’s your authority, in my name, to act in any way you see fit in this matter. It makes you answerable only to me and requires all personnel, military or civil, without distinction of rank, to assist you in any way you see fit. There will be a similar document waiting for you in Washington countersigned by the President.’