He had chosen an airport toward the west as his goal, both because it was safer than Croydon, and because he would be less apt to meet anyone who knew him. The pilot had a couple of strip maps in his pocket, and now and then he glanced at them; when he made out the airport ahead he nodded to Lanny and pointed. Their coming had of course been announced, but there would be no radio beam; the plane circled once, so that its identity might be established, and a man ran out into the field onto the runway, waving a flag. Then the plane began to slide down, and soon came lightly to rest on the field. Military police hurried up, and the arrivals established their identity; Lanny displayed his passport, properly visaed, and then he shook hands with his pilot. “Merci bien, mon lieutenant.” The pilot bowed from the waist, he bowed to the Englishmen, and then turned his plane about and was off for home.
Lanny asked to be taken to the railroad station. He did not say where he was bound or what was his errand, and nobody asked him. From the station he called Ceddy’s private number in London, and left word that he would be waiting at the Castle, a short ride distant. He was sure that Ceddy would come there, and guessed that he’d prefer to have the meeting unobserved.
Lanny found a garage man who would drive him to the Castle for no excessive fee—“business as usual”; but on that short drive he learned that there were many changes taking place in England. For one thing, all the road signs had been taken down or hidden; the order had come over the radio and it had been done in one night. Roads were being blockaded, except for narrow, one-way passages which could be quickly closed. Every field that was big enough for a plane to land on was having deep trenches dug across it, and dead trees and derelict automobiles dragged out as obstacles. England had waked up all of a sudden, and every evening on the village commons you would see the middle-aged men and the half-grown boys drilling—with broomsticks if they had nothing better. So the driver informed this American stranger, and added: “The bloody Hun won’t have as easy a time on this island as he expects.”
II
At the Castle Lanny received a message; his lordship and her ladyship were taking the first train. They came in just at lunchtime, but they didn’t want to eat—they wanted to get Lanny off in Ceddy’s study and hear his report. But very soon it turned out that they didn’t want to hear much, because it was all useless, all out of date, there was nothing that could be done along those lines. Lanny thought that never in his life had he met two such completely bewildered and disorientated persons. Quite literally, their world had come to an end, and they knew it but couldn’t make it real to themselves; they would say that there was a new England, but in the next sentence they would be talking about the old England and what they were going to do with it; they would stop in the middle of the sentence, realizing that what they were saying must sound like nonsense to the hearer.
The Nazis had won the war. There could be no question about that; the French armies were trapped or routed, the British army would have to surrender, and there simply was nothing left to fight with—no troops, no guns, no equipment, absolutely nothing. It was madness to try to go on—and yet, there was that madman, Winston, refusing to listen to reason, the bull-headed, roaring maniac, shouting people down, ordering impossibilities, turning Number 10 Downing Street into a lunatic asylum. And the worst of it was he had got the people behind him; they were determined to fight, even though they had no weapons, even though it could mean nothing but the destruction of their homes and the death of everybody in them.
“They just hate the Germans, Lanny,” declared the Earl of Wickthorpe. “They hate them with a blind, insensate hatred there’s no controlling. What the Nazis have done in Poland and Norway and Holland has been too shocking to everybody.”
“I know,” admitted the American. “It’s too bad they couldn’t have been more tactful.”
“The French don’t seem to feel so bitter as we do—at least, so I gather from various sources.”
“Some do, but not so many as here. The French have been beaten in war now and then, and they find it easier to imagine giving up and starting all over.”
Bit by bit, Lanny made his report. He told what the steel men had said, and the great industrialists, and the statesmen; what Laval was planning, and what Pétain and Madame de Portes had commissioned him to propose. “We should have done it six months ago if we were going to do it,” said the Foreign Office man. “Now it’s hopeless, and no good even to talk about it. The P.M.’s head is set, and if he hears even so much as a whisper of reconcilement, or even of discussing terms, out you go on your ear.”
Lanny permitted himself a comment. “I was certainly surprised when I heard that Chamberlain had taken a post in the War Cabinet.”
“It’s like a hurricane, Lanny; nobody can stand against it. It’s the cant of the hour that Britain is a democracy, and that the people rule; well, the people have made up their minds that Hitler is anti-democratic, and so they are determined to fight him. What you and I can do about it seems to be very little.”
“I suppose I’ll have to go back to buying old masters,” remarked the American, sadly.
III
They had to go on living, so they went in and ate lunch, and meanwhile, since gossip is always in order, Lanny described his visits to the Premier’s mistress, and the final interview with the Vice-Premier. Both Ceddy and Irma did him the honor to say that he had executed his commission with admirable skill; both thanked him, and agreed that the failure of the mission was in no way his fault. All three had done their best, and their defeat was owing to forces beyond their power. “Our time will come later,” declared Irma.
“God grant that we don’t find London in ruins before that!” exclaimed her husband.
The pair were going back to their duties at once, and Lanny was planning to resume his quiet life with Frances. He said to Irma: “She will ask me questions about events, and you must tell me what you want me to say. I suppose she’ll have to be patriotic, like all the other children.”
“Of course, Lanny; much as I hate it, I can’t expect her to stand out against her whole environment.”
They were on their way to visit the child—they made it a practice to see her together now and then, so that she might have no sense of anything abnormal between them, any avoidance of one another’s company. Everything must always be as if nothing had ever happened; the words were Irma’s, and no sense of humor troubled her as she said them.
She lowered her voice, and continued: “There is something else I want to speak to you about, and that is Ceddy. He is in a most embarrassing position, with the sudden changes that have taken place at the Office.”
“I have imagined it,” responded the ex-husband, sympathetically.
“You know it is the British tradition that foreign policy is continuous, and the permanent officials stay on. Ceddy isn’t supposed to influence policy, but you know that really he does.”
“Of course, Irma.”
“He might resign; but I think that would break his heart. You can have no idea how proud he is of his career and how much it means to him. He didn’t want to be just a member of the House of Lords, an idler, like so many; he wanted to do something worth while, to make good on his own. He has been willing to take orders like anybody else, and to win his promotions.”
“I understand perfectly, Irma. I have always admired him for it.”
“Now, he’s a cog in a machine; and he can’t go about quarreling with his colleagues—he has to consider that the decision has been taken, and he has to play the game, to the best of his ability. I shall have to adjust myself. I am an Englishwoman now.”
“I think it is a wise decision, Irma; and you may be sure that I won’t do or say anything to embarrass you.”
“Lanny, you’re a brick!” was his ex-wife’s verdict. “Don’t ever fail to realize that you have taught me a lot.”
The ex-husband went off saying to himself: “Good grief! Wickthorpe Castle has gone anti-Nazi! The first thing I know, Nancy
Astor will be carrying a gun!”
IV
Lanny listened to the radio. Nine Panzer divisions, each with four hundred tanks and self-propelled guns, had driven through to the Channel, completely cutting off a million French and British troops from connection with the rest of France. The vast might of the Wehrmacht was closing in from the east and south, and crowding the victims into a small pocket against the coast at Dunkirk. The British rearguards were holding desperately, forcing a house-to-house battle at Calais and other places; but they were being steadily driven back, and surrender of the whole force seemed inevitable. A call was going out for the British to organize for home defense; every able-bodied man and boy must prepare to fight with whatever weapons he could lay hands on.
It was the most terrible moment in British history since the days of the Spanish Armada. Lanny had to have comfort, and knew only one place to get it; he went for a walk and telephoned to Rick, making an appointment to meet him by the roadside, as before. They came, Nina driving; and Lanny’s first word was: “How is Alfy?”
“He’s somewhere in the show,” said Rick. “They don’t keep us informed.”
“No news is good news,” ventured the American, thinking of Nina.
“Good news is a scarce commodity this day,” countered the Englishman.
They had no special place to go and no petrol to waste, so they stopped in a quiet spot by the roadside, and Lanny listened while Rick confirmed Ceddy’s story of this small island’s plight. Everything had been sent across to help the French: trained men, guns, ammunition, every sort of equipment; a couple of thousand field guns, nearly a thousand tanks, fifty thousand vehicles! Britain was left naked to her enemy, and the enemy was bound to know it. “We won’t even have a chance to destroy anything, Lanny; the Nazis will use it against us.”
“Won’t you be able to rescue some of the men?”
“We’ll be doing all we can, I’ve no doubt; but think of the situation! The port of Dunkirk will be wrecked by bombs, and there’ll be nothing but the open beaches, where the men will be under constant shell-fire and strafing from the air. You know what the Channel weather is; and there’ll be submarines and motor torpedo boats—we’ll probably lose half the ships we send. And even if we get the men, what will they fight with? I doubt if we have more than a full division of properly equipped troops on this island; I’m told we haven’t a hundred field guns. You understand all this is confidential.”
“Oh, surely!”
“Will they send us anything from America, do you suppose?”
“I can’t answer, Rick. I haven’t been in touch with America. The events of the last few days are bound to have made a deep impression. Our people will wake up sooner or later.”
“It’s got to be sooner, Lanny. Time is of the essence. What do you think Hitler will do—take Paris, or try to cross the Channel at once?”
“I wish I had some way to find out. All I know is Paris, and I’m afraid that won’t hold him up very long.”
He told the story of his visit and what he had found. He didn’t mention having been commissioned by Wickthorpe—Rick and Nina could guess about that if they chose. The important thing was the decay in French morale, the fact that what was supposed to be a War Cabinet had a large element of appeasement in it, and that a fighting Premier was being kept awake at night by the scoldings of a mistress who wanted peace at any price and who hated her foes at home more than those abroad.
Rick said: “That’s one thing we’ll be free of from now on. Our rats have been driven into their holes, and there won’t be any more appeasement talk in Parliament or the press. It’s a fact about the Englishman—it takes adversity to bring out his strong qualities.”
Lanny thought, how true about Rick himself! He was the most pessimistic of men on the subject of his own country; for years now, ever since the coming of Fascism, his conversation had been full of black despair, and he had rarely had any good thing to say about any man in public life. But now he was an Englishman, one among millions who would fight for their freedom and for the cause of freedom throughout the world. “Believe me, Lanny,” he declared, “we’ll not give up like the Belgians. We’ll fight with whatever we have. We’ll fight the first German who lands on this island, and we’ll fight the last one. The men and the boys and even the women will help.”
Rick went on to say that he had joined the Home Guard. Lanny exclaimed: “But you can’t march!”
“I can hide in a ditch or a foxhole. I’ve an old double-barreled shotgun, and some buckshot, and I can get a couple of Nazis before they get me.”
V
Lanny went back to the Castle, considerably cheered. After all, the Channel was twenty-two miles wide at its narrowest point, and the Royal Navy had not merely big battleships but a vast fleet of small craft which could do execution upon enemy transports or barges or whatever they would be using. The important thing was that England was awake; everybody knew what had happened in Norway and Denmark, in Holland and Belgium; there were no more tricks that could be sprung. The beaches were being wired and mined, the roads were being blocked; the strategic points were watched day and night, and if paratroopers came down there would be wardens to detect them and a system of warning and rushing defenders to the spot. The lion had his back to the wall now, and his aspect was encouraging—to his friends.
Lanny sat glued to the radio in his cottage, listening to alarms and programs for action at home; but not a word about any efforts at rescuing the trapped forces across the Channel. Whatever was being done, the enemy was not to be told. Not long after dinner there came a telephone call for Lanny, and a familiar voice said: “No names, please. Would you like to see a bit of the war? We have a neighbor whose sons are in the show, and he’s lending their motorboat—a pretty fair one. There’s a chance for civilians to help.”
It seemed manifest that a P.A.’s duty was to say: “Sorry, old chap, but I’m under orders, and not permitted to do anything else.” But he had got wrought up by the things he was hearing and reading, and this message produced a sort of brainstorm. He said: “Wait a moment. How long will it take?”
“Three or four days is a reasonable guess. It’s only fair to mention that it’s dangerous. We’re likely to be under fire a good part of the time.”
“I’ve been under fire before. The question is, some other things I have to do.”
“It’s a temptation, I know, and perhaps I shouldn’t bother you.”
“Wait a moment. It may fit in with something I’ve had in mind. When do you plan to start?”
“At daylight tomorrow. I have to know soon, so as to get somebody else if you think you shouldn’t. Be sure I won’t misunderstand if you say No.”
“Give me a minute or two to think it over.”
Rick waited. After a while he asked: “Would you like me to call you again, say in a quarter of an hour?”
“No, I think I can fit it in with my job. Where shall I meet you?”
“You’d have to come over here tonight, or else let me pick you up at one of the docks in London. Perhaps the latter would be less conspicuous.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, do you remember the place where the ship was docked when you took your mother to a fancy-dress ball—the one that was called ‘A Voyage to the Island of Cythera’?”
“I remember it well.”
“That was Charing Cross Pier, and it’ll be easy for both of us to find. I can’t tell you the hour, because there are locks on the river, and there’ll be many boats coming and may be bottlenecks. My guess is, I ought to be there by ten o’clock. You’ll just have to sit and watch for me, and I’ll come and watch for you. Get yourself some oilskins, and a hat. I’d say wear old clothes, only you haven’t any. Wear whatever you value least. The weather may be anything; we take our chances.”
“O.K., and thanks.”
“I’ll bring food and water, but if you pick up some small stuff, like chocolate or raisins, it’ll be welcome. A bottle
or two of whisky will help the men—they’ll be pretty well done up, you know.”
“And how about petrol?”
“That’ll be furnished on the way.”
“It’s a date. I’ll take the late train from here and spend the night at the hotel. You can call me there if there’s any change.”
“Cheerio!—and pleasant dreams for your last night on earth!”
Lanny recognized that as typically English. Always take the gloomiest possible view of everything, and keep smiling while you say it!
VI
Lanny put on the suit of clothes which he valued least, and packed his newest and best in a suitcase, a complete outfit: underclothing and socks, shirt and tie and handkerchief, a safety razor, shaving cream, a practically new pair of shoes. He was motored to the station, and took the night train to that strange immense city where theaters and cinemas, restaurants and night clubs were going full blast behind double blackout doors, while the streets outside were dark and silent as if the city were dead. It took him an hour to find a taxicab, but it would have taken still longer to grope his way to the Savoy. Settled in his room he wrote a report on the change of spirit of the British people, and on their dire need. No doubt F.D. would get all that through the regular diplomatic channels, but it was important enough to repeat. His last words were: “I am on my way to see if I can find out who is next on the list. It may be some time before I am able to report.”
He slept, as men in war must learn to do when they can. In the morning he went shopping, and found some chocolate, perhaps the last in London, and a few other concentrated foods, some whisky and cigarettes, and a suit of yellow oilskins, including a hat with a strap under the chin. Also he purchased a strip of oilcloth more than a yard square, and took that back to the hotel and wrapped his immaculate outfit and tied it up safely. He left the suitcase in care of the hotel, and had his two large bundles carried out to the taxi by an elderly man who had become a bellboy in the last few weeks. “Goin’ on a sea trip, sir?” this functionary inquired, and smiled knowingly. Apparently all London knew what was “up.”