his forefinger up in the air, calling for silence. ‘Ah, yes!’ he exclaimed. ‘But that problem’s already solved. I’ve been hearing stories about a little-known unit called the Long Range Desert Group, composed mostly of old hands from Major Ralph Bagnold’s desert expeditions of the 1920s and 30s. It’s now being used as a reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering unit that operates in the desert with the aid of ten open-topped Chevrolet lorries. Those men know the desert like the back of their hands and could be used as a taxi service for us. We parachute in, make our raid against the enemy, then rendezvous with the LRDG at a preselected RV and get driven back to base by them. I think it would work.’
‘Sounds fair enough,’ Greaves said. ‘The only problem remaining is to keep your newly formed group under your own command. I think it should be separate from the main body of the Army and devise its own methods of training.’
‘I don’t think the top brass would wear that,’ Stirling said, placing the clipboard on top of the other gear in his rucksack and tightening the rope to close it up.
‘Well,’ Greaves said, smiling automatically when he saw Nurse Beamish coming along the ward towards him, ‘tell them you want the raiding force to come under the Commander-in-Chief Middle East. In real terms that doesn’t mean a damned thing – the raiding party would soon get conveniently lost in that command and you’d have virtual autonomy over your own men.’ He grinned at Stirling. ‘Naturally that presents you with another problem: how on earth do you persuade them to let you do it?’
‘Oh, I think I can manage,’ Stirling replied deadpan. ‘I’ve already written a detailed memorandum on the subject for the attention of the Commander-in-Chief Middle East Forces. Once he’s read it, I’m sure he’ll agree.’
While recognizing Stirling’s boldness, Greaves was struck by his naïvety. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No,’ Stirling replied. ‘Why would I joke about it?’
‘If you submit that memo through normal channels, it will almost certainly get buried by a staff officer and never be seen again.’
‘Which is why I’m going to deliver it personally,’ Stirling said with a big, cocky grin.
Greaves was opening his mouth to reply when Nurse Beamish, petite, with black hair and green eyes, stopped between him and Stirling, smiling warmly at each in turn but giving most of her attention to Greaves, who had flirted relentlessly with her during his stay here.
‘So you two are ready to leave,’ she said.
‘Yes, dear,’ answered Stirling.
‘Corporal,’ Nurse Beamish corrected him.
‘Yes, dear Corporal,’ Stirling replied.
‘Where do you plan to stay in Cairo?’ Nurse Beamish asked of Greaves.
‘Shepheard’s Hotel.’
‘Oh, very nice!’ the nurse said, raising her eyebrows. ‘My own leave starts on Friday, but I’m restricted to a miserable leave camp. Perhaps I’ll give you a call.’
‘That would be delightful,’ Greaves said. ‘I look forward to it.’
Nurse Beamish smiled, nodded at Stirling, then turned away and walked off, her body very pleasantly emphasized by her tight-fitting uniform.
‘I think you’ve made it there, old son,’ Stirling said. ‘That woman is keen.’
‘I hope so,’ Greaves said softly, and then, after a pause: ‘You’re not really going to try delivering that memo personally to the C-in-C, are you?’
‘Who dares wins,’ Stirling said.
Lieutenant Greaves picked up both rucksacks from the beds, waved goodbye to the other patients, then followed Stirling. In an instant the Scotsman was on his crutches and out of the hospital to catch a taxi to the station for the train to Cairo.
While Stirling went off to the British Embassy to collect the key to his brother’s rented flat in Cairo’s Garden City quarter, where he would be staying, Greaves booked into the opulent Shepheard’s Hotel, which was off-limits to other ranks and used mainly as a place where officers could meet their lady friends. Once booked in, Greaves shucked off his desert clothes, drank whisky while soaking in a hot bath, then shaved and put on his dress uniform. In fact, though Stirling did not know it, Greaves had a date that same evening with Nurse Beamish and would, when the time came, be wearing an immaculately tailored bush jacket and slacks. He was wearing his dress uniform for the sole purpose of escorting the cheeky Stirling to MEHQ in his bold attempt to take his memorandum personally to the Commander-in-Chief. While Greaves was of the opinion that Stirling did not stand a chance, he could not resist the opportunity of going along with him to see what transpired.
Dressed, Greaves drank another whisky by the window while looking out on the great sprawl of Cairo, with its bustling pavements, open-fronted cafés, shops, bazaars and its white walls strewn with red peppers and purple bougainvillaea, covered in green vines and shaded by palm trees. Here many of the women still wore black robes and kept most of their face covered; the men dressed in jellabas and sandals. Around tables in the cafés, some of which were directly below, the men drank coffee, smoked hashish pipes, played backgammon and talked noisily all day, ignoring the soldiers swarming up and down the pavements, hotly pursued by filthy, screaming bootblacks. It was a dreadfully noisy city, with radios blaring out shrill music and high-pitched singing, trams clattering to and fro, horse-drawn gharries clattering over loose stones, water gurgling from pipes and splashing onto the streets, and cars, including many military vehicles, roaring and honking in a never-ending traffic jam. It was also, as Greaves knew, a smelly city, but the closed window spared him that.
When he heard a knocking on the door, which was unlocked, he turned away from the window and told the visitor to enter. Stirling entered on crutches, his head almost scraping the top of the door frame. After kicking the door closed behind him, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning the crutches against the bed beside him.
‘I’ll be glad to get rid of these things,’ he said. ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’
‘Whisky.’
‘Just the ticket,’ Stirling said. While Greaves was pouring him a drink, Stirling glanced around the room. ‘A nice hotel,’ he said without irony.
‘I think so,’ Greaves replied.
‘I notice it’s conveniently located almost directly opposite Sharia il Berka,’ Stirling continued, referring to the Berka quarter’s notorious street of brothels.
‘Quite so,’ Greaves replied solemnly. ‘That’s where the other ranks are commonly to be found with a much lower class of lady than you’ll find in this building.’
‘Such as Nurse Beamish.’
Greaves grinned. ‘Let us pray.’ He handed Stirling the glass of whisky.
‘Are you ready to leave?’ Stirling asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Good.
