The Hungry Blade by Lawrence Dudley

Author:Lawrence Dudley [Lawrence Dudley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2019-12-11T18:07:57+00:00

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For a city of a million and a half people it was as quiet as a village out on the Paseo de Reforma at this hour of the night—about two thirty, when Hawkins got back to the Imperial. He tuned across the nine-meter shortwave band, searching for a news broadcast. Finally he found it, weak, fluttering and popping in and out, but there, the end of the lilting tune of “Lilliburlero,” bringing up an instant and comforting image of marching grenadiers in bearskin hats. It was morning now in Britain, the BBC was back on the air after the overnight hiatus.

This is London calling. You are listening to the Empire Service of the BBC. Here is the news …

Empire. Hawkins found himself musing over that word. Empire. Why that word, why now? he thought. How would Riley, Corrialles, the Riveras, take that word? We kicked the British, the French, out of here, the general said. Perhaps it was a good thing Trotsky died when he did, Hawkins thought, saw right through me, he did, died before he could pass his little insight along, that I’m an officer of His Majesty’s Secret Service, and I suppose, His Majesty’s Empire. Incredibly smart man, to spot that so easily, so quickly.

For a moment Hawkins was so lost in thought he almost missed the first part of the news until another word, “Luftwaffe,” burned through his rumination. A raid on Southampton. That meant the navy, shipyards, also the Supermarine works where they built the Spitfire. Casualties on both sides. There was no jolly tone to the announcer’s voice, none of the uplift of a pep talk, straight facts, plainly presented. There was, Hawkins thought, no gloss that could be put on it. This was a battle for basic survival, and yet also no alarm or panic. Pure determination. And concentration. If there was disaster pending, it wasn’t here yet. The fight went on.

Falkenberg’s worried expression and particularly, Falkenberg’s comment that his mates were confused at fighting Britain would earn a prominent mention in Hawkins’s next report. Could that confusion, and a lack of zeal, be at least partly a reason for the lagging expectation of victory? Hearts not in the fight? Possibly. But Hawkins still felt the same old twisting, winding-up feeling in the stomach, no cheering like the mess room on the Dendrobium.

They switched to the coast, a live broadcast. What an extraordinary thing, he thought, a critical battle fought out and covered live on the radio.

From our position we can see the vapor trails of the approaching German planes, and our planes going up to meet them … One of our fighters has engaged a German plane on the left flank of the formation … They are maneuvering around, twisting in circles on circles, diving down. We can get a better look at them, now. One of the planes is trailing smoke … it’s diving down steeply, either trying to escape or blow the fire out. It’s … a German plane, a Messerschmitt, we can tell from the squared-off wingtips.

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