Opening Moves

Deciding not to overly tax his young driver, Ramsey contented himself with an affirmative grunt. The Austin had stopped at the third checkpoint, where Ramsey was invited to disembark. Documentation was thoroughly checked and some casual questions asked, which Ramsey certainly felt were checked off against some list already in the possession of the Officer of the Guard.

“I’ll be back for ye next Friday at 1600 hrs Sir. Enjoy yersel and look after yer shudder.”

Internally Ramsey smiled, for try as he might, he could not imbue McEwan with the virtues of military niceties. That the man was the finest shot the Major had ever seen and possessed the courage of a lion went a long way with a soldier like Ramsey.

“Indeed Corporal, thank you. 1600 hrs on the dot McEwan or no weekend pass for you,” he said with forced sharpness.

The Captain looked up at Ramsey and then McEwan, swiftly reading from the two grinning faces that this was a well-rehearsed act between two comrades. He moved off to the post phone to report Ramsey’s arrival. When he was out of earshot, Ramsey spoke again.

“Safe drive home Mac, and do take it careful round those bends. They will be lethal in the dark, son.”

McEwan prepared to move backwards to the hairpin where he would turn his vehicle.

“Ach dinnae worrae aboot me Sir, il be fine. See ye Friday”.

With a swift salute, cut short by the necessity of changing out of forward gear, the staff car was quickly reversed and exited the ramp on its way back to its base.

Ramsey felt a hand on his case and turned to find a smart orderly trying to take it from him. He relinquished his grip but retained his briefcase and walking stick, his sole eccentricity.

A British officer serving in a senior position within a jock battalion simply had to have something to emphasise his Englishness, and the black and silver cane was it.

He had purchased it new from a Gentleman’s outfitters in Glasgow, but a legend had grown, and as far as his veterans were concerned it was the very cane carried by Sir Robert Munro at the Battle of Fontenoy in 1745, as presented to their slightly mad Major by clan chieftains. Ramsey did nothing to shatter that illusion. It served a purpose and did no harm. In fact, on two occasions, he had thrown the cane forward, much to his men’s horror, encouraging his highlanders to advance when under fire to retrieve the ‘prize’.

“Commandant, please follow me.”

The orderly moved off and up a rising stone path before turning left and entering the building, past another small guard station where both went unchallenged. Ramsey followed the man at distance, taking in as much of his surroundings as possible, climbing the worn stone stairs carefully. Halfway down those steps was an American paratrooper Major, looking extremely dejected.

Ramsey put his cane in his left hand with his case and saluted. The Major, having an eye for certain details, beat him to it, despite his frustration.

“Good evening Major, and I hope that your face is not telling me how bad this place is?”

“Far from it Major. I just heard your car and prayed it was my own vehicle. I’ve been waiting here since Friday and transport is supposed to be bringing another officer for tomorrow. I was just hoping he had chosen to arrive Sunday rather than Monday. It seems I will be staying another night.”

A hand shot out.

“Crisp, Marion J. 101st US Airborne.”

Hands were shaken warmly as Ramsey gave his own introduction.

Crisp ushered Ramsey along after the disappearing Frenchman who was already up the stairs and moving across a small drawbridge and through the Lions gate.

Both officers increased their pace and made up ground, although more was lost as Ramsey automatically checked the chasm under the drawbridge.

Entering the Well Towe, more steps confronted them, echoing softly with the sound of a disappearing orderly.

“There is no shortage of steps here Ramsey. It’s a bit of a warren to be honest, but by Thursday you will be fine.”

Grinning back, Ramsey automatically looked down the old well before moving off again in search of his guide.

Reaching the side gallery of a small courtyard, Crisp spoke quickly.

“When the orderly has you settled down, wander on down to the mess room.” He indicated its location with a simple gesture. “Their chow here is superb Ramsey, and the cellar is very well-stocked.”

“That is a date my dear chap. See you then.”

Ramsey took two steps at a time behind the orderly who had not stopped moving forward.

Out through the arches, across the small courtyard and up the hexagonal main stairs to the next floor, where Ramsey was introduced to his bedchamber for the week.

He was no less impressed than the previous occupants, especially as a hot bath was filled and waiting his pleasure.

The orderly, once of the Ritz in London, placed the suitcase on an ornate ottoman at the base of the four-poster bed.