Читать книгу Royal Regiment - Gilbert Frankau - Страница 15

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A short silence followed the women’s departure. Then, abruptly, William’s voice took on a new note.

“I agree with a good deal you’ve been saying, Geoffrey”, he began. “But not with all of it. And there’s one thing I can tell you. Only you must both keep it under your hats, please. We really are going to rearm. What the army and the air-force programmes are I don’t know. But as far as the navy’s concerned——”

He gave details, before continuing:

“About time, too. I don’t get the wind up as easily as some people. But once or twice in these last three months—well, it’s been touch and go”.

“The Mediterranean of course”, said Rusty, remembering the Hawk’s revelations.

“Yes.” William brooded a moment, his brows creasing. “It’s lucky the Turks don’t relish that Italian garrison just off Cappadocia. It’s lucky old man Musso isn’t the fool some people like to think him. If he hadn’t been a realist, he might have thought he’d got us by the short hairs. Then the balloon would have gone up with a vengeance. And we shouldn’t have been too ready for it either.”

He gave more details.

“Are you as short of ammunition as that?” asked Rusty.

“Speaking unofficially—we’ve just about enough for one fleet action. And the army’s even worse off than we are. I suppose you know what’s supposed to have happened when the chap who’s in command on the Libyan border indented for anti-tank guns?”

His eldest brother’s answer set Geoffrey’s hazel eyes staring.

“You don’t really mean that, Tom?”

“I do. But it’s no use blaming the War Office. Or the Arsenal. They can’t make bricks without straw—otherwise money.”

“We’re a fine bloody Empire!” said Geoffrey.

“No use crying over spilt milk.” William laughed, a trifle bitterly. “We’ve been trying to show the world an example for the last seventeen years. All the continental nations have done is to put their fingers to their noses. I can’t say I blame them either. How should we like being schoolmarmed all the time? And if we knew that the schoolmistress was too mean to buy herself a new cane, we’d put our fingers to our noses, too. Don’t you agree, Tom?”

“Up to a point. But I think we had to try.”

“I’m with you there.” Again William took up the tale; again the youngest Rockingham kept silence. “But we’ve done our damnedest, and it hasn’t come off. God knows I don’t want another war. If only because of Frances and the brats. Nor do you, unless you’ve turned into a militarist all of a sudden. And neither does Geoffrey, though he loves yapping about it. Our jobs are to prevent war, not to make it. But unless we’re given the money to do our jobs, the civilian population will certainly be for it. And who’ll get the blame?”

“His Majesty’s Army, His Majesty’s Navy and His Majesty’s Air Force.” Geoffrey spoke again, mock-serious as he helped himself to the last of the port. “So here’s hoping they put our pay up under this new scheme you’ve been telling us about.”

“Never mind about our pay”—occasionally William grew a trifle sententious on good liquor—“as long as they give us the men and the equipment.”

“Especially the equipment”, said Tom; and he smiled to himself—for that was the effect good liquor always had on him as he added:

“Unless my hearing’s at fault that was mother’s stick thumping on the floor. We’d better be going upstairs now. Like three good little boys.”