Blast from the Past

5

General Schultz, General Kent’s chief of staff, was not a very good hustler and there followed what seemed to be an interminable period of introductions and handshaking as the British and American parties greeted each other on the tarmac. Eventually, just when Kent was beginning to suspect that he would be expected to bond even with the man who waved the ping-pong bats, he found himself sitting alongside the senior British officer in the first of a convoy of army staff cars heading for London.

Kent was silent, preoccupied, deep in thought. Despite this, however, his host felt obliged to make some effort at conversation.

“I had the privilege of serving under a colleague of yours,” the senior British officer said. “During the Gulf War. I was seconded to the staff of General Schwarzkopf. Your famous Stormin’ Norman.”

Kent did not reply.

“Splendid name, don’t you think?” Actually the senior British officer thought it an absolutely pathetic name. He despised the way Americans felt the need to attach silly macho schoolboy nicknames to their leaders. “Iron” this, “Hell bugger” that; it was bloody childish.

General Kent knew exactly what his host was thinking and in his turn thought it was pathetic the way the British compensated for their massive inferiority complex by forever sneering at the Yanks. There had once been a time when British soldiers were equally world famous and equally popularly revered, “Fighting Bobs Roberts” of the Boer War, the “Iron Duke” of Wellington himself, but that had been in another century, when… General Kent stopped his train of thought. He did not wish to be pondering the inanity of his companion’s comments. He wished to be left alone to concentrate on his own deep and tormented feelings. To dwell once more upon the summer of his love.

What would she be like? Would she remember? Of course she would remember. She would have to be dead to have forgotten, and he knew she wasn’t dead.

“Not your first trip to Britain, I imagine.” Once more the senior British officer’s voice crashed into Kent’s thoughts. The man was not giving up. He had been instructed to make the American feel welcome and by hell he was going to make him feel welcome even if that also meant annoying him utterly.

“I said, not your first trip to Britain, I imagine…” he repeated loudly. “Been here before, I suppose.”

He had blundered into General Kent’s very train of thought. General Kent had been in Britain before and it had changed his life for ever.

“Yeah,” Kent acknowledged at last. “I was here before.” But his tone suggested that he did not wish to elaborate.

“I see. I see. Here before, you say? Well, I never. Splendid. Splendid.”

Another few cold, dark miles slid by outside the windows of the car.

“Plenty of friends this side of the pond, then, I imagine. People to look up and all that. Old pals to visit?”

Again the Englishman had got it right. There certainly was an old pal to visit, but General Kent did not choose to discuss it. He had never once in over sixteen years discussed the one love of his life with anyone apart from his brother Harry, not a soul, not ever and he certainly did not intend to start now. After this the British officer gave up and the conversation, such as it was, lapsed completely until the Englishman delivered his American through the gates of Downing Street.

“Well, goodbye, General. It’s been a privilege and a pleasure to meet you,” said the senior British officer.

“Yes, it’s been very real,” replied General Kent. “Thank you so much for the trouble you’ve taken.”

“Not at all. Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye.”

The two soldiers shook hands and parted.

“Surly bastard,” thought the senior British officer.

“Pompous creep,” thought General Kent.

Kent stood outside the famous front door for as long as he dared, breathing in the cold night air, attempting to marshal his thoughts. He must pull himself together. He had an important meeting ahead of him. It was his job to brief the British on White House plans for the eastward expansion of NATO. He needed to be thinking about Poland and the Czech Republic, not about making love in a sundrenched field to a seventeen-year-old girl. He stamped his feet; he must concentrate! It was time to put away the past and think about the present. The past could wait. After all, it had waited these many long years; it could stand another few hours.

“General?”

Kent’s party had now all assembled on the pavement and were awaiting their commander’s lead. A bobby was standing expectantly, ready to open the door.

“OK, let’s do it,” Kent said and led his officers across the familiar threshold.