Cold Harbour by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page A

obviously German and as he discovered latter, Wittig and Brauch, like Schmidt, were English Jews.
    Craig was feeling more than light-headed now. He was sweating, he knew that, and his forehead was hot. “It’s warm in here,” he said, “damn warm.”
    Hare looked at him curiously, “Actually I thought it rather chilly this morning. Are you okay?”
    Edge approached with two glasses. He gave one to Munro and the other to Craig. “You look like a gin man to me, Major. Get it down. It’ll set the old pulses roaring. Julie will like that.”
    “Screw you!” Craig told him but he took the glass and drank it.
    “No, the general idea is screw her, old boy.” Edge squeezed on to the bench beside him. “Though she does seem to keep it to herself.”
    “You’re an unpleasant little swine, aren’t you, Joe?” Martin Hare said.
    Edge glanced at him, managing to look injured. “Intrepid bird man, old boy, that’s me. Gallant knight of the air.”
    “So was Hermann Goering,” Craig said.
    “Quite right. Brilliant pilot. Took over the Flying Circus after von Richthofen was killed.”
    Craig’s voice sounded to him as if it came from someone else. “An interesting idea, the war hero as psychopath. You must feel right at home in that Ju88 you’ve got up at the airfield.”
    “Ju88S, old boy, let’s be accurate. Its engine boosting system takes me up around four hundred.”
    “He forgets to tell you that his boosting system depends on three cylinders of nitrous oxide. One hit in those tanksand he ends up in a variety of very small pieces,” Martin Hare said.
    “Don’t be like that, old boy,” Edge moved closer to Craig. “This kite is a real honey. Usually has a crew of three. Pilot, navigator and a rear-gunner. We’ve done a few improvements so I can manage on my own. For instance, the Lichtenstein radar set which actually enables one to see in the dark—they’ve repositioned that in the cockpit so I can see for myself and . . .”
    His voice faded as Craig Osbourne plunged into darkness and rolled on to the floor. Schmidt ran across from the bar and crouched down as the room went silent. He looked up at Munro.
    “Christ, sir, he’s got a raging fever. That’s bloody quick. I only checked him out an hour ago.”
    “Right,” Munro said grimly and turned to Hare. “I’ll take him back to London in the Lysander. Get him into hospital.”
    Hare nodded. “Okay, sir.” He stood back as Schmidt and two others picked Osbourne up and carried him out.
    Munro turned to Edge. “Joe, get through to Jack Carter at my office. Tell him to arrange for Osbourne to be admitted to the Hampstead Nursing Home as soon as we get in,” and he turned and followed the others out.
    CRAIG OSBOURNE CAME awake from a deep sleep feeling fresh and alert. No sign of any fever at all. He struggled up on one elbow and found himself in what seemed to be a small hospital bedroom with white painted walls. He swung his legs to the floor and sat there for a moment as the door opened and a young nurse came in.
    “You shouldn’t be up, sir.”
    She pushed him back into bed and Craig said, “Where am I?”
    She went out. A couple of minutes passed. The door opened again and a doctor in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, entered.
    He smiled. “So, how are we, Major?” and took Craig’s pulse. He had a German accent.
    “Who are you?”
    “Dr. Baum is my name.”
    “And where am I?”
    “A small nursing home in north London. Hampstead to be precise.” He put a thermometer in Craig’s mouth, then checked it. “Very good. Very nice. No fever at all. This penicillin is a miracle. Of course the chap who treated you gave you a shot, but I gave you more. Lots more. That’s the secret.”
    “How long have I been here?”
    “This is the third day. You were quite bad. Frankly, without the drug,” Baum shrugged. “Still, now you have some tea and I’ll ring Brigadier Munro. Tell him you are all right.”
    He went out.