Episode 21: An Unexpected Invitation (3)
I had dreamed of going to London someday, but never—not even in my wildest dreams—did I imagine it would be London in 1940.
After stepping off the train, I easily met the "welcoming party" that had come to greet me.
Two in military uniforms, seven in suits.
One was a woman, and what stood out was that she wore glasses so oversized they were impossible to miss.
A middle-aged man in a dignified black suit and blue necktie approached me with a smile and offered his hand.
"So you are Second Lieutenant Arthur Gray! Pleased to meet you!"
"T-thank you, sir!"
Feeling dazed, I took his outstretched hand. We exchanged a firm handshake as if we were old friends.
"Now then, let's be on our way. The Prime Minister is waiting for you!"
"Understood, sir!"
I was so nervous that I answered in a loud voice like a fresh recruit, without even realizing it. The people nearby burst into laughter.
The middle-aged man chuckled and patted my back.
"Look at this fellow, he's nervous! Relax now. We're not the German army!"
"Bwahahaha!"
"Hahaha... Understood, sir..."
Just imagining what I must look like was embarrassing.
I just couldn't get used to this.
Anyway, the thought that I was really going to meet Churchill made my body tremble uncontrollably.
This isn't a dream, is it?
To think I'd live to meet that 'Winston Churchill' from the history books.
For some reason, I felt more nervous than when I was heading out to fight the Germans.
***
The car stopped in front of that famous 10 Downing Street.
The surroundings were packed with reporters holding cameras and notepads. They had gathered as if they had somehow gotten the information in advance.
Even I, the person coming here, had only found out a few hours ago.
When the car stopped and I opened the door to get out, the reporters pressed their camera shutters as if they had been waiting. My eyes stung from the barrage of flashing lights.
But I had no choice but to smile.
Because in the car on the way here, I had been instructed to absolutely, unconditionally keep a smiling face in front of the reporters.
No matter what happens, unconditionally!
When the armed military policeman waiting at the door opened it, I couldn't believe my eyes.
"Heh heh heh, the hero of our nation has finally arrived."
Churchill.
That Churchill!
He had been waiting for me.
With a bright smile spread across his entire face.
"Second Lieutenant! Arthur! Gray! Sir!"
How much image training had I gone through on the way here.
Thinking that stuttering or making even one mistake would be the end of me, I had practiced desperately. Fortunately, the training had paid off.
Anyway, my first meeting with the iconic figure who had guided the great currents of World War II had begun smoothly.
Churchill, seemingly satisfied with my booming voice, smiled and extended his hand.
"Hahaha! I like your spirit! Is this what they call youth? Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Gray!"
"The honor is mine, Prime Minister!"
As we shook hands, the reporters were busy pressing their camera shutters.
Thinking that the photo being taken right now might appear in newspapers, and later in history books, my heart pounded wildly.
After all, I might be leaving my mark on a page of history right now, whoever I am.
"Now then, you must be quite famished after traveling all this way, so let's eat first. Then we can chat over tea."
"Yes, Prime Minister!"
"This fellow is still frozen stiff. Relax, my boy!"
He patted my back, intending to help me relax. But it hurt a little.
He probably thought he was tapping lightly, but he was stronger than expected. From the receiving end, my back stung quite a bit.
This old man is as strong as he looks.
Well, I've unintentionally learned one more thing.
The reporters didn't follow us to the dining room.
Before the door closed, I heard a government official telling the reporters to gather here again in three hours.
Three hours later—that must include the time for eating and talking over tea, right?
When I entered the dining room, my eyes were drawn to a large table covered with a spotlessly clean tablecloth.
Name cards were placed at each seat, and mine was positioned across from Churchill.
I had expected it, but this was going to be quite a nerve-wracking experience.
I felt like I finally understood what a soldier must feel eating beside the Secretary of State for War during a base visit.
The plates decorated with ornate patterns around the edges felt almost too sacred to eat from, and the cutlery was genuine silver, quite weighty in hand.
As I was wondering if I could even eat properly with such heavy utensils, chefs entered the dining room pushing carts laden with food.
Wafting an unbelievably delicious aroma that I had never once experienced in the barracks.
"Lieutenant Gray, this dinner was prepared in your honor, so don't stand on ceremony and eat comfortably. Now, let's start with some wine!"
"Ah, thank you, sir."
As Churchill raised his glass, a waiter approached and poured the wine. The movement was so elegant, it was like watching a ballet.
Since they worked at the Prime Minister's residence of the British Empire, even such small gestures were on another level.
Only after confirming that Churchill had drunk first did I take a sip.
A refreshing yet subtle sweetness hit first, then what seemed like the bitter, fishy taste unique to alcohol, before a smooth sweetness enveloped my tongue again.
Even someone as ignorant about wine as me could tell how high-quality it was.
As expected, luxury truly begins with the taste.
It's incredible.
"How is it? To your liking?"
"Oh, it's the finest wine I've ever had in my life."
"Heh heh, this fellow is making quite a fuss. This is quite ordinary, really. As a member of the Gray family, you should have drunk wine to the point of boredom."
Ah, right. I was a nobleman.
So did that mean this level of wine was ordinary for nobles?
No wonder people made such a fuss about being nobles!
While I was tasting the wine, the chefs placed the dishes on the table one by one.
The food was a mix of British cuisine and Indian cuisine.
From the famous Beef Wellington to steak, Yorkshire pudding (bread made from meat drippings), omelets, pies topped with various fruits, and even curry—the dish symbolizing India.
There were various other dishes as well, but I didn't know the names of any of them.
Well, as long as it tastes good, that's all that matters.
The meal proceeded in a warm, harmonious atmosphere.
At first, I even hesitated cutting into a steak, but eventually I ate to my heart's content without caring what anyone thought.
Since this wasn't an everyday occasion, if I didn't enjoy it now, I'd definitely regret it later.
So I had to enjoy it while I could.
Besides, since this gathering had been prepared for me, I could eat with my mind at ease!
Churchill, that old man, had told me to relax and eat my fill, hadn't he!
The food was generally delicious.
When you think of British cuisine, you might imagine those so-called "culinary beggars" infamous for their terrible food, but surprisingly, it was truly delicious.
Come to think of it, it would have been strange if the food eaten by the Prime Minister wasn't delicious.
Personally, the tastiest dish was the pie topped with fruit and whipped cream.
The Beef Wellington and steak were delicious, but I couldn't help feeling the meat was too undercooked, and the curry was sourer and saltier than I'd expected. Still, it was good.
During the meal, Churchill frequently cracked light jokes or asked me questions.
"It's been a long time since I served, but how is the army these days? Do they serve good food often?"
"Yes, sir."
That was a lie, actually.
No, I couldn't exactly tell the truth, could I?
The man before me outranked a division commander, after all...
"Is that so? The army has improved a lot these days, hasn't it?"
"It has, Prime Minister."
"...Hahaha."
To think I'd hear something like "the army's gotten comfortable these days" from Churchill himself, in 1940s Britain.
It just keeps getting more amazing.
***
After the meal, we moved to the drawing room and had tea.
The black tea provided was also on a completely different level from what I drank in the army.
Just from the aroma, you could tell it was a luxury item.
"Now then, I have a few things I'd like to ask you, if that's alright?"
Churchill asked me as he poured an enormous amount of cream into his tea.
I wondered what he could possibly want to ask a mere second lieutenant, but I answered by the book.
"Of course, Prime Minister."
"As a tanker, what do you think of our tanks? I'm simply curious to hear your impressions, so speak frankly. I'm just interested in your thoughts, that's all."
Churchill's question was somewhat unexpected.
What did I think of the tanks?
I had my thoughts, but was it okay to say them here?
I had to consider the atmosphere...
But if not now, when else would I get the chance?
He told me to just say what I thought, so I should be able to speak honestly.
Surely that 'Winston Churchill' hadn't laid a trap to mock a raw recruit.
"Overall, the performance isn't bad, but I believe there are many areas for improvement."
"..."
Churchill seemed surprised that my answer differed from his expectations, stopping the hand holding his teacup.
Could it be... had I made a mistake?
His expression didn't seem to indicate that, but what was this inexplicable sense of unease?
But having already said it, it would be strange to back down now.
"Is that so? Do tell."
"Yes. The tanks I crewed were the Matilda I and Matilda II. The Matilda I has sturdy armor, but it's too slow, and with only a single machine gun for armament, it's powerless against enemy armored vehicles. The Matilda II is equipped with a 2-pounder main gun, making it capable of proper tank combat, but the shells are the problem."
"The shells are the problem?"
Churchill blinked, seemingly unable to understand.
"Do you mean there are many defective ones?"
"Ah, that's not what I mean, sir."
"Then what?"
"The Matilda II is an infantry tank, but its shells are exclusively armor-piercing. The problem is that in actual combat, high-explosive shells are essential when facing enemy infantry and anti-tank guns. Without them, you have to rely solely on the coaxial machine gun to engage infantry."
This was something I had been thinking about even before becoming Arthur Gray, so I could speak without hesitation.
"In fact, during the Battle of Arras that I recently fought in, I witnessed multiple instances where our tanks were destroyed in turn after recklessly advancing to within coaxial machine gun range to eliminate enemy anti-tank guns (this is only half true. I never actually witnessed it myself). It wouldn't have happened if we'd had high-explosive shells. Therefore, this is an issue that urgently demands improvement."
Several of those present diligently took notes on what I was saying.
Were they officials from departments or industries related to tanks?
Damn it, is it really okay to keep talking? But I had already gone too far to turn back.
"I see. Understood perfectly. I shall pass this along to the relevant departments."
"Thank you, Prime Minister."
"Continue. You seem to have had much you wanted to say, so you should get it all out while you're here."
"M-may I really, sir?"
"Of course! The most important voices are those of you fighting on the front lines! If there's something to fix, it must be fixed!"
Since it's come to this, I might as well go all the way.
It's not like it's something I can't say...?