Codename Eagle (17 page)

Aborting the mission was the worst-case scenario, but it had to be considered. If it became reality, Paul and Didier would have a further ten minutes to return to Inigo and Josette at their position halfway along the track. Then they would think again.

Thirty minutes in all. That’s how long Inigo would wait before hurling the first petrol bomb to create the diversion. If Paul and Didier were not back with him when those thirty minutes were up, then the operation was on.

It was a thin plan, but it was the only one they had.

They had arrived early, soon after first light, but after the previous day’s experience, Paul and Didier knew that blundering around in the semidarkness would be a serious mistake. They had to wait until the daylight was strong enough.

And finally it was.

T
he sun was making early forays through the forest canopy by the time Paul and Didier neared the house. They’d left Inigo and Josette in position half a kilometre back down the track. Paul glanced at his watch; thirteen minutes. Plenty of time to reach the back of the yard and check for vehicles.

It was damp underfoot with the morning dew still heavy on the ground when the house came into sharper focus.

Didier was carrying his shotgun. He touched Paul lightly on the arm to bring him to a halt and gestured towards the house. “Look.”

Paul followed Didier’s eyeline to the first floor of the wooden building and immediately saw the gaping hole in the front wall where a framed window had been.

“It wasn’t like that yesterday,” Didier said quietly. “Maybe they’ve already tried to escape.”

“Maybe they already
have
escaped,” Paul answered.

They hurried on, giving the house a wide berth, and then the yard came into view. There was no sign of any vehicles.

“You’re not going to go tearing across the yard again, are you?” Didier asked.

Paul shook his head. “They’re not here. They couldn’t fit the lorry and Victor’s car in the barn, it’s too heavily stacked with wood. They’ve gone searching for Max, just as we thought.”

“Just as you thought.”

Paul checked his watch again: eighteen and a half minutes. Josette’s timings had been good.

Suddenly the shrill blast of a whistle cut through the stillness of the morning like wire through cheese, sending startled birds fluttering from the trees.

“They’re coming!” Didier groaned. “We have to abort.”

“Not yet,” Paul said quickly. “Wait a few minutes; we have to be sure it is the Germans. They won’t see us hidden here. If it’s them we’ll make our escape.”

“It won’t be anyone else.”

“Let’s be certain.”

They waited as the agonizingly slow seconds turned into a minute and then recognized the heavy growl of a diesel engine.

“The lorry,” Didier whispered.

Before Paul had a chance to reply, there was the dull thud of an explosion followed by the whoosh of flames, which leapt into the trees and set the fir needles crackling and flaring.

Paul gasped. “It’s Inigo, he’s thrown a bomb; he’s gone for them!”

The diesel engine roared, and as Paul and Didier stood transfixed, a shot rang out. Then a second explosion rocked the forest.

Birds shrieked and the diesel engine screamed as though the driver was frantically reversing to escape the bomber.

“We’ve got to help them,” Didier said, turning to rush back through the forest.

Paul grabbed his arm. “Wait!” He gestured towards the house; there had been no sign of movement. “Our job is to go in there, check it out, do what we came to do. Julia may be tied up in there, or dead. We have to find out.”

“But Josette…”

“Josette would want us to finish the job. That’s definite. We have to do it, Didier!”

Without waiting for an answer, Paul ran towards the house as the bark of gunfire echoed through the trees.

Didier hesitated for a moment, then sprinted after Paul, following him in through the open back door.

The kitchen was deserted, but showed clear signs of mass habitation: stacks of dirty plates, unwashed cups and cooking pans; ashtrays filled to overflowing; piles of discarded clothes; and the rank smell of stale food, lamp oil and human sweat.

“Upstairs,” Paul said, running for the staircase.

They hurtled up the stairs and immediately saw the wide-open door and the German lying on the floor, arms and legs tied.

He was conscious now, and his eyes widened as they approached. “Untie me,” he shouted, “quickly!”

Paul and Didier ignored him as they took in the devastation of the room.

“They’ve escaped,” Paul said. “They got away.”

Didier nodded. “Now we can help Josette. Come on!”

They leapt over the prone body of Berg and went hurtling down the stairs.

“Wait!” the German yelled. “Untie me! Please untie me! We’ll reward you! Wait!”

I
t happened so quickly. Josette and Inigo heard the sudden blast of the whistle and exchanged anxious looks. Then the lorry was approaching quickly, with the car close behind.

Josette peered through the trees, trying to get a glimpse of the occupants of the vehicles, when she glanced back and saw Inigo lighting the wick of one of the petrol bombs.

“No, Inigo!” she gasped. “No!”

But it was already too late. Once lit, the bomb had to be thrown.

Inigo’s aim was not perfect. The first missile didn’t reach the track. It struck a tree, and as the glass shattered and the fuel ignited, there was a blinding flash of light and fir needles fizzed and crackled in a sheet of flame.

Josette saw the car reverse.

Grey ash hung in the air and the stench of petrol and burning wood leaked through the forest. German soldiers were spilling from the lorry; one loosed off a speculative rifle shot as Inigo crouched down and lit a second wick. He hurled the bomb, harder and straighter this time, and it hit the forest floor, exploding close to the lorry. The Germans went to the ground; there were screams of agony.

The driver was still at the wheel, attempting to reverse the heavy vehicle. The engine roared and nearly stalled as the cumbersome lorry rolled backwards off the track and towards the trees, its giant wheels throwing up mud and leaf litter.

Another rifle shot cracked and whistled through the trees, thudding into wood somewhere behind Josette and Inigo. It was way off target; the Germans still hadn’t spotted their attackers.

“Inigo, let’s go!” Josette hissed. “We have to run for it! Please, Inigo!”

“Not while I’ve still got this,” Inigo growled, snatching his final petrol bomb from the ground.

A contented smile spread over his face as he lit the wick and stood up to throw. “Death to all fascists!”

They were two men down. The Brothers Grimm had been first out of the lorry and had run straight into the blast from the second petrol bomb. Wilhelm, the first out, had suffered significant burns to his face and hands, and Lau knew he had to get him to the house and the emergency medical supplies. Both men needed urgent pain relief; they were lying on the ground writhing in agony.

Lau had been in the car, with Rudi Werner driving and Victor Forêt in the back. Werner acted quickly after the first explosion, reversing the vehicle to what appeared to be a safer position further down the track.

Lau bawled to Victor to stay in the car and stay down. Victor didn’t need to be told twice: he sank down in the seat as Lau and Werner ran from the vehicle.

Lau fired a speculative shot into the forest as he kneeled to check on his men, and Werner followed with two further rounds. They were not aiming at anyone, just trying to keep their attacker down, wherever he might be.

Erich Steidle, unused to driving a lorry, had managed to reverse the vehicle off the track through deep muddy ruts, only to come to a sudden and shuddering halt against the massive trunk of a giant fir tree.

The engine stalled and the force of the impact jolted through Steidle’s body, sending him jerking forward so that his head cracked against the steering wheel. But Steidle was tough. He didn’t bother trying to restart the lorry; his comrades needed him. He leapt from the cab, crouched down and ran across the track.

Werner was in the prone firing position, his eyes raking the forest as he moved the rifle slowly and deliberately through his sight lines. He stopped moving. “I see him,” he breathed. “He’s mine.”

The rifle cracked and there was a distant yell and a scream, and then a third petrol bomb exploded.

Paul and Didier were working their way through the trees, staying alert and aware of the sounds of battle. The last thing they needed was to run straight into five or more heavily armed German soldiers. It would be a massacre.

They moved a stretch at a time, dodging from one place of safety to another, constantly seeking out what cover they could. Didier, carrying the shotgun, led the way, making his ground, checking all around and then gesturing for Paul to join him. It wasn’t the fastest way of reaching the action, but Didier, ever cautious, knew it was the safest.

Suddenly they heard running footsteps approaching – no voices, just runners moving much faster than they had managed.

They dived for cover behind the trunk of a fallen tree.

“They’re coming straight for us,” Didier whispered. He glanced down at the double-barrel shotgun. “If there’s more than two of them we’re done for.”

The runners came closer and closer until they were little more than ten metres away, their footsteps thudding down hard enough for Paul and Didier to feel the vibration through the earth.

Paul nodded to his friend. “Now!”

Didier stood up, bringing the shotgun into the firing position against his shoulder and staring down the barrels.

“Don’t shoot!” a voice hissed as two men, both carrying shotguns, slid to a halt on the damp forest floor.

It was the Noury twins.

“Don’t shoot!” one of them said again. “We’re with you! We’re with you!”

* * *

Josette could see about eight centimetres of glass sticking up from her leg. The curved shard narrowed like a slim dagger. It was hard to know how much glass had sliced through her thin trousers and pierced the flesh. But it hurt badly and blood was pumping out steadily.

She had to crawl away and try to find a hiding place; at least one of the Germans was coming for her. She’d heard shouts and then movement.

Now there was silence and all she could hear was her own irregular breathing. But she knew the silence would be brief; they were coming.

She wanted to scream for help, but it was not an option. She had to fight the panic building in her chest. She thought of Paul and Didier and her father. Where were they?

Inigo was dead. The bullet had struck him close to the heart and sent him spinning backwards as the petrol bomb slipped from his grasp. Josette had dived to the ground just in time to avoid being enveloped in the flames. But as the bomb ignited, she had felt the glass slice into her right thigh.

She had to get away, but she couldn’t stand. She could hardly even crawl, as the shard was buried deep in the front of her leg. She had to get it out.

She gripped the blood-soaked sliver of glass between her thumb and index finger. Just touching it sent a wave of pain shooting through her leg, and as she tried to pull the glass from her flesh her fingers slid on the blood and she lost her hold.

“Come on, Josette,” she breathed. “Do it!”

She clenched the glass again, tighter this time, ignoring the agonizing jolt as she took hold. Closing her eyes, she pulled. The glass came out. It dripped blood and sliced more muscle and flesh on the way, but it came out. Josette opened her eyes to see a fresh spurt of crimson pumping from the wound. She was breathing heavily – and too loudly, she realized.

She dropped the bloodied shard and turned onto her front to crawl further into the forest. Even the slightest movement was painful, and she knew she was leaving a telltale trail of blood as she crawled, but she had to try to get away.

As she edged forward, she saw Inigo less than a metre away, his wide eyes staring at her, his face locked in a contented smile of death.

Josette turned quickly away; she couldn’t bear to look. She dragged herself onward, painfully slowly, fearing that at any moment a German would be standing over her with a rifle pointed at her head.

And then another explosion ripped through the air.

The sounds of battle had drawn Henri and Max away from their hiding place at the entrance to the track.

At the first explosion, Henri stared in horror. “My children!”

“Your children?” Max said, confused. “But surely it’s only Josette?”

Henri was already running. “They’re all my children to me.”

He rushed through the trees, unconcerned now for his own safety, with Max hurrying to keep up.

There were shots and a second explosion as they approached Victor Forêt’s stationary black Peugeot. From the cover of the trees, Henri glimpsed the rigid figure of Victor in the back seat, but he paid the traitor no heed and ran quickly on. His only thoughts now were for Josette, Paul and Didier. And Henri was terrifyingly aware that his daughter was in the greatest danger.

A rifle shot cracked out, instantly followed by a third explosion then yelling and a scream.

“Josette!” Henri breathed, his face ashen.

The forest was momentarily silent and then there were more yells and shouted orders in German.

Henri reached into the canvas bag he wore over his shoulders and pulled out one of the spare petrol bombs that Inigo had made.

“What are you doing?” Max asked.

“The only thing I can think of doing. Confuse them: draw them away from my daughter and towards us.”

Max nodded and watched Henri light the wick.

The sight of the burning fuse seemed to make Henri freeze. He looked at Max and the two men’s eyes met.

“Light, throw and get out, that’s what Inigo said,” Max hissed urgently. “Throw it, Henri, now!”

Spurred into action, Henri drew back his arm and hurled the bomb with all his strength. They dived to the ground and in the next instant heard the explosion and felt the wave of heat as the petrol ignited in a ball of flame.