Death Ray (19 page)

I spotted a sign pointing down a side street and made a mental note – the place had a small station. There was a tiny market square too, at the centre of which stood a tall stone memorial with seating around it, and a large stone trough into which spring water was pouring from a piece of lead pipe. The village also possessed several
small
shops in a neat row, a
boulangerie
, a
boucherie
, and a third shop I couldn’t quite fathom, although I suspected it was some sort of general store or ironmonger’s. Drawn blinds meant we couldn’t see inside but above the door there was a metal sign – Paraffin oil. Perfect!

A dog barked somewhere far away but soon settled again. ‘We need to get inside that shop,’ I whispered. ‘Best if we try round the back.’

‘And then what?’

‘We borrow some paraffin.’

Edging our way down a narrow passage between the
boucherie
and our target, we scrambled quietly over a brick wall and dropped down into a large yard paved with cobblestones. There were several outbuildings and the walled area was accessed from the road running behind it via tall wooden gates firmly secured by a heavy chain and padlock. Unzipping our bag of emergency supplies, I hunted out the pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit. I knew that just a little modification by bending the arms would form the perfect implement for undoing simple locks. I had Sergeant Walker to thank for that. He’d taught me well. As I worked, Loki explored the yard before returning and tapping me on the shoulder. He led me to a space between two of the outbuildings. On a raised concrete plinth next to the wall stood two pumps – one for petrol, the other for paraffin. ‘There’s a container over there, Finn,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘A milk churn. It’s perfect. It’ll hold at least a couple of gallons. That’ll be enough, won’t it?’

Figuring petrol would be an even better option, we set about unpicking the small padlock to release the chain that was supposed to prevent theft of the precious juice. The handle operating the pump squeaked like mad so we reverted to my original plan and turned our attention to the paraffin. To my relief this pump’s handle didn’t make such a noise. Slowly we filled the stainless-steel churn to about a third full. Taking my bent tweezers, Loki then picked the padlock on the gates and we slipped out into the narrow lane beyond, lugging the churn between us. Now all we needed was a suitable target, preferably somewhere central that was either unlived in or unused. The last thing I wanted to do was set fire to a building with people inside.

Loki spotted the perfect place. Just off the square and in sight of the bridge and the road leading out of the village lay what looked like a hall or meeting place. It was two storeys tall, timber-framed and in a poor state of repair. It was also detached, which was a bonus. Hopefully, if we were forced to set it alight, the flames wouldn’t jump to neighbouring dwellings.

Inside, the ground floor was divided into a main hall with wooden trestle tables and chairs neatly stacked up against one side, a small kitchen and a lavatory that appeared to be little more than a hole in the ground. We positioned ourselves by the main window and kept a lookout.

‘Suppose they don’t come?’ Loki whispered. ‘What do we do when it gets light?’

‘We’ll have to leave well before dawn. Our strange faces will stick out here like sore thumbs. Even if we looked French we’d not be able to hang around long before people started asking awkward questions. In these wet, stinking clothes, we’ve got no chance. Hopefully by sunrise the Germans will be winding down their search. I think this is our best chance. The other alternative is that we sit tight here for twenty-four hours and let things cool down a bit.’

‘We could go to the church and put ourselves at the mercy of the priest there. He’d help us, wouldn’t he? Not hand us over?’

‘Maybe.’ I reached for our bag and hunted out the box of matches. ‘Grabbing these emergency supplies at the last minute was one of your better ideas. Without them we’d be stuffed.’

Loki quietly opened one of the windows a fraction and listened for Fritz. We didn’t have long to wait. ‘I think I can hear something, Finn.’

I placed my ear to the gap and strained to hear – the sound of distant vehicles, lots of them! Hurriedly Loki got to work, splashing and sloshing the paraffin over the floor while I grabbed our bag and moved it to the door.

‘As the French say, we’ve
préparé le feu
!’ Loki announced. ‘Do you want to do the honours, or shall I?’

‘I’ll do it.’ Striking a match, I waited for its flame to glow strong and bright and then flung it down into a puddle of paraffin. The flame fizzed and died. I tried again. Once more the match fizzled out.

‘Try holding it just above the floor. Let it ignite the fumes.’

Third time lucky. A sheet of orange-blue flame unfolded and crept across the floor, then climbed the walls. It crackled and spat nicely. I could feel the heat against my face.

Hurriedly tumbling out of the door, Loki whispered, ‘Now let’s wake everyone up!’

Running through the streets, we hammered on doors and shouted, ‘
Au feu! Au feu!
’ Making for the churchyard, we leaped a wall and hid ourselves in dense bushes. At first, nothing. Then I saw lights come on. Then a voice. More voices. Then shouts of panic. Frantic footsteps hurried to and fro. I heard someone shout to fetch buckets, lots of buckets.

The hall was ablaze! Even from our place of hiding we could see the glow. Several motorbikes roared into the village, followed by trucks. Within minutes, the yells from men with thick rural French accents were joined by others speaking German. Eventually Loki couldn’t resist. He had to take a peek. Rising up, he parted the branches of the bush, looked out over the wall, and gasped. Tapping me on my shoulder, he encouraged me to look too.

The fire had taken hold and was tearing through the building. There were two lines of villagers, one strung out to the trough of water in the square, the other towards the river, each frantically passing buckets, pots and pans to one another. The men nearest the building were flinging the contents at the blaze – theirs was a
hopeless
task. But what amazed me most was that amid their lines stood Germans.
Loads of them
. They were helping!

Feeling jubilant, I realized my plan was working better than I could ever have hoped for. Fritz wasn’t just distracted, he’d been roped in. They weren’t questioning people, or inspecting papers, or searching anywhere.

Just as Loki began congratulating me, we heard a terrifying scream, the sort of scream that leaves you cold, as if death is tapping you on your shoulder. It was a young girl’s scream, and it was twice as loud as anybody else’s voice. Loki pointed to a small window in the eaves of the building. ‘Oh my God, Finn. Look! At the upstairs window! There was somebody in there. We didn’t check upstairs. What have we done?!’

‘
SAUTE, SOFIE! SAUTE!
’ a woman cried. But the little girl was hysterical and refused to jump. I could see the flames flickering and licking the walls behind her. She just kept screaming, even when briefly disappearing in clouds of black smoke.

‘What on earth was she doing in there?’ I whispered angrily. ‘The place looked empty to me.’

‘We should have checked, Finn.’

‘There wasn’t time.’

The hurriedly moving chain of men and buckets, pots and pans looked like some sort of giant centipede, and reminded me of the party game, Pass the Parcel. Only this was no game. The horror of seeing the little girl at the window caused the conveyor belt to stop abruptly as everyone looked up. More villagers began calling out, encouraging the little girl with shoulder-length flaxen-coloured hair to swallow her fear, close her eyes and jump, before it was too late. Three men braved the searing heat to stand beneath the window, their arms held wide, coaxing her, telling her they’d catch her and break her fall, that it was safe to leap, that she
must
jump.

The frightened girl sobbed. Women turned away and covered their faces in anguish. Just as all seemed lost, the
unexpected
happened. A young German soldier rushed forward, grabbed a large pail of water from the hand of an onlooker, lifted it and tipped the contents over his head and over his heavy grey trenchcoat. Throwing the bucket down, he ran into the roaring, spitting inferno and was gone. A second later, part of the roof to the rear of the building gave way with an almighty crash, and sparks and cinders rose high into the night sky. People were forced back. Without explanation the girl suddenly vanished from view. Everyone stood so still, so silently, it was as if they were made of stone.

Staggering, blackened and smouldering, the young soldier emerged carrying the girl in his arms. The crowd rushed forward and surrounded him. I heard cries of ‘
Dieu merci!
’ and ‘
Grâce au ciel!
’

She was alive! My heart leaped. The young soldier tore off his helmet as men jostled for their turn to pat him on his back and shake his hand. Although the corporal’s hair was matted and singed and his face blackened by soot, I could tell he was probably only a couple of years older than Loki and me.

Someone – an elderly man with a stoop, I think – began to clap. The crowd joined in. The applause and accompanying cheers grew louder and louder, especially when the other soldiers added their whistles, hoots of delight and appreciative boot-stomping for good measure. For one precious moment I don’t think any of them were thinking about the reason why they’d come to this village. It was hardly what I’d envisaged, but with everyone safe I hoped it would last. ‘Over there, Finn.’ Loki pointed.

A senior Wehrmacht officer was standing beside his staff car, hands on hips, surveying the scene. I could sense what he was thinking. Was the fire an accident or deliberate? If deliberate, was the Resistance to blame? Was it simply a diversion? I hoped he’d arrived at the conclusion I was praying for – that either way no partisan would be stupid enough to hang around. Squinting slightly, he looked in all directions and then said something to his driver, who merely shrugged and pulled a face. The officer then barked his orders, waved a glove dismissively and climbed back into his car. In minutes the motorbikes and trucks were revving their engines and pulling out, winding in convoy through the small square, into the narrow streets, heading for the open country beyond. I sank down to my knees and blew a huge sigh of relief. ‘That took guts,’ I whispered, the image of the young soldier emerging from the hall still firmly stuck in my mind.

‘Yes, and now they’re all pals with the locals. If anyone finds out it was us who set fire to the place, I reckon they’ll either string us up from the nearest tree, or gladly turn us in.’

‘I doubt it, Loki.’

‘Huh! I don’t want to take the chance.’

The villagers set about dousing the worst of the flames. When there was little left of the hall and it seemed unlikely the fire would spread, they gradually abandoned the task and drifted off back to their homes. One elderly man stayed behind to keep an eye on the smouldering remains. Carefully working our way
through
the churchyard, we found an old shed hidden in thick overgrown brambles and bushes. We quietly forced open the door and took shelter inside. The shed was full of rusty tools and dusty cobwebs. It had a heartening
forgotten
feel about it, as if no one had paid it a visit in months. It felt safe. We removed our wet sweaters and hung them on hooks to dry alongside the hoes, forks and spades, and found some smelly old cloth sacks to wrap round our shoulders for warmth.

Exhausted, all Loki wanted to do was sleep.

‘How’s your head?’ I asked.

‘Better,’ he replied. ‘A bit sore, but at least the bleeding’s stopped.’

We shared some of the water and biscuit rations from the bag and pondered what we were going to do once dawn approached.

‘The thing is,’ said Loki, smacking his lips after a swig of water, ‘I suppose we have to head for Rochefort even though we’ve no idea where Jacques and Amélie live. Maybe we can ask around once we get there.’ He wiped the rim of the bottle with his hand and passed it to me.

‘Sounds a bit risky. It will expose our poor French and just mentioning the Lefebvre family will draw attention to them. It could prove a death sentence if we’re caught.’

‘True.’ We sat in silence for a while before Loki was struck by an idea. ‘Hey, I’ve got it! That man in the boat. The one Jacques was uncertain about. Didn’t Amélie know him? What did she say his name was?’

It came to me instantly. ‘Of course, Henri Blanc!’ I replied. ‘She said he was a butcher in Rochefort.’

Loki was euphoric. ‘Then we have a contact, Finn! Someone we can trust. He’s our first port of call. He’ll hide us and get in touch with the others. Brilliant!’

As my best friend settled contentedly onto his back, folded his arms and tried to grab forty winks, I think he believed all our problems were solved. Yes, Monsieur Blanc’s butcher’s shop was probably safe. The problem was – how the hell were we going to get there? Our clothes were a mess, we were a mess. We’d not last long out in the open. Spotting us crossing muddy fields, people might just look at us and think two lads were larking about in the mud. But once we were in a town we’d have no chance.

In truth we had few options to deliberate over. Loki’s idea of putting ourselves at the mercy of the local church’s priest was possibly the simplest. We would become someone else’s problem. They’d have to make the arrangements, take the risks. But could we trust our fate to others, to total strangers? Another possibility was to make for the coast, steal a boat and head back to England. It wasn’t too far away. Getting out of enemy territory as quickly as possible certainly had its appeal. But we’d abandoned the Heinkel for a reason – to help Freya and the others, and although I had the feeling they’d probably got away safely, we couldn’t be sure. No, we had to stay, we had to find out. Loki began snoring. I gave him a sharp prod in the ribs. ‘
Shush!
’