Death Ray (20 page)

I didn’t know how he could sleep. My brain was buzzing. I tried to use the time productively. Our biggest problem remained our clothes. They were filthy and torn. We
had
to get some clean ones. But how? I could think of only two ways. We could look for stuff hung out on washing lines to dry and steal what we needed. But that would be risky, even if we could find a house occupied by two people of our age and size. Or we could do a spot of burglary. That struck me as being even riskier – although, of course, we knew how to do it. That was what some of our training at Arisaig and Mulberry had been about – surviving on the run. I laughed to myself. X had told us we were embarking on a career not far removed from that of the common criminal. How right he was.

As the hours passed I found my eyes wanting to shut, my chin desperate to rest itself against my chest. The desire to sleep was so powerful it felt as if I’d been drugged. I forced myself to remain awake. My mind wandered over many things, including Véronique and Renard. I shivered when I thought of how the smartly dressed Renard had brazenly walked the streets of Britain as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I pictured him standing before the German High Command in Berlin, gleefully handing over the blueprints while saying how
easy
it had been. And here I was, hiding out in an old shed somewhere in rural France, clad in sodden, filthy clothes, barely able to speak the lingo. We were both secret agents but there the comparison ended –
abruptly
. I suddenly felt way out of my depth, a rank amateur.
I
drew up my knees tightly and wrapped my arms about them.

At five o’clock in the morning I woke Loki. ‘Best if we move on. There’s about two hours before daylight and I reckon we can put some healthy distance between us and the village in that time.’

The air was breathlessly still and damp, and filled with the horribly sharp, acrid smell of a wood fire extinguished with water. Reaching the wall of the churchyard and peering over the top, we soon realized that we weren’t going anywhere for a while.

The elderly man who’d stayed to keep watch on the remains of the hall was talking to another man sitting astride a bicycle. Their rural accents made it doubly difficult for us to work out what they were saying, but the cyclist pointed in various directions and grew quite animated. However one word I did recognize, peppered his sentences like the lead pellets from a shotgun cartridge –
barrages
.

Roadblocks!

Fritz wasn’t giving up quite so easily. For now, it was simply too dangerous to move. Quietly we crept back into the shed and closed the door. We decided to spend the day cleaning our weapons. It was also a good opportunity to rest up and regain our strength. But we remained on edge, continually listening out for approaching footsteps. With the arrival of spring I dreaded that someone might think it was time to tidy up the churchyard, to cut the grass, to trim the bushes. Or maybe some old dear had died and a fresh grave
needed
to be dug. I prayed our luck would hold, that we’d remain undiscovered.

I lost count of the number of times I peered at my watch. It felt as if it would never get dark; as if the hour and minute hands were deliberately going slowly just to torture us. Apart from a few vehicles and occasional distant voices and the whistles of approaching and departing trains we heard virtually nothing all day. The trains came and went regularly, arriving at exactly ten minutes past and twenty minutes to the hour. As far as I could work out, those arriving just after the hour were heading in the direction of Rochefort. It was cruel music to our ears. Based on how far we’d run from the drop-off point, we couldn’t be more than fifteen miles from Rochefort. Less than half an hour’s train ride away. Half an hour and we could be in Rochefort! Only we couldn’t. We’d never make it. As soon as a soldier spotted us, the game would be up. And all the stations and trains were bound to be guarded.

As the light began to fade, I risked taking a peek out of the shed and was heartened to see that a heavy veil of mist was forming. At last something was in our favour. We began gathering up our gear.

‘So, our plan is to cut across country, Finn, avoiding the roads. With luck we’ll reach Rochefort well before dawn. I don’t want to spend another night hiding like this,’ Loki said.

‘Agreed.’

When the village lay in darkness, the mist thickening
nicely
into what the English call a
pea souper
, we slipped out of the shed, reached the wall to the churchyard and, checking the coast was clear, climbed over. Lights glowed from windows and there was noise coming from several café-bars in and around the square. A few people went about their business in the streets, although thankfully none loitered in conversation on corners or doorsteps. Darting from one dark passageway to the next, we desperately tried not to make too much noise. My heart quickly began racing, fearing that at any second we might stumble across someone. How would they react? How would
we
react? What could we say? What could we do? But for now Lady Luck remained on our side.

Having left the village square and bridge well behind, we pressed on and were soon tantalizingly close to open countryside. With only fifty yards to go, just one more corner to negotiate, Loki froze, grabbed me and threw me against a wall. Soldiers!

We dived for cover behind some bushes. ‘Bloody hell, Finn!’ he whispered into my ear. ‘They’ve still got the roadblocks in place. We’ll have to go round.’

I surveyed the scene through the thick, leafy branches. The sight of heavy grey trenchcoats, tin helmets and weapons made me swallow hard. There were three of them huddled beside a wooden bus shelter. Behind the shelter stood a tall lamppost, its light casting a ghostly glow through the billowing mist. The soldiers smoked and chatted, their machine guns draped from shoulder straps, their breaths adding to the mist.
They
looked cold, damp, bored and miserable. They were far from home and had been given the dullest of jobs. They didn’t strike me as being eagle-eyed or intent on looking out for trouble. I guessed if anyone came past they’d probably stop them and merely glance at their papers. Possibly subject them to a quick, half-hearted search. Probably the last thing they expected was to encounter agents from Special Ops! It would be a case of whiling away the hours until someone came to relieve them of their duties and they could go back to barracks or to a bar for a nice cool beer. One looked quite old – in his fifties at a guess. He spoke and laughed in a gratingly loud and gruff tone. The other two were younger – eighteen or nineteen, I reckoned.

Loki tapped me on my shoulder, leaned forward until his lips were an inch from my ear and whispered, ‘Best if we go that way. We’ll double back around those houses and come out further along.’

‘Wait,’ I replied. ‘I’ve got an idea. Remember what Briggs said to us during our lessons at Mulberry?’

‘No.’

‘Yes you do. When he was teaching us about improvising and disguising ourselves, he said that we should take risks, be daring, use whatever is to hand.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this, Finn. What did you have in mind?’

I slipped back a little further into the bushes and turned to face him. ‘Listen: as long as we’re dressed like this the odds are stacked against us. It’s hell of a long walk to Rochefort. And our French isn’t brilliant.’

He grew impatient. ‘Get to the point, Finn.’

‘Although our French isn’t completely convincing, our German’s pretty good. I reckon it’s certainly good enough to get us to Rochefort.’

‘I don’t understand. What are you suggesting?’

‘This might sound crazy but don’t dismiss it. Hear me out, OK? What if we take them on, use surprise to get the better of them? We steal their uniforms and catch the next train to Rochefort.’

He didn’t reply.

‘Well?’

‘That’s the craziest plan I’ve ever heard, Finn. I mean, just how exactly do you think we’re going to get the better of them?’

‘I’ve thought about that. Like this …’ I cupped my hands round Loki’s right ear and whispered my plan. As I did so, a wickedly broad grin formed on his lips.

‘LET GO, IT’S
mine,’ I said in French, praying my best attempt at an authentic accent would do the trick.

‘No it isn’t, it’s mine. Mine, I tell you. Give it here!’

Behaving as if we couldn’t give a fig about stumbling across the enemy, Loki and I jostled each other along the road towards the soldiers, pushing and shoving, both with one hand on the strap of our bag. It was a pretend tug-of-war, two lads fighting over possession of it. Although startled at hearing us approach, on seeing we were just two boys arguing about something, the soldiers didn’t even bother lifting their weapons. Instead, they watched us with more a sense of amusement than suspicion. Loki had loaded our revolver and wedged it behind his back in the belt of his trousers. The Sten machine guns were safely tucked in the bag, placed on top of everything else in readiness to be whipped out when the right moment came. And that moment was fast approaching.

‘It’s my bag.
I
found it!’ I shouted, continuing our little charade.

‘
Halt! Kommen sie hir
,’ the oldest of the three soldiers barked. ‘
Was ist das?
’ he snarled, pointing to the bag. ‘
Was ist in der Tasche?
’

Stopping, we peered at them as if they were rudely
interrupting
our game. Looking at each other, we shrugged, pretending we hadn’t a clue what the soldier was saying.

One took a step towards us and beckoned with a hand. In a no-nonsense manner, he spat, ‘
Gib mir. Sofort!
’

The soldier took delight in throwing his weight around and I think he’d grown used to people doing as they were told. Obligingly, Loki let go of his end of the strap. So far so good, I thought. The situation was unfolding exactly to plan. Clutching the bag close to my chest, I yanked at the zip as if gladly willing to share its secrets. With Fritz’s attention suitably distracted, Loki snatched the revolver from his belt. ‘
Hände hoch!
’ he ordered, flashing the gun about so it spent equal time pointing at each of them.

For a split second the soldiers were struck by astonishment and bemusement in equal measure. The eldest looked as though he might burst out laughing at our caper; as if it was a joke, or a dare of some sort. But the others failed to see anything amusing and moved to lift their machine guns. I whipped my Sten from the bag and beat them to it. ‘
Hände hoch!
’ I ordered and took delight in the look of horror that swept across their faces in the time it takes to blink.

It dawned on them that we were deadly serious. Flashing each other uncertain looks, slowly, apprehensively, they raised their hands. Pressing his revolver hard into each of their backs in turn, Loki set about disarming them. I covered him. Gesturing
with
the barrel of my Sten, we then frogmarched all three behind the bus shelter and forced them to stand facing a wall. We now had to work quickly if we wanted to catch the ten past seven train to Rochefort. We ordered them to take off their uniforms, which they only did after a few encouraging prods from the barrel of my Sten. The bandages from the first-aid tin and the straps from our machine guns proved perfect for tying them up and gagging them. Job done, we hurriedly changed into their uniforms and shoved our old clothes and the spare uniform into the bag. About to do the same with our weapons, Loki said, ‘Shouldn’t we kill them? That way they can’t talk.’

It was tempting, but to do so struck me as cowardly – and, of course, would also raise the alarm. I grabbed the barrel of the machine gun Loki was pointing at the huddled, debagged trio sitting on the ground in their underpants, shivering in the cold, and pushed it to one side. ‘No. By the time they’re discovered we’ll be …’ I was careful not to reveal our destination out loud. ‘Anyway, they’re not going anywhere in a hurry.’

With the soldiers taken care of and hidden from view, we emerged from behind the bus shelter and briefly inspected each other in the lamplight. Neither uniform fitted perfectly but they’d do. They’d have to. My grey trenchcoat felt heavy and was a size too big. It smelled funny as well, of somebody else’s stale body odour. It wasn’t nice. And the helmet’s strap bit into my chin.

‘That’s the hard part done, Finn. We’ve got to hurry or we’ll miss the train,’ Loki said.

We slung the straps of our newly acquired German machine guns over our shoulders and walked briskly through the murk back towards the station, this time out in the open, our strides confident, fearless even. After all, we were Nazis! We’d conquered this damn country. We had to look and behave as if we believed it. Along the way we startled a few locals. It must have been frightening for them to see us emerge through the mist like a pair of unwelcome ghouls. Most gave us a wide berth, stepping off the pavement or hopping into doorways. I thought I detected hatred in one or two eyes as we passed, but mostly it was fear, I think. Some simply ignored us. One old lady even nodded to us kindly. I supposed she was grateful for ‘our’ help the previous night in saving that little girl and ‘our’ assistance in fighting the flames.

‘Do we need to buy a ticket?’ Loki whispered as we approached the tiny station through the gloom.

‘Of course not, you idiot,’ I replied under my breath. ‘The spoils of victory – free travel!’

Loki managed a nervous laugh.

Trying to look purposeful and serious, we passed through the small ticket office and strode out onto the platform. There was a large clock suspended from the roof and the moment my eyes fell on its face the minute hand clicked forward a notch – it was five past seven. There was a woman with two small children waiting on a bench at the far end of the platform, a
really
scruffy old fellow ferreting through a rubbish bin in search of food and a few others dotted about, with several on the opposite side of the tracks. A single German guard clutching a rifle stood on the far platform. He saw us and nodded a hello. We nodded back.