The Storms of War (31 page)

Celia turned to her. ‘He says you too. Everyone.’

The commandant looked pained. ‘I cannot leave my driver,’ she said to the general.

‘It is too late now,’ he snapped back. ‘You instigated this and you must come too. Perhaps this will teach you not to interfere.’

She hesitated, and then moved around the door. It slammed behind them. The sound echoed off the tinny walls. Celia and the man were alone.

She was still back against the wall, where she had moved for them to tie him. He turned his head a little. ‘So. You speak German. Forgive me, but you are German?’

‘My father.’ She did not move forward. The general’s voice was in her head.
A demon!

‘From where?’

‘The Black Forest.’

‘Have you been there?’

‘I’ve visited my cousins, Hilde and Johann.’ They danced through her mind.
Last one to the river is out!
shouted Hilde. Celia wished she could keep them there, running around, held in a snow globe, never going out.

‘Yet you serve on the side of these men here?’ The bonds on his hand were dark leather, shiny with polish.

‘I’m English. My mother is English, I was born in London.’ He gave a cracked laugh. ‘Anyway, I’m not
serving
like a man. We are like nurses, helping people.’

‘So that is the distinction you draw. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-one.’

‘Really? You look like a schoolgirl.’

‘Everybody says that,’ she said, more stoutly than she felt.

‘You know, Miss Witt – it is Witt?’

‘It is de Witt, actually. I changed my name before joining. They thought it better.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Of course. Now, Miss Witt, why stand so far away from me? You do not pay attention to our dear general, surely? The man who calls me a demon.’

Celia stepped forward and then stopped. ‘How do you know that is what he said? You understand him?’

‘Of course. He speaks English like a peasant, so it is easy enough.’

‘Well, why don’t you say?’

‘I choose not to. Now come closer.’ She took another step. ‘And again,’ he said. She moved nearer. ‘Let me introduce myself. I am Tibor Schmidt. I am from Berlin.’

Close up, his eye was veined and bloodshot. ‘Did you really fall?’ she asked.

‘No, of course not. But I wish to talk of you.’

‘Why do you not tell them you can understand English? Surely it would make things easier for you.’

‘Miss de Witt, you do not understand much. No doubt they have told you that they need you to translate. But there are intelligence officers who can speak German. They asked for you because they thought a young German girl might soften me up. I have seen one female intelligence officer, but she was more like your commandant than you. You are a pretty girl.’

Celia just stood there. She meant to say something but could not.

‘I can see I upset you speaking thus, miss. The virgin sacrificed to the Minotaur. Tell me of yourself.’

Celia wanted to rush from the room, but she imagined the general saying
I told you so. She is too weak.
She steeled herself to look into his bloodshot eye.

‘Tell me of your cousins. Hilde and Johann, you said. Have they
gone to fight now?’ The man was fidgeting and shifting around, pulling at his hands.

‘You are very uncomfortable there?’

He nodded. ‘Tell me about Johann.’

‘I do not know. He was seventeen in January.’

‘I should think he is fighting. Some of the boys are fourteen. They look it on your side too. I take it you do not hear from your cousins.’ He shifted his hands again, moved his back around.

‘We stopped writing to them. Father said we should stop until the war was over.’

‘So Johann might die and you would never know.’

She bowed her head. ‘That’s true.’

‘What is your father afraid of?’ He was brushing his tied hands over the leg of the metal bed.

‘They have taken him away, somewhere on the coast. He is treated kindly; it is practically a holiday camp where he is – that’s what they say in the newspapers. They thought he was a spy.’

‘I expect they did.’ He shifted again. ‘Lucky that you are out here. No risk of the same thing happening to you.’

‘That’s not why I came! I wanted to help!’

‘By dragging half-dead men around?’

He was moving so much now that she worried he was going to overturn the whole bed. ‘I wish I could help you there. It must itch terribly.’

‘It does. Come a little closer.’ She stepped forward, and Tibor whispered, ‘They have tied me so very tight. Perhaps you could free my arms slightly.’

She gazed at him. If she loosened the bindings just a little, he would still be tied and unable to get away, but they would not chafe. But then surely that was against the rules? ‘I don’t think I should. We will ask them when they return.’

He was shaking his right leg now. She supposed his legs, too, were in terrible pain.

‘Why don’t they let you stand up?’

‘I imagine they think I am dangerous. They keep me like this day and night. But our side probably do the same for your men.
So. We continue. Is your father not afraid that the rest of you will be taken in?’

‘My father registered as an alien, that’s how they found him. But it is true that the Germans are hated. Some German shops have been attacked.’

‘After the
Lusitania
?’

‘Yes. Before that too. But surely, Mr Schmidt, I should ask you about yourself. I think they want to know your regiment.’

He broke into a hacking cough. It sounded like a gas cough to Celia, hard and violent. ‘They have to do something about that,’ she said.

‘I will tell them that you said I need a cure. I should probably speak a little louder now, better for the voice.’

‘You
should
take a cure! Anyway, I must ask you about your regiment.’

‘What shall I tell you, Miss de Witt? One story: I was an innocent soldier who was bombed so hard that I was sent flying into an English trench and from there swept off to the clearing station. Without uniform, too shocked to speak, I was lost. I am here but I am only a lowly soldier and I know nothing of the plans. I march, I walk, I fire, I return. That is all. There is no use detaining me and they should send me to hack firewood with all the other prisoners of war.’ He was shifting back and forth, clearly in pain.

‘I will tell them that.’

‘Or there is the other option: I am an officer who crept into the trench, injured himself, tore off his clothes as a way of getting behind enemy lines. I was accompanied by others. We were sent to work under cover of the confusion, to shoot dead as many men as we could, particularly the officers if we could get them. I had just shot an officer and then a private came around the corner. I fled, and the only way I could hide was by pretending to be a patient. I had a tube of something to take to kill myself, but I lost it and now I must remain here.’

‘You would not do that.’

Tibor was wriggling his hands again. ‘But how do you know,
Miss Witt? These are both explanations that they have suggested to me. I do not answer. Instead, I shall not eat.’

‘Commandant Robinson said you needed a sandwich.’

‘She was correct. They have offered me sandwiches. But I will not eat them. So they force me to eat.’

‘But how can they force you? They push the food into your mouth?’

‘No, indeed, I am too strong for that. Instead they do it as they fed your votes-for-women girls. You know how they did that?’

She shook her head.

‘They push a tube up the nose and they send fluids down into the stomach. I would say it is brutal, but no doubt our side do the same to your men.’

‘Why do you not tell them the truth? That you are an innocent soldier and they should send you to a prisoner-of-war camp?’

‘They would not believe me. And perhaps it would not be the truth.’

‘You should just tell them.’

He turned to her. ‘I do not think it would matter. They do not care. I will die here.’ He was shifting around more urgently now.

She reached out for his hand. ‘You must not die! You’re only young.’

The door opened and the general came in behind her, only one soldier by his side. The commandant was not with him. ‘Good work, Miss Witt.’ He raised his eyebrow. Then he began speaking to her in German. ‘Very pleasing work.’

She gazed at him, her mind blurred with confusion. The man gave an awful cough behind her. ‘I think Mr Schmidt is going to be ill,’ she said, in English.

‘He is well enough. Come. I wish to talk to you.’ Why was he speaking in German? Her heart was hot, flooded. She wanted to be back at the station. Why did he not ask what Schmidt had said?

‘Better go, Miss Witt,’ came Tibor’s voice. ‘Let us say goodbye.’ He was moving around, pushing with his hands.

‘Stop talking and keep still!’ called the general in German. ‘Perhaps you should release the prisoner’s hand, Miss Witt.’

‘Be careful, Miss Witt. You are not in the Black Forest now. It is more treacherous.’

‘Come over here, Miss Witt.’

‘Where is Commandant Robinson?’

‘She is waiting for you outside. Now come along, please.’ The general walked towards her.

What are you going to do with him,
Celia was about to say. But the prisoner broke in first.

‘Take care, Miss de Witt.’ And then suddenly he reared up and the bed fell clattering to the floor, one arm still attached. With the other he seized the general and they both fell to the floor. Schmidt was shaking at the restraints on his wrist. The general was on top of him, trying to stop his flailing legs. Schmidt looked up at Celia. ‘You could set me free now,’ he said.

The door opened and more soldiers rushed in to hold Schmidt down. They hit him and hauled him back on to the bed. The shouting echoed around the aluminium walls. Celia wanted to put her hands over her ears.

‘Animal!’ said the general, as he stood up and brushed himself down. ‘What a way to behave in front of a lady.’ He took Celia’s arm. ‘Come along, Miss Witt, let us depart. I am sorry you had to see this.’

When she looked back, Schmidt had turned his head to look at her. ‘Goodbye, Miss Witt,’ he said. ‘Maybe see you in the Black Forest one day. Or perhaps again here. I think you have passed your test.’

The door closed behind them, and Celia heard him shout out in pain.

‘Come this way.’ The general bustled her forward along dark corridors, past closed doors. Finally he opened a door and ushered her through. It was a sparse office, piled high with files. He sat down behind a large desk and gestured at the chair in front for her.

‘Where is Commandant Robinson, sir?’

‘She is waiting outside for you. You will see her soon.’

Celia sat. ‘Does she know you are talking to me without her, sir?’

‘But of course. Now, Miss Witt, tell me about yourself.’

Celia was beginning to shake. She could not help it.
I’m actually only seventeen!
she wanted to cry.
Could I just go home?

‘I’m from Hampshire,’ she said. ‘My father is Rudolf de Witt. He sells meat products. I’ve one brother here in France and two other siblings.’ Behind the general was a painting of a river, with a cart and a horse. The English countryside, she supposed. She tried to stare at it, think of the river flowing softly, to still her furiously beating heart.

‘And what were you doing before you came here?’

‘I was … at home. You know.’

‘And what is your name?’

‘Emmeline, sir.’

‘Well, Emmeline, if I may, you are performing very well in the services. Commandant Robinson tells me you are a hard worker.’

‘I try to work hard, sir.’ She wished he would let her go. She gazed at the horse, tied to the cart.

‘And what made you choose the ambulance division?’

‘It was suggested to me, sir.’

‘Indeed. But do you not feel you are rather – well – wasted driving an ambulance back and forth?’

‘Not at all, sir. I am glad to help.’

‘You see, our feeling is that your recruiting station missed a trick. You are clever, you are attractive and you speak German. Indeed, you
are
German. Schmidt immediately saw you as a countrywoman.’

Celia shook her head. ‘I told him my mother was English.’

‘Listen, Miss de Witt, perhaps I can be frank with you. We need young women like you. Pretty, clever, half-German, already serving your country. It seems to me that the entire population of Germans in England is male. We are having trouble finding girls who even
speak
German. I have no idea what schools teach these days.’

‘I am happy where I am.’

‘You would be serving your country.’

‘I already am.’ On the general’s right was a picture of sheep next to a rainbow of hedges. The frame was gold and elaborate. She wondered if he had bought it, or whether such things were standard issue.

‘You know, our grasp of languages is letting us down. German schools for young ladies all teach English literature. There are hundreds of English-speaking girls working for the Germans. We are at a disadvantage. So. As I say, you are intelligent. There is a lot you could do for us. You could work here, help us talk to the prisoners.’

An image of Schmidt flickered over her mind and she dismissed it. They had hit him while he was tied down, unable to respond, and if she was to talk to him, she might have to watch while they hit him again. She gazed past the general at the picture.

‘I am happy in the ambulances, sir.’

‘You would prefer it here. There is no cleaning and you would sleep properly, eat better. And you would be serving the war effort in a greater way. Any girl can be a driver. Those like you are incredibly rare.’

‘I would miss my friends, sir.’ She thought of Schmidt’s face, his bruised eye.

‘You would earn money here, unlike in the ambulance service. And there is more chance of medals for bravery.’

She shook her head.

He picked up his pen and tapped a piece of paper in front of him. ‘Miss de Witt, perhaps you could tell me. You are German by birth. Is it that you don’t want to assist us? You would rather help your countrymen? Should I report you?’