Lothar could see it. That incredibly powerful physical presence, the men deferring – or rapidly dealt with if they didn’t – the women fascinated. How could she not be? – used to being pursued and flattered and courted, suddenly coming face to face with Viney’s massive indifference!
‘I didn’t want it, but it had to happen. I said marriage or nothing, but it made no difference. I didn’t want it, but …’
And now there was uncertainty and hesitation which disturbed Lothar more than anything else he’d ever encountered in this man.
He demanded, ‘But why, Viney? Why? If you didn’t want to? If you knew you didn’t want her?’
‘But I didn’t know! Don’t you listen, Fritz? I knew nothing! I didn’t know what was going to happen! I don’t know what happened yet! Can’t you tell me? You’re so sodding clever, you’re so sodding knowing, can’t you tell me, you clever bloody Hun?’
Viney’s eyes were blazing now and he thrust his face towards Lothar with a terrible mixture of threat and pleading written there.
‘I do not know,’ said Lothar helplessly. ‘I cannot tell, Viney. You have not told me everything …’
‘She wasn’t like the others, she was quick, she was at me, she was saying things, she was hot and never still and pulling at my clothes. She wouldn’t stay still, she wouldn’t be silent. She got me in her mouth, she wanted me to do the same to her. She was soft and wet and warm and moving and moaning, I wanted her to be cool and still and firm and quiet, that’s what I wanted, but she wouldn’t be. I couldn’t … she wanted too much … I couldn’t …’
He looked at Lothar, all pleading now.
‘All I want to do is know, Fritz. What happened inside me? A man has a right to know what’s happening inside him, don’t he?’
Lothar regarded the big man helplessly. Such confusion as this was beyond any remedy he could suggest. Such doubt and incomprehension at the centre of such massive, rock-like certainty was like molten lava at the core of some vast, flawed, granite mountain – a recipe for catastrophe. He sought for words to soothe, to help. All he really wanted to do was get out of this chamber, this situation!
He said, ‘But you said that you did … once …’
‘Fuck? Yaw, I said it. She didn’t say much that first night. We slept apart in the end. Next day, I kept her in my sight. I wasn’t going to have her running around, spreading the word, so I kept her on a short chain. I drank a lot. I wasn’t drunk, I couldn’t get drunk, but I drank a lot. She tried again that night, same approach, same result. This time she let fly. She said … well, I won’t tell you what she said, don’t need to, not with you being such a clever little Hun.’
He paused to drink again.
‘A man can only take so much, Fritz,’ he said. ‘I hit her. I don’t care for any bastard who hits a woman, but I hit her.’
He clenched his huge right fist and gazed at it as if he’d never seen it before. The butterfly on his biceps swelled monstrously.
‘I just about knocked her cold. She went spinning away from me and fell across the bed. I went up to her. She was lying quite still. No noise except her breathing. I looked down at her. She seemed, I don’t know, smaller somehow. That’s when I realized I was getting bigger. That’s when I fucked her, Fritz. She opened her eyes as I was doing it, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything afterwards either. Next day I sailed, and she never said another word to me, Fritz. Not another word. I heard nothing from her till I got this letter.’
He took an envelope from his tunic pocket and passed it over.
As Lothar unfolded the creased sheet of paper, he recalled that other letter he had read in the Warren, Lieutenant Cowper’s, and felt the same frisson of revulsion at being forced to peer deep into open emotional wounds.
But this was no message of faith and love.
Dear Viney (God! even his wife called him Viney!) I’ve got one in the box – probably not yours – but you’ll know that – anyroad it’ll have your name – unless you say different – I don’t want more trouble than I’ve got – I could do with some money though – thought I should let you know before some other joker does – hope this finds you well – Fran.
‘Viney,’ said Lothar helplessly. ‘I’m sorry.’
He stood up, his head reeling from the drink.
‘Nothing for you to be sorry for, Fritz,’ said Viney, standing also. He seemed totally unaffected by the drink and as he rebuttoned the letter in his tunic pocket, it was as if he was buttoning away the last hour too. Lothar could only hope he didn’t bring it out again later for resentful examination. But for the moment at least the old Viney was back as if their exchange of confidences had never taken place.
‘You near on blinded Blackie, you know that?’ Viney growled.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lothar, relieved to be on other ground. ‘But he would have near on killed me, I think.’
‘You’re not wrong there. But you won’t pull that trick twice.’
Threat or friendly warning? It didn’t really matter.
Lothar said, ‘Viney. Why could we not go to the farm today?’
Viney yawned massively and said, ‘You’re always after reasons, Fritz. Some day mebbe I’ll come looking for your reasons. I hope you’ll have ’em ready. Me, I’ve always got ’em ready. Last night we raided out of the Desolation, down to a Frog village. Barnecourt, it’s called. There’s soldiers down there. It’s a rest area. And there’s a hospital too.’
He paused as he said this and seemed about to relapse into introspective silence.
‘You knew there were soldiers there, and still you went?’ prompted Lothar.
‘You can avoid what you know, Fritz,’ said Viney. ‘Why pick somewhere strange when there’s a spot you’ve got all the drum on? We hit a farmhouse just outside. Christ, you should’ve seen the booze that old bastard had! We tied the old sod up, grabbed as much as we could carry and set off back. It was a long haul. We passed close to your precious farm, Fritz. Blackie wanted to lay up there for the night, but I said no.’
Lothar sighed with relief.
‘That was kind of you, Viney,’ he said sincerely.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Viney. ‘If they came on after us, I didn’t want to be caught snoring in a fucking barn.’
‘You think they might go to the farm?’ asked Lothar in alarm.
‘Wouldn’t you, if they find tracks leading that way? And if they do, what’ll stop them Frogs from talking?’
‘They won’t talk, Viney, believe me, they won’t!’ urged Lothar.
‘No matter if they do,’ said Viney indifferently. ‘They don’t know anything except that we’re holed up in the Desolation, and the redcaps know that anyway. But you and the other two, you’re a different matter, Fritz. I don’t want the redcaps tickling you with their batons. So you’ll keep away for a few days, you hear me? Then you’ll go back nice and steady, take no chances. All right? You’ve got your reasons, so now fuck off. I need some sleep.’
But Lothar was not done. He scented an opportunity.
‘Viney, when we go back, how if we stayed there overnight sometimes? The days are getting shorter. It will save much of our energy and we will get so much more done.’
‘What’s this? First you want more men, then you want to stop there at night? What’re you up to, Fritz? Setting up a rival organization?’
Lothar didn’t reply, but waited.
‘We’ll see,’ said the Australian finally. ‘But you don’t go near the place till I say, you’ve got that?’
Lothar nodded and turned to go, content for the moment with this small concession. But Viney’s voice stopped him at the doorway.
‘I’ve hurt a lot of men, Fritz,’ he said softly. ‘Killed a few too. But I was sorry about Quayle. Ain’t that funny? I never touched the bastard and I’m sorry about him.’
Quietly Lothar slipped past the curtain and headed for a drunken, dream-filled sleep in which Viney and Sylvie and Josh and Quayle all roll
ed together beneath the water in a slow tangle of limbs, now sexual, now drowning.
4
When Jack Denial heard of the raid on the house on the outskirts of Barnecourt, he at first accepted the irate owner’s version that he had been tied up and robbed by des soldats anglais. But a closer questioning of the man in an effort to get some hint of the thieves’ unit produced disturbing information.
‘Black faces, they had black stuff on their faces. And beards, they were not shaven like most of the soldiers,’ said the old man. ‘And their clothes were old and ragged. And they smelled. Phew!’
He pinched his nose for effect. Denial, who was not much impressed by French rustic hygiene, knew that this must indicate a very high degree of unwashedness indeed.
Physical description was vague, except in one particular. Their leader was a giant. Yes, I mean it. A giant!’
Denial talked it over with Sergeant-Major Maggs or rather he talked and Maggs listened, saying only after a long silence, ‘So you think it might be our friend, sir?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘What do you think then, sir? Mount a little expedition to go and find the bastard?’ said Maggs eagerly.
Denial laughed without much humour.
‘I don’t think the General is going to be very keen on expeditions of any size going off in pursuit of an Australian deserter,’ he said. ‘There is a war on, as I dare say you’ve been told. We have more work already than we can decently manage.’
It was true and Maggs knew it.
‘But in the circumstances, sir …’ he protested.
‘Circumstances?’ said Denial mildly. ‘The individual doesn’t matter in this war, Sergeant-Major, can’t be allowed to matter.’
‘So there’s nothing to do?’
‘Not quite,’ said Denial. ‘There’s one thing. Up there, four or five miles, close to the edge of the Desolation, there’s a farm. Or the wreck of a farm. There’s a French family there. I visited them, you recall. I felt … something. An atmosphere.’
‘You think Viney’s lot could be hiding out there?’ said Maggs. ‘Well, we can spare half a dozen lads for a quick run up there, can’t we? It’ll only take a couple of hours at most. Shall I set it up, sir?’
Denial shook his head.
‘Not straightaway,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If they are using the farm, I don’t think they’ll be there now. It’s too obvious. They’ll be safe in their hole. But give them a few days and they might start feeling safe again and drift back. Give them a few days …’
A few days passed. Viney had withdrawn into himself and hardly communicated even with his lieutenants. Coleport had recovered from Lothar’s attack but his still inflamed eyes followed the German with a hatred which promised that the incident was not forgotten. An atmosphere of gloom and foreboding settled on the Warren, reaching its nadir when one night Nelson said to no one in particular, ‘I reckon as how I’d as soon be back up the front!’
The remark seemed to act as a trigger to Josh whose despondency had seemed to be most intense of all. He jumped to his feet and rushed out of the chamber. Alarmed, Lothar followed.
He had no difficulty in finding his friend. His raised voice signalled where he was.
‘It’s no use, Viney,’ he was crying. ‘I know you’re the boss, but this is daft. I’m not staying down this hole any longer, not for anyone! I’ve not run away from the fighting just so as I can live like a rat. I’m off back to the farm, no matter what you say, and I’m going to stay there, not come running back here every night. I don’t care if they catch me in the end, I don’t care. They can put me up against a wall if they like and shoot me. It’d be better than this!’
He was standing in front of the recumbent Australian who rose slowly onto one elbow as the youngster raged, then, when he had finished, pushed himself into a sitting position, in which he was almost level with the boy and put his huge hands on Josh’s thin shoulders.
Josh did not flinch, nor did he show any fear as the big man drew him slowly down till their faces were barely six inches apart. There they stayed for a long moment, the young man’s features stamped with determination, the other’s inscrutable in their heavy blankness. Even when the fingers dug visibly deeper and deeper into the flesh beneath the shoulder-blades, Josh showed no fear or pain.
Then with an audible sigh, the Australian relaxed and pushed the youngster away.
‘Off you go then, son,’ he said.
Josh looked at him with uncomprehending doubt.
Viney said, ‘Get your men together. You’re the boss-man down there, so I’ve been told, so you give the orders. Fritz says you’d like Evans with you. Is that right?’
‘Yes, Viney, he’d be a grand help …’ stuttered Josh.
‘Anyone else?’
Josh shot an agonized glance at Lothar who was standing in the doorway, then said, ‘I’m not sure, Viney. Taff’ll do for now, I think.’
‘Right, sport. On your way. I’ll be down to see how you’re shaping up soon, so keep them jokers hard at it.’
‘Yes, Viney. Thanks, Viney!’
Excitement erasing all other emotion from his face, Josh pushed past Lothar without saying anything as though eager to be on his way before Viney could change his mind. The Australian’s gaze touched the German’s for a moment, then moved indifferently away.
Lothar went in pursuit of Josh and an hour later in company with Hepworth and Evans they were on their way to the farm.
On the evening of the same day, Jack Denial was holding a briefing session with Maggs and four of his men in Barnecourt. The summer was definitely over now and September was trailing its decay-scented mists over the rolling countryside long before the sun set and keeping them there for a good hour after it had risen. This suited Denial very well.
‘Two things,’ he said. ‘One. We are acting only on suspicion.’
In fact in order to get authorization for this operation, he had had to go rather further than this in his justification to his superior. Well, that was part of the game. He’d done as much to get his own way at Scotland Yard. The thing was not to start believing your own exaggerations.
‘Proceed therefore with the utmost care and consideration. These people are French nationals. Two of them are very old. Three of them are women. One is a shell-shocked man. Even if they are harbouring deserters, it may be under duress. In any case we have no direct authority over them.’
This was not quite true. In a war zone by agreement with their French allies, the British military had quite a substantial authority over French civilians, but Denial knew better than to make fine distinctions with the men in his command.
‘Two,’ he went on. ‘These men, if they are there, are suspect criminals under the military code. They are not the enemy. Restrain them without undue force. Only use violent means if violent resistance is offered. But be alert. They may be desperate and ruthless.’
He paused and looked at the men. He had chosen carefully. On the whole the redcap soldier was no better or worse than his fellow in a fighting unit, but that was not enough. He ought to be better. He ought to be able to resist the constant temptation to abuse his authority. He ought to know the difference between brutality and strength. He ought to know when to push and when to bend. He ought to know when he was acting for the Law and when he was acting for himself.
Denial knew how hard that distinction was to make. Hence his scrupulosity in selecting the four most intelligent and mature of his men for this operation.
There was a knock at the door and an orderly stuck his head round.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘But you’re wanted urgent.’
‘All right,’ said Denial. ‘Mr Maggs, you carry on with details of timings and movement, will you?’
He left. Sergeant-Major Maggs waited till his footsteps faded out of earshot.
‘Right, lads,’ he said. ‘You’ve heard what the officer said, and he’s right. That’s why he’s an officer. What he can’t say to you
but I can is this. These laddos we’re after, they’re not just your ordinary deserters, oh no. Don’t expect to find some scared kid, with tears in his eyes and shit in his britches, hiding in a haystack. These are hard men, real hard men. Like the officer says, they’re not the enemy. Again he’s right. They’re worse than the fucking enemy! They’ve declared war on their own! They rob their own side, they kill anyone who gets in their way, they defile graves, I expect you’ve even heard it said that they’ll eat their own old comrades’ flesh if hunger really pinches! Well, I don’t know if that’s true. But I know this. Anyone who don’t go in there tomorrow morning with his trigger-finger itching is a fool and likely to be a dead fool pretty quick. Hit hard. Hit first. There’ll be lots of time for questions later. One more thing. If one of them’s a big lad, six and a half foot minimum and broad to match, hit him harder and quicker than anyone else. Get that bastard laid flat and don’t stop hitting him till he stops twitching. Understood? Right, let’s get down to details.’
He had only been talking a couple of minutes when he too was summoned away, this time by Denial’s batman. He found the captain in his room stuffing his belongings into a valise.
‘Joplin, you carry on here,’ he ordered the batman and took Maggs aside.
‘I’ve been called away,’ he said. ‘I’m to go to Étaples. There’s a little trouble there, it seems.’
‘Trouble, sir?’ said Maggs, instantly alert at the mention of Étaples. Here, only a short distance from the resort of Le Touquet, had been established a huge base for troops in transit from England to the front. It was in fact a vast complex of camps, the most famous of them being No. 2 Training Camp, set among the dunes within sight of the heartbreakingly normal roofs and chimneys of Le Touquet, and notorious throughout the British Army as the Bull Ring.
Denial had spent some time there on first returning to France as an APM. The conditions and atmosphere had alarmed him so much that he had written a report on them, stressing the virtual impossibility of effective policing in such circumstances. Like most of Denial’s reports, it was put aside as exaggerated and alarmist, but the events of the past few days had caused someone to resurrect it and the result was this urgent summons.
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