No Man's Land

by Reginald Hill

  6

  Ten days went by and nothing happened.

  The intermittent rumbling of the guns told them that whatever ‘show’ had begun on the day of Viney’s visit was still running. The weather remained hard and cold, and work within the barn proceeded apace. Sleeping quarters were completed, two small chambers, one for Madeleine and Nicole, and one for the old Alperts, but in the event Madame Alpert showed such reluctance to be removed from her new and dearly loved hearth, even for the hours of night, that she and her husband remained in situ and the Gilbert women had a chamber apiece.

  Lothar tried to warn Josh that Viney’s non-appearance did not necessarily mean he’d changed his mind, but at the end of a week, he could see the boy was thoroughly convinced the threat had been averted.

  Then one morning as Josh was engaged in his customary wrestling bout with the frozen pump, figures began to loom through the sun-tinged frost mist, huge and menacing as the watery light diffused their shapes.

  With a cry of alarm, Josh ran towards the barn, Madeleine appeared at the door before he reached it, with Lothar close behind. He joined them and gasped. ‘There’s men coming, Lott. Men!’

  ‘I see them,’ said Lothar, grasping his shoulder.

  Josh turned.

  Into the yard, shedding bulk but not menace as they emerged from the mist, came Viney and Delaney accompanied by about a dozen armed men.

  ‘Bonjour, madame,’ said the Australian, ‘’Morning, Josh. You want to get something warm on or you’ll catch your death. ’Morning, Fritz. No sentries again? Could’ve been Haig himself, or even Hindenburg, with a couple of divisions at their heels. Still, no harm done, and I dare say you all need your beauty sleep here, working so hard all day. Patsy, post three of these jokers on lookout duty and work out a roster. Josh here will show you the best spots when he’s made himself decent. Come on, Josh, let’s be having you! Ladies present. I hope it’s not like this all the time, Fritz. Very lax, very slipshod.’

  There was something it was difficult not to admire in the smoothly efficient way in which Viney insinuated his men into the farm. Most of them Lothar was not surprised to see, but there were a few missing faces that he would have expected to find in the party.

  As if catching his thought, Viney who had dropped his equipment off on to the barn floor and was warming his behind at the newly lit fire, said wearily, ‘Now before you start, Fritz, you have a good listen to me. I’m here because I’ve had to come. The men would’ve come sooner but I paid heed to what you said. You’re a clever cunt and you’ve made sense in the past, so I made them try the supply lines first. Result, two dead and three wounded and one of them like to snuff it any time. So, I’ve got jokers with me now that I’d rather stayed at home. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, and we’re beggars, don’t mistake it. We’re low on everything. It’s a real bastard, but unless we start stocking up quick it’s going to be a starving Christmas. Hello, lad. How’re you doing?’

  These last words were addressed to Auguste who had just come from the milking and was standing staring in some alarm at the sight of the newcomer. Nicole went to him and put her arm around his waist and led him aside, talking reassuringly.

  Josh had not lingered long in directing Delaney to the best sentry-posts. Lothar guessed he was more concerned about mounting a personal guard on Nicole, and the German was aware of the youngster’s mounting anger as he said to Viney, ‘Exactly what is it you propose?’

  ‘A couple of raids, that’s all. Two nights, maybe three, four at the most. Then it’s goodbye and see you next spring.’

  ‘The whole countryside’ll be up in arms!’ protested Lothar.

  ‘Mebbe. But that’s the beauty of jumping off from here. We can go so much further afield. And in any case, it’s the poor swaddies in the training camps and rest areas that’ll get blamed! No one believes in us, Fritz, didn’t you know that? Or at least, no one likes to admit we exist! Anyway, I’m afraid it’s like it or lump it. We’re here and here we stay till we’re done. The more help we get, the sooner that’ll be.’

  ‘Help?’

  ‘Sure. The Frogs can fill us in on the countryside round here. It’ll be worth a dozen recces. And I’d like Heppy and Taff to help us out with the work. You too, if you like. I’ve got jokers here that I’d not trust to piss in a bucket.’

  ‘I thought I saw Strother out in the yard,’ said Lothar. ‘Why have you brought him?’

  ‘Needs must, sport,’ said Viney. ‘He’s a hard man in a tough corner. I’ll keep him out of the way of the ladies. I think Patsy’ll have sent him off on sentry duty to start with. OK, Fritz. We’re in your hands here. Show us where we can doss down. Any help we can give while we’re here, you’ve only to ask. But I’d like everyone to get a few hours’ kip before they go out tonight.

  There was nothing to be done. Viney now with great skill concentrated all his energies on first containing, then eliminating Josh’s obvious anger. The boy let himself be soothed not by argument but by the Australian’s frank and friendly manner. Watching Viney at work, Lothar sighed deeply. That there was genuine affection there he did not doubt. But that to Viney emotional manipulation was merely a sometimes preferable alternative to brute force was also clear. But it was not the power of strong amoral men like Viney that made Lothar sigh, it was the vulnerability of gentle and good men like Josh.

  In the event, things went very smoothly to start with. Madeleine was a pragmatist and with the single exception of her assertion, too calmly stated not to be believed, that if Strother came anywhere near Nicole or herself, she would slit him with a pig-sticking knife, she made no protest over the raiders’ presence. Auguste meanwhile had reacted to Nicole’s reassurance by apparently censoring the newcomers completely from his mind. He went about his business ignoring their speech and their presence alike. It was eerily unnerving to some of the men but their sympathy for yet another victim of the war was too great for any adverse reaction.

  Viney invited the men already at the farm to join the raids, though Lothar noticed he waited till Josh was out of earshot first.

  Both Lothar and Evans refused out of hand, but Hepworth thought a long time, then said, ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Viney.

  Lothar regarded the Yorkshireman in silent surprise and after Viney. had left them Hepworth said, as if challenged, ‘We’ve all got to earn our self-respect our own road, Fritz.’

  The first night, only a small reconnaissance party went out, returning shortly before dawn with information which Viney did not share with Lothar but which clearly made him happy.

  After a day spent in useful work under Lothar’s direction, the raiders slept till ten o’clock, and then departed.

  They returned shortly before dawn in a GS truck loaded down with all manner of goods, both military and civilian. The mood was jubilant as they offloaded the boxes into the byre. This work Lothar and the others willingly assisted, aware that the longer the truck stood in the farmyard, the greater the danger of discovery. The east, which had at last fallen relatively silent once more, indicating that after about a fortnight the recent battle had faded out, was lighting to grey as the truck was driven away. With the dawn came a flurry of snow, not deep, but settling enough to cover any tracks that might have been made by the laden vehicle.

  The next night more than half of the raiding party were sent back under Fox’s command to the Warren, bearing the loot.

  ‘Haven’t you enough?’ asked Lothar, uneasy when he saw that it was the hardest of the men who stayed behind.

  ‘Not by a long chalk, sport,’ said Viney. ‘But there’s plenty more where that lot came from.’

  ‘You will not raid the same place?’

  ‘Why not? They won’t be expecting us twice. Getting hold of that truck was a bonus. We’d be mad not to use it again.’

  ‘I think you will be mad to do it.’

  ‘Listen, Fritz,’ said Viney, pointing upwards to the lowering cloud-cover. ‘Any time now t
here’ll be snow coming down from there like shit from a goose. Real snow. I want to be snugly tucked in for winter by then.’

  His forecast proved too quickly correct. That night Viney and his raiding party set out to where they’d hidden the truck. There were six besides the leader – Coleport, Delaney, Strother, Taylor, the black Moroccan and Hepworth who was still working off his own strange sense of duty. Madeleine had glared angrily at him but said nothing, only shaking her head with great scorn. Four hours after they’d gone, the snow began to fall in big soft flakes; more, Lothar thought, like goose-feathers than goose-shit. Soon it began to dress the frozen ground in a soft white coat. There was a freshening wind blowing from the west which as it grew stronger would cause drifting. Lothar knew from childhood winters at Schloss Seeberg how quickly snow could change a landscape, turning the familiar into the foreign, and mocking even the most compass-like mind with lures of indirection.

  Dawn approached, or what would have been dawn if light could have penetrated the drapery of snow, twisting sinuously now in the breeze which rose with the sun, and lying in folds and pleats like the train of some monstrous bridal gown.

  In the barn, the women and old Georges slept, but the men kept intermittent watch and Lothar never closed his eyes. His wakefulness was initially due to a fear that the raiders might return with the authorities hot on their heels, but that fear was long past. Now he was beginning to wonder if they would return at all.

  Darkness or light meant nothing to Madeleine, who rose at her usual time with the exactness of one summoned by a bell.

  ‘They have not returned?’ she asked Lothar. He shook his head and she turned away indifferently. He guessed her indifference was assumed as far as Hepworth went, but also guessed that she would not be displeased to learn that Viney and the others were frozen to death in the snow.

  Lothar could not share her feelings, and not just out of concern for Hepworth. He suspected that if anything happened to Viney, the other Volunteers would rapidly deteriorate into disorganized scavengers, making inept attempts to reach the coast and smuggle themselves back to Britain. Capture for most would be inevitable, and inevitable too would be their rapid betrayal, deliberate or involuntary, of the Warren and the farm.

  He went to the doorway. Josh was standing outside in the snow which was falling less thickly now, though the gusty wind was swirling it round in pulsating spirals that mocked the eye.

  ‘Josh, you will freeze. Come inside,’ he ordered.

  Josh did not move but said, ‘When I was a lad, I loved the snow. Our dad had made us a sledge and me and Wilf used to go up the fellside a way behind the house and come whizzing down. On the steep bits I was scared stiff, but Wilf would keep a hold of me and sing or laugh in my ear and down we’d come like lightning, and even if we fell off, he’d not let go, and we’d just roll over and over in the snow.’

  Lothar put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  ‘Yes, Josh,’ he said gently. ‘I too used to go sledging with my brother. I too. Now come inside.’

  Still Josh resisted, but this time for a different reason.

  ‘Listen, Lott! I think I can hear something!’

  Lothar stepped outside and cupped his ears, but heard nothing except the wind.

  ‘There! Again!’ said Josh.

  Lothar shook his head.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ he said. ‘You lead and show me.’

  His unquestioning trust of Josh’s countryman’s hearing brought a smile of pleasure to the lad’s lips.

  ‘Right,’ he said, grabbing one of the long-handled shovels which stood just inside the door. ‘Come on!’

  The snow was calf-deep in the farmyard and up to their knees once they left the shelter of the buildings. It was obviously deeper still where the wind was drifting it, but Josh seemed to have an unerring instinct for finding the best way.

  ‘There again!’ yelled Josh after they’d gone a hundred yards.

  This time Lothar too heard the cry and after a couple of minutes more they spotted the figures. There were four of them in two pairs about ten feet apart.

  ‘It’s Viney,’ said Josh. ‘Viney! Halloo!’

  The big Australian was supporting his compatriot, Coleport, whose left arm dangled loose, streaked with blood through its bandage of snow. Both men were grey and exhausted.

  ‘That you, Josh? Thank Christ!’ exclaimed Viney. ‘Here, give us a hand with Blackie, will you? I’m fair tuckered out.’

  Lothar came up behind, glanced at Viney, then without speaking went on to the other couple which consisted of Hepworth, whose head was bleeding from a long gash along the temple, supporting Strother, who clutched his stomach and groaned and would have fallen to the ground without the Yorkshireman’s arm to hold him.

  This was no time for questions. Taking most of Strother’s weight on himself, he set out after the other trio who were following the still visible track he and Josh had made from the barn.

  Inside, the fire was roaring. Madame Alpert was still in bed, but old Georges was up demanding querulously to be told if the cow had been milked. Nicole was patiently assuring him that all would be taken care of in time and Madeleine was stirring a great cauldron of broth over the fire. But all conversation and activity stopped at the sight of the returned raiders. An indignant glance passed between mother and daughter when they saw one of the wounded was Strother, but any objections to his presence were quickly forgotten when Madeleine realized that Hepworth was hurt also. She scolded him anxiously till her careful examination revealed that his head wound looked worse than it was. Coleport’s arm, however, was in a bad way. A bullet had passed clean through the upper arm, shredding flesh and muscle though miraculously it only seemed to have nicked rather than shattered the bone.

  Worst of all was Strother. A bullet had entered his lower abdomen. There was no exit hole so it must be still inside. There had been a few packs of dressings among the last lot of loot, and Lothar who found himself cast once again as medical expert did what he could for Strother while Evans dressed Coleport’s arm. As they worked, Viney told them what had happened.

  ‘Bastards must’ve been waiting for us,’ he said. ‘MPs, I reckon. No warning, just started shooting, that’s the kind of trick them cunts are good at. Two of our lot went down straightaway.’

  ‘Dead?’ asked Lothar.

  ‘Oh yeah. They were dead all right. Heppy got creased and then we were off and running, right into another bunch of them. That’s when Strother took one in the gut, and the other three got killed. Including Patsy.’

  His voice broke slightly.

  ‘Delaney’s dead?’ said Taff Evans.

  ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ snapped Viney.

  ‘And if you say so, it must be right,’ said Hepworth in a strange voice.

  Viney shot him a savage glance but did not reply. Coleport, however, roused himself from his wound-shock to say, ‘What’re you getting at, Heppy? Is poor Patsy dead or not?’

  ‘Didn’t you see him for yourself?’ asked the Yorkshireman.

  ‘What the hell could I see? I was lying on the ground fifty yards away, set to bleed to death myself from this fucking arm.’

  ‘Count yourself lucky it wasn’t your leg,’ said Hepworth. ‘I looked at Delaney before I went to Strother here. That’s where he was shot, clean through the kneecap.’

  ‘What’re you saying?’ demanded Coleport. ‘You don’t snuff it just because you’ve been wounded in the leg, not unless the fucking thing’s been carried right away!’

  ‘Well, this weren’t carried right away, but nor was it going to carry Delaney right away either, that’s the point!’

  There was a silence as those present tasted the implications of this. Coleport broke it, his voice low and pleading.

  ‘Viney, he’s wrong, isn’t he? Not Patsy! You’d not be worried about Patsy talking, would you, cobber? He’d not tell them bastards anything, not if they started hacking at his leg with a rusty saw!’

  ‘I
know that, Blackie,’ said Viney. ‘Don’t you think I know that? He was wounded in the leg, sure, but he’d taken one through the chest too. He was dying when I got to him. I tried to lift him up, but he died in my arms.’

  ‘Aye!’ exploded Hepworth. ‘What’d you try to lift him up with? Your jack-knife?’

  Viney leapt to his feet, dragging his Luger out of his tunic. Hepworth, though unarmed, rose too and confronted him with no sign of fear.

  ‘For the sake of God!’ cried Lothar. ‘Hasn’t there been enough blood shed tonight.’

  He stepped between the two men, the movement bringing Josh within his line of vision. The boy’s face was pale, his eyes wide and unblinking with the look of one who sees more than what stands before him. Such an expression as this Lothar had not seen since the early days after their arrival in the Warren.

  Viney too had noticed and he broke away from the threatened confrontation to go to the youngster.

  ‘You all right, son?’ he queried. ‘Bit of a shock, all this. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

  He reached out his arm but Josh stepped back, his eyes fixed with horror on the sleeve which was crusted with Coleport’s blood.

  Lothar picked up a rifle and thrust it into Josh’s hands.

  ‘There’s no sentry outside,’ he said in a peremptory voice. ‘Josh, wrap a blanket round yourself and get out there and stand guard.’

  The young man shook his head violently.

  ‘Josh, we can’t risk being taken by surprise!’ insisted Lothar. ‘They may have been followed. For Nicole’s sake, go and stand watch!’

  This seemed to get through. He turned towards the door. Lothar tossed a blanket over his shoulders as he went out, a whirlwind of snowflakes dancing in before the door shut behind him.

  ‘What the hell’s all that about, Fritz?’ growled Viney. ‘No one’s going to come after us in this blizzard. They might even give the sodding war a rest till it’s over.’

  ‘Josh has had enough of this,’ snapped Lothar. ‘Of blood, of fighting, of violence. If you idiots are going to start killing each other, here, before his eyes, he will know for certain the world is mad beyond recovery, and he may run mad himself.’