No Man's Land

by Reginald Hill

  ‘She’s all right,’ assured Hepworth. ‘Look, she’s smiling.’

  And it was true. As if in shy acknowledgement of this sudden gift of the sky, a slow smile was dawning on the old lady’s face.

  ‘The young ones!’ cried Madeleine with renewed alarm. ‘Heppy! What of Nicole?’

  The Yorkshireman immediately made for the sleeping chamber where Josh lay, constantly tended by Nicole. But Lothar was there already.

  ‘They’re all right,’ he reassured Hepworth. ‘No damage. At least, not physical.’

  What he meant was immediately clear when Hepworth looked at Josh. The boy had struggled upright and his bright, feverish eyes were expressing the terror brought on by the explosion even though his mouth could not articulate it.

  ‘What’s best to do, Fritz?’ asked Hepworth calmly.

  Lothar listened. It was a choice between staying or going. If the German artillery were bent upon razing the farm buildings to the ground, then flight was the only answer. But it seemed to him that the hit might have been almost accidental and that the guns were ranging much further down the valley. Which could only mean that ground troops were not far away. So again the question – to go or to stay?

  He could see no reason for changing the former plan.

  ‘Let’s get that flag up,’ he said. ‘Quickly. Hepworth! Groom! Come.’

  He rushed out of the barn followed by the other men. Maggs followed them as far as the door, looking bewildered at the turn of events that fate and the lunacy of Captain Denial had thrust upon him.

  Hepworth cradled his hands, Groom stepped in, and with much shoving and pushing from the others, he was elevated once more to the barn roof.

  ‘Now the flag,’ cried Lothar.

  Hepworth hesitated.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Now it comes right down to it, I’m not right sure I want to surrender to a load of bloody Jerries,’ growled the Yorkshireman. ‘Begging your pardon, Fritz.’

  ‘Do you want to see the women shot down or blown up?’ demanded Lothar savagely.

  ‘No. No, of course not,’ said Hepworth, and bent for the flag.

  There was a sudden crackle of machine-gun fire, a short sharp scream, a thud.

  Something trickled down from the roof and splashed on Lothar’s shoulder.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ cried Hepworth.

  They looked up. Groom was slumped over the roof eaves, dripping blood and brains from his ruined head. Nelson who was standing next to Lothar retched with horror but did not seem able to tear his eyes away.

  ‘The flag, we must show the flag,’ cried Lothar as another burst of machine-gun fire raked the barn roof.

  Hepworth and Lothar raised the makeshift flagstaff and brought it to rest at an angle against a rusty metal hook which protruded from the side of the barn, so that the flag stuck out from the corner for a distance of two or three feet.

  ‘That’ll have to do,’ said Hepworth.

  The move at first seemed counter-productive, attracting a hail of fire till someone among the approaching enemy identified the nature of the activity. Gradually the firing ceased.

  A voice cried, ‘Hey, Tommy! Let us see you.’

  The men looked at each other, then Lothar said, ‘Go on, Heppy. It is best for Madeleine, believe me.’

  ‘All right, Fritz,’ said Hepworth. ‘If you say so. Come on.’

  Lothar smiled and shook his head.

  ‘You are surrendering as a prisoner of war, Heppy. I, you will recall, am a German deserter. I will not be welcomed so courteously. While they take the rest of you, I will try to slip away.’

  ‘Don’t be daft! You’ve no chance!’ expostulated Hepworth. ‘Give yourself up. Tell ’em you’re English, then look for a chance to escape behind the lines.’

  Lothar shook his head again.

  ‘No, it is better this way.’

  ‘Show yourself, Tommy,’ commanded the voice once more. ‘Or we shoot!’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Lothar. ‘And good luck, Heppy.’

  He turned away and found Viney at his side.

  ‘You too, Viney,’ he said. ‘For Josh’s sake, do this. Tell him … tell him, good luck.’

  He moved swiftly away across the yard, keeping the barn and the byre between himself and the Germans. Hepworth, clapping his hands on his head, stepped out from behind the barn. Nelson and the three men who had returned with Nicole and Josh watched in trepidation but there was no outbreak of firing.

  ‘Still, Tommy!’ came the command. ‘Your friends also. Make hurry!’

  Viney said, ‘Nelson, you get the others out here, sport. OK, you jokers. Move!’

  ‘You’re surrendering, Viney?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘Too bloody true.’

  Reassured by this, the three Volunteers advanced from behind the protecting wall with their hands raised while Nelson went into the barn.

  Maggs appeared at the door.

  Viney grinned at him and said, ‘You coming, Sergeant-Major, or are you one of them pommy heroes?’

  Maggs withdrew without answering. Viney laughed, raised his hands and began to walk.

  Behind him a voice called, ‘Hey, Viney, you’re forgetting something.’

  It was Coleport in the doorway with Viney’s Luger held awkwardly in his left hand.

  Viney said, ‘Chuck it away, Blackie, and step out here. You’ll live to make a few sheilas too sore to sit down back in Melbourne.’

  ‘Patsy won’t be seeing Melbourne again,’ said Coleport. ‘But he left you a message.’

  He brought the pistol up and squeezed the trigger. With his right hand he was a first-class shot, but the weapon was unsteady in his left and the bullet flew over Viney’s head. Viney dropped down and rolled away across the yard till he reached the protecting wheels of the farm cart.

  Coleport made no attempt to pursue him.

  Laughing crazily he cried, ‘All right, Viney, we’ll let Jerry do the job!’

  And running out of the cover of the barn, he began loosing off the pistol indiscriminately in the direction of the Germans.

  The response was instant and devastating. Coleport was riddled with bullets in a couple of seconds. The trio of Volunteers, half paralysed with shock, only had time to scream Kamerad! and thrust their arms higher before they too were mown down.

  Only Hepworth who had gone diving behind them for the shelter of the barn at Coleport’s first shot managed to escape, but not without taking a bullet in his thigh.

  ‘The fucking madman!’ he cursed. ‘Jesus! It feels like my leg’s been chopped off.’

  Viney came scrambling to join him as the fusillade died away.

  ‘That mad mate o’ thine,’ gasped Hepworth. ‘He’s got us all killed!’

  ‘Let’s have a look at you, sport,’ said Viney, hacking at the Yorkshireman’s trousers with a huge jack-knife. ‘They hit Blackie, did they?’

  ‘Hit him? They cut the bugger in half. Christ, Viney! You’re not trying to take my leg off with that bloody sabre of thine, are you? Aye, your mate’s dead, and bad luck to him wherever he’s gone. What the hell’s that?’

  The German fire had ceased and into the silence crept a voice, almost inaudible at first, but gathering in desperate strength.

  ‘… he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand,

  And he fired at the rifle-flash!’

  ‘It’s Blackie,’ said Viney with a slight smile. ‘Take more than a few bullets to down a Digger, Heppy. It’s that sodding poetry that’ll be the death of him.’

  The Germans must have been disconcerted too by the unexpected rhythmical chanting, but as Coleport staggered to his feet, crying ‘Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed …’ they took this as their cue. A machine-gun chattered. The words at last came to an end.

  Viney said quietly, ‘Cheers, mate. Give my love to Patsy.’

  ‘You’re a cold bastard,’ gasped Hepworth.

  ‘Think so? Christ, this is a bit of a mess. But not to worry, he
re comes the doctor. What brings you back, Fritz?’

  Lothar had dived for cover at the first outburst of firing and had begun to work his way back when the second began. Obeying an impulse stronger than that of self-preservation, he had then come at a run.

  ‘What is happening?’ he gasped. ‘Heppy, you’re hit! The white flag, they did not honour it?’

  ‘They was provoked,’ said Viney. ‘This needs dressed. Let’s get him back into the barn.’

  Hepworth, lying on his back, suddenly screamed, ‘Look out! Flying pigs!’

  The others looked up, then flung themselves flat as they saw the mortar bomb spinning slowly overhead. It came down on the byre, exploding with a force not quite powerful enough to blow the structure apart, but with a blast strong enough to weaken the internal supports so that the walls collapsed slowly inwards, revealing the MP’s motorbike standing miraculously unscathed on the far side.

  Even as the men began to rise, the next bomb hit the barn. It sounded and felt like a direct hit. A piece of stone ripped at Lothar’s cheek but he ignored it and sprinted to the door, terrified of what he might find inside. Sergeant-Major Maggs was slumped face down across the threshold. The second explosion had driven a fragment of metal deep into his spine. He was not dead but for the moment could move nothing except his eyeballs and these ranged slowly from left to right and back again over the few inches of floor, which in his present posture constituted his entire visible universe. Out of the smoke which filled the barn, Denial came staggering in search of the sergeant-major. Lothar pushed by him with scarcely a glance. For a second it seemed to him that a direct hit must have killed many of those within. Then he heard voices and one of the women crying and as his eyes penetrated the smoke, he realized that the damage was mainly confined to the end of the barn furthest from the interior rooms, though their drystone walls, built for privacy rather than to withstand wind and weather, had slipped crazily askew in the blast.

  Nicole appeared at the door of the sleeping chamber where Josh was lying. Her eyes were wild with fear and worry but her voice was surprisingly controlled as she cried to him, ‘Lott, what’s happening? What shall we do?’

  ‘How’s Josh?’ he demanded. But even as he spoke, behind the girl Josh himself appeared, his face almost as pale as the bandage round his throat. At least he was on his feet even though he was leaning heavily against the wall and Nicole, with a cry of alarm, turned to support him.

  In the living-room he found the source of the weeping. The old lady was still lying with wide eyes peering at the sky, but she wasn’t seeing anything. One shock too many, guessed Lothar, but at least her end must have been painless. Madeleine was lying across the bed, her head buried in the pillow next to her mother’s, her shoulders shaking as she wept her pain and sorrow.

  Nelson lay on the floor, stunned but otherwise little hurt, while Fox was absurdly trying to crawl beneath the bed in a terrified search for shelter.

  Another explosion just outside the barn rocked everything, as a surface ripple moves the bottom of a pond. It was fortunate that even when a range was found, the curious floating flight of mortar bombs made them an inaccurate weapon. But it would take only another couple of near misses or one good hit to bring everything down. Viney came through the door with the wounded Yorkshireman leaning heavily on his broad shoulder. Behind him came Denial dragging the wounded sergeant-major.

  ‘No, not in here! Do not bring them here! Out! We must all get out!’ shouted Lothar.

  Denial looked at him with his calm emotionless eyes.

  ‘What happened to the surrender?’ he enquired.

  ‘We changed our minds,’ said Lothar. Unexpectedly Denial grinned, the merest flash.

  I made a sort of English joke, realized Lothar. But there was no time left for humour. The next bomb came, landing just short of the outer wall. The blast cracked the already weakened stones, and sent an avalanche of rubble spilling down into the bed.

  ‘Madeleine!’ screamed Hepworth, hurling himself forward, his wound forgotten in this new agony of fear.

  The old lady had disappeared almost entirely and Madeleine beside her was half invisible beneath the pile. Most of it was too small to be of much consequence, but a large slab had fallen across her head and for a moment it seemed impossible to Lothar that she could have survived. But when the desperate Yorkshireman wrenched the stone clear, the crushed and bloody head moved and the face that turned up to him, though white as the hair which was all that was visible of Madame Alpert, was still informed with life and intelligence.

  He tried to gather her in his arms to lift her from the bed but she pushed him away, and though the feeble thrusts of her nerveless fingers had no more force than a newborn child’s, the strength of her will held him back.

  ‘Nicole, save Nicole,’ she whispered, the words coming soft and slow and almost as imperceptible as the unfolding of a flower. ‘And the English boy. Take them away from here. Make them safe. Hurry.’

  ‘Madeleine!’ cried Hepworth in an agonized voice. ‘I’ll not leave you, I’ll not …’

  ‘Go!’ she commanded. Their gazes locked, his striving to hold her here, hers striving to force him away. It was the woman who broke off from the struggle, but not in defeat. To Lothar, watching, it seemed as if she acknowledged that not even her magnificent will was able to drive Hepworth away while she lived, so she turned it inward upon herself, damped down her still fervent life-force, and in a few moments died.

  Nicole and Josh had also come into the ruined room and the young girl stared at the still form on the bed, her face set with shock. Josh’s weight was on her shoulders, holding her still, but, fearful that if she fainted they would both crash to the floor, Lothar took the boy from her. Released of her burden, she rushed forward to the bed. Hepworth caught her as she tried to fling herself on the slack still body.

  ‘Kiss your mam goodbye,’ he said sternly, his broad, open face like a marble mask of grief on a tomb.

  She stooped to the still warm face and kissed the pale lips, one long kiss, then Hepworth drew her back.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Time to go.’

  ‘Go?’ said Lothar, feeling Josh almost a dead weight in his arms. ‘Where? How?’

  And Nicole cried, ‘I will not go without Josh!’

  ‘I promised for you both,’ said Hepworth with a desperate determination.

  He tried to move, but his wounded leg unstressed by the despair of lost love, now gave way and he slid to the floor, cursing.

  Nelson who was sitting upright now, massaging his bald head, said, ‘I’d sell my old lady for a pint of beer.’

  He got on to his hands and knees and crawled towards Fox who was crouched in terror against the bed, his body jerking spasmodically as a new hail of German bullets rattled against the barn wall.

  ‘Here, Foxy, old son, calm yourself down, my boy,’ he said.

  He put his hand on the other’s shoulder and this seemed to have a calming effect. The shaking diminished and Fox suddenly said in a strange, high-pitched voice, ‘You take the patrol on, Sergeant. I’ll just check that the wire’s been cut for us over there.’

  ‘That’s right, my lad,’ said Nelson reassuringly. ‘We’re all right here. Jerry’s dropping back. Listen. You can hardly hear him now.’

  Lothar remarked as he had often done before how the best medicine for fear was to find someone to look after, and at the same time it struck him that Nelson was right. The German onslaught had slackened off, to be replaced by the new sound of an engine. It seemed to be somehow above him. Realization came and he looked upward just in time to see the cruciform silhouette of a biplane gliding across the patch of blue exposed by the damaged roof;

  ‘It’s a plane,’ cried Nelson. ‘It’s one of ours.’

  The plane was out of sight now, but suddenly they heard the chatter of its machine-gun as it flew low over the attacking soldiers.

  Viney moved out of the living area and headed for the ruined end of the barn. He ret
urned a moment later.

  ‘The Fly-boy’s doing a good job,’ he said. ‘Jerry’s out in the open out there and that’s no place to be when someone’s flying around above you. They’re scattering back up the slope to where there’s a bit of cover.’

  It was only a temporary respite, they all knew. Shortage of fuel or ammunition would soon send the biplane back to its base.

  ‘What strength would you say the Germans were, Sergeant Viney?’ said Denial.

  The Australian turned his hard gaze on the APM and said, ‘I recollect telling you once before, I resigned from the Army.’

  ‘I remember. That leaves us simply as captive and captor. Which is which is not at present clear and it’s not a very helpful relationship just now in any case. Agreed?’

  ‘Mebbe.’

  ‘What’s beyond doubt is I’m the senior officer, here. Unless you, Mr Fox, got beyond subaltern? Mr Fox?’

  The man they knew as Foxy slowly raised and shook his head. Nelson said in amazement, ‘Foxy? You an officer? Fuck me!’

  His surprise was comic. And suddenly Lothar understood Fox’s pathological hatred of officers. The poor devil! Terrified of letting his humble origins show among his brother officers; even more terrified of revealing he was an officer among the deserters! This war had shaken up society as violently as it had disrupted the earth. The countryside would show its changed contours for centuries, but with God’s help this might be a step towards a new and more level society.

  Viney said, ‘Fox an officer? Well now. Takes a one to smell a one, Denial.’

  Denial said impatiently, ‘All right, Viney. Just give a simple answer to my simple question.’

  ‘That’s different. Company strength, I’d say. No more, certainly.’

  ‘Yes, that fits in.’

  ‘Fits in with what, for fuck’s sake?’

  ‘The Germans have broken through,’ said Denial. ‘They surprised everybody, not least themselves, I think. In some places units have pushed forward so rapidly that they seem to have lost contact with their main force. We mopped one of these up in Barnecourt last night.’

  ‘You!’ exploded Viney. ‘All you sodding redcaps could mop up is some poor bastard’s blood you’ve spilt on a cell floor!’