by Thomas Wood
He wasn’t focused enough for my liking.
“How do you think they knew? They must have had those soldiers up there ready and waiting for us. Someone talked.”
I ignored him, now was not the time for speculation and second-guessing. He would get plenty of time to do that later on.
“Suzanne, order everyone to fall back. We’re going to have to risk it.”
“No,” she answered, with a burning frustration in her eye. “Not until they are all dead.”
“Suzanne, there won’t be enough of us left to kill them all. They’ll just keep sending more men.”
“So be it.”
I didn’t have the energy to fight with her any longer. I had blood pouring from my arm and my cheek, and my head was still reeling from the contact with the Generalfeldmarschall’s teeth.
The back of my leg had started to ignite, just like the rest of my wounds, and I felt as though my body was slowly shutting down. I had barely taken a breath in the last ten minutes.
As if my pain wasn’t enough, a body suddenly came crashing down on my shoulders, sending my face into the dirt and the wind from my lungs. An apologetic Frenchman shuffled away from me, with eyes like a naughty dog.
“We have got what you asked for,” the man said, bringing up a handful of German stick grenades into view. Suzanne grinned.
“You might get your wish, after all, Jean. This should give them a headache at least.”
She took two from the man, giving two to another, before whispering in their ears gently. Then, without warning and with only a blast from an MP40 for cover, the man leapt up from the ditch and sprinted to the other side of the road. It was an utter marvel that he had made it that far.
“Michel, Jean. Take the others back, through the forest. This should keep them occupied for the time being. I will see you back at Alfred’s place.”
We gave her a stern look, one that told her plainly that we were far from happy with the situation.
“He is injured,” she insisted. “You should take him back and get him seen to. You will need a head start at least.”
“And what are you planning on doing? You hardly have any ammunition left.”
“Those men are crawling up to the Germans, we will keep them busy for now. When they are close enough, they’ll throw the grenades under the truck. That way, we hope to make a big explosion.”
It seemed sound enough, but she hadn’t exactly factored in that the men might be spotted long before they ever got to their target.
And then there was the small problem of actually throwing the grenades. It was a nice weapon to have in the arsenal, but it was fiddly to use, especially if you were that close to the enemy. And a scared man’s hands always shook.
They would first have to remove the screw lid at the bottom of the wooden handle, which would allow a small ball to fall out of the end. Pulling down on that sharply would ignite the fuse, using friction, which in turn would then burn until it reached the detonator. And when it reached the detonator, well, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the thing.
But these men were doing it, trying to stay concealed all the time, and by the time the first one had gone off, the second would be ready to throw which, if they were unfortunate, would mean all the surviving Germans would be on the lookout for them.
“Just trust me, would you?” she said, in response to the concerned look on our faces.
Mike exchanged a glance with me, just in case I was in any doubt about where he thought he could place his trust.
“Alright,” I conceded.
“But—”
“Michel, we have done what we came here to do. We will be better served if we survive and continue to make contact in London. These men know what is expected of them. We should be aware of what London expects us to do.”
He knew that I was right, even though he refused to acknowledge it in any way.
I knew that, whatever happened, if I was to leave that ditch, he would follow me. He had no other option.
“We will put down some covering fire for you. Bon chance.”
We returned the good fortune, before making a run for it, in a hail of bullets.
31
“I heard there was a disturbance in the night last night,” Alfred said, as he shuffled in with a tray of tea and buttered bread. “Some group tried to kill a high-ranking Luftwaffe officer.”
“Were they successful?” I asked, catching Mike’s eye.
“If the Germans are to be believed, then no, they weren’t. But they seem pretty angry everywhere. And if not angry, then scared. I’ve never seen so many of them carrying their guns off their shoulders around here.”
“Do they have any idea who did it?”
“No, but I have heard a name.”
“Oh?”
“Fortunae.”
He gave us a slight smile, as he surrendered even more of his hospitality to us.
“Did you sleep alright last night, my friends?” he asked with another, wry smile on his face.
“Yes, most wonderfully. Thank you.”
“Good. Good,” he replied as he slid into his chair, taking a large mouthful of his tea, followed by a sigh. He looked towards the photograph on top of the mantlepiece.
“He would have been proud,” he said, with a tone of triumph to his voice.
“Of what, Alfred?”
“I don’t think he would have ever imagined that his father would have been the host of two cut-throat murderers.” At the mention of the boy, his ornate handkerchief was withdrawn.
“We’re not murderers,” I begged, with a sweeping smile.
“Assassins then. Is that any better?”
“Thank you for the tea, Alfred.”
If only I had known that it was the last time that I would ever see him, I would have thanked him for a whole load of other things besides.
The End
Rejoin Johnny Parker and Michael Hope in ‘Playing with Fire,’ now available on Amazon.
Also by Thomas Wood
Gliders over Normandy:
The Silent Invader
All Men are Casualties
As If They Were My Own
The Trench Raiders:
Slaughter Fields
Wavering Warrior
Invisible Frontline
Take Aim
Clouded Judgement
Long Forgotten
Alfie Lewis Thrillers:
The Evader
The Executioner
The Betrayed
Circuit Fortunae:
Don’t Look Back
Playing with Fire
Close Quarters
