Wincing, Loki tore the gauze from his scalp. ‘We’ve wasted enough time. We need a plan of action. I think the first thing we should do is check out further up-river – the spot we used for the drop. We’ll soon see if there are any signs of a struggle.’
This was a better idea, although I thought it was about as flawed as a boat with a hole in its bottom. ‘It may be dangerous staying too close to the river. If I was right – that the patrol boat just stumbled across us – then it changes everything.’
‘How?’
‘They saw us land. They’ll be highly suspicious, despite us being a German plane in Luftwaffe colours. I reckon they’ll figure out that a drop has been made for the Resistance and alert their HQ. And if I were them, I’d flood this area with troops to search high and low.’
Loki summoned his strength and rose to his knees. ‘We’d better get a move on then. Come on, Finn. Chop chop, as Walker’s always telling us.’
Hugging the trees and bushes, we headed alongside the river, back towards the drop-off point. Where was everyone? It was as if they’d landed and then vanished into thin air. Loki tapped me on my shoulder and pointed. He’d spotted the rowing boats used by Henri Blanc and Pierre Truffaut. They’d been tied to the trunk of a sturdy silver birch leaning out over the water. I shone the pen torch onto them and observed that they were empty and undamaged. So I presumed that at least the others had all made it safely ashore. A mass of fresh, deep boot prints in the mud was the only sign of recent activity.
‘Let’s carry on, Finn. They didn’t head our way so they must’ve gone south.’
Continuing along the path, listening and looking out, Loki faced forwards and I walked backwards so we kept both directions covered. A slight breeze whispered through the trees, shaking the leaves, creating a rustling sound that kept my heart firmly in my mouth. I knew from the maps we’d studied when planning the drop that this stretch of river was nearly a mile from the nearest dwelling, and two from the closest village. Beyond the trees lay open fields. I also remembered that there was a road, a minor one, that split the fields and followed the path of the river, albeit some distance away. Had they escaped that way? Had they cut across the fields to a waiting car or van or truck? Suddenly I felt a hand seize me and drag me over to the cover of the bushes. ‘Lie still, Finn! Someone’s coming!’
Chapter Eighteen
Keeping One Step Ahead
WHY COULDN’T IT have been some old Frenchman out walking his dog, keen to help two boys in it up to their necks? No such luck. It was a German patrol, at least half a dozen men, methodically searching the bushes, moving slowly towards us, leaving no stone unturned. There was nothing for it. We rolled over and crawled into the undergrowth, scrambled on all fours through prickly brambles that clung and clawed at our clothes, and only rose to our feet when we could see the pale glow of moonlight beyond the trees. ‘Christ, Finn, I can’t see any cover for miles. It’s all open fields. We’ll be sitting ducks if they hear us. There’s nowhere to hide.’
It wasn’t all bad news, I thought. When studying the maps I hadn’t really taken in just what exactly all those tiny contour lines meant. The full moon’s glow enabled me to see that we were in the middle of a broad, flat-bottomed river valley. I had little doubt that the fields were dangerous to cross, but guessed that beyond them, where the land rose up to form gentle hills, there’d be some sort of cover. ‘We’ll be OK as long as we wait until the moon goes behind that cloud,’ I whispered.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Remember our training in the Scottish mountains? Major Baxter’s men kept reminding us to stay on lower ground, and certainly never to use the ridges or hilltops: otherwise our silhouettes would give us away. Once the moon’s hidden, nobody will be able to make us out in the darkness against the backdrop of those hills over there.’
We waited, peering up at the broken clouds drifting slowly across the heavens while listening out for the approaching German patrol. It was going to be touch and go. And the particular cloud I had my eye on was moving annoyingly slowly. Loki began fidgeting, repeatedly turning and peering back towards the path. ‘I can hear them. They’ll be on top of us any time now. We could try and take them on. There’s only a handful. We have two machine guns and surprise on our side. What do you think?’
I didn’t reply. I was too busy willing the damn cloud to get a move on. In my head I was trying to give it a shove, to haul it along just a little faster. The first wisps trailed across the moon and the light faded slightly. But we needed more. It was still too bright. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Loki muttered nervously.
Just a little further. Go on, cloud, you can do it! My heart was racing. God, those German voices sounded loud, I thought. Almost as if they were standing right behind me. Then, at last, the glow faded just like the light in a room when a candle finally burns itself out. In a flash we broke cover and were gone.
We raced at full stretch across open farmland, only to discover that the field had been newly ploughed, and recent rainfall had turned it into a claggy quagmire. We slipped and slithered, stumbled and fell, but somehow managed to keep getting to our feet and carrying on. We ran and ran, repeatedly overtaking each other, our breathing heavy, our boots squelching. Reaching a shallow ditch, we flung ourselves down just as the moon emerged. I was buzzing inside, my senses heightened. I guess I’d just found out what it was like to be a fox trying to outwit the hounds. Rising to my knees, I looked back towards the river. There was no sign of the soldiers. So far so good. Loki slid up beside me on his belly.
‘All clear the other way, Finn.’
The moonlight dimmed again and we set off for a second time. The next field proved even lumpier, with deep ridges and furrows of heavy clay-laden earth. And something was growing there – cabbages? It was hard to tell, but it felt like I was treading over endless soft footballs glued to the ground. With every stride and skid, I felt we were getting further and further away from danger; or was it a horribly false sense of security?
At the boundary of the second field we hit upon the narrow lane I’d recalled seeing on the map. While I racked my brain trying to remember exactly where the road led to, Loki pointed left and said between rasping gasps, ‘Well, Rochefort must be that way, back towards the coast.’
No sooner had he said it than lights appeared in the distance from the direction of Rochefort and moved slowly towards us, like a clowder of cats on the prowl. The unmistakable clattering of diesel engines drifted in the night air. Frozen and uncertain, we stayed down. They were army trucks. Having trundled noisily to within a couple of hundred yards of us, they began peeling off, three to the left and three to the right. Then they stopped and dozens of soldiers piled out, forming neat, practised rows and columns. My heart sank. Our problems had been doubled and redoubled all in one go.
The soldiers began dispersing and I guessed at the orders they’d been given – file out and form a long line across the fields. We didn’t wait to see them begin their search. Cloud or no cloud, this time we couldn’t wait for nature’s helping hand. And despite needing to go left to reach Rochefort, or straight on to the distant hills, we went right. It was our only option.
We ran for miles. We just kept on going. Field after field passed beneath our boots; we leaped over small streams without altering our stride, and waded through larger ones with barely a moment’s thought for how deep they might be. Hedges were leapfrogged or scrambled through despite our clothes being ripped to shreds by thorns so sharp I reckoned they’d make a fantastic alternative to barbed wire. Finally, utterly exhausted, our chests heaving, we were forced to stop. Lying as flat as I could, I desperately tried to figure out what we should do next. Loki glanced at his watch – one-fifteen. I did some quick mental calculations. The soldiers would have advanced at nothing quicker than a brisk march, so surely we must’ve put plenty of distance between us and them. And yet, I also knew that despite our efforts it was highly likely that Fritz had off-loaded more soldiers at the other e
nd of the valley, in the direction we were heading, leaving us trapped in a pincer movement. Our situation seemed hopeless.
‘Where’s the nearest village, Finn?’
‘I’m not sure. Why?’
‘I reckon it’s our best chance. Out here they’ll close in on us eventually. I’d rather find some barn or shed or outhouse to hide in.’
‘First place they’ll look.’ I didn’t want to sound negative but I reckoned we were surrounded and it was only a question of time before we got caught. The Germans were no fools. They knew how to close an area down, how to search it systematically, how to find any needles in a haystack.
‘OK, maybe a church crypt or bell tower or something.’
‘Second place they’ll look.’
‘Damn it, Finn, have you got any better ideas?’
‘No … Actually, yes!’ I’d been struck by a flash of inspiration. It came from nowhere. I’d remembered something X had said to us the very first evening we arrived at Mulberry House; something the prime minister of Great Britain, Mr Churchill, had told him. ‘You’re a genius, Loki! You’re right, we should head for the nearest village.’ I rolled over and scanned the valley. Spotting a shape, I pointed. ‘Over there. See it? I reckon that’s a church tower. It can’t be more than a mile or so.’
‘And what shall we do when we get there, Finn?’
‘We’ll set about waking the whole place up!’
Chapter Nineteen
Setting Europe Ablaze
MAKING FOR THE village, I realized that what had struck me as an absolutely splendid idea was in truth a pretty potty, harebrained scheme, but I didn’t let on. I kept telling myself that we could make it work. We had to make it work. While running, I began filling Loki in.
‘Let me get this straight, Finn. You want to wake everyone up by setting fire to something.’
‘Uh-huh. A house maybe. Perhaps even two houses. But they’d have to be next door to each other, of course. Otherwise it would look suspicious. But the bigger the fire the better.’
‘You’re talking utter nonsense.’
‘No I’m not. Remember what X told us Mr Churchill had said to him? “Go forth and set Europe ablaze.”’
‘Yes, but I don’t get it.’
‘You will.’
He stopped in his tracks and grabbed hold of my arm. ‘If I’m about to commit suicide, I’d like to understand why. This is crazy, Finn! Surely the last thing we should be doing is drawing attention to where we are.’
‘Exactly! It’s the last thing Fritz would expect.’
He frowned at me incredulously. ‘I was the one who got a bang on the head, Finn. Not you. Have you gone mad?’
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Think about it. It’s the middle of the night. Most people are going to be tucked up in bed fast asleep. We know the Germans have initiated one of their razzias as we saw them begin the search. At some point they’ll pile into the village, start banging on doors and order everyone to produce their papers while they set about searching everywhere. Agreed?’
‘Yes, but?’
‘Right. Fritz has surprise on his side and total control over the situation. Everyone will be bleary-eyed and confused. They won’t know what the hell is happening or why. But – and here’s the beauty of my plan – what if when Fritz arrives, everyone is already up and rushing about trying to put out the fire? It’ll be chaos, and a hundred times harder for Fritz to conduct the search properly. Chances are he’ll be distracted. If we make it look accidental, then I bet you the soldiers will simply check a few papers, maybe search half a dozen houses or so and then move on. They’ll know that otherwise the search could take hours. And, if the fire’s big enough they’re hardly going to encounter a compliant local population, are they? Villagers won’t appreciate their untimely arrival.’
Loki stared at me blankly while my plan sank in. ‘So … we’ll be able to find somewhere safe to hide because Fritz won’t bother searching every nook and cranny.’
‘Precisely! Look, we’ll find somewhere to hide and make the necessary preparations. If Fritz doesn’t turn up, then terrific. We just regain our strength and figure out our next move. But if we hear them coming, we’ll set off our diversion. OK?’
‘It’s the barmiest scheme you’ve come up with since you had that idea to steal the Heinkel seaplane from under the Luftwaffe’s nose, Finn. But, you know what, it might just work!’
We entered the village cautiously, keeping to the darkest paths and frequently dipping into doorways and passages where only the local rats had eyes sharp enough to see us. It turned out to be larger that I’d anticipated, at least a hundred houses, I reckoned, with two separate huddles of shabby buildings on either side of a tributary of the main river linked by an ancient stone bridge. Recent rain meant the water ran swiftly, burbling and gushing over a stony bed. It created quite a noise, useful for obscuring the sound of our footsteps. Beneath the bridge, I took the opportunity to wash the mud from my face. Our clothes, however, looked like they’d been dragged to hell and back. It was a problem that I knew we’d have to solve eventually, but it was a case of one thing at a time.
I spotted a sign pointing down a side street and made a mental note – the place had a small station. There was a tiny market square too, at the centre of which stood a tall stone memorial with seating around it, and a large stone trough into which spring water was pouring from a piece of lead pipe. The village also possessed several small shops in a neat row, a boulangerie, a boucherie, and a third shop I couldn’t quite fathom, although I suspected it was some sort of general store or ironmonger’s. Drawn blinds meant we couldn’t see inside but above the door there was a metal sign – Paraffin oil. Perfect!
A dog barked somewhere far away but soon settled again. ‘We need to get inside that shop,’ I whispered. ‘Best if we try round the back.’
‘And then what?’
‘We borrow some paraffin.’
Edging our way down a narrow passage between the boucherie and our target, we scrambled quietly over a brick wall and dropped down into a large yard paved with cobblestones. There were several outbuildings and the walled area was accessed from the road running behind it via tall wooden gates firmly secured by a heavy chain and padlock. Unzipping our bag of emergency supplies, I hunted out the pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit. I knew that just a little modification by bending the arms would form the perfect implement for undoing simple locks. I had Sergeant Walker to thank for that. He’d taught me well. As I worked, Loki explored the yard before returning and tapping me on the shoulder. He led me to a space between two of the outbuildings. On a raised concrete plinth next to the wall stood two pumps – one for petrol, the other for paraffin. ‘There’s a container over there, Finn,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘A milk churn. It’s perfect. It’ll hold at least a couple of gallons. That’ll be enough, won’t it?’
Figuring petrol would be an even better option, we set about unpicking the small padlock to release the chain that was supposed to prevent theft of the precious juice. The handle operating the pump squeaked like mad so we reverted to my original plan and turned our attention to the paraffin. To my relief this pump’s handle didn’t make such a noise. Slowly we filled the stainless-steel churn to about a third full. Taking my bent tweezers, Loki then picked the padlock on the gates and we slipped out into the narrow lane beyond, lugging the churn between us. Now all we needed was a suitable target, preferably somewhere central that was either unlived in or unused. The last thing I wanted to do was set fire to a building with people inside.
Loki spotted the perfect place. Just off the square and in sight of the bridge and the road leading out of the village lay what looked like a hall or meeting place. It was two storeys tall, timber-framed and in a poor state of repair. It was also detached, which was a bonus. Hopefully, if we were forced to set it alight, the flames wouldn’t jump to neighbouring dwellings.
Inside, the ground floor was divided into a main hall with wooden trestle
tables and chairs neatly stacked up against one side, a small kitchen and a lavatory that appeared to be little more than a hole in the ground. We positioned ourselves by the main window and kept a lookout.
‘Suppose they don’t come?’ Loki whispered. ‘What do we do when it gets light?’
‘We’ll have to leave well before dawn. Our strange faces will stick out here like sore thumbs. Even if we looked French we’d not be able to hang around long before people started asking awkward questions. In these wet, stinking clothes, we’ve got no chance. Hopefully by sunrise the Germans will be winding down their search. I think this is our best chance. The other alternative is that we sit tight here for twenty-four hours and let things cool down a bit.’
‘We could go to the church and put ourselves at the mercy of the priest there. He’d help us, wouldn’t he? Not hand us over?’
‘Maybe.’ I reached for our bag and hunted out the box of matches. ‘Grabbing these emergency supplies at the last minute was one of your better ideas. Without them we’d be stuffed.’
Loki quietly opened one of the windows a fraction and listened for Fritz. We didn’t have long to wait. ‘I think I can hear something, Finn.’
I placed my ear to the gap and strained to hear – the sound of distant vehicles, lots of them! Hurriedly Loki got to work, splashing and sloshing the paraffin over the floor while I grabbed our bag and moved it to the door.
Death Ray Page 14
