by Robert Rigby
The driver was still at the wheel, attempting to reverse the heavy vehicle. The engine roared and nearly stalled as the cumbersome lorry rolled backwards off the track and towards the trees, its giant wheels throwing up mud and leaf litter.
Another rifle shot cracked and whistled through the trees, thudding into wood somewhere behind Josette and Inigo. It was way off target; the Germans still hadn’t spotted their attackers.
“Inigo, let’s go!” Josette hissed. “We have to run for it! Please, Inigo!”
“Not while I’ve still got this,” Inigo growled, snatching his final petrol bomb from the ground.
A contented smile spread over his face as he lit the wick and stood up to throw. “Death to all fascists!”
They were two men down. The Brothers Grimm had been first out of the lorry and had run straight into the blast from the second petrol bomb. Wilhelm, the first out, had suffered significant burns to his face and hands, and Lau knew he had to get him to the house and the emergency medical supplies. Both men needed urgent pain relief; they were lying on the ground writhing in agony.
Lau had been in the car, with Rudi Werner driving and Victor Forêt in the back. Werner acted quickly after the first explosion, reversing the vehicle to what appeared to be a safer position further down the track.
Lau bawled to Victor to stay in the car and stay down. Victor didn’t need to be told twice: he sank down in the seat as Lau and Werner ran from the vehicle.
Lau fired a speculative shot into the forest as he kneeled to check on his men, and Werner followed with two further rounds. They were not aiming at anyone, just trying to keep their attacker down, wherever he might be.
Erich Steidle, unused to driving a lorry, had managed to reverse the vehicle off the track through deep muddy ruts, only to come to a sudden and shuddering halt against the massive trunk of a giant fir tree.
The engine stalled and the force of the impact jolted through Steidle’s body, sending him jerking forward so that his head cracked against the steering wheel. But Steidle was tough. He didn’t bother trying to restart the lorry; his comrades needed him. He leapt from the cab, crouched down and ran across the track.
Werner was in the prone firing position, his eyes raking the forest as he moved the rifle slowly and deliberately through his sight lines. He stopped moving. “I see him,” he breathed. “He’s mine.”
The rifle cracked and there was a distant yell and a scream, and then a third petrol bomb exploded.
Paul and Didier were working their way through the trees, staying alert and aware of the sounds of battle. The last thing they needed was to run straight into five or more heavily armed German soldiers. It would be a massacre.
They moved a stretch at a time, dodging from one place of safety to another, constantly seeking out what cover they could. Didier, carrying the shotgun, led the way, making his ground, checking all around and then gesturing for Paul to join him. It wasn’t the fastest way of reaching the action, but Didier, ever cautious, knew it was the safest.
Suddenly they heard running footsteps approaching – no voices, just runners moving much faster than they had managed.
They dived for cover behind the trunk of a fallen tree.
“They’re coming straight for us,” Didier whispered. He glanced down at the double-barrel shotgun. “If there’s more than two of them we’re done for.”
The runners came closer and closer until they were little more than ten metres away, their footsteps thudding down hard enough for Paul and Didier to feel the vibration through the earth.
Paul nodded to his friend. “Now!”
Didier stood up, bringing the shotgun into the firing position against his shoulder and staring down the barrels.
“Don’t shoot!” a voice hissed as two men, both carrying shotguns, slid to a halt on the damp forest floor.
It was the Noury twins.
“Don’t shoot!” one of them said again. “We’re with you! We’re with you!”
* * *
Josette could see about eight centimetres of glass sticking up from her leg. The curved shard narrowed like a slim dagger. It was hard to know how much glass had sliced through her thin trousers and pierced the flesh. But it hurt badly and blood was pumping out steadily.
She had to crawl away and try to find a hiding place; at least one of the Germans was coming for her. She’d heard shouts and then movement.
Now there was silence and all she could hear was her own irregular breathing. But she knew the silence would be brief; they were coming.
She wanted to scream for help, but it was not an option. She had to fight the panic building in her chest. She thought of Paul and Didier and her father. Where were they?
Inigo was dead. The bullet had struck him close to the heart and sent him spinning backwards as the petrol bomb slipped from his grasp. Josette had dived to the ground just in time to avoid being enveloped in the flames. But as the bomb ignited, she had felt the glass slice into her right thigh.
She had to get away, but she couldn’t stand. She could hardly even crawl, as the shard was buried deep in the front of her leg. She had to get it out.
She gripped the blood-soaked sliver of glass between her thumb and index finger. Just touching it sent a wave of pain shooting through her leg, and as she tried to pull the glass from her flesh her fingers slid on the blood and she lost her hold.
“Come on, Josette,” she breathed. “Do it!”
She clenched the glass again, tighter this time, ignoring the agonizing jolt as she took hold. Closing her eyes, she pulled. The glass came out. It dripped blood and sliced more muscle and flesh on the way, but it came out. Josette opened her eyes to see a fresh spurt of crimson pumping from the wound. She was breathing heavily – and too loudly, she realized.
She dropped the bloodied shard and turned onto her front to crawl further into the forest. Even the slightest movement was painful, and she knew she was leaving a telltale trail of blood as she crawled, but she had to try to get away.
As she edged forward, she saw Inigo less than a metre away, his wide eyes staring at her, his face locked in a contented smile of death.
Josette turned quickly away; she couldn’t bear to look. She dragged herself onward, painfully slowly, fearing that at any moment a German would be standing over her with a rifle pointed at her head.
And then another explosion ripped through the air.
The sounds of battle had drawn Henri and Max away from their hiding place at the entrance to the track.
At the first explosion, Henri stared in horror. “My children!”
“Your children?” Max said, confused. “But surely it’s only Josette?”
Henri was already running. “They’re all my children to me.”
He rushed through the trees, unconcerned now for his own safety, with Max hurrying to keep up.
There were shots and a second explosion as they approached Victor Forêt’s stationary black Peugeot. From the cover of the trees, Henri glimpsed the rigid figure of Victor in the back seat, but he paid the traitor no heed and ran quickly on. His only thoughts now were for Josette, Paul and Didier. And Henri was terrifyingly aware that his daughter was in the greatest danger.
A rifle shot cracked out, instantly followed by a third explosion then yelling and a scream.
“Josette!” Henri breathed, his face ashen.
The forest was momentarily silent and then there were more yells and shouted orders in German.
Henri reached into the canvas bag he wore over his shoulders and pulled out one of the spare petrol bombs that Inigo had made.
“What are you doing?” Max asked.
“The only thing I can think of doing. Confuse them: draw them away from my daughter and towards us.”
Max nodded and watched Henri light the wick.
The sight of the burning fuse seemed to make Henri freeze. He looked at Max and the two men’s eyes met.
“Light, throw and get out, that’s what Inigo said,” Max h
issed urgently. “Throw it, Henri, now!”
Spurred into action, Henri drew back his arm and hurled the bomb with all his strength. They dived to the ground and in the next instant heard the explosion and felt the wave of heat as the petrol ignited in a ball of flame.
“Now we get out,” Henri said, lifting his head. “And we pray that they follow.”
The petrol bomb exploded on the far side of the lorry, shattering a side window in the driver’s cab and ripping jagged holes in the canvas covering the back.
As the fuel ignited and the fire blazed, Lau and Steidle instinctively hit the ground, shielding their wounded comrades with their own bodies.
“What the hell is going on?” the officer yelled. “We’re surrounded.”
“Should I go and look?”
“No! We have to get these men back to the house. They need treatment. And where the hell is Werner?”
Werner was in the forest, hunting down the first bomber, knowing that he’d shot him but not knowing if his shot had been a kill. He was treading slowly and cautiously, eyes peeled, his index finger resting on the rifle’s trigger.
He heard the explosion and knew it must have been near the lorry, but he didn’t look back. The others would have to deal with that, Werner was focused on taking out the threat in front of him.
Lau and Steidle moved slowly towards the lorry with one of the wounded men between them. With a great deal of encouragement, he’d managed to stagger to his feet.
Steidle assisted the trembling man to the back of the vehicle while Lau covered them with his raised pistol. The wounded soldier was helped inside and he groaned in pain as his burned limbs made contact with the wooden floor.
“Hold on, Jacob,” Lau told him. “We’ll get you out of here.” He turned to Steidle. “We’ll both have to lift Wilhelm – he’s unconscious.”
“Probably best that he is, sir.”
“We need Werner to cover us. Where is Werner!”
Werner hauled Josette to her feet, ignoring her agonized yell as blood pumped from the wound in her thigh.
The Brandenburger turned the terrified girl around, wrapped one arm around her neck and pulled her close so that his face was against hers. “How many of you?” he hissed into her ear.
Josette could smell the soldier’s sour breath. She said nothing and Werner tightened his grip, squeezing until Josette began to struggle for breath. “How many?”
“Find out,” Josette managed to gasp.
The Brandenburger glanced back at the body sprawled a few metres away and smiled briefly. His shot had been excellent: a kill. The bomber was dead, but he knew there were more involved in the ambush than the dead bomber and this girl. The last explosion on the far side of the lorry confirmed that.
Werner had the rifle in his free hand. He raised the barrel and rested it against Josette’s cheek. “I’ll ask you one final time, how many?”
Josette closed her eyes. She wouldn’t say another word. She felt faint, dizzy from the loss of blood. She was going to die, she knew it, but she would rather die than betray the others. Her thoughts flicked quickly from her father to her mother and then to Didier and Paul.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and thought of Paul.
Paul.
And then she heard his voice.
“Drop the rifle! Drop it!”
Josette opened her eyes in the same moment that Werner wheeled around to see three raised shotguns pointing at his head.
Didier and the Noury twins were all staring down the barrels.
Paul stood between them. “I said, drop it!”
Werner was startled but calm. He was a soldier, a crack soldier and he’d spotted instantly that the weapons aimed at him were all shotguns.
He pulled Josette even tighter to his body, using her as a shield; perfectly secure in the knowledge that there was no way even the best marksman in the world could hit just him with a shotgun. The spread of shot from the cartridge would take out Josette as well. For certain.
Werner glared at the twins. “You two, and a couple of kids. You did all this?”
Eddie returned the glare. “We’ve only just joined the party.”
“But we’re glad to be here now,” Gilbert continued.
“Won’t do you any good,” Werner said. “And you won’t shoot: kill me and you’ll kill this one too.” He suddenly squeezed Josette’s neck even tighter, causing her to cough and splutter.
“Let her go!” Paul yelled.
For a moment, Didier feared that Paul was going to try to charge the German. “Paul!” he hissed. “Don’t!”
Werner laughed. “Your little girlfriend, is she? Well, she’s coming with me. We’re leaving, so don’t even think of trying anything, because if you do, she’ll get a bullet in the brain.” He laughed again and smiled at Eddie. “Just like your dog, eh?”
He began to move, edging backwards, dragging the helpless Josette with him.
Paul and Didier and the twins could do nothing but watch.
Alain Noury was totally confused.
He’d heard the explosions and the gunfire and instantly dived for cover. Even armed with a pistol of his own, Alain was no hero. He kept his head down as the battle raged.
In Lavelanet he’d followed Victor and the strangers to Victor’s Peugeot and the twins’ lorry, which was parked behind it. There was no sign of the twins, but when Alain saw the men climb into the vehicles he sprinted to his own van with a good idea of where they would be going.
And he was right. He was on their tail, keeping a very safe distance, before they reached the outskirts of Lavelanet. They were heading for Bélesta, which had to mean they’d continue to the forest and the wood yard. Alain had no need to follow closely.
When he reached the turning, instinct told him not to drive down the track.
He pulled the van off the main road, and as he climbed from the vehicle he heard the dull thud of an explosion and then a shot. He hurtled for cover, like a frightened rabbit.
Since then, hidden in a thicket, he had been vainly trying to work out what was happening. Who were the strangers and who were they fighting? Could it be the twins? And why was Victor Forêt involved?
The fighting had been brief but heavy. Now it had stopped. Completely. There had been no further gunshots or explosions for a full three minutes.
Alain peered nervously from his hiding place.
He waited and watched for movement before finally plucking up the courage to get to his feet and creep on through the trees, staying away from the track.
Soon he glimpsed Victor Forêt’s car standing at the edge of the track. There was no one near it, but as Alain got closer he saw the outline of a figure inside. It was Victor, sitting upright and absolutely still.
Alain grinned. “I see he made sure he kept clear of the fighting,” he whispered, conveniently forgetting his own dive for shelter at the first sign of trouble.
He drew his pistol from a pocket and crept closer to the vehicle, staying low, moving silently until he was no more than two metres from the vehicle.
Victor had not spotted him. He was sitting perfectly still, staring forward through the windscreen, obviously afraid that the battle might still come to him.
Alain’s smile was even broader this time. He would force Victor to tell him exactly what was going on, but first he was going to enjoy giving him the shock of his life.
Pistol raised, Alain leapt forward, grabbed the handle and yanked open the door, ready to thrust the weapon into Victor’s fat, smug face.
“Now, you…!”
Alain stopped mid-sentence and stared.
Victor had not moved. Victor would never move again, at least not by choice. Victor was very obviously dead. His mouth hung open, his staring eyes bulged and one hand rested on his belly just below his heart. It appeared that Victor had suffered a massive heart attack.
“You bastard!” Alain hissed, robbed for good of the pleasure of making Victor squirm in terror. “You bastard!
”
His finger tightened on the trigger. It was pointed at Victor’s head and Alain desperately wanted to fire.
“Alain!”
Alain almost dropped the Spanish Colt and collapsed as he heard his name whispered.
He spun around and saw Henri Mazet and another man staring at him from the cover of the trees.
Alain’s mind was in turmoil. Henri Mazet! Him too? Here? What the hell was going on?
“What are you doing here?” Henri hissed.
“I… I…”
“Did you come to help? You heard the gunfire?”
“I… Victor’s dead. A heart attack, I think.”
“Come and take cover, the Germans are bound to come back.”
“Germans? What…?”
Suddenly, the engine of the lorry rumbled into life further up the track.
“Those Germans,” Henri said. “Get in here quickly; they’ll come for the car too.”
Fear more than anything spurred Alain into rushing into the trees to join the man he considered his other bitter enemy, even though Henri knew nothing of that. Alain was only just quick enough.
As the three men watched, Rudi Werner came sprinting down the track. He spotted the open door of the Peugeot and stopped running. Raising his rifle, he approached the vehicle slowly and peered in through the door.
“Oh, wonderful,” he said. “Just what we need.”
Werner slammed the door shut, leapt into the driver’s seat and started the car. As it bumped off down the rutted track, the three men hidden in the trees saw the lifeless body of Victor Forêt topple over to one side.
THIRTY-FOUR
The battle was over, but the war was far from won.
Henri’s battered and weary little army had gathered in a clearing and while one of the twins kept watch, Paul and Didier took stock.
Both sides had suffered casualties and Inigo, fearless but foolhardy, was dead. There were new allies in the twins and, very surprisingly and difficult for Paul and Didier to believe, their cousin, Alain Noury.
