by David Hough
“’Tis bloody murder, sir. Bloody murder, so it is.” Donohoe gazed at the bloodshed with undisguised horror.
“We’ve seen it before. We’ll no doubt see it again.” Wendel felt his legs wobble as he walked towards the nearest victim, an elderly woman with a crimson river streaming down her shattered face. Her left arm was severed at the elbow. She sat at the roadside, silent and in shock while her life drained away into the Belgian soil. He doubted whether she would live, but he went to her aid anyway.
A group of Royal Naval Marines ran back to the scene of the massacre. The first to arrive was a junior officer holding a pistol, ineffectually pointing it towards the sky.
“Dear God!” he shouted. “What the hell are those bastards playing at now?”
“Don’t just stand there,” Wendel snapped at him. “Organise your men to get the dead bodies away from the road. We must get the evacuees moving again before the Huns come back for more.”
“And the wounded?” The officer seemed to take Wendel’s authority for granted.
“Get some transport organised. The horse-drawn carts will do.” He pointed to where a group of horse-drawn wagons had come to an abrupt halt. “Don’t bother to ask, just commandeer as many as you can. Put the injured into them and start them rolling again towards Ghent.”
“Why in God’s name do they do this?”
“God has nothing to do with it.” Wendel gestured the man to put away his gun. “You have a medical officer with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then give him all the help he needs, damn you!”
Wendel and Donohoe spent the next hour helping the marines tend to the injured and clear the dead bodies from the road. It was a heart-breaking task. They discovered some tarpaulins in one of the wagons and used them to cover the corpses.
When most of the injured had been tended, Wendel took the young Irishman to one side and told him, “There’s little more we can do to help these people. We must move on.”
Donohoe’s teenage face was splattered with blood, other people’s blood. He wiped at it and drew yet more red streaks across his cheeks. “You mean we should head on to Ghent, sir?”
“Yes, but this is not the best route for us. There are too many others on the same road and they’ll attract more German aircraft. We’ll break off and travel cross-country.”
“On our own, sir?”
“You want to continue with this?” He cast a hand around the devastation. “We’ll head south, away from the evacuees, and stick to the quieter roads and lanes. Maybe we should cut off towards Termonde. There’s a road from Termonde to Ghent, it should be clearer than this.” He gritted his teeth, hoping the reports were accurate.
“Might be dangerous, sir.” Donohoe dusted down his uniform. “Two British soldiers, alone and getting close to the German lines.”
Donohoe was right, but Wendel’s mind was made up. “We’ve fooled the Huns before. We’ll fool them again. Come on, let’s get away before those bastard airmen decide to come back.” And he made a silent plan to find a stream where they could both wipe away the blood that stained their hands and faces.
*
DeBoise had a light meal in the hotel’s dining room and then returned to the bar to wait for Marie. There were more military officers in the room now and he wondered if that might spoil his meeting with the girl. Cigarette and pipe smoke was beginning to fug the air and he felt a tickle in his throat.
He bought a glass of Dubonnet and a beer before claiming a quiet table in a darkened corner away from the crowd. Marie arrived not long after, pulling off her long coat as she approached. He stood up with a feeling of unexpected pleasure rippling through him.
Her face expressed her own joy at the meeting. “I’m so glad to see you again, Charles.” She dropped the coat onto a chair, hugged him, kissed him lightly on the cheek and then looked around the room. “What news of Captain Wendel?”
“He’s heading towards Ghent by road with Private Donohoe. I’ve no idea when he’ll get there. I got a ride here in an aeroplane.”
“You flew here?” She seemed surprised.
“We met this naval chap, Lieutenant Commander Polmassick, in Antwerp. He was intent on flying back to Dunkerque so the Captain organised the lift for me. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
“But he got you safely away from Antwerp.”
“True enough.” He shrugged. “However, I hope I never have to do go up in one of those things again.”
She grinned at him with mischievous eyes. “The pilot ranks high in my estimation. Thanks to him, I now have you all to myself.” Then her sense of mischief suddenly evaporated. As if she was reminded of the reason behind their meeting, the impish grin changed to a serious expression. She put a hand to his arm before she sat down at the table. “Your discomfort is my good luck in one respect, but I have some bad news.”
“My discomfort was vomited all over the Belgian countryside,” he said ruefully. “That’s my bad news. What’s yours?”
Her expression remained stiff. “It’s Commander Cumming. He and his son were involved in a car crash near Meaux. Alistair was killed and they’ve had to remove part of C’s left leg.”
DeBoise jerked back in his seat. “Oh God! C always was a dangerous driver, and so was his son. Was anyone else involved?”
“Seemingly not.” She grimaced. “But we now have a major problem. He planned to brief Captain Wendel and you about an important mission. I know a little bit about it, but only C had the complete picture. As you might guess, he’s in no state to tell us what to do next.”
*
Evening was falling fast. Wendel allowed his thoughts free rein as he and Private Donohoe strode purposefully along empty roads and level lanes that were lined with ubiquitous poplars. He felt uneasy when he noted the smooth green meadows of Flanders and the distant views of trim hamlets constructed of bright stucco and tile. It seemed so peaceful, as if silently denying the savagery and destruction he had witnessed elsewhere in Belgium. How dare they? he thought. How dare the Huns destroy these idyllic scenes and so brutally rape the country?
He took his mind back to the occasion when DeBoise had recounted to him in graphic detail the pillage, burning, and looting that occurred in Leuven. At the time, they had been eating in the hotel in Antwerp and DeBoise had become so upset at recalling the brutality he had been unable to finish his meal. For his part, Wendel had sensed a return of the shame he felt that his father’s countrymen could be so cruel.
The day grew cooler in its silent demise as he and Donohoe made their way across the countryside, but their brisk pace kept them warm. They took no heed of the signposts they came across. The Belgian army had done what it felt necessary to fool the advancing Germans. The signs were either marked with false names or pointed in the wrong direction.
“Do ye think we should do something about our uniforms, sir?” Donohoe asked. “In case we bump into a Hun unit.”
“Not yet.” Wendel had already been giving the matter some thought. “The likelihood is that the Belgian army is still lurking somewhere around here. Our uniforms will ensure our safety if I’m right. We’ll take a chance until we see how things lie.”
Donohoe grinned. “Well, I hope ye’re right, sir. Back in August, me and Lieutenant DeBoise had to get up in some silly disguises when we were trying to fool the Huns. Would ye believe what I looked like wearing a girl’s clothes?”
Wendel laughed wryly. “The Lieutenant told me all about it. Even he thought it was funny in hindsight.”
“He tried to make me walk like a girl.” Donohoe paused, seemingly taking a moment to reflect. “He did love that Belgian girl, the one who was killed, didn’t he, sir?”
“Yes, I think he did.”
They lapsed into silence.
Night was falling as they approached Termonde. Wendel was fearful of entering the town in darkness, so they made themselves comfortable in a barn at the corner of a wide field. It seemed to be isolated, but they took n
o chances and took turns to keep watch throughout the hours of darkness.
*
DeBoise finished his drink in a sombre mood. “How much do you know about the mission? C’s message suggested it was something urgent.”
“Politically important rather than urgent, so I was led to believe. Captain Wendel was to play the most important part and C never got the chance to brief him.”
Marie settled back uneasily into her seat. DeBoise noticed that her cheeks had paled and she chewed at her lower lip before she continued. “Unless we can find out exactly what Captain Wendel was supposed to do, you may have to take his place.”
“Behind the lines?” he queried.
“Maybe, maybe not. In a couple of weeks the British army should be marching into Ypres. That’s where there’s work to be done.”
“What work? It must be something serious for C to come across the Channel.”
“I’ll tell you as much as I know. It’s about…” She paused when a noisy group of officers came out from the dining room. She shook her head and nodded towards the door. “How would you like to walk down to the harbour with me? We can talk there without being overheard. I’ll tell you what I know about the mission… and then we ought to talk about something else.”
DeBoise stood up beside her, wondering.
He waited until they were away from the hotel before he said, “Now tell me.”
She spoke quietly as they walked, relating as much as she knew. When she stopped speaking, DeBoise gave the matter a moment of quiet reflection. “The von Birkensafts are an important family in Germany, are they not?”
“You know them?” she asked.
“Good heavens, no. But I’ve heard of them. I knew a German student when I was at university in Dublin. He was related to the von Birkensafts. He wasn’t a very nice character.”
She tugged at his arm. “Gave a bad impression of German aristocracy?”
He nodded. “In every country there is good aristocracy and bad aristocracy. I came to the conclusion that the von Birkensafts are amongst the latter group.”
“And you and Captain Wendel may have to rescue one of them.”
“Seemingly. Funny old world, isn’t it?” He tried to sound more cheerful as he turned his head towards her. “Anyway, aside from the mission, I thought you might have something else to tell me?”
She replied slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes, I thought we might talk about you.”
“Me? Why me?”
That was when she stopped and turned to face him. Her eyes reflected a note of compassion. “Because I was with you when that Belgian girl was killed.”
That was not what he had expected to hear and it threw him, leaving him unsure how to respond. “Do you…? Do you think we ought to talk about it?”
“I’m certain we ought.”
She resumed walking then and DeBoise was surprised when she slipped a hand into his, but he made no comment upon it. He found it comforting and, in a strange way, it gave him hope for the future. It was, he deduced, her unspoken way of telling him she cared about him and the emotional pain he carried.
“I really didn’t enjoy that flight from Antwerp,” he said, changing the subject because he could not bring himself to speak about anything more personal. Not now, not here. And yet, with her warm hand in his, he felt strangely at ease with her. It was not something he had expected or hoped for, but now that it had happened, he was glad.
“Better that than remaining in Antwerp,” she suggested.
“It was once a grand city. Not now.”
“I’ve seen it happen elsewhere in this war. And it’ll happen again.”
“I suppose so.” He decided to change the subject again because he didn’t want to get maudlin in her company. “I’d better do something about organising myself a bed. God knows how long I’ll be here.”
Marie waited a few seconds before she replied. “I have bed at the hotel.” She sounded hesitant, as if unsure how he would react.
“Of course. I assumed you would be well settled here,” he said, wondering what she meant by the remark.
She squeezed his hand and stared up into his eyes. “It’s a double bed, Charles. Plenty of room for two. We could share it.”
He looked into her eyes and saw there an expression of earnest pleading.
“You mean…?”
“I thought it might help you.”
Chapter Seven
Wendel shivered in the damp early morning air while they ate the last of their food. As daylight crept over the landscape, it revealed a layer of low-lying fog that blanketed the ground several hundred yards either side of the River Scheldt.
“We’ll take it slowly from here.” Wendel stood up and shouldered his pack. He scanned the horizon from side to side. “There’s no telling how close the Huns may be.”
Donohoe pulled his collar tight about his neck. “Sure, we used to get cold, foggy mornings like this in Ireland. They used to say this was when the Little People were lying in wait for us.”
“Better the Little People than the German army.” Wendel gritted his teeth and led the way towards Termonde.
He caught his first glimpse of the town an hour later. At first he noticed only hazy grey silhouettes sailing upon the sea of fog, lifeless in the still air. As the sun rose further and the fog burned away, the shapes took on the sharper form of buildings.
Closer still, he saw that the town lay in ruins.
Termonde was only twenty-one miles from Ghent, a prime target for the German army because of its river bridge, the only one on this stretch of the Scheldt.
“Jaysus. It looks like Leuven all over again.” Donohoe gasped as they came closer.
Wendel took in in the sickly aura of destruction on a grand scale. It seemed as if nothing had been spared. “It’s retribution all over again,” he hissed.
They approached a crossroads on the outskirts, marked by a burned-out tavern, a couple of sign posts and a group of half-levelled houses. Two Belgian soldiers stepped out in front of them. They lifted their rifles as a signal for Wendel and Donohoe to halt.
“Who are you?” one man asked in French. He appeared middle-aged with a heavily-lined face, deep-set eyes and a huge moustache that drooped to give him a look of extreme melancholy.
“British.” Wendel held out his open hands to show he was not holding a weapon. He gestured towards the town. “What happened here?”
“The Boche. That’s what happened.” The Belgian lowered his rifle and stepped closer. He made no attempt to salute the British officer and his voice was thick with anger.
“They are gone now?” Wendel asked.
“For the moment, but they will come back. They come again and again to destroy our town. But what are you doing here? Your army was not here to save us when we needed help.”
Wendel ignored the taunt. “We’re trying to get to Ghent. May we pass through the town?”
The man shrugged. “Pass through if you wish. The Boche have left and so has everyone else. There’s no reason for anyone to stay.”
“Only you,” Wendel said pointedly.
The soldier sniffed and wiped the back of a hand across his nose. “We’ll not stay long. The Boche will be back as soon as they hear what we are about to do.”
Wendel glanced at the scene beyond the soldier. “There are other Belgian soldiers here?”
“Only us and the engineers.” The man gestured to his single companion. “The rest of the troops have gone now. We stay only to guard the engineers while they mine the river crossing. Three times we have blown it up to stop the Boche crossing the Scheldt, and three times they have come back to replace it.”
“They must have been annoyed with you.” Wendel belatedly bit his tongue at such a trite remark.
“Annoyed?” The soldier turned his head and spat onto the ground. He continued slowly, with a deep emphasis. “They show how annoyed they are whenever they come back. They destroy our homes in our beautiful town. It’s not so beautiful no
w. And innocent people are dead.”
“It’s what they do,” Wendel agreed, unable to offer any condolence because he knew it was far from a unique experience. “How much of the town is left standing?”
“You want to know? You want to see what they did? Come, I will show you.” The soldier turned and spoke quickly to his companion before gesturing to Wendel and Donohoe to follow him.
He led them along a street with not a single building left intact. The fog had lifted completely and the detail of the devastation was laid bare.
Wendel said nothing until they turned a corner and the river lay wide before them. Then he was the first to speak. “But… the bridge… you did this?”
The centre section of Termonde’s bridge was gone. Splintered timbers lay in the mud at the river’s edge, along with iron beams torn apart by explosive charges. The river was choked with a tangled mass of steel and wood.
“Yes, we destroyed our own bridge, but the Boche came back and built a replacement. That’s why our engineers are here.” The soldier pointed to where a hastily constructed array of temporary beams reached out across the river. It was flimsy affair. Three Belgian military engineers knelt on the cold ground at the near side, carefully packing up their equipment. “The Boche built the temporary crossing two days ago. Their troops crossed the river and then they marched away. All of them.”
“And now you will destroy this crossing as well?”
“We have set charges on it and we are going to knock it down. It’s the best we can do for now.”
Wendel rubbed at his eyes. Was there no end to this madness? He stared at the scene on the far side of the river. “The destruction looks even worse over there.” He was surprised at the croak in his own voice.
“You want to see it?” The Belgian’s voice was hard with anger. “There is time before we blow the bridge. If you want to see more of what the bastards did to us, you can cross over.”
“It won’t blow up with us on it?” Donohoe asked.
“You are supposed to be our allies,” the soldier replied with a wry expression.
