by David Hough
He tried not to look at her too often or too long, afraid that other diners would notice. The hotel seemed to be well favoured by military officers and he wondered which of them was already envying him. He sat down opposite her, unable at first to avoid seeking out her gaze. With some effort, he turned away and signalled the waitress to attend them as a way of breaking the hold Marie had over him.
He waited until the waitress had walked away before he spoke again. “I suppose it’s now up to us to find Captain Wendel and tell him as much as we know about C’s plan to get the Countess out of German control.”
Marie lifted her coffee cup and smiled at him over the rim. “I don’t think we have any other option, even though we know only the bare bones of the mission. We could telephone the hospital again in the hope of speaking to someone more amenable, but I don’t hold out much hope. If Kitchener has ordered C’s complete isolation, we’re going to be onto a loser whoever we speak to.”
“Captain Wendel won’t be pleased.”
“I suppose we’d better head out to Ghent this morning in the hope of finding him.”
DeBoise blinked, put down his cup and adjusted his glasses. “Can we get hold of a car?”
Marie scratched at her nose, a pert little nose with a slight up-tilt. “I know where we can hire one.” She waited while the waitress came back with their breakfast, then reached out for a slice of toast and nibbled at it. There was something endearing about the way she ate, DeBoise thought, although he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was. Only that he had not noticed it before.
“I think I’m probably a safer driver than C or his son,” he said with half a smile.
“If you kill me on the road, I’ll refuse to sleep with you again.” Marie lowered her cup, glanced around, and then spoke in a hushed voice. “Before we leave, there is another matter I need to talk to you about”
“Yes?”
She stared down at her cup, as if afraid of how he might respond. “You had a commission in the King’s Own Highland Dragoons, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He wondered how she had found out about his past, but decided not to question her. Not yet.
She drew a long breath and looked up. A flush reddened her cheeks. “Well… that regiment is here now, in Dunkerque. They’ve had to regroup after their last battle and now they’re preparing for the move towards Ypres. If the rumours I hear are true, their presence here might not be to your liking.”
“Rumours? What rumours?” A tinge of annoyance crept into his head, spoiling his enjoyment of the girl’s company.
“You won’t like this.” She paused, glanced down at her plate of meat and cheese, and then pushed it aside. “I came across them down near the quay. I already knew you had some association with them and I wanted to see for myself what they are like. They got rid of you, didn’t they? Sent you away because they didn’t want you.”
He lowered his gaze, afraid to look her in the face. “Who told you that?”
“C let it slip when he was debriefing me after the business of von Hahndorf. I wanted to find out what sort of people could do that to you, so I started prowling around. I’m quite good at doing that, you know, finding out about things without getting caught.”
“It’s what has kept you alive,” DeBoise said wryly. “What else have you been finding out about me?”
“Nothing I didn’t like.” Her face suddenly brightened and she grinned at him mischievously. “But you must be aware of that. Anyway, while I was prowling around, investigating the King’s Own Highland Dragoons, I came across a particularly nasty little man. I was talking to one of the junior officers when he butted in. I discovered he was called Regimental Sergeant Major MacRapper.”
“MacRapper?” DeBoise felt a shiver run through him.
“I can see that you remember him, Charles. Well, I hung around for a while, just chatting, and I casually mentioned your name to that officer. MacRapper must have been listening in the background because he suddenly let out a big belly laugh. Then he butted in on the conversation, boasting that he once got the better of you. His actual words were, ‘I put the little English bastard in his place’.”
“He did that, I’m sorry to say. He put me in my place.” DeBoise avoided looking at her, a sense of shame creeping over him. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“How did you get into a Scottish regiment, Charles?”
He lifted his head, took off his glasses and wiped the lenses again. “It was my father’s doing. He had contacts within the regiment and he used them to get me a commission.”
“And I suppose Sergeant Major MacRapper made your life hell?”
DeBoise tried to suppress the anger in his voice, and he knew he was failing. “MacRapper made everyone’s life hell. He thought he could get away with anything. It was no secret that he has some sort of hold over the commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Cruikshanks. It was Cruikshanks who got him into the regiment and Cruikshanks who ensured he got away with everything bar murder.”
“And MacRapper hated your guts. Why?”
“Because I was weak with the men. It was as simple as that. Bullies like MacRapper always latch on to the weak.” He spoke openly because he wanted to hide no secrets from her, no matter how painful. “I wasn’t willing to punish them in the brutal way MacRapper wanted them punished. The truth is, he made a fool of me because he knew he would get away with it. I suppose you could say it was my own fault. I was a coward. I wasn’t brave enough to be a part of the regiment. Those Highlanders will show how brave they are when they get to grips with the enemy in the push beyond Ypres. You wait and see.”
“They have little fear in them?”
“Very little. That’s what makes them so effective in battle.”
She smiled at him, a warm confident smile. “I understand men like that better than you realise, Charles. Most of them fight with little or no fear simply because they’ve grown up amongst fearless drunken brawling at home. What they do on the battlefield is what they’ve always done. That’s not bravery, Charles.”
“The army needs men like them,” he argued.
“And the world needs men like you, Charles. You have compassion and respect for others. When you fight, it’s because you have to do it in order to protect others. That’s genuine bravery.”
DeBoise lowered his gaze once more in embarrassment. Silently, he began to recall the day he led a small group trapped behind the enemy lines, a group fleeing from the German occupiers. They included the Belgian girl. Along the way, they were stopped by three young German soldiers, little more than boys. One of the Germans raised his rifle at them. He looked edgy, wary of the small party facing him. His voice was high-pitched, as if it had yet to break. His hand was shaking while his rifle barrel wavered from side to side.
The girl began to wail. “Don’t let them near me. Please don’t let them touch me.” DeBoise looked back and saw her move forward, her arms held wide, her eyes begging his protection. The young German shouted at her to stop, but she seemed not to hear.
He saw Marie reach out to grab at the girl, but she was too late. The explosive bark of the soldier’s rifle was followed by a loud scream. He saw the girl throw up her arms and fall to the ground.
He remembered then the unbridled hatred he had felt inside him. He remembered the all-enveloping anger that erupted inside his head. And he remembered the remorse he felt after he killed the boy. That was not bravery.
It was violent retribution.
“I think you rate me too highly,” he said sadly, unable to explain how badly he felt. She had been there, had seen what happened. Surely she understood.
“No, Charles…” She put a hand gently to his sleeve and her smile glowed even brighter. “I admire you for your courage and your humanity.”
He was out of his depth now and he felt another blush run through his cheeks. “Captain Wendel is the brave one. He came from a decent, civilised family and yet he faces up to the Huns without fear of
being killed.”
“You’re wrong, my love.” She kept her eyes focussed on him as she said the words ‘my love’ and he knew that they had real meaning. She lowered her voice as she continued and he had to lean closer to her. “Captain Wendel is human like the rest of us. He has his fears like the rest of us.”
“Like his fear of flying?”
“Is that why he sent you up in the aeroplane?”
DeBoise nodded. “I think so. He could have asked the pilot to fly him to Ghent, but he chose to go by road instead.”
“See what I mean? The Captain hides his fears most of the time but, deep down, he’s as vulnerable as the rest of us.”
“How do you know this, Marie?”
“Brigitte told me about his fears. She slept with him and she knew all his secrets.”
“Ah yes, Brigitte. He should have been more careful of Brigitte.” DeBoise had been sent to Belgium by C to expose and kill the double agent, Brigitte Clostermann. But Wendel had let her go free.
“We all should have been more careful of Brigitte,” Marie said.
*
Wendel drew out his Webley pistol and slowly raised his head to peer over the top of a ruined wall. The responding gunshot came instantly. The bullet hit the brickwork just three feet from his face and fragments of splintered red brick ricocheted off the ground. One broken chip gashed the shoulder of his jacket. He ducked back into cover and cursed loudly.
“If ye can swear like that, ye’d make a good Irishman, Captain.” Donohoe crept in close beside him. “How many of the bastards d’ye think there are out there?”
“Buggered if I know.” Wendel turned and gave the Belgian soldier an enquiring look.
The Belgian, crouching low beside Wendel, shrugged and tucked himself even further below the top of the wall. “I don’t intend to stay long to find out,” he muttered.
He gestured to where the other Belgians were already hurrying away under cover of the damaged buildings. Within a few seconds they were out of sight, leaving behind the single soldier.
Wendel watched the other Belgians go. “We’ve heard only two shots so far. Pistol shots at that. Could be just one man.” He mused on the possibilities, determined not to be forced into immediate reaction. It could be just one man, or it could be a whole brigade just waiting for the right moment to loose off their volley fire. “If there was a whole damned army out there, they’d already be wasting a heap of rifle bullets on us for sure.” He spoke more for the Private’s sake than his own conviction.
“Ye’re not thinking of taking them on?” Donohoe grasped his rifle firmly and raised the end of the barrel above the top of the wall. The response was instant. A sharp gunshot was followed by a bullet taking another chip out of the brickwork.
Wendel grabbed at Donohoe’s arm and pulled the rifle back out of sight. “See that? Just a single shot. There’s only one man out there, I’ll lay good money on it.” It was only a guess. Was he right? He glanced at the Belgian soldier. “There’d be three of us ready to fight back if our friend here had the guts to stay and help us.” He switched to French when he addressed the soldier. “Will you fight with us? Or will you run away?”
“All right! I will stay!” The soldier reacted angrily, but his hands were visibly shaking. He gritted his teeth. “For the sake of Belgian pride, I will fight with you.”
“Good. Pity your friends didn’t think the same way. See that place over there?” Wendel pointed to a nearby tall warehouse. A door hung loose from broken hinges. “I’m going in there. With luck I’ll be able to make my way to the other side of the building and then get behind the Hun.”
“On your own, sir?” Donohoe asked.
“Yes. You must keep him occupied from here. Make him think he’s got us holed up.”
“Permission to shoot his balls off, sir? If I get a chance.” Donohoe raised a wry grin.
“Permission granted. But for God’s sake keep your own balls out of sight. You may need them one day.”
“There ye go again, sir. Spoken just like an Irishman.”
Wendel crept towards the warehouse, crouching low behind the wall. He heard another pistol shot and then an answering rifle shot behind him. He glanced back to see that Donohoe had returned fire. The boy turned and raised a thumb to indicate he was unhurt.
Wendel darted through the open doorway and found himself inside a deserted cordage warehouse. The upper levels had been badly damaged and the floor was littered with broken beams and rubble. Twisted ropes fell from between the open rafters of the first floor. Lumps of plaster crunched beneath his feet as he hastened towards another broken door, this one leading into a corridor from which rooms peeled off on either side. At the far end, an outer door stood wide open. He moved steadily towards it, checking each of the rooms he passed, fearing an ambush. But each of the rooms was empty. He reached the outer door, breathing heavily and wondering if he was about to come face to face with a German army brigade.
Chapter Ten
DeBoise walked close beside Marie as they made their way through Dunkerque town. He was close enough to be aware of her lingering sensuality and yet just far enough from her to maintain a sense of formality.
The man who should hire them a car had a motor repair garage, Marie had told him, but he would not be at his business until later in the morning. He always slept late. He was that sort of person, she explained with a chuckle: good with engines, but inherently lazy.
With no need for haste, they allowed their steps to slip into progressively lower gear. DeBoise ached to take her hand in his, but this was not a suitable time. There were too many other people in Dunkerque who would see a British officer holding the hand of a French girl.
Autumn sunlight lit up the streets, but it did nothing to lessen the underlying tension as yet more British troops came into the town. A long line of new arrivals marched from the direction of the quayside. They sang in cheerful voices, displaying a confidence in their ability to defeat the Huns. A misplaced confidence, DeBoise thought. He glanced briefly at Marie when he detected the bawdy words of their marching song. She seemed unconcerned.
A sergeant in charge of the men openly leered at Marie as he passed by. DeBoise glanced again at her, wondering if she would be offended, but this time she grinned back at him. One of the men whistled appreciatively and DeBoise quickly steered her away. Any embarrassment was all his.
“I’m sure they mean no harm,” he said, knowing full well in which direction the thoughts of the common soldiers would be focussed.
“And I’m used to it,” she replied. “I’m French, remember? A Frenchman will always show appreciation for a young woman.”
“Those soldiers are not Frenchmen.”
“But they have an eye for me, don’t they?” Her tone held a hint of teasing, enough to show she enjoyed being admired.
“I’m sorry to say they do.” DeBoise declined to admit that he was annoyed because Marie had attracted so much attention, but he was aware it probably showed in his voice. How dare those men whistle at the woman he had slept with?
Marie eyed him warily and the light suddenly slipped from her eyes. “Don’t get too serious about me, Charles,” she whispered. She chewed at her lower lip and then looked away. “You will one day discover I’m not worth it.”
“Never.”
“Trust me.”
DeBoise made no reply because he dared not say what was in his mind.
They had gone another hundred yards before Marie spoke again. “I think C suspects.” Her voice was softer now, almost lilting in its lightness. For a brief moment DeBoise thought she might have been laughing, but her serious expression told him otherwise.
“Suspects what?” He inclined his head, puzzled.
“He suspects me of being too close to you. I saw it in his face the last time we met. I think he wanted to warn me against an unwise relationship, but he held himself back.”
“Because?”
“Probably because he wasn’t totally sure
.” She glanced at him. A smile resurrected and took over her face.
“Let’s hope he remains unsure,” he said.
They turned into a narrow road of small shops and stopped outside a café. They were several streets away from the quayside, far enough from the disembarking troops for comfort, and within yards of the still-closed motor garage.
“The coffee here isn’t as good as the hotel coffee,” she said, “but we’ll be able to keep an eye on the garage.” She pointed to a small workshop about a hundred yards ahead. Two Mors Tonneau cars were parked nearby.
DeBoise eyed the vehicles warily. They looked well-used. “You trust this man to give us a reliable motor?”
“He will. He knows I have contacts at the town hall, people who could have him closed down.”
DeBoise wondered then at the network of contacts Marie maintained. How many of them had shared her bed? It was an emotionally painful thought and he quickly brushed it aside. This was no time for such self-destructive considerations.
They were about to enter the cafe when DeBoise drew up abruptly, caught off guard by a loud snort of derision behind him. He swung his head towards a short, muscular man in the kilted uniform of a Highland regiment. A weasel face glowered at him.
“You!” he gasped and, in an instant, the breath seemed to gush from his lungs.
“Well, well, look who we have here. Lieutenant Dee-boys, is it not?” Regimental Sergeant Major MacRapper’s voice pierced the air like a sharp knife. His thick accent only added to the air of venom.
“What do you want, MacRapper?” DeBoise drew back his shoulders, ready to confront the man, but his courage began to seep away. His voice croaked.
“Sarn’t Major MacRapper to you, Dee-boys.”
“Stand up straight and address me as sir!” He tried to sound authoritative but the firmness of voice just wasn’t there.
“Don’t make me laugh, Dee-boys. And what have yew got here?” The Highlander fixed his gaze upon Marie. “Yer bit of foreign skirt, is it?”
“How dare you!” DeBoise stepped quickly between him and Marie. “I’ll have you on a charge if you insult this lady again.”
