In Line of Fire (Secret Soldiers of World War 1 Book 2)

by David Hough

  “Just you and…?” Madame Beaumier cast an inquisitive look at DeBoise.

  “This is Lieutenant DeBoise.” Marie gestured towards him. “It’s all right, Madame, he’s with me.”

  “Come inside. Your friends are already here.” The woman turned abruptly and led the way along a narrow passage. Marie leaned her head towards DeBoise and whispered, “That’s Madame Beaumier. Her husband is a Capitaine in the Belgian army. She doesn’t know where he is at the moment. She doesn’t even know if he’s alive.”

  “In the meantime, Madame lets her daughter work as part of the local network?”

  “The Beaumiers are loyal to their country, Charles. They’ll do anything to thwart the Boche. Besides, Madame thinks Danielle is beyond the German’s suspicions.”

  “Too clever?”

  “Too young.”

  “That poor Belgian girl was young,” DeBoise said in a hushed voice, and he felt his hands shake. “Being young protects no one in this war.”

  Madame Beaumier led them into a large sitting room, close-packed with solid furniture. A fire blazed in the grate and the room had a warm, comfortable feel to it. Wendel sat alone at one side of the fireplace and he glanced up in surprise at their entry. A girl, whom he presumed to be Danielle Beaumier, sat at a small coffee table opposite Private Donohoe. They were playing draughts. The girl was, DeBoise guessed, a schoolgirl. No more than sixteen years old, she had black hair tied back into a neat pigtail. Her smooth, cherubic face held a curious expression of interest as he came into the room, and his thoughts focussed again on those painful images of the girl who died.

  “Glad to see ye survived the flight, Lieutenant.” It was Private Donohoe who greeted him first. “And it’s a pleasure to see ye again, Miss Duval.”

  Wendel stood up and thrust out a hand to Marie, grinning. “I don’t normally endorse the opinions of a mere private, but this has to be an exception. You’re a sight to behold, Marie.” His expression changed abruptly to one of wariness as he glanced at DeBoise. “Is C with you?”

  “Ah, no.” DeBoise coughed lightly. “And that’s going to be a bit of a problem for all of us, Captain. Commander Cumming won’t be going anywhere for some time to come.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Wendel awoke early, just as the sun was creeping between the slats of the window shutters. His companions seemed to be sleeping soundly. They had spent the night in Madame Beaumier’s sitting room, making themselves as comfortable as possible in their hostess’ armchairs. Wendel yawned, stretched his arms and then stole quietly into the kitchen. He had not slept well.

  Marie had told him as much as she knew about the latest mission, but it wasn’t enough and that worried him. He needed more detailed information from C and he clearly wasn’t going to get it. Who, for instance, was the spy working close to Crown Prince Rupprecht? It couldn’t be Major von Einem because he was now firmly ensconced in the German headquarters in Berlin. Wendel sighed. If only C had been more careful on the road! But when had C ever been careful in a fast car?

  He opened the kitchen window and took a deep breath of fresh, early morning air. Then he paused and listened to the distant rumble of guns. He hadn’t paid much attention to it yesterday, there had been too much human noise in the street, but he was fully aware of it now. The German army was getting ever closer to Ghent. How long before the enemy reached the town? How much time had he left to rescue the Countess of Birkensaft? How long before the route to Ypres was closed to him by an army bent of dominating the whole of Belgium? The window of opportunity was closing fast.

  He was making himself a cup of coffee when he heard another, sharper noise behind him. He turned to face DeBoise.

  “You slept easily, sir?” The Lieutenant’s unshaven face looked tired. He rubbed at his eyes.

  “No. You were snoring, Lieutenant.” Wendel looked away and continued making the coffee. He shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t the Lieutenant’s snoring that had kept him awake; it was his fear for the mission they had been entrusted with.

  “Sorry, sir.” DeBoise sounded contrite and that gave Wendel a further pang of guilt.

  “Coffee?” he grunted.

  “Please. Have you decided what you’re going to do now? In order to get to the Belgian Countess, that is. It’s not going to be easy.”

  “It’s going to be far from easy.” Wendel offered the first cup to DeBoise. “And I’ve decided it’s going to be a team effort. We’re all of us going to attempt to get to Gheluvelt by the quickest route, through Ypres. I figure that we ought to stick together from here on.”

  DeBoise sipped at the coffee. “Needed that, sir, to wake me up.” He gave a small cough, as if about to contradict his senior officer. “You know that C wanted me to hold back in Dunkerque? According to Marie, he wanted me to be his fall-back plan.”

  Wendel poured out another coffee before he continued. “From what you’ve told us, it seems C is no longer in a position to have any plan. It’s up to me to make the decisions now. If we split up, we’ll have no satisfactory means of communication, so how could I let you know if I fail? No, we’re all here together and we’re going to continue the mission together. At least for the time being.”

  “How will we–?”

  “Get to Gheluvelt? The Mors car you have is too small, that’s for sure. Madame Beaumier knows someone who will let us have an Excelsior Adex. Big enough to carry the five of us. We’re going to load it up and play the part of refugees.”

  “Five of us?” DeBoise frowned.

  “Danielle is coming too. Madame has asked me to take her. Besides, refugees usually have children with them and we have to try to look like an authentic Belgian family.”

  “Could be dangerous for the girl.” DeBoise frowned.

  “With the Hun army about to enter Ghent, she’d be in even more danger if she stayed here. You know what they do.” Wendel looked away. Of course the Lieutenant knew what the German army was capable of.

  He quickly added, “Madame Beaumier wants us to take Danielle with us and that’s good enough for me. She thinks we’ll be able to protect to her.”

  “On a mission?”

  “If Danielle stays here, she runs the risk of being arrested as a spy when the Germans break through into Ghent. And the Huns will break through here, mark my words. Dammit, Lieutenant, the girl is a spy, and you know what they do to spies.”

  DeBoise sighed. “You figure we can fool the Huns?” he asked. There was a hitch in his voice and Wendel had no need to ask why.

  He shrugged. “We fooled ’em back in August, didn’t we? Both of us. Reckon we can do it again. Madame Beaumier says Danielle knows the best roads to get us to Gheluvelt. Quiet roads away from the main highways. That should be a help.”

  “She can help us avoid the Germans?”

  “That’s the idea. She’s only a schoolgirl, but she’s experienced in gathering information. Her head is filled with the gossip she gets from local sources.” He grinned ruefully. “Maybe she can help us with things we’d never otherwise find out.”

  A strange look crossed DeBoise’s face, as if he was considering the implications. “We’ll need to dress as civilians. And we’ll need identification papers.”

  “Madame has set one of her contacts onto the matter of false papers. She says he was a criminal forger before the war.” Wendel drew a deep breath. “Donohoe and I shall dress as civilians but you, Lieutenant, will do what you did once before with such success. You shall be our parish priest.”

  “Again?” The Lieutenant’s voice betrayed some alarm.

  “Yes, again. You can be Father DeBoise. Madame will get you some suitable clerical clothes.” He watched as the Lieutenant digested the news. If he didn’t like it, too bad. He had already shown the ploy to be a good one.

  *

  Crown Prince Rupprecht was busily studying a map of the Ypres area. An important battle was brewing here. His command would concentrate on the southern section of the front line while General Fal
kenhayn would control the northern section.

  Rupprecht had faith in Falkenhayn. In September, he had been appointed Chief of the General Staff, taking over from General von Moltke. Confronted with the failure of the Schlieffen Plan, Falkenhayn was now attempting to outflank the British and French armies with a race to the sea. It was a bold move and it had to succeed, over-running a wide coastal corridor and denying the British the use of the Belgian ports.

  Rupprecht’s problem was more immediate. Ypres and Gheluvelt were stuck inconveniently between the two German commands. That could be awkward if his plan to capture an English spy was to succeed. The Prince was considering his options when Wood Wine entered the room.

  “What news?” he asked, barely glancing at the agent.

  “Not good news.”

  Rupprecht looked up. Wood Wine seemed strangely ill at ease, as if something was wrong. “Tell me.”

  “I’ve just learned that Smith-Cumming is in hospital. I’m told he’s had part of his left leg removed.”

  “Really?” Ruppecht was surprised. “He has been shot?”

  “No. He had a motor car accident on his way to Paris. His son was driving and he was killed.”

  “Oh dear.” Rupprecht gritted his teeth. “That may be a problem for us. We must hope that he has already ordered his spy to reach the Gräfin von Birkensaft. She is now at Gheluvelt?”

  “Yes. She’s not happy at being forced to leave her home, but she has been made comfortable.” Wood Wine threw a grimace at the Crown Prince. “As comfortable as we can make a piece of bait feel.”

  Rupprecht frowned. Wood Wine sounded annoyed and he couldn’t allow that. He would have to keep a tight control over his young spy. A bait could so easily be lost to a determined predator.

  *

  It was early afternoon before the Excelsior Adex drew up outside the Beaumier apartment. The driver said little to either Madame or Wendel before he hurried away. Had he something to hide? Had he stolen the vehicle? Wendel had no way of knowing. It was a well-used vehicle and the hood was missing, but Wendel pronounced himself satisfied with it.

  A cold wind was blowing down from the north and it carried with it the constant rumble of distant guns. Wendel shivered as he stood outside the apartment and tried to judge how far off the enemy was. Not far enough for his liking! He wasted no time in ordering the car to be loaded with enough goods to make it look like the authentic transport for a family fleeing from Ghent.

  He noted how much at ease DeBoise seemed to be in his priestly disguise, as if the image was one that suited him. For himself, Wendel was simply glad to be out of his dirty uniform. The neatly tailored suit he wore had belonged to Capitaine Beaumier, but it fitted him perfectly. Clearly, the middle-aged Belgian kept himself in fitter condition than his overweight wife.

  “I shall drive,” he announced to the group as they took their leave of Madame Beaumier. “If anyone asks, I am the owner of a bakery here in Ghent. Father DeBoise can sit beside me because a priest should not be squeezed in with two women. Private Donohoe, you will be in the back with the girls, so keep your hands to yourself. They are now my sisters.”

  “As ye say, Captain. What about our weapons?” Donohoe asked. He gestured to where the officers’ Webley pistols and a Lee Enfield rifle lay on the car’s rear seats.

  “We’ll need to conceal them. Climb underneath the car and strap them to the chassis, well out of sight.”

  “It’s dirty under there, sir.”

  “Good. That’ll make you look like an authentic Belgian worker. You can be my gardener.”

  Donohoe picked up the weapons and dropped to his knees beside the vehicle. He paused and looked up. “A suggestion, Captain.”

  “Yes?”

  “It might be wise to hide any money you have under here with the guns. I’ve heard tales of how the Huns like to rob refugees. Sometimes it’s the first thing they do: take the money.”

  “Good idea.” Wendel silently berated himself for not coming up with the idea. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and scanned around the group. “All of you, let Private Donohoe hide your money before we leave here. I’ll keep just a small amount with me in case we need to buy food along the way.”

  Madame Beaumier stood on the pavement, watching, as they drove away. She gave a small, hesitant wave, and Wendel waved back as he forced his way out into the heavy traffic. The exodus from Ghent was growing busier by the hour, causing long delays on all the streets.

  It was mid-afternoon before they were finally clear of the town. Most of the refugees headed west towards Ostend. With only a few vehicles taking the road towards Ypres, Wendel was able to drive more easily. By the time Danielle had directed them onto smaller by-roads, they were alone. With no cover to the car, the cold northerly wind bit into Wendel’s skin, but he made no comment on it. The others would also be feeling the effects and they seemed to be accepting the discomfort silently.

  He kept the car running at a steady pace along the deserted lanes. The only sound was the rhythmic chug of the engine. The countryside around them seemed so peaceful, as if the war had yet to taint this part of Flanders.

  He forced himself to relax.

  “That’s St Ghistelle,” Danielle spoke up as they approached a village which sat at the top of a small hill.

  It had the look of a quiet country hamlet. Smoke rose lazily from the cottage chimneys, and the top of the village church was visible above a long line of trees. Wendel revved the engine harder to ascend the hill. There was no sign of enemy activity and he was almost enjoying the drive. His mind was still at ease when the road levelled out and he eased the car round a sharp bend at the entry to the main street.

  “Oh hell!” The words slipped sharply from his lips. He jerked his foot off the accelerator.

  It was a typical rural village with houses irregularly lining the single main street, but there was no sense of rustic tranquillity here. German army horse-drawn wagons and motor vehicles were pulled up at the side of the road. German soldiers ambled around haphazardly, in no apparent hurry to go anywhere.

  “Oh my God!” It was Danielle who reacted first. “I didn’t know about this!”

  “Keep calm,” Wendel hissed. He eased back on the accelerator but kept the speed to a crawl.

  As he spoke, a burly Oberleutnant stepped out into the centre of the road with his left hand outstretched and a pistol in his right hand. A small group of armed soldiers followed him.

  “Halt!” The officer placed himself directly in front of the vehicle.

  Wendel brought the car to a stop and held his breath. The Oberleutnant aimed his Mauser pistol directly at him and snapped in guttural German. “Who are you? Where are you going?”

  Wendel replied in French, calmly but firmly, keeping his gaze fixed on the German officer. “I am M’sieur LeClerc. This is our parish priest, Father DeBoise, and the two women are my sisters.”

  “And the boy?”

  “My gardener. We have come from Ghent and we are anxious to get to my parents’ house in Ypres. My parents are elderly and they will need our help.”

  “The priest has fled his flock?” The Oberleutnant spoke French with a strong Bavarian accent, and he laughed. “He has run with his tail between his legs!”

  “No. His flock have already fled from Ghent. There was no one left from his church. May we drive on now?”

  The German’s tone suddenly turned sinister. “No. You have money with you?”

  Wendel felt a sudden surge of gratitude for Donohoe’s suggestion. He kept his manner firm. “We have very little. We had to leave in a hurry.”

  “You are lying! You people always take all your money when you flee.” The Oberleutnant thrust out his free hand. “Give it to me. All of it.”

  “I told you, we have very little money. We could get nothing more from the bank before we were forced to leave Ghent.”

  “Liar!”

  “I assure you–”

  “You are a liar! Leave your car h
ere and go over there to the inn.” He gestured to a Feldwebel standing immediately behind him. “See that they do not try to escape. And then make sure this vehicle is searched. Pull out the seats if you have to. They will have money hidden somewhere. They always do.”

  Wendel gave DeBoise a sharp glance. Their weapons were still strapped to the bottom of the car.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Only five kilometres from Ghent and already they were in trouble! Wendel clenched his hands into tightly-balled fists as the Feldwebel led the group towards a small inn. A stringy little man, the German trooper strutted ahead with his rifle slung across one shoulder.

  “What will they do to us?” Danielle hastened up close beside Wendel. She looked pale and she kept her hands clasped tight in front of her.

  “They’ll take any money we have.” He tried not to sound despondent, but how could he hide the truth from her? It was not going to be an easy experience. Worse if the weapons were found beneath the car.

  “I know what they’ve done to other civilians,” the girl replied. “I know about the killings, and the…” Her voice tailed off and then came back in a hushed tone. “I know what they do to women.”

  “Stick close to me,” Wendel said, and wished he had not brought Danielle on this mission. A mixture of anger and guilt welled up inside him.

  The innkeeper looked at them angrily as they walked into the building. A group of German officers sat at a table laden with the inn’s best wine, schnapps and beer. The Germans laughed and joked rowdily as they drank.

  “Stay here!” The Feldwebel gestured towards hard wooden seats in a dark corner of the barroom. “If you try to leave, you will be shot!” He glowered at them before leaving.

  Moments later, two foot soldiers came into the building to stand guard, but they said nothing. They looked even more annoyed than the innkeeper. Wendel guessed their leisure time was curtailed by this unexpected interruption. The men outside would be scouring the village for plunder while these two missed out on the opportunity.