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

by David Hough

  “Were you asleep?” Her voice sounded softer now, as if she had deliberately moderated her tone for his benefit.

  “No. I was pondering what to do next. I’m supposed to get your Grandmother out of here, but I can’t risk her life out on the Menin Road.” He sat up and stared at her. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

  She stood over him, watching him with wide eyes. “If you really must know, I have been trying to get word to Prince Rupprecht. I should tell him that his men are dead. He would expect it of me and he would be suspicious if I did nothing. I did not want you to know what I was doing. You would have tried to stop me.”

  “And…?”

  “I have had no success. It is too dangerous for me to go directly to Rupprecht’s headquarters on my own and I cannot contact any of his staff.”

  “Good.” Wendel shifted to ease his position. “Maybe he’ll leave us alone for a while. About your grandmother…”

  “Never mind Grandmama. She will be safer here than running away with you. We shall just have to wait here until the British troops fight their way through to Gheluvelt. If they fight their way through. In the meantime, there are things we can do to ease the strain.” She grinned and began to unbutton her dress.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. The image of Brigitte Clostermann undressing loomed large in his mind. Was this what Sophia had been doing to gain intelligence?

  “You know perfectly well what I am doing.” She let the dress fall to the floor about her feet. “I have a lot of experience of this, but I expect you have guessed that by now.”

  He nodded slowly. Of course she had a lot of experience. Just like Brigitte and Marie. “So, this is how you gather information?” he queried, inclining his head.

  “It is how I get men to talk about things they should not talk about. German officers mostly.”

  “And British officers?” He gave her an enquiring look, wondering if she would pick up on his suspicions. Hoping she would let slip a telling remark.

  “What are you suggesting?” She frowned and drew back her head.

  “I’ve known other girls who’ve been doing similar things,” he said casually. It was up to her now to either let slip her real allegiances or gloss over them. He allowed his thoughts to linger again on Brigitte and Marie Duval. “They take big risks, the other girls who do what you do, but they usually get what they want. And my boss usually gets what he wants.”

  “Commander Cumming always gets what he wants, does he not?” She smiled as she let slip the name. “I send him useful information and he lets me know what else he wants from me. Used to let me know, before he had his accident. I have sent off a few messages to him since then, but I have had no reply. It seems like I am rather out of contact at the moment.”

  He felt a frown slip across his face. What was the information she passed to C? Was it genuine or false? “Out of contact? Aren’t we all? You have a courier?”

  “Not one I have ever met. I use the telegraph system to send messages to a contact called Prometheus. I know that he is based in Berlin, but I do not know his real name.”

  “You’ve been sending messages recently, you say?”

  “The telegraph office in Gheluvelt was working a couple of days ago, but it is probably destroyed by now. We thought it best to avoid any physical intermediaries in case I got caught. I am so close to Rupprecht, you see. If I do not know the names of Cumming’s other agents I cannot be persuaded to talk.”

  More clothing fell to the floor.

  “You know my name now,” he said.

  “And the only Germans who know your real identity are dead.” She lay down tight up beside him in the single bed. The fragrant scent of her body aroused him instantly. He wondered how many other British officers had been taken in by her. She put a finger to her lips and pouted. “You will be safe here for the time being. I will stay the night with you if you want me to.”

  “How did you kill them?” he asked, turning his head away. She had killed them, he was sure of that, but he could not be sure why. To cover her tracks, maybe? And yet it seemed a drastic way of diverting attention from her true intentions.

  When he looked back at her, she was grinning ruefully. “The fat Doktor was easy. I lured him into the shed and slit his throat. He was too fat to fight back. I had to tackle the soldiers a different way, one at a time. They expected some home comforts from me, and I shot each of them just as they came into the shed.”

  “You lured them there?”

  “It is what I do, Captain Wendel. And I do it for the sake of Belgium. I was born here, you know. My allegiance is with the country of my birth.”

  “And your brother?” he asked cynically. She had to be the double agent, he was almost certain of it, but what role did her brother play? Was he acting as the girl’s contact with Prince Rupprecht?

  She cuddled closer. “Let us not talk about him. It is not often I get the chance to do this purely for pleasure.”

  For pleasure? Was she doing this for pleasure? Or, was she yet again acting out some form of diversion? Something to throw him off the scent. Sooner or later he would have to decide whether she should be allowed to survive. Brigitte had lived simply because she was pregnant, but this girl was not going to have that excuse.

  The thought of killing Sophia gave him no satisfaction. But he would first take up her offer and let her stay the night with him.

  *

  DeBoise was at the Charing Cross Hospital on the stroke of nine o’clock. The same matron was there to meet him.

  “You will allow me in to see him now?” He spoke sternly, expecting to be dismissed again.

  This time the matron smiled. “Yes. I told him you were coming, Lieutenant. Please follow me.”

  She took him to the single-bed side ward next to one of the main surgical wards. When DeBoise entered the room, C lay on his back studying a book. A tent structure covered the bottom of the bed.

  He looked up and gritted his teeth as if in pain. “Ah, DeBoise. Been waiting for you.” He winced. “Damn leg! Foot still hurts even though it’s not there.”

  “You ordered me to come back to England, sir,” DeBoise reminded him. He stood to attention at the side of the bed, holding his cap beneath one arm.

  “Don’t act so officious, man. Pull up a chair and sit down.”

  DeBoise looked around, pulled up a wooden chair and sat down uneasily.

  “How are you feeling, sir?”

  “Damnable, but don’t waste time with niceties. We have more important things to discuss.”

  “Yes, sir.” He put his cap on his lap and placed his hands over it. “You have something important to tell me?”

  “Why else would I bring you all this way? Tell me, first, what Captain Wendel is up to.”

  DeBoise coughed lightly while composing his thoughts. “Captain Wendel has set out on a mission to get to Gheluvelt to rescue the Countess…”

  “Yes, yes, I guessed that. Marie Duval and Madame Beaumier would have put him on that trail.” Cumming flapped a hand with an air of annoyance. “What else has he discovered?”

  “He knows there’s a double agent called Wood Wine at the Château Gheluvelt.”

  “Double agent? Good God, no! He’s got that wrong.” Cumming shook his head and shifted uneasily. “There’s no double agent in Gheluvelt. Whatever made him think that?”

  “But… Wood Wine, sir? He found out about Wood Wine.”

  “He was supposed to. It was a trap. And he’s got it all wrong, dammit!”

  DeBoise stiffened in his seat. Captain Wendel had got it wrong? What did it mean? “I don’t understand, sir. I speak German fluently. I know that Birkensaft means birch sap or birch juice… wood wine.”

  “Of course it does. Such an obvious code name, and for a good reason. But there’s no double agent. There are two agents, DeBoise. Two of them! The girl, Sophia von Birkensaft, is one of my best spies.”

  “And the other?”

  “Her brother, Pierre von Bi
rkensaft, is Wood Wine. He spies for Prince Rupprech and he’s extremely dangerous.”

  DeBoise drew in a deep breath, trying to suppress his inner repugnance of the von Birkensaft family. This wasn’t the right time to let personal feelings gets in the way of solving the problem. “How do you know this, sir? How did you know about the trap?”

  “Sophia told me. She was able to send off a message to me, but I only received it a couple of days ago. Too late to warn Wendel.”

  DeBoise shrank away from the bed and considered the implications.

  “So Sophia must know what Prince Rupprecht is up to?” he asked.

  “Of course she does. She’s a very clever agent. It’s the boy who is the dangerous fool. Fortunately, he hasn’t a clue about the part his sister has been playing.”

  “But, Captain Wendel knows nothing of this.”

  “That’s the problem, DeBoise. If he thinks the girl is a double agent, he’ll likely want to eliminate her. That mustn’t be allowed to happen. That girl works for me.”

  “What must I do now, sir?”

  “Isn’t that obvious? Get out there and find Wendel, and make sure he doesn’t harm the girl.”

  DeBoise thought back to his first meeting with Cumming. He recalled how the Commander had sent him out into the field with orders to reach Captain Wendel and warn him about a double agent. “That’s the second time you’ve given me an order to reach Captain Wendel, sir,” he muttered. And this time he was also being asked to save a member of a family for which he had no liking.

  “It’s all part of the job, DeBoise.”

  “You said this was planned all along as a trap?”

  “A very clever trap. Rupprecht sent the Countess to Gheluvelt in expectation of us wanting to get her out. But he couldn’t be sure we would send in a top man, and he wanted a top man. He wanted someone who could be tortured to reveal valuable information. So he used another bait: the boy, Pierre von Birkensaft. Rupprecht set him up as Wood Wine, and he sent out uncoded messages knowing we would get hold of them. He also knew that we would easily guess Wood Wine was one of the von Birkensaft family. It was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? It was a trap and Wendel has walked right into it. You must get there and do all you can to save the girl and save Wendel. Their lives are important. Both of them.”

  DeBoise stood up and straightened his jacket. “Yes, sir.” Saving Captain Wendel was something he would do willingly. Saving the girl was something he would do because he was ordered to do it. “I’ll go straight away.”

  “No, you won’t. First, I want you to get back to Dunkerque and make a nuisance of yourself at the aerodrome. You can’t get the Countess away from Gheluvelt along the Menin Road. But she could be taken out by aeroplane.”

  “Aeroplane? Good God! She wouldn’t like that, sir.”

  “I don’t give a damn whether or not she likes it. It’s the only way, so do it, DeBoise! You hear me? Do it!”

  DeBoise stiffened. “Yes, sir. And what about the twins? Do you want both of them brought out?”

  Cumming sighed and toned down his annoyance. “It’s unlikely you’ll be able to get both of them away without undue risk. No, on balance I think we should leave them where they are for the moment. The boy is probably of no further use to Rupprecht and the girl will continue to be of value to me.”

  “Unless Rupprecht discovers…”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t, DeBoise. For the girl’s sake.”

  *

  DeBoise made the Channel crossing to Dunkerque in late afternoon sunshine. The sea was calm and he stood on deck enjoying the fresh air in his face. For many of the hundreds of soldiers making the journey, this seemed to be a new experience. They crowded the ferry’s deck, excitement in their voices as the French coast drew closer. It was a territorial regiment, part-timers, many of whom appeared anxious to set foot in France for the sole purpose of earning an overseas service medal. In all probability, DeBoise guessed, some had never fired live rounds in practice, let alone in anger. He felt sorry for them. The professionals who had fought at Mons were amongst the best trained soldiers in Europe. They would not take kindly to these ill-prepared amateurs.

  “Is that Wipers over there?” one young trooper asked. He was probably no older than Donohoe, but clearly he still had much to learn.

  “Nah, lad.” An older man put a hand on his shoulder. He was a grizzly faced sergeant with disarmingly bright eyes beneath bushy brows. “That there is Froggy land. Wipers is in Bell-jum, which hain’t in Froggy land. See?”

  The youngster showed no sign of seeing. His smooth face continued to wear a puzzled look. “So oo’s we supposed to be fightin’ then, Sarge? The Froggies or the Bell-jums?”

  “Neither, lad. We’re gonna fight the Fritzies.”

  “Who’s they, Sarge?”

  The older man smiled condescendingly. “The Fritzies is the Fritzies, lad. Nasty lot, they are. They been beatin’ up our lads and now you and me is gonna go out there and give ’em what for.”

  “Are they over there, Sarge? The Fritzies?” the youngster asked, pointing towards the shore.

  “Nah. They hain’t around ’ere, lad.” He scratched at his chin. “Not yet anyway.”

  Pray God they never reached the Channel ports, DeBoise thought. If they did, the war would be over in hours.

  He moved away, suppressing an incipient grin. What would RSM MacRapper make of these green-behind-the-ears English troops?

  The ferry docked at Dunkerque just as the sun was dropping below the horizon. It was too late to get to the aerodrome so DeBoise resigned himself to a night’s delay. He hitched a lift into the town centre and checked in at the Hôtel du Nord.

  It brought back warm memories of the time he spent there with Marie Duval.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  DeBoise woke to the sound of rain pounding upon the bedroom window. Where was he? And what must he do today? There was something he had to do and it was important. He lay on his back for a few minutes while his thoughts coalesced into a logical order.

  He blinked and sat up suddenly, remembering where he was and why this hotel was important to him. He reached for his glasses and another thought crept into his mind. Something was missing from his life. Someone was missing.

  He dressed slowly, repeatedly looking back at the bed, remembering the first morning he had woken to see Marie’s face alongside his. It had not been in this room, or this bed, but one very similar. She had a smiling face that morning, her eyes bright with a look of contentment. He had to force himself to accept that she had actually enjoyed spending the night with him. All his self-doubts fought to convince him otherwise.

  And yet, ultimately, it had to be a doomed relationship. He acknowledged the inevitability with sadness. He must never allow himself to expect more than a casual affair with Marie. He must never expect anything more than Captain Wendel had enjoyed with Brigitte Clostermann.

  His heart ached for so much more.

  He finished dressing and hurried from the room before he became too maudlin. There was work to be done, arrangements to be made, and a heavy responsibility lay upon him.

  “What a stroke of luck!” DeBoise felt a surge of hope as he entered the dining room shortly before eight o’clock. A familiar figure was seated nearby. He walked up to Lieutenant Commander Oliver Polmassick and threw out his hand in greeting. “Good morning, sir.”

  The naval pilot looked up with a gasp of surprise. He had a window seat, but the view outside was obscured by heavy rain and darkness. “Lieutenant DeBoise, isn’t it?”

  “You remember me, sir.”

  Polmassick stood up and offered a hand. “Of course I remember you, but I’m surprised to see you here. Will you join me for breakfast?”

  “Willingly. Do you always eat here?”

  “Not always, but the food at the aerodrome is pretty appalling.” He wiped his napkin across his beard. “If I had any bombs on my aircraft, I’d drop them on top of the camp kitchen. So, tell me what you’re doi
ng here.”

  Before he replied, DeBoise signalled the young waitress to the table and ordered his breakfast. “And a cup of coffee, please,” he added as an afterthought.

  When the girl walked away, he leaned forward on the table and stared at the pilot. Could he trust a naval man with an insight into his work? Why not? Commander Cumming was a naval officer also, a man used the same sort of military discipline as this pilot.

  “Yesterday, I was in London,” he began. “I went to see Commander Smith-Cumming. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “The Secret Intelligence Service chappie? You work for him, do you?” A slow look of understanding crossed the pilot’s face. “Actually, I guessed there was something not quite pukkah about you and your Captain when we met in Antwerp.”

  “You know Commander Cumming?”

  “Never met him, but I know of him. Nearly got himself killed in a motor accident, so I heard.”

  DeBoise glanced to each side. There was no one else within hearing range. “He’s recovering and he’s given me a difficult task.” He paused and considered his next words. It was time to take a chance, time to reveal something of his real purpose. “Can I speak to you in confidence?”

  “Of course.” Polmassick shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

  “Captain Wendel and I have been given the task of bringing a Belgian royal out from the Château at Gheluvelt.”

  “Politics getting in the way of war yet again. I don’t envy you.” Polmassick pulled at his beard. “You’ll be in real trouble if a royal gets killed along the way.”

  “Yes, it’s rather a difficult task with all the fighting going on along the Menin Road. We can’t risk losing a member of the Belgian royal family like that. But Commander Cumming thinks it might be possible to get her out in an aeroplane.”

  Polmassick sat back and adopted an astonished look. “Her? It’s a female royal?”

  “An elderly female royal.”