Feeling a sense of ease at the deserted nature of the town, George Granger lifted his foot a little from the throttle as the car passed by small shops where displays of fresh meats and produce were left open to pillage.
“Breakfast looks good!” George called out in hope.
“I am afraid not, my friend. It is too dangerous to linger.” Bauer reiterated his urgency. George shook his head and brought the car to a standstill at a small plaza which was lined with green trees and benches. Turning round to confront his German captor, he was greeted with the muzzle of Hawkins stolen gun.
“Really? How am I expected to drive with an empty stomach?” George pushed his luck and the tension increased.
“I am sorry; there is no time for this. I will ensure you are well fed when we reach Caen.” Bauer insisted with exceptional courtesy considering the situation.
“George, don't. This place looks like a death-trap.” Hawkins pleaded with his friend. This was not the time to test their captor's mettle.
“John, we don't have time for this!” Genevieve pushed into the argument and surprised Hawkins at the use of his Christian name. It only emphasised the fact that George's stubbornness was getting them nowhere.
Suddenly there were whistling, fizzling sounds of rounds of ammunition tearing the air above their heads and George lurched back and then forwards, collapsing across the wheel and into Hawkins' lap. Ducking for immediate cover, the young soldier did not need to be told twice to seek an escape from the volley of gunfire which could now be heard from their left hand side.
“Drive!” Bauer yelled as he hoisted the Bren up to his eye level and rested the barrel on the top of his passenger door. Unleashing a magazine of bullets into the general direction without care to check who had initiated the fire-fight, Hawkins meanwhile scrabbled to somehow stamp on the accelerator with George's limp body in the way. Whilst desperate to remain low in the car, he crawled over the bleeding form of his friend and kicked his legs away from the foot well. The car lurched into life, the grinding gears protested at the poor use of the clutch but there was sweet motion.
As the speed gradually increased, Hawkins found it difficult to drive whilst virtually sitting on top of his comrade and Genevieve yanked at George's limbs from behind in order to draw him to one side. Bauer continued his shooting until they were around the corner and in the cover of a tall block of offices. Hawkins screeched the car to a halt and yanked George's frame up and into the passenger seat with all his might.
“Drive!” Genevieve screamed as it was apparent that they were being pursued by a small German army truck which was lurching its way around the corner. Hawkins heart was tearing every sinew to pump blood around his frantic body as he lurched the car into motion once more, failing to heed any protestations from the ageing vehicle. Genevieve reached down and grabbed the Sten which sat in Bauer’s foot well and grappled with it before unleashing her own volley of shots at the pursuing truck. Hawkins glanced into the mirror and saw only bright muzzle flashes and pounding sound waves from the discharging weapons. As yet, there was no return of fire but Hawkins did not want to give anyone the opportunity of targeting his vehicle. He squealed its tyres as he took sharp, angular turns down small side streets clattering his ride as he went on shop billboards and running over the bodies of those who had already succumbed.
“Left!” Genevieve squealed as Hawkins' dithered over his destination, reaching a T-junction in two minds.
“Stay on this road!” She continued although to Hawkins, the immediacy of the situation was clearly more important than resuming the road to Caen.
Reaching a fair speed, the car began to pull away from the truck and the squeaking suspension groaned as yet another body was struck and its form caused the car to jolt wildly. Now leaving the town and rejoining the sprawling green of the Bocage, a loud and foreboding rattle began to grow louder from the chassis of their car. Looking into the mirror, the pursuing truck was still visible, its front grill smoking.
“Keep driving, we are pulling away.” Bauer commanded but Hawkins had a dreaded feeling that something terminal had occurred to their poor car and it was only a matter of time before it would give up the ghost.
It was only a matter of seconds before he was proved to be right and as the front axle expired, the steering wheel lurched in Hawkins' hand and the car suddenly careered left. Struggling to compensate, Hawkins yanked the wheel over to the right and the inevitable fishtail effect was now impossible to stop. The rear of the car began to come around and when the thin tyres suddenly found some grip on the asphalt, the car was hurled into the hedgerow and rolled over into the adjacent field.
*
Hawkins lay in a crumpled heap in a wet bed of grass. Feeling the impact to his body deep in his thorax, he battled to drive some air back into his lungs. Pulling himself up so that he was on his knees, he drew long inhalations before venturing to look about him for confirmation of what had just occurred. The grey and battered car was upended and it was clear that he had been thrown some distance from it. Lying beside the vehicle, the writhing figures of Bauer and Genevieve were seen to move. Granger was nowhere to be seen.
Gathering the senses and the strength to stand, Hawkins heard the approach of a heavy vehicle and a sudden wash of panic took hold. Frantically racing to the other stricken passengers, he observed that Bauer was not only alert but searching for a weapon with great immediacy. Hawkins made a beeline for Genevieve who sat upright looking quite stunned.
“Come on!” Hawkins whispered as he yanked the frail frame of the woman upwards allowing her to bear weight on a clearly painful ankle. Bauer had been wise and sought George's Bren which had been flung twenty yards into the field of long grass. The truck squeaked to an ominous halt over the other side of the hedge and doors were heard to open. Bauer thrust a pistol into Hawkins hand and before the Brit even had time to wonder why his captor had seen fit to trust him, he was pulled down behind the upturned and now silent car. There, the German officer, the girl with ties to the French resistance and a British Commando all readied their weapons in silence and prepared for close quarters combat.
Hawkins wished he had a more substantial weapon, his Webley was inaccurate, slow and limited in rounds. He had seen how many shots it had taken to fell one of these 'cold soldiers' at the junction. He hoped that Bauer could handle the machine gun and did not fall first. There was rustling of bushes but no voices. Their approaching nemeses were not the talkative types but it was clear that they sought to finish the job they started. Hawkins felt keen to know how many he was dealing with and thought it important to not let them get close. They could walk down bullets like peas from a shooter and his own Webley gave him little confidence in a one on one situation.
Hawkins felt a nearing presence from around the car and he looked over to Bauer as if to say 'I'm ready when you are'. Bauer nodded and took a deep breath. Standing as one with Genevieve straggling behind, the two opposing soldiers stood as one and caught sight of a duo of black uniform clad soldiers lumbering towards them. Bauer did not have to give an order to fire; Hawkins picked the closest individual and aimed at the centre of his chest, squeezing a cracking shot from the side-arm. The soldier reeled with the impact but stood his ground and began to raise his MP44 assault rifle to spray its enemy with unerring accuracy. The Bren spoke out and put an end to that notion as it roared, delivering its fiery breath. Bauer did not stand his ground and hope for the best, he charged at the oncoming soldiers and ensured he had taken the first soldiers head away from its soldiers before the magazine emptied.
Now out of ammunition and fumbling to retrieve another magazine, Bauer was out of cover and vulnerable. Hawkins reacted quickly and began to unload his weapon on the second soldier who was poised to end Bauer's spirited defence. The usually lethal force of the pistol did not seem enough however and the percussive shock of bullets striking its body seemed only to unbalance the oncoming monster. Hawkins was out of ammunition and Bauer was clearly struggling with
the less than familiar weapon. Fearing his life was about to be taken, Bauer, in a last defiant act took the long barrelled machine gun and swung it like a cricket bat, hurling its heavy mass at the soldier whose expressionless visage was almost as terrifying as their relentlessness. The soldier, realising that he had his prey at his mercy chose not to fire but to advance and Hawkins understood there and then that a completely different fate would await them if they were captured.
There was an unexpected chattering noise and a rippling of the 'cold soldier's' tunic. Its body began to convulse as thirty bullets tore into its heart. Perplexed, Hawkins turned to see Genevieve with his own Sten in hand, its muzzle smoking. Bauer grasped the opportunity to use the time wisely and smash another magazine into the Bren. Prancing forward he fired in controlled bursts until he had the enemy reeling. It was then that he spent the last few round wisely and blasted away the brain of the vile creature.
The following moments were not spent dwelling upon the turn of events. The sounds of beating hearts and guns being reloaded were apparent and the adrenaline flowing caused a period of cool reflection.
“Jesus Christ.” Hawkins wheezed as he realised that he had survived the battle. Genevieve stood next to him and casually handed the Commando his Sten, still hot from the extended period of use.
“Thanks. Have you seen George?” He asked in return, realising his close friend was still nowhere to be seen.
“He is under the car.” Genevieve said, her voice was solemn but still harsh. Racing around the vehicle, Hawkins sank to his knees to be greeted by the face of his friend and mentor, his skin blue and his eyes open but lifeless.
“God, no!” Hawkins whined as he climbed to his feet and attempted to right the car. Bauer joined the effort and with both of them pushing hard, the car turned over and nestle itself softly in the think bushes at the perimeter of the field. George Granger lay in a disturbingly crumpled heap, his upper body drenched in hot, red liquor. If the bullet had not already killed him then the crash surely had. He was a pitiful sight. Hawkins looked down to the young, red headed man and struggled in vain to fight back a convulsive fit of tears. Bauer crouched and respectfully closed the soldier's eyes as the young Brit squealed in distress above him. Hawkins' grief was cruelly disturbed by a ringing gunshot as Genevieve felt the need to finish off one of the bastard enemy and he was suddenly jolted into a moment of shock and unbelievable clarity by the heart pounding shot. Hawkins' tears ceased and only a cold desire to seek vengeance remained.
“He did not suffer.” Bauer spoke quietly as he returned to his feet. Hawkins could not speak; he had no words to say that described the way he felt at that point. He wanted to make someone pay for this outrage but George's killer had already succumbed. Even if the black clad Nazi had a moment to realise his impending fate, Hawkins understood that it mattered not because there was no feeling in this enemy. They were cold both in body and in spirit. They were relentless, merciless killing machines with a sole purpose. Taking life was its only goal.
Bauer stood quietly allowing Hawkins to grieve for a moment. This changed nothing in his mind; this was in many ways inevitable. He also knew that now Hawkins had been personally affected by this conflict, he would most certainly have many more questions to answer.
CHAPTER 17
Understanding that Hawkins needed time for quiet reflection but eager to escape this scene of carnage, Bauer carried Granger's body and loaded it gently into the rear of the small swastika adorned truck and covered it over with the length of his grey trench coat. Driving several hundred yards down the road in their new vehicle, Bauer took a small bumpy and muddy trail off the asphalt path and down into a small valley where another farmhouse stood alone although its chimney smoked ominously.
The truck had just enough room to sit three abreast in the cabin. The vehicle rolled and bounced around as it made its way down the track, Hawkins pressed his face against the cold glass window closing his eyes from the onrushing wind which howled its way through the bullet strewn glass. The truck was clearly not in a good way but operational although it was not clear for how long. Bauer considered continuing his journey without the distraught Brit such was his state of mind. Genevieve all the while sat fairly impassively, at one point she offered a comforting hand to the Brit but he declined it much to her ambivalence.
As the truck rolled up to the farmhouse and came to a squeaking halt, Bauer observed some motion at the window and a curtain twitched.
“OK, let me go and see who is in.” Bauer remarked boldly as he alighted the cab. Hawkins noted despite his mind being a maelstrom of dark thoughts, that Bauer could no longer be regarded as an enemy. He had offered arms and earned a significant amount of trust. Hawkins had no compunction to repay his humanity with non-compliance. The young Brit watched as Bauer banged on the front door and after a considerable time, it opened ajar and the German was seen to be talking. A pair of beady white eyes peered out through the crack in the door and a negotiation was clearly taking place which seemed to end positively when Bauer beckon them both to follow.
Hawkins climbed from the truck and trudged across a narrow strip of exceptionally muddy path. As he approached the door, he caught a glimpse of the farmhouse's occupant. A small child, approximately twelve years old stood alone at the doorway, his face full of horror and confusion. As Hawkins entered the house, he gave the boy a smile of thanks. If there was ever an opportunity to present a confounding situation to a small French boy who had grown up through the occupation, it was a German officer and a British soldier working in compliance with each other. As Genevieve walked past, she spoke to the boy briefly and he nodded as he closed the door behind them.
“I told him not to worry, we are all friends.” She exclaimed calmly as she followed.
The farmhouse was untidy and it was clear that the boy's parents had not been here for some time. Small boys are poor at clearing up their mess behind them and that was the general sense of the situation that confronted the soldiers as they marched into the living area. Bauer looked around the small comfortable looking lounge with its brown furniture and spoke to the boy in his native tongue. The boy nodded and hurried off to the kitchen.
“You speak many languages.” Hawkins said as he lowered his aching body into a plush upholstered chair.
“It is a necessity when you invade someone's country. My Russian is not quite so developed.” Bauer replied with a smile. Genevieve inspected the fireplace and the array of photographs which lined the mantelpiece.
“I recognise these people. They are well known in this area.” Genevieve said as she studied a family portrait.
“Well known for what?” Hawkins replied.
“Dying.” She replied in a dead pan tone.
“Don't tell me, the German's had a hand in their demise.” Hawkins spoke cynically; his outlook on life was blackened.
“Actually no, the Jacques were found to be conspirators. They offered information regarding the resistance to the Germans. The boy's parents were found at the base of a very high cliff.”
Hawkins raised his eyebrows, he felt a fool for judging the local German's harshly. In war, all sides were capable of deception and great cruelty.
“So the boy has been left here since?” Bauer inquired. No answer was given, it was a presumption by all that the youngster had been forced to cope with his parents death and survive by himself. At that moment, the boy walked slowly in, carrying a tea tray admirably and was quickly aided by Bauer who thanked him and begun to disperse the steaming mugs.
“He is well trained.” Hawkins said smiling at the lad who obviously prided himself in the hospitality he offered his guests.
“Do you speak English?” Bauer asked the boy slowly and with a comforting smile. The boy shook his head, seemingly confused.
“Good.” The German replied and then began to speak once again in fluent French. The boy seemed to understand him well and nodded at times as if he was being given instructions. He also spoke up as if answerin
g questions and seemed healthy if not a little malnourished. When the German had finished, the boy smiled and dashed off upstairs.
“The boy seems in good spirits considering. I have assured him we won't be staying long and I will contact his parents in due course.”
Hawkins raised an eyebrow.
“His parents?” The Brit asked with incredulity.
“Yes, I know they are dead but he does not. It is better for him to remain safe here in ignorance and await aid.”
Hawkins shook his head in disbelief. Perpetuating the boys hope did not seem ethical.
“Speaking of keeping secrets...” Hawkins said knowing that it was past the time that Bauer opened up a little. There never going to be a better time to explain what was going on and the comforting brew which warmed Hawkins' hands and soft seat were great aids to coping with bad news.
“I think it's past time you told us what the hell those things are and why they are roaming around wiping out all and sundry.” Hawkins was assertive; he felt an entitlement to the truth now he had faced personal loss. Bauer nodded and as Genevieve sat down tentatively, her face was pale and she looked a little queasy.
“I can tell you what they are and where they came from but I do not know why it has come to this.” Bauer replied sipping his brew nervously.
“Where do you want me to begin?” Bauer shrugged his shoulders feeling the enormity of his role in the affair.
“The beginning, obviously.” Hawkins urged his German companion to reveal all. That was going to be difficult for Bauer.
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