Spies on Bikes

by Dennis Forster

  ‘Shrapnel damage from the grenade,’ said Mike.

  ‘When the car wouldn’t start I don’t think they knew what to do. The man who’d stood in the middle of the road to stop the cars … I think him and Mr O’Neil knew each other; they put their heads together. The Nazi didn’t like that … he kept walking up to them and shouting, in German, I suppose it was. It was Mr O’Neil’s chocolate bar that did for him, sir. The gentleman was eating one when we left The Hall, sir and through the car’s mirror I seen him start a second. The Nazi said he was hungry and wanted the chocolate bar. He said he was sick of eating melons. Well, sir, one thing led to another. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the Nazi shot him. I mean, sir, you don’t shoot someone for a chocolate bar, do you, sir? I mean, sir, what’s the world coming to? When they set off walking I followed them. Mr O’Neil wasn’t going anywhere. He was flat on his back staring at the sky.’

  ‘You followed them here, to the camp?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘As I told you, sir, the Nazi went charging up the hill there, after Jack, who was waving this flag as if he was leading the Charge of the Light Brigade. The man who put up his hand to stop the cars, sir, he’s in that tent over there.’

  Sir Charles and Mike turned fast, guns at the ready.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir, he’s dead. Do you mind if I sit down, sir? I’m not used to seeing dead bodies and getting blown up.’

  9

  Sir Charles and Mike looked up the hill. Jack’s den was at its top. They knew it well. When they’d been young, it had been their den. From where they were standing it was hidden by trees. What were Jack and George up to? Where were they? Had the Nazi caught them? One thing for sure, they were not sitting in The Hall, snug and safe in an attic making Spitfire aeroplanes out of balsa wood.

  ‘Show us the body,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘I don’t want to see that horrible sight again unless I have to,’ said Billy.

  ‘You are sure he’s dead?’

  ‘If he’s not, sir, he should be on the stage. He’s doing a lot of staring and not a lot of blinking, oh, and there’s a lot of blood.’

  At the entrance to the tent Sir Charles told Billy that it was fine for him to stay outside.

  ‘You can have the dogs for company,’ said Mike. ‘If there’s anything out there, they’ll tell you. Don’t watch the trees, watch the dogs.’

  In the tent Sir Charles and Mike found the station master with an arrow through his neck.

  ‘Jack’s handiwork,’ said Mike.

  ‘He’s dead alright,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Lost a lot of blood … look what’s on the arrow’s tip.’

  Sir Charles and Mike bent down to take a closer look. The arrow had entered one side of the station master’s neck and come out the other.

  ‘A straightened fish hook,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Sharp as a razor,’ said Mike.

  ‘Jack’s an ingenious fellow, I’ll give him that.’

  Outside the tent they asked Billy if he’d seen what had happened.

  ‘I was a good way behind the murderers, sir. I mean, I didn’t want them to know I was following them. I mean, sir, him that’s lying in there and the Nazi are killers. When I think about it, I’m lucky to be here. No wonder I can’t stop shaking. It was Mr O’Neil who saved me. He wouldn’t think of offering me a bite of his chocolate bar, but he did save my life … takes all sorts. All I saw, sir, was Master Jack running up the hill and doing what I told you before and the Nazi going after him.’

  ‘And maybe George, in the distance?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Mike took the dogs into the tent. He let them sniff.

  ‘Find! Find!’

  Much to his surprise they left the tent by a cut in its back wall. By the time he re-joined Sir Charles and Billy they were way up the hill, this time following a scent as straight as the flight of the arrow which had felled the station master.

  10

  ‘Billy, you go back to The Hall,’ said Sir Charles. ‘If it’s any comfort to you, the army is on its way; report to Bert, tell him what’s happened … off you go.’

  ‘What about the Nazi, sir?’

  ‘Mike and I are quite capable of dealing with him and, as I said before, the army is on its way.’

  ‘Before you go,’ said Mike, ‘how is the Nazi armed? Rifle? Pistol?’

  ‘He’s a pistol with him, sir, definitely, and a rucksack full of those bombs on sticks.’

  ‘Potato-mashers, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Before he set off after Jack I watched him take two of them out of the rucksack he was carrying. He put them round his neck and carried them like my sister sometimes carries her skipping ropes, the ones with the big wooden handles.’

  An explosion, some way up the hill, made Sir Charles, Mike and Billy fling themselves to the ground.

  ‘Off you go, Billy,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘Is it safe to get up, sir?’

  ‘He wasn’t aiming at us … go the long way round, good luck and keep your head down.’

  Billy ran off, bent double and at the double.

  ‘Let’s move to get a better view,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I want to be able to see the top of the hill. I want to see Jack’s den.’

  ‘You think, if the boys are anywhere they’ll be in there?’

  ‘If they are teasing the Nazi they’ll need a bolt hole, somewhere they can run to and hide. The den you and I used to play in when we were lads is impregnable. I can’t hear the dogs.’

  ‘He’s killed them.’

  ‘Damn him!’

  ‘I’ll go first.’

  Mike crawled into an area of bracken as large as a football field. Sir Charles followed. His knees ached, his back ached. He was no longer a young man. Was that blood he could see, seeping through Mike’s breeks? His man’s leg wound had had no time to rest. How long would it take Billy to reach The Hall and raise the alarm? How far off was Freddy with his platoon of soldiers? He indicated to Mike that before they took a peek, they should camouflage themselves. A Nazi armed with a rucksack full of ‘potato-mashers’ was a formidable opponent.

  They stuck fronds of bracken into their shirt collars and into the peeks of their tweed caps. They spat into handfuls of soil; this ‘disgusting mixture’ as Lady Elizabeth would have called it, they smeared across their foreheads and with little circular motions, rubbed it onto their cheeks, like women applying rouge.

  When they raised their heads above the bracken, they were not going to pop up, like two white balloons, on a shooting range. From a pocket in his Norfolk, Mike took out a telescope. Sir Charles looked at his watch. They’d been hiding in the bracken for five minutes. During that time nothing had happened. The lack of a response from the Nazi suggested he did not know they were there. All they could hear was birdsong. How many times had it been like that in the Great War? Then, suddenly … Woosh! The chap beside you was in bits and pieces. They knew the arbitrariness of war, how coming to a halt at a certain spot, for no particular reason, other than perhaps to swat an irritating fly, while a comrade walked on, could save your life or lead to its end.

  Sir Charles raised five fingers. Mike nodded. Sir Charles mimed one … two … three … four. At number five Mike raised his head above the bracken. No shots … nothing. But where was the Nazi? Was he closer to the bottom of the hill or the top? Through his telescope Mike scanned the hillside. When he lowered himself back down he said, ‘He’s killed the dogs. I’ve seen them or, what’s left of them.’

  ‘Do you think he knows we are here?’

  ‘If he doesn’t he damn well soon will.’

  ‘He must know the dogs are with someone.’

  Mike broke cover again but this time for less than a second before bobbing back down again.
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  ‘I’ve seen him.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘No, he’d his back to me. He’s at the top of the hill, close to Jack’s den. I’ll take another look.’

  Sir Charles also risked a peek, saw a distant shape moving towards the rocky outcrop hiding Jack’s den. If it was the Nazi, and Mike armed with his telescope assured him it was, and the Nazi was armed only with a pistol and grenades, then, they were out of his range of fire. The Nazi, on the other hand, was not out of their range.

  ‘Give me your shoulder, Charlie,’ said Mike. ‘It’s a long shot, uphill, best if I rest on something.’

  Both men stood up. Mike laid the rifle’s barrel on Sir Charles’s shoulder. Sir Charles, in anticipation of the noise the exploding cartridge would make, averted his head.

  Through the rifle’s telescopic sights Mike saw that the fanatic was on his knees, pulling at something sticking out of a clump of gorse.

  11

  Inside the cave George said, ‘He’s got hold of it … he won’t let go.’

  Jack put down the bow he was nursing and took hold of the sapling George was trying to stop the Nazi pulling through the fissure. On its end was a Star of David flag.

  ‘It is a red rag to a bull,’ said George.

  ‘It is the flag of the country we Jews will build in Palestine. It is not a “red rag”.’

  George knew that now was not the time to explain that saying something was a ‘red rag to a bull’ was an English saying which meant you were making someone angry.

  ‘Keep poking it out,’ said Jack. ‘I want to make him mad.’

  The two boys were playing with the Nazi as a cat plays with a mouse. So far the Nazi had been an obliging mouse. He’d reacted as Jack had predicted. It did not occur to them that the ‘mouse’ might turn into a ‘cat’. Jack shouted, in German, that Hitler was piece of snot.

  ‘We give one hard tug, then let go,’ said Jack.

  ‘He’s strong,’ said George.

  ‘Let go.’

  In anticipation of what he thought would happen next Jack fitted an arrow to his bow; at its tip a straightened fish hook. He took aim. The cave grew dark. The Nazi must be looking through the fissure. He was stealing their light in the same way that the rest of his race had stolen Poland. Jack saw the hint of a moist, wet eye, an oyster in a red socket. He let the arrow fly.

  12

  ‘How obliging,’ said Mike, ‘he’s standing up … damn, he’s fallen down.’

  Sir Charles looked through the telescope. The fellow was lying on his side. What was he doing?

  ‘He’s flinging a grenade at the den, damn him,’ said Mike.

  The exploding grenade made a noise all too familiar to Sir Charles and Mike and a little black cloud, which quickly disappeared.

  In the ensuing quiet both men scanned the top of the hill; Sir Charles through Mike’s telescope and Mike through his rifle’s telescopic sights.

  ‘I can see him,’ said Sir Charles, ‘he’s lying down. You know, I do believe he might be injured.’

  The two men took the hill at a pace they knew they could sustain. It would get them to the top quicker than running. Nor did they take the most direct route. They took advantage of trees and bushes to give them cover. The Nazi wasn’t moving but that did not mean he was dead. Every so often they stopped to look at him. He was lying on his side with his back to them. ‘Potato-Masher’ grenades had spilled out of his haversack. Of most concern was the fact that in an outstretched hand he was holding a grenade. If he wasn’t dead and threw it when they came within range, they’d be in mortal danger.

  As a precautionary measure against this eventuality they split up. If the Nazi did ‘come to life’ he might take one but not two good Englishmen with him to Valhalla.

  Sir Charles was taking the ‘safety’ of his shotgun when Mike shouted, ‘He’s dead … look.’

  Moses was making a meal of the Nazi’s ear. If the fellow didn’t move when that was happening to him then he must be dead.

  13

  The Nazi had an arrow sticking out of an eye. Moses was enjoying licking blood coming from the wound.

  ‘Nazi black pudding,’ said Mike. To make sure the young man really was dead, he kicked him hard. Only then did he remove the ‘potato-Masher’ grenade, which, even in death the fanatic appeared to be on the point of throwing.

  ‘It’s Gunther,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I wonder if he’s happy knowing that he died for a cause in which he believed?’

  ‘God help us when we start fighting adult Nazis,’ said Mike. He looked at the ‘potato-masher’. ‘I wish the top brass would arrange to put handles on our grenades. If they did we’d be able to throw a lot further. In close combat a yard or two makes all the difference.’

  Sir Charles pushed aside a clump of gorse. He saw the fissure in the rock, an opening barely wide enough to take a chap’s fist.

  ‘George … Jack,’ he shouted, ‘can you hear me? You can come out now.’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Jack.

  ‘Grandfather, we’re trapped,’ said George. The Nazi has blown up our way out.’

  Sir Charles moved closer to the fissure. ‘Can you see me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Is the Nazi dead? Did I get him?’

  ‘Would it please you if I told you he has an arrow sticking out of an eye?’

  ‘Yes … George, I got him.’

  ‘That’s super.’

  ‘Boys, are you still there? What are you doing?’

  ‘We’re shaking hands,’ said Jack. ‘He tried to kill us but we killed him. We are the victors and he is the loser.’

  ‘The sooner you two are returned to civilisation the better. For once in your lives do as you are told. I want you to watch your heads.’

  ‘Why?’ said Jack.

  ‘I am going to open an entrance in the roof.’

  ‘There’s only one way in,’ said Jack. ‘It is my cave, I should know.’

  ‘Do as you are told. George, put your hands on top of your head; tell Jack to do the same.’

  ‘Yes, Grandfather.’

  Sir Charles and Mike walked around the side of the outcrop and onto its top.

  ‘It must be fifty years since we blocked the chimney,’ said Mike.

  ‘And now, two wars later, we are going to unblock it.’

  14

  The wooden plug, large as a dustbin lid, was hidden by heather. To anyone who did not suspect its existence, it was invisible. Sir Charles and Mike had made it with the help of Mike’s father; that good man had understood their dream of having an impregnable den. When the chimney was blocked they would be safe from attackers showering them with red hot coals. At the time Sir Charles had been reading Ivanhoe.

  Sir Charles’ knuckle tapped the wood.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ he shouted through a gap where the plug was not a good fit.

  Two voices shouted, ‘Yes.’

  Despite their best efforts the plug did not wish to move.

  ‘We need a lever,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Speaking of which, here comes help.’

  Soldiers, armed with pitchforks, were jumping out of a lorry. Lord Frederick, dressed in hairy tweeds but armed with a shotgun, led them upwards and onwards.

  At his Lordship’s approach Mike doffed his cap.

  ‘Freddy, good to see,’ said Sir Charles, ‘though you are rather coming to close the stable door after the horse has bolted.’

  ‘Is Harold dead?’

  ‘Ah!’ said Sir Charles, ‘got your drift … the young Nazi with the arrow in his eye, yes, he’s dead. What we need is a crowbar.’

  ‘Could do with a snifter myself. What’s in it? I’ve heard of a “screwdriver” but not a “crowbar” … American, I’ll bet. These days everything that’s new is American.’

  Sir Charles explaine
d

  ‘Sergeant, back to the lorry for a crowbar, at the double.’

  A few minutes later the sergeant returned with a five foot long steel pole.

  ‘Just the job,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Mike and I will do the honours.’

  ‘You should learn to delegate, Charlie. No reason why you should get your hands dirty, but I know I’m wasting my breath.’

  The leverage made possible by the pole popped the plug. Sir Charles and Mike looked down into their old den; that lovely smell of peat and heather; the perfume of their youth.

  Two bruised faces, but still more white than black and blue, looked back up at them. The light flooding into the cave made George and Jack blink.

  Jack was first to recover his composure.

  ‘You said you didn’t know about the cave,’ he said, ‘but you did know.’

  ‘It was a white lie,’ said Sir Charles.

  ‘It’s a good job we did know,’ said Mike, ‘otherwise you two might have been buried alive. Bloody hell …’

  The sight of the low flying German plane poleaxed them.

  ‘The cheeky sod’s waving at us,’ said Mike.

  ‘He’s doing reconnaissance,’ said Sir Charles. ‘But how the hell did he get through? Where’s Harry and his Spitfire?’

  The soldiers scattered, threw themselves under bushes. Lord Frederick blasted the Nazi plane with his shotgun, a pointless gesture he knew, but, by god, it did make him feel good.

  ‘What’s happening?’ shouted Jack. ‘That’s a German aeroplane. I know by the sound of its engine. I have heard that sound many times in Germany.’

  Sir Charles looked down into the cave and saw that Jack was fitting an arrow to his bow. George had his hands on his hips as if ready to give the German a good dressing down.