Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Yes. Knowing something of you now, I’m sure that if I’d said I was German you would not have hesitated to shoot me and steal my car.’

  ‘Is this real?’ asked Captain Marsh in English.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Sophia, taking one more of countless bends.

  ‘You really think I’d have shot you?’

  ‘I think you perfectly capable of doing so.’

  ‘What good would that have done me? I can’t drive your car at the moment – my hand’s crippled. Are you telling me the truth about yourself?’

  ‘I am telling you I’m the daughter of General von Feldermann.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Captain Marsh again. ‘May I ask who General von Feldermann is, besides being your father?’

  ‘He is one of Germany’s most distinguished Corps commanders,’ said Sophia. ‘I hope you understand the seriousness of your position. As you said yourself, you are coercing me. If you’re caught, which you will be, you’ll be shot for it.’

  ‘I’m to be on the receiving end now, am I? Because you’re a general’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sophia calmly, ‘I think that would make it worse for you.’

  ‘That hardly seems fair,’ said Captain Marsh. ‘How was I to know when I first saw you that you weren’t a baker’s daughter? It was damned ridiculous, anyway, a German general’s daughter joyriding about occupied France. And let me tell you, Miss von Feldermann, that was a culpable piece of trickery, passing yourself off as a young French lady. And I think you mentioned that the mayor of Valenciennes was your father. I’ll find it hard to forgive that kind of deceit.’

  ‘You are not going to be asked to forgive me anything – you are the one who is in trouble, not I.’ Sophia, having come to the truth, no longer felt in moral discomfort. ‘I did not actually say I was French.’

  ‘You said you were the daughter of the mayor of Valenciennes.’ Captain Marsh was sarcastic. ‘What is he, then, a Turk? I’d like to remind you I’m in uniform and entitled to use whatever reasonable means I can to avoid being bundled off as a prisoner of war.’

  ‘I hope you are not going to be unpleasant,’ said Sophia. ‘I am willing to put you down, to leave you to make the best of things while I go on.’

  ‘We’ll stick to our previous agreement,’ said Captain Marsh. ‘We’ll go on together until we reach Douai. Then you can put me down.’

  ‘That is ridiculous,’ said Sophia, face tingling in the slipstream of air. ‘The moment I report what has happened, every house in Douai will be searched for you. If you’ll allow me to stop now, if you’ll get out, you have all this countryside in which to hide yourself.’

  ‘Well, I don’t fancy all this countryside, I fancy a bolthole in a nice large town. Keep going.’

  ‘I will not,’ said Sophia.

  ‘What difference can it make to you whether you put me down here or just outside Douai? You’ll satisfy your German conscience either way when you report me.’

  ‘I am going to stop,’ said Sophia.

  ‘I beg you won’t,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘for I’ve no chance running around the countryside, and I think you mean to get to Douai. I think the reason why you were alone in this car was because you really do have an emotional attachment. The atmosphere’s thick with dreams of elopement. And if your father is who you say he is, I further think he’d move heaven and earth to stop you. I might do myself the world of good by helping him. Where are his Corps Headquarters?’

  ‘You are the most detestable man I’ve ever met,’ said Sophia icily. Very deliberately she pulled up. There was not another being in sight. There were only the fields and a few farmhouses. ‘Get out,’ she said.

  Captain Marsh smiled.

  ‘It’s Valenciennes, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Your father is at Valenciennes. Very well, let’s go to Valenciennes.’

  Sophia stared. His revolver was pointing at her. His expression was so hard and resolute that her eyes grew huge.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she breathed.

  ‘Wouldn’t I? I thought you said five minutes ago that I was perfectly capable of shooting you. Naturally, I should be full of regret, explaining that you tried to get hold of it and that it went off.’

  ‘I cannot believe that any flying officer, even an English one, could be as cowardly and depraved as that. Fritz would never—’ She broke off.

  ‘That’s his name? Fritz? He doesn’t sound like a French hotel clerk to me. Why would he never do what I would?’

  ‘Because he’s a gentleman,’ said Sophia, ‘and you’re a swine.’

  ‘An officer and a gentleman, perhaps?’ Captain Marsh smiled. ‘A German flying officer?’ He thought. ‘And he’s in Douai? I see. Richtofen’s squadron operates not far from Douai. Yes, I think I do see. Only the best airmen fly with Richtofen. You’re in love with a dashing young marvel, Sophia, but your parents aren’t. Drive to Valenciennes.’

  ‘I will not!’ Sophia felt a sense of sickening outrage. To drive back to Valenciennes, to have this despicable man, a disgrace to his uniform, hand her over to her father and give himself up, would send the whole of Headquarters into convulsions of silent laughter. Even Major Kirsten, whom she admired very much, would smile about it. If there was one thing Sophia could not endure it was ridicule. ‘Shoot me if you like,’ she breathed. ‘I will not drive to Valenciennes.’

  ‘Then let’s go to Douai and get you to your Fritz. You are sure I’ll be caught in the end?’

  ‘Very sure,’ said Sophia. ‘God is not on the side of men like you.’

  ‘Have I asked Him to be? I’ve asked help only of you.’ Captain Marsh slid his revolver inside his jacket. ‘And I’m quite willing to help you. The fact that we’re on opposite sides need not lead to too many quarrels. Let’s help each other. Since I’m going to be caught, why worry about it? You drive the car to my instructions under all circumstances, and I’ll see to it that at least neither of us is caught between here and Douai, you by the long hand of your father and me by your soldiers. And whenever necessary, we’ll emphasize you’re the helpless victim of coercion. Shall we go on?’

  Sophia said nothing but put the car in motion again. She obeyed his suggestions and directions in regard to their route. He took no chances of running into military traffic; he kept hopefully on course over lanes and byways, his eyes forever searching for landmarks. He frowned at times because of the seeming waywardness of unsurfaced roads and winding tracks. Sophia thought he was simply running nowhere, that he had no more idea of exactly where they were than she had. It occurred to her that he must know that when they reached Douai, if ever, she would have to do her duty and advise the military of where she had put him down. That made her wonder what he might be capable of to prevent this disclosure. A cold tingle of apprehension disturbed her, and there was a feeling that she was driving around in circles. The rural scenes hardly varied, and there was a similarity about every vista in which farms, fields and woods predominated. The atmosphere was still strangely peaceful, although twice she heard the hum of invisible planes high in the sky.

  The land looked rich and untouched by war. If it had been devastated by the German advance in 1914, it had recovered. She knew it was along the line of the Western Front, from the coast of Belgium to the border of Switzerland, where she would find the earth ravaged by the guns and the trench system. Germany had lost so many men, and could not afford to lose more. General Ludendorff’s offensive must succeed, it must. Fritz must be given the chance to enjoy the peace.

  A faint trail of smoke became visible away to their left. Captain Marsh squinted at it. It was a creeping trail.

  ‘It’s a train,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Will you stop, please?’

  Sophia brought the Bugatti to a halt on a rough dirt road running between ploughed fields. Captain Marsh studied the faint trail of smoke and listened intently. The rumble of the guns had ceased for a while, and there was only silence, but Sophia said again, ‘It’s a train.’

&n
bsp; ‘Yes,’ said Captain Marsh. He slid his right hand inside his jacket and pulled out an aerial map. He opened it up and peered at it. She saw his left hand, the fingers blue and swollen. The index finger was crooked. He glanced up from his map and again studied the trail of smoke, very faint now.

  ‘That, I’m sure, is the railway line from Valenciennes to Douai,’ he said. ‘Let’s see, it’s on our left and the sun’s over there – my God, we’re pointing ourselves at Valenciennes.’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ said Sophia, ‘you have been giving directions.’ She wondered if he could bear a little pain. ‘Let me see your finger.’

  ‘Sophia?’ He was suspicious as she took hold of his left wrist. Before he could react, she gripped the index finger and gave it a sharp pull. He let out a hiss. But the finger was straight again, the pain subsiding to an aching tenderness.

  ‘It was dislocated, that’s all,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Frankly, I thought it was broken.’ He flexed the finger. He flexed others. The middle finger alone refused to bend. It protested painfully. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘That other finger, that is probably the broken one,’ said Sophia. ‘See how angry the swelling is? All you can do is tear a hem off your handkerchief and bind the two fingers together.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ said Captain Marsh pleasantly. ‘Are you a doctor or a nurse?’

  ‘I’ve had a little Red Cross training,’ she said, ‘but haven’t done very much except sit on committees. Committees are an occupational necessity for the female members of my family. Captain Marsh, might I suggest again that you get out of this car and find a farmhouse where someone will help you? If you do that, then I promise to say nothing until I reach Douai.’

  ‘I thought we’d settled that argument. The fact is, your car is a chariot of speed. It will outrun any German Army vehicle. I need it to prevent your military bloodhounds catching me up, and I need you to drive it. And you need me to navigate, as I will, now that I know where we are. You’d like to reach your lover before the day’s out, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘That is none of your business, and I would prefer you not to—’

  He stopped her voice by putting a hand over her mouth. He was listening, his eyes quick and darting. She realized he was living on his nerves no less obviously than Fritz was. It was said that the average life of a fighter pilot could be measured in months, unless he was a Richtofen. But there was only one Richtofen. Fritz sought escape from his nightmares in his extrovert pursuit of pleasures. This British airman wore a mask different from Fritz’s. Fritz was infectiously outrageous; Captain Marsh was dangerous. He was dangerous now, his hand hard over her mouth, his lips compressed and his eyes flickering.

  She heard then the faint grinding noise of a motor engine in low gear some way behind them.

  Colonel Hoffner’s men were scouring the area. The colonel meant to catch the man, a suspected British airman, who had held up two of his soldiers and gone off with the young lady in whom Major Kirsten was so interested. Catch one, catch both, that was what was in Colonel Hoffner’s mind. He would be satisfied, and so, he thought, would his friend Major Kirsten.

  ‘Drive, Sophia,’ said Captain Marsh, taking his hand from her mouth.

  He had touched her, roughly, and her blue eyes were furious.

  ‘I will not,’ she said.

  ‘Then when they catch us up,’ he said, producing his revolver again, ‘a little war will take place,’

  ‘If they’re German soldiers,’ she said, ‘they’ll fill you with bullets.’

  ‘You’ll catch a few,’ he said.

  She stared at him. He was quite calm now, quite ready to use his revolver. It filled her with horror, the thought of bullets maiming and killing. She was sure it would happen.

  Captain Marsh was sure it would not, but refrained from saying so. The bluff was enough to make her do as he wanted. The noise of a heavy motor vehicle was louder as she drove off at speed, her anger and contempt inducing a crazy recklessness. The Bugatti rocked and shuddered over the rough, pitted road. Captain Marsh turned in his seat. He saw them, two vehicles, a car and an open truck, four hundred yards away. Distinctly, he heard the noise of accelerating engines. They had seen the Bugatti.

  ‘You are stupid!’ Sophia shouted the words angrily.

  ‘Faster, if you please.’

  The big car spewed dirt, slewing as Sophia braked hard at bends. In a dip, farm buildings flashed by, and an old man, working in a field, looked up to watch the roaring black tourer. He looked up again a minute later. Another car, with a lorry thundering behind it, appeared. The lorry was full of soldiers.

  The chase was furious. It was one thing to hunt down an Allied airman. It was another thing altogether when he had made fools of comrades and taken a girl as hostage.

  Sophia drove with her lips clamped in anger. Speed was a compulsive outlet for the fury she felt at the way he had closed her mouth with his hand. She saw a village ahead, with a few flat-fronted houses on either side of the cobbled street. She slowed down for the cobbles.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘put your foot down.’

  ‘We’ll wreck the suspension –’

  ‘Risk it,’ he said, wanting to get through the village before the chasing Germans had them in sight again, ‘and if there’s a junction ahead, be ready to make a fast turn.’ The car bounced, juddered and shook as she took it as fast as she could over the cobbles. Two children, a boy and girl, were bowling large iron hoops with the aid of propelling sticks. They ran for a doorway at the sight of the charging black car. The deserted hoops weaved drunkenly on before keeling over and rattling to rest. Sophia ran over the edge of one. The hoop sprang up and clanged against the fender. Captain Marsh, looking back, watched for the pursuing car to round the bend into the village. Sophia, driving very fast, saw crossroads approaching. Captain Marsh, eyes front again, told her to turn right.

  Again he looked back. The chasing car was still not in sight. It was over a minute behind them now, an interval that paid tribute to the German girl’s handling of the Bugatti. If she could turn at the crossroads before being seen, the Germans would not know which way they had gone. Sophia slowed for the turn, and he muttered impatiently.

  ‘Do you want me to crash the car?’ she shouted. She felt she was crazy to take such risks, and crazier still to take them on his behalf. All the same she made the turn at dangerous speed. The back wheels slewed, going away from her. She slammed into a low gear and gave the engine an open throttle. The car came out of its skid and burst forward in an excess of roaring power. Changing up, she reached a governable speed, and the Bugatti raced along a gently winding lane with uncut verges and low hedges on either side.

  ‘Sophia, full marks for your driving,’ said Captain Marsh. She had brought the car into the right-hand turn at the crossroads before the hunters had seen her. ‘True, had you really been French, our relationship would have been more comfortable, but I couldn’t have picked a better driver.’

  ‘I should prefer it if you did not speak to me,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Oh, I think we ought to get to know each other.’

  ‘I know as much about you as I want to, and none of it is a consolation to me.’

  The man was unbearable. She thought of Fritz and the love she was prepared to give him. Fritz was a delight compared with men whose austere sobriety made them old before their time, and adorable compared with this arrogant pilot from England.

  ‘Look out!’ It was a sharp warning from Captain Marsh as the back of a farm cart, which had just turned into the lane from an open gate, loomed up horrifyingly close. It blocked the lane. For the fraction of a second Sophia had a vision of a crash, an immobilized car and a trapped enemy. But it did not affect her instinctive reflexes. She swung the wheel hard to the right. The Bugatti careered on to the verge, missing the cart by a whisker and scraping the hedge. With her foot rammed down on the brake pedal, the car jerked to a halt and the engine stalled. T
he cart continued on, the horse plodding, the driver undoubtedly as deaf as a post, for he neither looked back nor lifted his nodding head.

  High above, at twenty thousand feet, immune from the guns of any Allied fighters, two German reconnaissance planes, Rumplers, headed west on a photographic mission over British lines. The Rumplers had been unusually active of late.

  Sophia sat rigid, hands still on the wheel. Captain Marsh looked up at the sky, his own theatre of war. Just a few small white clouds disturbed the canopy of blue. He heard the noise of a car, and the heavier tones of the truck. He listened. The sounds faded. The vehicles had stopped.

  ‘They’re at the crossroads,’ he said, and smiled. The German girl had outdriven her compatriots. She reached for the starter knob. He at once closed his hand around her wrist. ‘I think not, not yet.’

  ‘If I’m not to restart the car, you should have said so.’ She wrenched her wrist free. ‘I dislike you touching me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but your friends will hear you if you fire your engine. So please don’t send them the signal.’

  ‘I have no intention of doing so,’ she said. ‘I don’t wish to have my head blown off.’

  He watched her and he listened. The Germans had the choice of three routes – left, right or straight ahead. Would they separate, the car and the lorry, to give themselves the choice of two out of three? It would depend on the thinking of the officer in charge of them.

  Sophia sat in silent contempt. Could he not face up to a prisoner-of-war camp? However unpleasant that might be, the millions who had died would have rapturously opted for it.

  The engines of the stationary vehicles back at the crossroads came alive. Captain Marsh tensed, and Sophia burned with hopes and wishes. Two events meant far more to her than anything else. Victory for Ludendorff and Germany, and the right kind of reunion with Fritz. Much as she wanted Captain Marsh to be taken, she did not want bullets to fly, bullets that would rob her of the chance to celebrate Germany’s victory and marriage to Fritz.