But wait. Bullets would not fly, not from the Germans. They would not fire at Captain Marsh, not with her beside him. They would know who she was, for by now her father would have advised local commanders that she had gone missing in the Bugatti. He would have asked for help in finding her. Almost certainly the two soldiers whom Captain Marsh had threatened would have long since reported the incident, and described her and the Bugatti. The soldiers in the car and the lorry at the crossroads were probably looking for her, as well as for the man beside her. No, there would be no bullets if the soldiers caught them up. They would surround the Bugatti and Captain Marsh would have to surrender.
She reached quickly and pulled the starter knob. The engine kicked, fired and purred into life. Captain Marsh did not move, nor did he say anything. He was listening to the sounds of the Germans’ car and truck, sounds that lessened in volume. The vehicles had either turned left or gone straight over the crossroads.
He gave Sophia a smile.
‘I don’t think they heard you,’ he said.
‘I am ready to continue,’ she said flatly.
‘Thank you. Proceed, then.’
The sun was beginning to dip westwards, but the day was still bright. There were some hours of light still left. Sophia, reversing off the verge, saw his right hand slip from inside his flying jacket. He had been in touch with his revolver, his instrument of blackmail.
The farm cart had disappeared and Sophia coasted along. Another Rumpler, making height from the direction of Valenciennes, climbed into the sky to head west. Captain Marsh watched it.
‘Busy as bees,’ he murmured, half to himself.
Sophia kept quiet. He looked at her, curious about her. Her profile was faultless, the smooth outline of determined chin matched by the firm shape of her lips. The lashes of her visible right eye flickered in awareness of his survey. Her lips became firmer.
The countryside was a patterned blanket of silence, the sounds and signs of war absent, the guns quiet. Sophia, sensitive to atmosphere, experienced a feeling of vulnerability that was unpleasant. She knew she was regarded as an attractive woman. She saw herself going on and on with this man, driving in endless, wandering circles until night fell and there was nowhere to rest without him being frighteningly close to her.
‘Turn back.’ The German lieutenant in charge of the search party was convinced they had made a wrong guess. They had heard and seen nothing of the Bugatti containing the man and the young lady since deciding to go straight ahead at the little crossroads.
The car driver turned into an opening, then backed out and brought his vehicle round. He backed further to let the lorry enter the opening, then drove forward to return to the crossroads, the lorry, containing a platoon of soldiers, following on.
Chapter Five
IN THE VILLAGE of La Calle, Lieutenant Elissa Landsberg was speaking to the one person visible, a little girl who, while playing, had looked up at a big black car with shining brass lamps a few hours ago. Major Kirsten remained in his staff car, leaving Elissa to do the talking. Little girls might not like answering questions from a man with a puckering scar that gave his right eye a slightly villainous look.
‘Yes, madame, yes,’ the little girl was saying. She was fascinated by the gentle-faced lady in a grey-green military greatcoat. She was not old enough to think about what the greatcoat represented.
‘A big black car?’ smiled Elissa, her French softly accented.
The little girl spread her arms wide.
‘Big, yes, like that.’
‘And a lady and gentleman were in it?’
‘Yes, madame,’ said the child.
A house door opened and a woman emerged. She hastened up to the child, took her by the hand and said, without looking at Elissa, ‘Come, Marie, your face must be washed.’ And she walked the little girl briskly into the house, shutting the door positively. Elissa smiled wryly. The French were still unfriendly.
She returned to the car.
‘I saw the innocent snatched from your claws,’ said Major Kirsten, as she slipped into the driving seat. ‘Did it distress you?’
‘It discomfited me a little. She was so sweet.’
‘What did she say that was sweet?’
‘She said, Major, that the car came through here two or three hours ago, and that it contained a man and a woman.’
‘Good.’ Major Kirsten seemed rejuvenated. ‘Go on, Lieutenant. Stop whenever we see a French citizen who looks talkative.’
‘Talkative?’ Elissa, a less experienced driver than Sophia, was so intrigued by events that she drove out of the village in the wrong gear. The engine laboured somewhat. Elissa, sensitive about her mistake, made a hurried adjustment. The gears ground noisily.
Major Kirsten, considerately declining to comment, said, ‘Talkative citizens might also be informative.’
‘Major, we shall be lucky to get information out of the French.’
‘I shall leave it to you to unlock their tongues. Your French is superior to mine, and your manner far more charming.’
‘Major, I’m painfully reserved, especially with strangers.’
Major Kirsten spared a few moments from his survey of the rolling countryside to turn his sound eye on the trim Lieutenant Landsberg. She sat correctly upright at the wheel, with not an eyelash out of place or a button unpolished. She was handling the staff car with the precision of a young woman who had paid keen and conscientious attention to her instructor. One would have thought that by now any of the eligible staff officers would have been courting her, for she did not lack physical appeal. Her features were attractive, her figure feminine, and with the skirts of her coat parted to give freedom to her legs while driving, her shapely calves presented the prettiest picture.
‘I was shy myself as a boy,’ he said, eyes on the road again, ‘and was cured in an entirely practical way by being thrown in at the deep end, as it were. A cadets’ school. Well, whatever our feelings, we’re now in pursuit of a man who appears to be singularly reckless and dangerous. We need some help, and I’ve no doubt you may be able to charm a few answers out of likely informants. If we come up against objectionable characters and you suspect them to be deliberately withholding information, make it clear to such people that I’ll shoot them.’
‘Shoot them?’ Elissa was shocked. ‘You aren’t serious, Major?’
‘Indeed I am. Don’t you know this is expected of us?’ Major Kirsten was ironic. ‘You must have heard that we roast babies and outrage widows.’
‘That’s just dreadful, obscene Allied propaganda.’
‘To you and to me, yes,’ said Major Kirsten, peaked cap shading his searching eyes, ‘but not to the British and French. So, naturally, if you tell a French citizen I’ll shoot him unless he speaks up, he’ll believe you.’
‘Major,’ said Elissa, gloved hands firm on the wheel as she took a bend with care, ‘I’m quite incapable of telling anyone that, and I really can’t believe you expect me to.’
‘Treat it as a means to an end,’ said Major Kirsten. ‘Let’s accept that General von Feldermann’s daughter is in the hands of an aggressive lunatic – an English airman shot down by von Richtofen this morning. He may be using Sophia in order to secure some kind of immunity for himself. We have to find them. This is quite the wrong time for General von Feldermann to be burdened with the more unpalatable facts. Ludendorff has given him worries enough without him being told his daughter has been abducted. We must find her, and before she’s lost her honour to a young German pilot who thinks he’s the only man facing a hero’s death. Such young men consider themselves entitled to enjoy forbidden fruits on their way to Valhalla.’
Elissa, who had already been apprised by the major of everything concerning Sophia, said, ‘Perhaps they are entitled.’
‘Perhaps, but not at the expense of the general’s daughter. Sophia is a delightful young lady, and worth saving from her misguided impulses.’
‘Yes, Major,’ said Elissa, wondering if h
is affection for Sophia was the motivating force of this venture.
The vistas were bathed in light. Rolling fields and pastures offered only the inoffensive promise of nature’s bounty. Smoke rose from the chimneys of distant farmhouses. Two elderly French peasants bent to their work of pulling winter root crops in a far field. Narrow lanes showed no trace of traffic. Everything was as quiet as if the war had permanently retreated.
‘I wonder now,’ mused Major Kirsten. ‘Where would our British lunatic head for? He’ll keep off the main roads until dark, that’s certain – unless he’s completely mad. But where is he now, and what dark design does he have in mind concerning Sophia? Is he holed up somewhere? In a wood? In a farmhouse? Men on the run favour farmhouses, which provide dark little corners in which to hide. But he’ll also need to hide the car and to drag Sophia into any shelter with him. He must know he’s made himself a target of unusual importance. Colonel Hoffner’s men will be searching every farm and village. He’ll suspect that, because of Sophia. He’ll also know men from the Luftwaffe will be looking for him. He belongs to them, since it was Richtofen who brought him down.’
‘Do you think our participation unnecessary?’ asked Elissa, steering a cautious course over a road uncomfortably afflicted with muddy potholes. ‘Should we return to Headquarters and wait to hear?’
‘Certainly not.’ The major was in no mood to give up the stimulation of the chase. ‘What our man doesn’t know is that you and I are also after him. Colonel Hoffner’s men and the Luftwaffe search party are much more likely to advertise their manoeuvres than we are. You and I are going to proceed with care, not charge about like agitated giraffes. It’s very quiet. There’s not even one likely informant in sight. Nor any searching men. Stop a moment, Lieutenant, while I examine my map again.’
Elissa stopped. She looked around while Major Kirsten consulted the comprehensive large-scale map of an area bounded by Henin-Lietard in the north, Cambrai in the south, Arras in the west and Valenciennes in the east. Every road, byway and lane, every village and wood, and every river and canal, were clearly drawn.
Elissa thought how quiet it was, although Valenciennes was only sixty kilometres from the front, and she and Major Kirsten midway between. With the passing of the noon hour, it seemed that peace had descended on France. That reflection was interrupted by the murmurous drone of planes climbing into the sky. She looked up. She could just see them, two of them.
‘Rumplers,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘on reconnaissance for the Corps.’ He put his finger on the map. ‘We’ll try this place, the village of Lutargne. There’s a very useful wood close by. Our friend, the mad Englishman, will begin to need food and drink soon, and a place where he can get the car out of sight. That car is important to him. It gives him speed of flight. I’ve a feeling he’s trying to reach Douai. According to our information, Douai was the town he was closest to when he held up the two soldiers. Only in a town will he be able to lose himself and to find people willing to help him escape. I’m firing shots in the dark, I know. What we really need is the light of inspiration, for I’m worried about what he may do with Sophia once he decides she no longer offers him security for his safety. He won’t want to leave her free to inform on him.’
‘Major,’ said Elissa, startled, ‘we’re to assume he might kill her?’
‘It will do our nerves no good at all to assume he’s as mad as that. Let’s find our way to Lutargne. That’s a definite shot in the dark. I’ll read the map for you.’
‘Yes, Major. Thank you.’
He smiled. Elissa Landsberg was a very civilized young woman and quite the most engaging army officer it had been his pleasure to meet.
Elissa drove on. She looked admirably composed. He was not to know how warm and alive she felt, or how exhilarated.
Chapter Six
IT APPEARED IN the middle of the afternoon, sailing serenely through the lower reaches of the sunlit sky. Caressed by the touch of a light wind, a playful child of the prevailing westerly, its basket swung gently at a height of eight hundred feet. Its gas-filled cylindrical bag trailed the long anchoring cable that was attached to the slow-moving open lorry foraging its way into the countryside. Through the cable, telegraph wires enabled two-way communication to be conducted between air and ground. The dipping sun was behind it, blinding the eye. But Captain Marsh, heading east with Sophia, saw it clearly, hanging in the sky, and knew precisely what it was – a Drachen observation balloon, a German make known as a ‘Sausage’. It was far distant, but moving slowly towards them.
The RFC man knew where he was now. His constant references to his map had eventually keyed him in on his location, and he had made up his mind to cross the main road when darkness fell and head for Douai by night. He could disappear more easily in Douai than in the countryside. He meant to get back to England. His aerial action today, although a disaster, had brought him closer to the end of his tour of combat flying. Two more missions and he could expect to take command of a training squadron back home. He had lost his plane to Richtofen because he had been careless in his feeling that the gods who had brought him through so many dogfights would see him safely through to the end. The gods did not like being taken for granted, and had laid their perverse hands on his plane. His determination to get back was edgily fierce.
That observation balloon was not on course for the front. It had come from its depot not to do some artillery-spotting for the Germans, but to look for a Bugatti car and its occupants. Captain Marsh could not assume otherwise. His eyes darted around. A haystack, big even though only half its original size, stood bulky and massive in a field ahead, its eastern side dark with shadow.
‘Sophia, do me the favour of parking the car alongside that haystack,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Sophia, after hours with him, was as edgy as he was. Her nerves and emotions were ragged
‘Please just do it. Turn into the field and drive the car up against the open side of the stack. Quickly, now.’
Sophia saw the observation balloon then, well west of them, and she too guessed why it was sailing slowly in the sky. She decreased speed. She fumbled the gear change and the cogs tangled and grated. She lifted her left foot, the clutch pedal came up and the engine stalled.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hiding the satisfaction she felt at the convincing way she had achieved the stall.
‘Are you playing games, Sophia?’ Captain Marsh knew it was not a genuine blunder. ‘Don’t fool around. Get this car off the road.’
The longer she took to do as he wanted, the better was the chance she gave the balloon observer to spot them. It was still far off and needed time, she thought. She restarted the engine, slipped into first gear and headed slowly for the gate that led into the field. She stopped as she turned the car to face it. Captain Marsh jumped out and ran to the gate. On an impulse, her fierce dislike of the man prompting her, Sophia pressed the accelerator. The engine roared and the car leapt forward. Captain Marsh, flinging the gate open, jumped sideways and backwards. Sophia, turning white at what she was doing, rammed the brake pedal with a frantic foot. The car shuddered, the chassis vibrated, and the bonnet came to a stop within a few inches of Captain Marsh’s chest. He looked up at her. Through the windscreen he saw her face, tense and pale. Her eyes were huge. The balloon dallied in the distance. Sophia, seeing the grim, tight mouth of the man she was beginning to hate, said quietly but clearly, ‘You are English, I am German, and that is all that needs to be said.’
‘Drive the car in and park it alongside the stack.’ He spoke quietly too.
She drove over the field to the haystack. The car bounced. She spun the wheel and planted the Bugatti so close against the open side of the stack that the dark hay smothered the offside fenders. Captain Marsh came running.
‘Why are we doing this?’ she asked.
‘Sophia, sweet innocence sits on you with its wings showing,’ he said. ‘Get out.’
‘I prefer to stay where I am.’
‘Get ou
t.’ His flickering eyes, watching the balloon, now moving again, turned to her. Apprehension again darted at her. He looked very cold and very dangerous. She got out. He told her to sit up against the stack. She did so. The hay-littered ground, in shadow, was cold. A tarpaulin cover, folded back along the top of the stack, had its ropes hanging. One touched her shoulder. Captain Marsh sat down beside her. The balloon was now hidden from them.
Sophia, aware of a shoulder close to hers, shifted her position, her nerves taut.
‘Why are we sitting here?’ she asked.
‘Waiting for that balloon to disappear.’
‘Balloon?’
His laugh was deep and unexpected.
‘Oh, descend you shades of darkness and make the eyes of woman invisible to mine, for by day they show deceitfully bright and man is a child before them.’
‘Is that a quotation from a French cynic?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s one of my uncle’s sayings. He’s convinced that all women, except his wife and mother, are born of the Devil, their penchant for deviousness inherent and incurable. He’s quite harmless, however, and confines himself to wandering monologues on their abominations. When he’s actually in the company of women, he’s charm itself.’
‘You share his opinions without inheriting his charm?’ said Sophia.
‘Not at all. I find most women very likeable. You saw that balloon, didn’t you?’
‘Was that a balloon, that thing in the sky? I really had no idea.’
He laughed again. He seemed very cheerful about the way they had masked themselves from the hovering spotter. The worst of Sophia’s apprehension eased away. He rose to his feet and peered around the haystack for a quick, furtive search of the sky. The balloon was sailing away, back the way it had come.
‘Damn,’ he said, for there was only one conclusion to reach. The observer, equipped with field glasses, had spotted them. He would not otherwise have ended his search so quickly. Sophia von Feldermann had kept the Bugatti in sight just long enough for it to have been seen. Her lashes lifted as he looked down at her. ‘They saw us,’ he said.
Love for a Soldier Page 6
