Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Really?’ she said coolly. ‘They are waving to you?’

  ‘They’re on their way back,’ he said, ‘and that towing vehicle will rendezvous with a waiting platoon of ground searchers any moment.’

  ‘Your situation has always been hopeless,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I advise you to run if you’re to have any chance. I’ll stay here with the car. I’ll give you a good start. No one could arrive here immediately. I’ll say nothing about your more unpleasant behaviour –’

  ‘Or about your attempt to murder me by running me down?’

  Sophia compressed her lips.

  ‘You are complaining about that after having threatened to shoot me?’ she said. ‘We are even, I think. I should like there to be an end to this situation now, so please go. I promise to tell the authorities that you did not treat me badly, that you only—’ She broke off, hearing the sound of motor engines.

  Captain Marsh was all quick nerves again. The vehicles were some distance away, the noise of their engines distinct but faint.

  ‘Take hold of that rope,’ he said, ‘we’ll pull the tarpaulin down over the car.’

  ‘You are ridiculous!’

  ‘Sophia, do as I say, please.’

  She gave him an angry, bitter look, but because she was not sure exactly what he might be capable of, she took hold of the rope. He took hold of another and they brought both ropes round over the car. Standing on the far side of the car, they pulled. He pulled hard with his right hand, his left hand of little help. Sophia pulled lightly with both hands, determined not to be too cooperative. The heavy, folded tarpaulin cover scarcely moved. He turned, hoisting the rope over his shoulder and told her to do the same. His fierce determination had a compulsive effect on her, and although she could have wished him dead, she did what he wanted. With their backs to the car and the stack, they pulled. Sophia, quite strong and supple, did her part. The tarpaulin moved, slithering down, heavy and damp. It landed with a soughing plop on the car. Captain Marsh turned and began tugging, using both hands, although he winced a little. Sophia resignedly lent her own hands to the task of dragging the tarpaulin right over the car. They heard the oncoming vehicles moving steadily. The tarpaulin, in place, reached from the top of the haystack to cover the Bugatti completely. Captain Marsh took Sophia by the arm and pulled her under the tented tarpaulin out of sight. He stood with her against the bonnet of the car.

  They heard the approach of the searching vehicles.

  ‘They’ll stop,’ said Sophia quietly. ‘They’ll see this stack and they’ll investigate. They are bound to be searching every likely hiding place. Give yourself up. You must know it’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘I’ll give up only when there’s no alternative,’ he said, ‘and I don’t think you’re too keen to be escorted to Valenciennes, are you? Now stay quiet, please.’

  The Germans were close, travelling at a speed which gave them time to observe and speculate. Captain Marsh was perceptibly tense at the sounds of the vehicles slowing a little. It was all too easy to read what he could not see, the turning of heads and the questioning look of eyes taking in a haystack covered by its winter tarpaulin. They would be looking for the car, as well as its occupants. He felt Sophia quiver and sensed she was tempted to shout. She was no frightened creature, she was a young lady of spirit. At the sound of the car and lorry close to the gate of the field, he clapped an involuntary hand over her mouth. He felt her lips and teeth move in a fury of outraged resistance. His hand tightened. Her own hands came up to wrench at his wrist. The Germans drove on, slightly increasing speed, and Sophia was writhing in fierce anger. She kicked, and the toe of her boot struck the front of a fender. A dull metallic clang echoed under the tarpaulin, but the noise of the lorry’s engine prevented the sound reaching the ears of the Germans, and they continued on. Captain Marsh waited a little longer, then took his hand from Sophia’s mouth. She turned on him and struck him, stinging his jaw with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Never touch me again!’ she stormed, her eyes glittering, and then she was away, darting out from under the tarpaulin and running over the field towards the gate. He was quick and fast in his pursuit. She heard him behind her. An arm swept around her waist. She at once stood still. Stiff and proud in her refusal to engage in the humiliation of a struggle, she said, ‘Let me go.’ He released her and she walked back with him, her face flushed, her teeth clenched.

  ‘We’ll leave,’ he said. She made no comment. She helped him uncover the car. ‘I apologize,’ he said, when they had the tarpaulin clear. She did not respond. Instinct made her turn her head. A man was walking towards them. Captain Marsh slid his hand inside his jacket. The man, mud caking his boots and a flat cap on his head, his clothes dark with age and daily wear, advanced with plodding deliberation. He regarded the car from beneath bushy brows. His chin was bristly, his eyes enquiring.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘This man –’ Sophia stopped. There was little to be gained in complaining to a French farmer that she was a hostage in the hands of a British airman. On the other hand, it would do a Frenchman no good to help any Allied airman if a German citizen was witness to it. Unless between them they killed her and buried her.

  ‘The fact is,’ said Captain Marsh pleasantly, ‘we’re parked in your field only because the engine has been overheating, not to give you offence, m’sieur.’

  His French was excellent, but while it had no fault in Sophia’s German ears, it had an accent in the ears of the French farmer.

  ‘My friend,’ said the farmer, ‘go on your way. Birds fly and swallows call. It’s all over the Douai arrondissement, the news that the German Army and Air Force are looking for a British flying officer. Take your car and your helpful mademoiselle and go.’

  Sophia wanted to laugh. So that was the news. A British flying officer on the run with a helpful French girl. Was that because those two German soldiers had heard her speaking only in French? Had no one realized, because of the Bugatti, that she was the daughter of General von Feldermann?

  ‘The birds gave you the news, m’sieur?’ said Captain Marsh.

  ‘And the Boche,’ said the farmer. ‘They have called too. I’ve just had a visit from some.’ His expression wooden as he looked at Captain Marsh’s flying jacket and khaki breeches, he added, ‘If you’ll wait here, I’ll bring you a German greatcoat and helmet.’

  ‘I can’t wait, m’sieur, I must get out of here quickly.’

  ‘Then take me down the road in your car, stop at the house and I’ll bring the items out to you,’ said the farmer.

  Captain Marsh glanced at Sophia. She was German, and it would be her patriotic duty to remember this Frenchman.

  ‘Thank you, m’sieur,’ he said, ‘but it doesn’t matter.’

  Sophia drew him aside and whispered, ‘If it will help you get away, then accept what he’s offering.’ Which meant, he knew, that she would remain silent about anything which would hasten their parting.

  They arrived at the farmhouse five minutes later. The farmer got out, walked sturdily into the house and returned fairly soon. He handed a German greatcoat and helmet to Captain Marsh.

  ‘They were left by a German deserter,’ he said, ‘who took a hat and coat of mine. It’s all I can do for you.’ He hesitated a moment, then whispered, ‘Go to Lutargne, to the auberge there. Pierre Gascoigne, the proprietor, will give you food and drink. And perhaps a little advice. His mother is English.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend. Is Lutargne on the way to Douai?’

  ‘It’s not too far out of your way. Good luck.’ The farmer went back into his house.

  ‘We’re going to Lutargne,’ said Captain Marsh, struggling into the greatcoat and putting on the helmet. Sophia looked at him. He was quite ridiculous, posing now as a German soldier. Her dislike for him intensified.

  ‘Where is Lutargne?’ she asked.

  ‘On the way to Douai – and Fritz,’ he said, taking out his map. He found the village
of Lutargne, some way south-east of Douai, but not very far from this farm. The point was, how long would it be before a mass of Germans descended on him following the report made by the balloon observer? He decided to risk a quick drive to Lutargne. He was starving. The wandering drive around the countryside had baffled the searchers so far. A run to Lutargne was no less risky than all that had gone before. The car had been a godsend. At Lutargne he could wait for nightfall, a matter of a couple of hours now. ‘Would you oblige me by going on, Sophia?’

  ‘Only if it will bring us to a parting of our ways,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Of course,’ said Captain Marsh pleasantly.

  Sophia started the car and listened to his directions. Captain Marsh, after a while, assured her they would reach Douai, where she could join her gentleman flying officer and he could go to ground. Sophia said nothing. She drove, he thought, with the fierce silence of a young woman obviously disgusted by the role he had forced on her. But he could not drive the car himself. His damned finger hurt and the bruised hand was as stiff as the devil. Her Bugatti was a liability in one way. It was very recognizable. But it was still a godsend. It gave him great mobility.

  ‘Turn right at the next fork,’ he said.

  Sophia, nerves on the edge of an emotional precipice, said nothing.

  At Jagdstaffel II Headquarters, Baron von Richtofen washed his hands of the matter of the missing British pilot. He had placed his finger squarely on the map at the spot where the Camel had crash-landed, but the men who had been searching most of the day for the pilot had had no success, and the army commandant of Douai had advised that he too had so far drawn a blank.

  Richtofen, informed that the observation balloon had spotted the quarry, and that a new detail was being rushed to the area in question, only said, ‘What does it matter? It’s an absurdity, using scores of men to find one airman. Finish with it, and he’ll walk into our arms sooner or later.’

  ‘But the young woman mentioned by Colonel Hoffner –’

  ‘Even more absurd,’ said Richtofen. ‘No flying officer of any nation would harm a woman. I want to hear no more about it.’

  Chapter Seven

  IN THE AFTERNOON sunshine the rural roads were dry, although a little muddy wetness still lay in ruts and potholes.

  ‘Stop a moment,’ said Major Kirsten. He and Elissa had made slow progress en route for Lutargne, halting on occasions to ask questions of farmworkers near enough to be hailed. None had been of any help. Elissa had drawn only negative information from them. No one had seen an open black car, a man wearing a thick leather jacket or a fair-haired young lady.

  Elissa brought the car to a stop. Ahead were ruts deep and muddy. Major Kirsten got out and inspected them. His look was thoughtful as he got back into the car. He nodded and Elissa resumed the journey.

  ‘You noticed something?’ she said.

  ‘Only confusing tyre marks,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘but they looked fresh. I wonder if Colonel Hoffner’s men were in hot chase of our man along this road?’

  ‘Major, is it important that you find Sophia Feldermann before anyone else does?’

  ‘It’s her safety that’s most important, but yes, I’d like to return her to her father before he and the whole German Army know she’s been foolish enough to land herself in the clutches of this mad airman, and that on top of her foolishness in running away like an infatuated young girl.’

  ‘She may not be infatuated, Major,’ said Elissa, ‘She may be very much in love.’

  ‘She may. Well, you are young yourself and can understand her better.’

  ‘I’m not quite so young,’ said Elissa, not wanting to be seen as a mere girl.

  ‘Or so headstrong – ah, slow down, please.’ Major Kirsten put a hand on her arm as they approached fields lying fallow. On their right was a tarpaulin-covered haystack. ‘Stop, Elissa.’

  She braked and stopped. Major Kirsten surveyed the field containing the haystack. The gate was open. There were no cattle, but it was unusual for a French farmer to leave a gate open. French farmers were careful in their husbandry. The major descended. Elissa thought him easy in his movement, despite his loss of an arm, and she liked his air of maturity. He examined the approach to the gate and its entrance. He raised his head and looked at the stack, at the loosely hanging tarpaulin.

  ‘What is interesting you?’ called Elissa.

  ‘Come and see,’ he called back.

  Elissa joined him. He pointed to depressions in the ground. They were tyre marks. He walked towards the haystack, Elissa beside him. He pointed again. In the rough grass of the field were more depressions, faint but perceptible. They led to the stack and finished adjacent to it.

  ‘Sophia von Feldermann’s car?’ said Elissa.

  ‘Or the farm cart?’ Major Kirsten pointed yet again. In the next field a man was driving a lumbering, horse-drawn farm cart, piled high with turnips.

  ‘A cart journey to the haystack?’ said Elissa. ‘For fodder? Yes, but I think it was the car.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Major Kirsten, and together they peered at the faint depressions showing amid scattered straw. ‘One occasionally makes a hit. Well, let’s go and talk to the French gentleman on the cart.’

  They walked into the next field. The cart was coming towards them.

  ‘I am to ask the questions, Major?’ said Elissa.

  ‘If you would. He’ll like your smile better than mine. I’ll walk up and down, having nothing to do with the interrogation unless it’s necessary for me to shoot him.’

  ‘Major, I simply can’t take that seriously.’

  ‘But he might. Very well, just talk to him.’

  The farmer, flat-capped and boots caked, stopped his horse as the German woman officer approached his cart.

  ‘Good day, m’sieur,’ said Elissa politely.

  ‘What is it you want?’ asked the farmer, observing the strolling major in the background.

  ‘A car has been on your land today,’ said Elissa.

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘A large open black car, carrying a man and a young lady.’

  ‘That is so, is it?’ said the farmer.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Elissa with a smile.

  ‘Then it escaped my eyes,’ said the farmer, ‘but then I’m a busy man, with no help and no time to go around watching cars arriving. Some of your soldiers called earlier, asking questions, but I’d seen nothing then and I’ve seen nothing since. You’ll excuse me, but I must get my turnips stored.’

  He was really very talkative, thought Elissa, in his insistence on the negative.

  ‘A moment, please,’ she said, ‘the matter is of some importance to us.’

  ‘I believe you,’ said the farmer, ‘but there it is, everything is of some importance these days.’

  ‘The man and the young lady, please describe them,’ said Elissa, sticking to the positive in an attempt to undermine the negative, ‘and also tell me which way the car went when they left in it.’

  The farmer pushed his cap back and scratched his grey head.

  ‘Is the impossible expected of me?’ he asked. ‘I’m to describe people I didn’t see, and point out the direction of a car I wasn’t aware of?’

  ‘I’m afraid that unless you tell me the truth, m’sieur,’ said Elissa, seeing the need to exercise the major’s bluff, ‘the Major will shoot you.’

  The farmer’s expression became stiffly impassive.

  ‘Now?’ he said.

  ‘It’s possible, m’sieur.’

  ‘I’m to be shot because my eyes did not observe what you think they did?’

  ‘No, not because of that,’ said Elissa. ‘Wait there, please.’ She walked away to interrupt Major Kirsten in his strolling. ‘Major, we’re faced with a man of exceptional obstinacy. He’s so adept in his evasiveness that I’m sure he’s lying.’

  ‘I see. What next, then?’

  ‘He’s waiting, Major, for you to shoot him.’

  ‘Shoot him?’ Major Kirste
n raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think that wise, Lieutenant?’

  ‘No. And he doesn’t think much of it himself.’

  ‘If you believe him a liar,’ said the major, ‘then we can both believe our runaways were here, and not all that long ago. Excellent. Back to the car, Elissa.’

  They retraced their steps. The farmer watched them. He grimaced, talked to himself and flipped the reins. His horse began to plod.

  ‘Major,’ said Elissa when they had reached their car, ‘I’m relieved to have found you won’t shoot anyone.’

  Major Kirsten smiled. ‘We’ll continue on the assumption that our lunatic is definitely heading for Douai. We’ll go via Lutargne as already agreed. That’s a little out of our way, but it’s the most promising village between here and the town. Had he left this place in the reverse direction, we might have met him and Sophia bonnet to bonnet.’

  ‘Major,’ Elissa said when she had the car in motion, ‘if we don’t find them, shall we return to Valenciennes for the night?’

  ‘I’m not considering a return to Valenciennes until they are found. The night, I think, is going to be cold.’ The sun was in full retreat, the air crisp with the hint of frost. ‘Why, I wonder, did they drive up to that haystack? What was the point? They could have been seen from the road. But they saw the farmer, perhaps, and asked him for food? They’ve both been on the run since early this morning. It can’t be pleasant for Sophia. Consider it, Elissa, a large black car containing our man and his hostage, and we can’t find them.’

  ‘Others may have by now, Major.’

  ‘If so, we’re chasing shadows. But I’ve a feeling we’re not. Proceed at your own speed. Are you hungry?’

  ‘A little,’ said Elissa. They had brought some plain but wholesome rations with them and eaten them in the car just after midday. They had had nothing since.

  ‘We might get some food in the auberge at Lutargne,’ said Major Kirsten.

  ‘Yes,’ said Elissa.

  ‘We should reach there before dusk,’ said Major Kirsten.