Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘And now?’ she said, a catch in her voice and her back to him.

  ‘Not the way the bloodhounds went or we might run into their jaws,’ he said. ‘But let’s take a look first.’

  They moved to the end of the wood and took a look. Captain Marsh stiffened and Sophia drew a breath. Not far away, at no more than a hundred metres, three people were moving quietly towards the wood. One was a woman.

  ‘They’ve turned back,’ whispered Sophia. ‘They’ve guessed where we are.’

  ‘Their car,’ breathed Captain Marsh, drawing back with her. ‘They left their car.’

  ‘We’re to take it? But without the keys –’

  ‘Most cars can be started without a key – come on.’

  She went with him as he began a fast, raking progress through the length of the wood, heading for the open and the area in which the copse lay. They could not, in their hurry, command silence from their feet, and the rustle of every disturbed leaf and twig seemed betrayingly harsh. But they could not risk breaking their cover before they had to. Sophia thought the little forest twice as long as it had looked, and dangerously unquiet after a while. Indeed, by the time they broke out at the far end, she was all too aware of whispering sounds that told her the hunters were on to them.

  Major Kirsten came to a halt at the main road. With Elissa and Sergeant Lugar, he surveyed the clear, open ground beyond the road. It was flat and quite without cover. He knew the quarry would not have crossed. That wide landscape of flatness would have been too revealing. At night, certainly, it could prove easy going, but the night had not yet arrived. There was still light. And the road was no rural byway. It carried German military traffic. The Englishman would not have risked being clearly spotted.

  The corporal and his six men had crossed the road minutes ago. They were far ahead and almost indistinguishable. They would reach the outskirts of Douai in time, but with not a hair of the RFC pilot’s head to show for their efforts.

  The quarry had gone to ground again. But where? There had been no cover for them once they had passed that wood adjacent to the Luftwaffe repair shops. And unless they had run they would at least have been glimpsed by the corporal and his men, going at the double. So where were they?

  ‘They’ve slipped us, Lieutenant,’ he said.

  ‘It seems so,’ said Elissa, and silently reflected on how desperate Sophia von Feldermann must be to reach her lover if she could only do so by running in company with a man who was at war with her country. Elissa felt sad.

  ‘Damn it,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘they can’t be using the road, they can only –’ He paused. He looked back. ‘I wonder now,’ he said, ‘have they hopped from one wood to the next? To gain a few hundred metres? But why do that in daylight, when they could have stayed where they were, waiting for dark? Any suggestions, Sergeant Lugar?’

  ‘Yes, Major. Why not take a look?’

  They retraced their steps, Major Kirsten asking for silence. When they reached the wood, the light was gloomy. Cautiously they entered, the major signalling to Elissa to keep to the rear. His hand was in his coat pocket, in contact with his revolver, and Sergeant Lugar held his rifle at the ready. They advanced as quietly as they could. Far ahead of them, a woken pigeon left its perch with startled slaps of its wings. Leaves stirred and whispered. Major Kirsten smiled wryly. Of course. The quarry had been here all the time. The moment they passed the wood, they must have seen the complete lack of cover in front of them and all around, and had retreated into their only haven to wait for the night.

  They were up and moving now, beating another retreat. Physically fit, and impelled by purpose and dedication, the major began to run, Sergeant Lugar behind him and Elissa on the sergeant’s heels. It had been wise to keep Sergeant Lugar with him. Between the two of them, they could pin their man down.

  It occurred to Elissa, in an unreal moment, that the runaways were becoming as fond of woodland havens as lovers.

  Sophia and Captain Marsh, plunging out of the wood into the dusk, picked up their feet and ran.

  ‘Sophia – think – must you do this?’

  ‘Yes – yes,’ she panted.

  ‘Then for God’s sake, run ahead of me and run fast.’ His revolver was out, pointing at her. ‘This is to make you move – you understand?’

  She understood. He was protecting her reputation as a proud patriot. When the hunters saw her running, they would also see Captain Marsh and his gesturing revolver. They might think there was nothing to stop her falling, nothing to stop her using some kind of delaying tactic like a tumble, but all the same it was reasonable to assume she was too frightened to attempt anything. And she had to run, she had to. It was all despairingly compulsive.

  He urged her on. She hitched up her coat and skirts, and her long legs stretched out. She flew over the ground in the dim grey light, and heard him behind her, his booted feet a rhythmic thudding. And she heard the sounds of pursuit. From the repair sheds back there and away to the left, the other sounds began again, the muffled clang of metal on metal, with not one mechanic aware of the distant drama. She ran. Incredibly, her heart and mind and body were suddenly charged with exhilaration, as if pursuit was a challenge that sent the adrenalin racing and quickened every nerve. The speed of her flight was a wild infectiousness to herself. Behind her, Captain Marsh saw her go, gracefully athletic, her fair hair streaming. Oh, my God, she’s beautiful, he thought. And she could run, by Jesus she could.

  Major Kirsten was out in the open, Sergeant Lugar crashing through and Elissa threading her way with an economy of effort. The light was going fast, but she saw them clearly, the man and the woman, and for the first time. There they were, two hundred metres and more ahead, Sophia tall and agile, the airman at her heels. How they were running, the ground clear for them all the way to that copse, that place of leafy shrub and bush. The airman’s left arm was swinging to the rhythm of his run, his right hand making gestures.

  Major Kirsten, moving sparingly, conserving resilience and stamina, showed a brief, tigerish smile. Sophia was flying under the threat of a gun, or so it seemed. He had never seen so fleet a woman.

  Sergeant Lugar, sturdy and barrel-chested, rifle in his hand, pounded hard in a burst of speed. He passed Major Kirsten.

  ‘Yes – go on,’ called the major, ‘and try a warning shot – over their heads – over their heads.’

  Sergeant Lugar pounded on, but if he had gained on Major Kirsten he had not gained on the runaways. They were opening up distance.

  ‘Major!’ called Elissa.

  ‘Stay back!’ shouted Major Kirsten.

  But Elissa, coat open, ran fast. The major, she knew, was as determined to corner the quarry as the quarry was to escape. ‘He has a gun!’ she called.

  ‘Yes – so stay back!’

  But Elissa kept on.

  Sergeant Lugar, his burst of speed flagging, dropped to one knee, drew a breath and roared at the flying pair.

  ‘Halt – or I fire! Halt!’

  He aimed his rifle and fired. The shot cracked and echoed. The clang of metal on metal in the distant workshops kept the sound from the ears of the personnel there, and even from the ears of the guard. A bullet flew high above the heads of Sophia and Captain Marsh. Sophia, hearing the crack of the rifle, faltered in her stride.

  ‘Stop if you want – Sophia, stop if you want – I’ll give you a push as I go by and you can take a fall.’

  The voice was strong and warm and understanding. It induced new compulsion. She ran strongly again. She knew all bullets would fly harmlessly over their heads. Captain Marsh was too close to her for anyone to try bringing him down. The thought of it happening, of him falling and dying, crucified her.

  The car, there it was, to the right of the copse and beyond it. They must get to it. But would he have time to raise the bonnet and manipulate the ignition?

  What am I doing? What am I doing? Oh, God.

  Major Kirsten passed Sergeant Lugar. They ran together.

 
; ‘Major!’ Elissa shouted. ‘The car!’

  They were heading for it, the quarry; they were heading for the dirt road on which the car was parked, with the small runabout vehicle which had brought the eight soldiers.

  ‘Try another shot, try several,’ panted Major Kirsten, and again Sergeant Lugar dropped to one knee. He loosed off three bullets, all of which flew above Sophia and Captain Marsh, and none of which checked them in their race for the car,

  Elissa, suddenly alarmed and discomfited, caught up with Major Kirsten.

  ‘Major – the car key – I left it there – in the ignition!’

  It had been a lapse caused by her worry over the fact that Major Kirsten was nowhere around when she pulled up before reaching the copse.

  ‘That’s a blow, Lieutenant.’ Major Kirsten slowed and called to Sergeant Lugar, who came on again. ‘Sergeant Lugar, they’re heading for the car. Get as close as you can and see whether you can hit the tyres. The tyres – by God, if you hit the young lady – go on – run.’

  Sergeant Lugar drew on his physical reserves and began to pound. Elissa and Major Kirsten ran at a steady pace behind him. Elissa, eyes on the runaways, still flying, thought she had never seen so much purpose in a man and a woman. The woman’s hair shone in the gloom.

  What was she doing? Why didn’t she stop? The airman would never dare to shoot her in sight of her compatriots. He would hang if he did.

  Sophia ran on over the thick grass, reaching the dirt road and flying alongside it as she made for the car. The exhilaration was a strange wildness, lifting her and smothering her torment and guilt. The open staff car was nearer, nearer. She ran and ran. She glanced back. She saw the face of Captain Marsh, dark and almost fierce. She saw the revolver he still held.

  ‘Sophia – stop – you must.’

  ‘No – if you can start the car I will drive – I will, I tell you.’

  They were passing the copse on their left. They heard again the roar of a strong German voice.

  ‘Halt! Halt!’

  But they flew on. Captain Marsh, anguished for her, played the only part he could as they reached the car. He might perhaps have taken hold of her and flung her down. He might have done that and run on alone, leaving her to be taken care of by the persistent Major Kirsten. But so many of his actions were as compulsive as hers. He did not do what he might have done, what he should have done. Instead, he pointed the revolver at her and gestured with it, a gesture that demanded she get into the car. Sophia, panting and breathless, was so at one with him that she jumped over the open side of the automobile into the driving seat. Captain Marsh darted towards the bonnet. She cried out.

  ‘Peter! The key! It’s here!’

  Peter? Her use of his name, which he had mentioned only once, compelled from them a moment of precious time in which to stare at each other. The resurgence of torment showed in her eyes.

  The rifle cracked and a bullet smacked into the offside fender.

  Captain Marsh leapt into the passenger seat. Sophia switched on and started the car, her hands shaking. She opened the throttle. The engine roared.

  Sergeant Lugar was no more than eighty metres away, and down on one knee again, rifle steady in its aim. Major Kirsten and Elissa came up with him. The car was moving forward, towards the bend that fronted the end of the copse. It would bring the car sideways on to Sergeant Lugar’s rifle. Sophia knew it. She slammed into intermediate gear and accelerated. The car burst into roaring speed.

  Major Kirsten ran forward.

  ‘Sophia! Stop!’ His voice carried.

  Sophia spared him one quick glance. His lifted arm was begging her. The WAC officer was behind him, and a soldier was kneeling, rifle pointed. Sophia powered into the dusk. Sergeant Lugar fired. The bullet nipped a spoke of the rear wheel. He fired again, striking the mudguard. The car rushed on, bouncing and rocking over the terrible road. It passed the line of the copse, dark now beneath a sky turning black. Major Kirsten sighed. It meant nothing, the revolver the British airman was visibly pointing at Sophia. In the major’s mind, she had run like the wind of her own free will.

  ‘Major.’ Sergeant Lugar rushed up. He brought his rifle to his shoulder. The car was disappearing into grey murk. Sergeant Lugar again took careful aim.

  ‘No.’ Major Kirsten pushed the rifle aside. ‘Have you got the keys of your wagon?’

  ‘Yes, Major.’ Sergeant Lugar grimaced. The car had disappeared.

  Elissa caught up, and all three made for the runabout.

  ‘Lieutenant, can you handle that kind of vehicle?’ asked Major Kirsten.

  ‘My certificate says I can.’

  ‘Good.’ Major Kirsten preferred to have her beside him. He could be frank with her. With Sergeant Lugar it was a question of remaining silent about the fact that they were in pursuit of the daughter of General von Feldermann.

  Darkness had arrived. Sergeant Lugar handed the ignition key to Elissa and climbed quickly into the back of the van. Elissa, with Major Kirsten beside her, started the engine. She found the gears cumbersome after the smooth fluency of the staff car, but she gritted her teeth, thrust the lever home and moved off.

  ‘I must redeem myself,’ she said.

  ‘You have sinned?’ said Major Kirsten gravely.

  ‘If stupidity is a sin, yes, Major. It was very stupid to leave the key in the ignition.’

  She switched on the headlamps and the beams cut swathes of light through the encroaching darkness.

  ‘All will be forgiven if you can get some speed out of this old iron,’ said the major. A solid wooden partition cut them off from Sergeant Lugar, who was trying to make himself comfortable in the back of the shuddering van.

  ‘The road is awful, but I’ll try,’ said Elissa. She was hot from the long run, and not without a recurring feeling of pity for Sophia von Feldermann, but the excitement of the chase and the mystery of the inexplicable bond that seemed to tie the two runaways closely together, prevailed over all else. She moved into top gear, opened the throttle and the van’s sudden surge of speed was a blood-tingling surprise. But it rocked over the rough road like an awkward boat in an untidy swell. She gripped the wheel, kept her foot down and in the light of the headlamps saw the road running and rushing to meet her. The van was built for rough-riding. It tore along, and in a while she picked up the tail lights of the staff car. Sophia had had to switch on. Captain Marsh had agreed.

  They had tried to effect a complete disappearance by doing without the headlights, but the swift descent of complete darkness made this impossible.

  ‘You must give me directions,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Sophia,’ said Captain Marsh, quietly, ‘this is completely wrong for you, and I am completely the idiot in piling one mistake on top of every other.’

  ‘We all make mistakes,’ said Sophia, just as quietly, ‘and I’m more concerned with making decisions, my own decisions. Give me directions. You are better at finding the right roads than I am. Major Kirsten is behind us. They’re using the van.’

  ‘Sophia –’

  ‘I’ve burned my boats, don’t you see that?’ she said, face set and eyes fixed on the illuminated surface of ruts and ridges.

  ‘Are you so much in love?’ he asked.

  ‘What is that to you? Such a question is not for you to ask.’

  ‘I know.’ He sounded very sober. ‘Well, this road is no good – it’s not a road at all, and you can make no real speed on it. But we need to keep within striking distance of Douai. It has to be tonight – I don’t think either of us want another day like the last two. So take the first turning on the left that we come to, and we’ll try to simply circle around this area. That means a second left turn. I hope we’ll find a surfaced road. We must lose the van – and the persistent major. He’s hanging on as if you were his own daughter.’

  Sophia said nothing to that. She was frighteningly disturbed by every nuance of a relationship that was rushing towards bitter fantasy. She gritted her teeth, as Elissa had grit
ted hers, but for a different reason. The headlights picked out one of the little crossroads that abounded in the area, and which could send a traveller every way except the right one. Every way was a wandering rural course that farmers knew but which led everyone else nowhere. Except Captain Marsh, perhaps. He always knew where he was, what he was doing, where he was going and what the future held for him. Fritz was an over-bright fatalist, who laughed a lot. Captain Marsh was a survivor, who thought a man should contend with fate.

  In a spasm of emotion, she rushed up to the crossroads and spun the car round in a grinding skid that brought its nose into the road on the left. She glimpsed the headlamps of the van in the distance as she powered the car forward. Major Kirsten would have seen her make the turn, because of her own headlamps. But the new road had a tolerable surface to it and she picked up speed immediately, running fast through her gear changes. All too soon, however, the road began to tiresomely wind and wander. Her lights were her lifesaver, picking out the bends for her, and she drove recklessly into every one.

  ‘Do you like polkas, Sophia?’ It was a quiet question from Captain Marsh.

  ‘Polkas? Polkas?’

  ‘I asked because at times you’re very exuberant and dashing.’

  ‘Stop it,’ gasped Sophia. ‘Don’t talk to me. I wish I’d never met you, and I hope your country sinks into the sea.’

  God help me, she thought.

  Elissa turned left at the crossroads. The van’s engine was a singer. It hummed an extraordinarily mellow note quite at variance with the vehicle’s unlovely look. She was not at all sure, however, whether she could match the speed of the car or the remarkable skill of its driver. That was another strange facet, the expertise Miss von Feldermann applied to her driving. She did not have to drive as well as that, even under duress. More and more did it seem that she was in collusion with the RFC man. And she was outdistancing the van, for her rear lights were becoming smaller with every turn of the road.