The voice said: "Wie sind sie?"
It fractured the ends of Billy's nerves like cracking ice and he felt that singularly cold, riveting feeling run over his back. He turned quickly, bringing the shotgun up, but already the German's Schmeisser was bearing forwards towards Billy's chest. He knew instinctively that the storm trooper's trigger finger would be squeezing the crook of gunmetal, which meant he had about two seconds left to live.
He lowered the shotgun and the German stayed the execution. "Lower your gun to the ground please," he ordered in English.
Billy stooped and watched as the Schmeisser followed him.
The shotgun clattered on the stones.
"Now walk back." The German moved the gun, jerking it upwards.
Billy took several steps backwards until he was ordered to stop. The storm trooper picked up the shotgun and motioned him towards the cliff path. Billy looked into his eyes as he passed him. They were hard, expressionless eyes; the dark orbs of a killer. Billy knew he was up against a man he could not beat.
He walked despondently to the top of the cliff. His mind was frantically sifting through the possibilities of escaping, and equally frantically rejecting each possibility as suicidal. He continued along the path with the German following close behind, the sound of their steps brushing the coarse grass until the path dropped into the hollow where Billy had watched Ailie walking towards Reevel Anderson's house. The German was walking about three yards behind him. Apart from the few words on the beach he had said nothing else.
Billy was in the throes of gambling on a desperate bid to attack the storm trooper when he saw, quite suddenly, Ailie coming at them from their flank. She was holding a massive stone in her hand. He turned automatically and saw the German stop and spin round, bringing the Schmeisser up to blast Ailie into the next world. Billy went for him and launched a kick at the machine gun. His boot struck the Schmeisser but did not dislodge it from the man's grasp, instead it swung away.
Before the German could swing the gun back and take aim, Ailie reached him and smashed the rock into his face. Billy seized the advantage and drove his huge fist into the man's side. The storm trooper doubled up in agony as Ailie continued to drive him into the ground, constantly lashing at him with the rock until he collapsed, unconscious.
Ailie looked at the stone in her hand. It was covered with bits of skin and hair, and it was bloody. She dropped it, throwing it away in horror. Her face was white where the blood had drained from her cheeks. She started to shake, trembling visibly. Billy took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. Then he pulled her down into the coarse grass to avoid anyone seeing them.
"Ailie, go now," he urged her. "Leave this to me."
He shook her but she seemed unable to comprehend. She could not take her eyes off the unconscious figure of the German. She wrung her hands together and Billy could feel the tremors running through her body. Her mouth opened and that strange, breathless sound came into her throat. Billy shook her again.
"Quickly lass, go. I will take care of this."
He felt an unusual calm inside him at last and he believed he could think and act clearly. Ailie's selfless action had restored the chance to him of getting off the island and fetching help. But she was in danger from herself. Billy knew that if she didn't pull herself together, the Germans would guess something extraordinary had happened. Ailie was fraught and stunned with emotion as the reality sunk in. She looked at Billy in astonishment and revulsion that these men could unlock violence that slumbered for so long inside her. The years of containing it had been swept aside in that one moment of uncharacteristic violence.
Billy drew her closer and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Thank you for saving my life," he said softly. "Now please go. And say nothing."
Ailie reached up and kissed him. It was fierce and passionate. Then, she pushed herself up on to her feet and went quickly.
Billy did not wait this time with lingering thoughts of her, but knelt swiftly to the task he had set himself. He relieved the unconscious German of the Schmeisser, his own shotgun, and the ammunition the storm trooper carried on him. He also took the knife strapped to the man's belt. Then he dragged him along by the scruff of the neck to the top of the cliff, being careful to crouch low. It would have been easier for Billy to have carried the man over his shoulder but the risk of being seen would have been far greater. He paused at the edge of the cliff and leaned over. He could see no movement.
His next action weighed heavily on his mind but he took solace in the fact that their two countries were at war. He pushed the unconscious figure over the edge, asking God's forgiveness. Then he scrambled down the path to the dinghy, checking quickly and carefully that no-one was about. When he reached the large, inflated boat he suffered a crushing set back to his plan to get off the island and summon help: the dinghy was empty!
There were no paddles, no sails, not a thing he could use to propel the damn thing. He searched hurriedly up and down the beach and up beneath the cliff, desperately running from one likely place to another in the hope that he would find what he needed to get off the damn island. But the Germans had left nothing to chance: there was nothing.
He slumped to his knees in despair because the position now seemed hopeless. He could not risk searching all the likely places for something with which to paddle the dinghy because it increased the likelihood of him being seen. Just floating the damn thing out to sea and relying on the current to drift him towards the Shetlands or the Orkneys was foolhardy indeed. He would probably end up somewhere in the Arctic Circle and freeze to death.
Billy began to think of an alternative plan and came to the conclusion that the longer the Germans were kept on the island the longer they would be obliged to enforce radio silence. Not even Kyle Luke would accept that the radio was unserviceable that long without some contact being made. The old man was bound to ask the Royal Navy to investigate. If the dinghy was their only means of getting away, possibly to meet a submarine, then he had to destroy it.
He determined on his course of action with a confirmatory nod of the head, and drew the storm trooper's finely decorated knife from his waistband. He hurried down the beach and with strong, deliberate strokes he slashed at the tough rubber of the dinghy. It deflated rapidly in a rasping sound of exhausting air and settled like a piece of flotsam on the stones.
He put the knife back, not sure he had acted sensibly. It left him feeling as deflated as the dinghy. Now they were totally isolated. He stood up, promising himself no self-recrimination. When the Germans discovered their dead comrade and the dinghy they would leave no stone unturned to find him. And he intended to make them pay dearly for their rash incursion on his beloved island.
*
Ailie was shaking like a leaf when she got back to the cottage. The storm trooper on guard failed to notice her distress as she brushed past him. She walked straight through the small lounge and into the kitchen. Maura, who was standing at the sink, turned as she heard Ailie's footsteps and stopped what she was doing.
Ailie leaned gingerly against the wall, pressing her hands flat against it. She closed her eyes and tried to stop the tears, praying hard that she might overcome the emotion which charged through her body and threatened her self-control.
Maura dried her hands quickly on her apron and put her arms out towards Ailie. "What is it lass?" she asked, keeping her voice to a whisper. "What has happened?"
Ailie opened her eyes and looked at her. She blinked several times and shook her head in a tremendous effort to fight off the tears. Her bottom lip whitened as she bit into it. But then she felt the tears come and she wept uncontrollably, falling gratefully into Maura's maternal embrace and sobbed like a frightened child.
"My God lass, whatever has happened to you?" Maura ran her hand gently over Ailie's soft hair. She could feel the girl's body trembling like a stretched wire that had been plucked. "Oh my love, what is it? Has someone…..." She couldn’t ask the question and pushed Ailie away and lif
ted her chin to look into her frightened face. "Tell me Ailie, please."
Ailie sniffed back the tears, catching her breath in deep, convulsive sobs. She brushed her hands over her face, dragging the wetness from her cheeks. Maura noticed her fingers were trembling. Ailie shook her head, her mind engulfed by the desire to tell Maura of Billy and yet heeding his warning to say nothing.
But Maura had a right to know, and Ailie's attempt to hide her own feelings would only provoke Maura into insisting she be told the truth. And then there was the twisted virtue in sharing the joy and horror of her encounter; it might help Ailie to hide her emotions from the others.
So in her own silent, careful way, she told Maura about Billy.
*
Schafer looked down at the crushed and broken body of the dead storm trooper. His eyes were sad pools of sightless glass that did not want to let the truth through. And of their own volition they tried to blind him to it.
Brenneke laid a hand on his shoulder in a familiar gesture, sharing the same disbelief that one of their number, one so elite, should succumb to the remote chance and pay with his life here on this remote island where they believed they had complete control
Schafer turned away from the body, sadness and despair clouding his face. "It has to be the boy, Lucas. We must find him."
Brenneke followed him as he turned and walked along the beach to the useless dinghy. Kretschmer was there, his hands resting on his hips, his body language clear to see. He straightened as Schafer approached. "It is beyond repair Hauptsturmführer," he said with a philosophical shrug. "Hopeless."
"The boy intends us to stay, obviously," Brenneke observed, alive to the risks it offered. "We shall have to disappoint him." It was a spirited response knowing that the odds in their favour had shortened.
"I want three groups," Schafer said, making up his mind. "We shall lead one apiece and make a sweep of the island from the north. Lucas must be found."
"What about the guards?" Kretschmer asked.
"My group will relieve them." He checked his watch "In three hours. After that we shall rotate on a two-hour schedule. We shall continue until we have found Lucas, or until we have discovered where Leutnant Ziegel concealed the papers. But whatever happens, the boy must be shot on sight."
Kretschmer looked up the beach to where the dead storm trooper lay. "What shall we do with Pravitt?"
"Bury him in their cemetery. His grave will remind these people of their damned stupidity." He lifted his arm stiffly. "Heil Hitler!" The he walked away.
*
Billy watched the day crumbling from the emptiness of a lonely, deserted cottage; one that had not been used for many years. It stood alone, well away from the settlement on the island. It had long since lost its doors and windows. His only company was a small mouse attracted by the smell of the cheese Billy was eating. He had spent some time familiarising himself with the Schmeisser and assessing his chances of staying alive and free while the Germans were on the island. He knew he had little chance really, but he was not going to give up without a fight. He could see there was no way they could leave the island, and the longer he was able to keep them occupied, the better the chance that Kyle Luke over on the mainland would alert the authorities to the radio silence from North Cape.
It had started to rain again and the heavy clouds hurried the night along, heralding it in earlier and bringing a chill wind sweeping down off the mountain. It curled in through the open windows and doors to add a little more misery to his discomfort. He drew his knees up and rested his chin on them. Then he stopped thinking about the Germans and thought about Ailie.
As the light faded and the interior of the old cottage became gloomy, he fell asleep. He would not have chosen to do so but he had slipped into an unguarded moment and very nearly paid the ultimate price.
His head snapped back and he opened his eyes instantly. It was not quite dark outside but the visibility inside the cottage was extremely poor. He heard the sound of men’s voices, but before he could pinpoint their location, one of the men stepped into the room.
Billy's pulse rate shot up and he felt a constriction in his chest which almost stopped him breathing. The storm trooper switched on a torch and started scanning the room, but mercifully for Billy, the beam of light struck the wall farthest from him.
He realised the German hadn't seen him, and from the way he used the torch he hadn't expected to. It gave Billy a brief moment to react and he threw himself through the gap which was once a window.
As he struck the ground, a stuttering fusillade of shots fanned out from the gap. Billy twisted over on to his back and emptied the magazine of the Schmeisser into the open space. It stopped the shooting briefly and that was all the time Billy needed to scramble over a crumbling wall and run for his life across the soft ground towards Blue Whale Mountain.
He could hear the storm troopers shouting as they gathered their wits. Although the light was poor, it was still not quite dark enough to conceal him. Someone started firing single shots at him so he weaved left and right as he ran. Then the shooting stopped and he was able to hear the faint words of command shouted in its place.
How long he ran, Billy didn't know. It was probably no more than five minutes, but it felt more like forty-five, as his lungs cried out in anguish. He dropped to the ground and looked back towards the cottage. He couldn’t see the low building, but he could just make out a line of men. He thought he could see four of them, spread out over a distance of one hundred yards or so. They were moving cautiously about four hundred yards from him.
Billy wondered how long he would last against these men. Already his breathing was laboured and he was dragging deep draughts of air into his tortured lungs. He knew he could never hope to outrun the Germans; they had training and professionalism on their side. His poor fitness would prey like a burden on him. His only chance was guile: he had to do the unexpected.
He remembered how, as a young boy, he had often been startled by rabbits as they darted unexpectedly from beneath his feet. Their sudden dash for freedom always made them vulnerable to his gun. He had always been convinced that they would never have been seen if they had lain perfectly still. He hoped his judgement was sound enough to rely on. Indeed his life might depend upon it. He mentally crossed his fingers and knelt to the ground where he applied a liberal quantity of wet dirt to his face and neck. The ground beneath him was soft and bumpy, with clumps of coarse grass, and he could the wetness seeping through his trousers.
He placed the Schmeisser on the ground between several tufts and then laid face down over it, keeping his hands beneath his body. At first Billy found his position reasonably comfortable, but as his body settled slowly between the lumpy tufts, he discovered they were quite hard and unyielding. Although the rain had all but stopped, the ground was still quite wet and he could sense rather than feel the coldness seeping through his clothes.
He lay perfectly still, hoping his breathing was shallow enough not to show any sign of movement or sound to a casual observer. Soon he was able to hear movement through the grass and knew the Germans were quite close. He could feel the tension in his neck, and he wanted to lift his head and watch, to see how near the searchers would come, but he kept thinking of those stupid rabbits, and lay perfectly still.
They walked by, not close, but within ten or twelve yards of him. He felt them go by and wanted to get up and run. His fear crawled all over him, and he imagined a thousand insects were creeping into the warmth offered by his motionless figure. He counted up to three hundred, letting an estimated five minutes pass by. Then, very slowly, he lifted his head and looked back. It was dark and he could barely see them, but they were there, still searching and walking away from him.
He waited until they were no longer visible, and then eased himself up out of the sodden grass. He picked the gun up and thought about his next move. He did think about going back to the cottage although not to stay: it no longer offered him the sanctuary he longed for. But he had left
his shotgun there, together with the ammunition for the Schmeisser. And without those he was as defenceless as those rabbits!
Kretschmer called his men to a halt. He stood facing the low ground below the mountain. Darkness had all but clamped its hand over the island and added greatly to the risk they were taking. The boy had slipped away from them and disappeared into the country like a vanishing summer mist. He knew that to pursue him further would be to court disaster.
He was angry that it should have happened. The man responsible for walking in on the boy would feel the lash of his tongue, but it could not mitigate the fact that as commander of the patrol, he was responsible for losing Lucas.
"We shall continue in the morning," he told them. "It is too dangerous now. Go back to the cottage and wait there." He pointed to the man who had disturbed Billy. "Konrad, you come with me. The boss will want to know what happened."
The storm trooper slung his weapon over his arm. He was not too concerned about having to explain to Schafer what had happened, the Hauptsturmführer would be practical in his assessment of the facts, whereas Kretschmer would always behave like the pig he was.
The other two turned away towards the cottage. It was no longer possible to see it, but they were aware of its general direction. The clouds were breaking up and letting the moonlight through, so they knew they would be able to find it. They were both feeling tired and by their own reckoning were due to go on guard within the hour. But thankfully they were due for a rest after that.
The cottage came into view gradually until it was quite visible in the pale moonlight. One of them remarked on the smell of cordite still clinging to the air inside the cottage, which caused the other to remark that had Konrad not been such a bloody fool they would have nailed the damned Britischer.
They settled gratefully against the same wall Billy had used. They leaned gratefully against it and rested their Schmeissers on the floor.
If lessons are ever to be learned from war, one is that the same mistakes are made time and time again. The trick is to live and learn from those mistakes. The two storm troopers didn't; Billy stepped into the room, he was holding the shotgun in one hand and the Schmeisser in the other.
Shadow Of The Wolf Page 8
