Close Quarters

by Thomas Wood

  “Frankly, I don’t think it matters a jot when I changed and why. The real question that I think we should all try and answer is whether we think we can make it work or not.”

  The sincerity returned to his face with more gravity to it than ever before, so much so that he looked to me as I expected a judge to look, as he pulled on the black cap of a death sentence. From what I had heard from him so far, it was as if I was looking such a sentence right in the face.

  Jules’ face was contorted and confused, while Andrew’s was being stretched and pulled by his fingers, as he tried to process everything that was going on around him. He looked exhausted, as I was sure all of us did, but his face seemed so full of a puffiness that he almost looked unrecognisable. His eyes, in the brief moment that they appeared from under his hands, were swollen like golf balls, and redder than the side of a London bus. I could do nothing to help him, other than wish with all my heart that his head was still as alert as ever, as we were going to call on every ounce of mental energy that each man had to offer.

  There was a prolonged and drawn out silence while we thought our own thoughts for a moment. It was as if we were each going through a period of remembrance, for an object that we each missed terribly and longed to have in our possession once again.

  For me, it was peace. That feeling of enjoyment and security that had become so rare. Strangely enough, it wasn’t prior to the war that I thought of when thinking of peace. It was that maiden solo flight in the Hurricane that I had long dreamt of; the clouds, the sound of the purring engine and the falling sun that made the sky around me bleed a glorious orange.

  “Let me get this straight, I seem to be missing something,” Jules announced, interrupting the roaring Merlin and the feeling of total control that only a cockpit of a fighter plane can give you. “Your plan, Christopher, is to leave the safety of this house and go back out. You think there is value in hitting the Germans again, tonight.”

  “Not just tonight,” Christopher interjected. “More than that, we keep going.”

  “So, we keep going? Keep fighting?” Jules was getting worked up, as he thought about what he had been through already in this war, and what it was that the converted conscientious objector was volunteering him for. His face reddened as he allowed the heat of his own blood begin to get the better of his usual calm and reasonable façade.

  “But what is the point in that? Have you not succeeded in what you came here to do? Why would you put yours, and everyone else’s lives at risk once again for the sake of riling the Germans up even more? Do you not think about what that might do to them? They are not kind people, if you have not noticed.”

  “I have noticed,” Christopher retorted. “In fact, many of my family members are experiencing first-hand what the Germans are really like. And the fact that a descendent of Jews is taking part in this would rile them even more, I daresay.”

  Christopher displayed the first signs of what I could only describe as aggression as he paced around the front room, frustrated that he was not met with the grins and enthusiastic welcomes that he had so obviously been expecting.

  However, I hated to think it, but Jules had a point. We were safe where we were. We were useful in our own way by keeping our heads down.

  Our long training had, at its core, always been about one thing. Choosing your battles. And we needed to do that more than ever before.

  After taking a few seconds to collect his thoughts and allow the boiling blood to return to a gentle simmer, Christopher continued to justify his plan, the one that could easily result in nothing short of a bloodbath.

  “Going back out on the attack will keep the Germans on their toes. They’ll be expecting us to do exactly what we are doing right now; going to ground and keeping our heads down. If we go back out it’ll show that we aren’t afraid of them. It’ll show them that they have more of a reason to fear us.

  “Plus, were we not always told that it is harder to hit a mobile target rather than a stationary one? So why would we sit here and wait for them to come to us?”

  His reasoning was sound, rousing almost, and I felt a slight stirring in the pit of my stomach that hinted that I was beginning to come around to his way of thinking. I was starting to allow myself to get fired up again.

  “One other thing,” Mike suggested, in support of Christopher, “the more attacks that we can scramble together, the more resources the Germans will have to use to protect everything else. That way it means that it is more likely that the families around here will be left alone.”

  “Yes, for now, anyway,” Jules said, adding in his dose of pessimism into the mix. “But then it will not be you who has to deal with the aftermath. It is impossible for dead men to feel remorse for their actions.”

  There was a period where we all looked at our feet. Jules was right. We were all heading for an early grave, but the people who would be left behind would be forced into an unimaginable turmoil.

  “But the people of Sochaux are strong. I think they have proved that. If this is what you want to do, then do not let me stand in the way. I would suppose that you would have a very large number of supporters around here that will have more smiles on their faces when they see more attacks.”

  Christopher smiled slightly, nodding gently and bringing a palm to rest on Jules’ back.

  “Thank you, Jules. We will need more than just those that are in this room,” Christopher said. “Do you think there is a possibility you will be able to raise more men to assist us?”

  “Not just men, my friend. Women too, some children would almost certainly help if given the opportunity.”

  “Good. That’s that sorted then. We just need some additional targets. From what I have seen and heard some rascals took out the factory. So, I doubt that would be a legitimate target.”

  “The telephone exchanges. There’s one to the east of the town, another just on the outskirts to the south. Both of them would do as targets.”

  Mike rose from his chair, pulling the map of the surrounding area from behind a row of books on the top shelf of a bookcase in the corner. Laying it out triumphantly across the table, he pointed at two marks, as we all gathered around it excitedly.

  “The railway yard here too. We’ve hit it before, but they would have restocked,” I muttered, my warm breath disgusting those around me as they backed away from the map.

  We spent the next fifteen minutes coming up with even more targets, places that weren’t exactly vital to the German war effort, but valuable to them, nonetheless. The bonus of picking these non-vital targets was that they were not as well defended, essentially easy targets for us.

  “Gather your men together then, Jules. And we’ll come up with a more solid plan. We’ll go again tonight.”

  We were all even more exhausted now that the last ounce of brain power had been sapped by the excitement. But each man had a fire behind his eyes, one so well-fuelled that they would burn for at least another twenty-four hours. I was just hoping that they would be able to plod along again for another few hours after that.

  “That is our plan. What we need from you is a commitment,” a few heads nodded prematurely before I had even finished my statement. “We need a commitment from you that you will keep on going, keep on finding and attacking targets until you get to the very last of your supplies. I want you to build a campfire beneath a motorcycle if that is what it takes. Just keep on going.”

  There were more than just a few excited eyes now looking at me. Some of them had been waiting since the first day of occupation to get back at the Germans, and now here was a British agent suddenly giving them the go-ahead to do so.

  From what I could see, there was a dedicated band of courageous souls in front of me, some of the bravest that I had ever had the pleasure to have known. I took a dredge of their confidence from them, but also a scepticism that any of this would work. The pessimism was fuelled by the thought that each man who had volunteered for such a job must also have been just as stupid as they
were brave.

  “Once you have completely exhausted your supplies, you must disperse. Two or three men should be a maximum. The smaller the group, the better your chances of getting away.”

  Each one of them looked back at Mike with a waxy, blank expression etched into their faces. Not one of them was genuinely preparing to make it back alive. All those who had wished to do so had shrunk back into the shadows when approached by Jules. I didn’t blame any of them.

  The rest of the evening passed by in silence, a few men sharing cigarettes but not much else. I felt a pain in my heart as Jules reappeared from putting Georges to bed. There was not much of a plan in place for what would happen if he was killed, but Georges had enough common sense about him to go about searching for a new adoptive parent.

  The sun seemed to take an age to set, the sky even longer to surrender the final few rays of light, but eventually the hour appeared, but no one seemed keen to admit it.

  “That’s time then gents,” Mike eventually muttered, rising to his feet. “Group one, prepare to leave.”

  Five men bundled their belongings and weapons together and made for the door.

  Three more groups until I was due out.

  The minutes ticked by.

  31

  The telephone exchange that sat a few miles west of Besançon was not all that impressive. In fact, had there not been pristine glass and the occasional movement inside, one could have mistaken it for a dilapidated old hut in the middle of an unknown forest.

  But, to us, as we lay in amongst the long, overgrown brambles and weeds of the forest floor, it presented our next target.

  The hut itself was in a curious place, a road running from north to south connecting the exchange to two more villages, the east side overlooking a large valley and the west, where Mike and I were perched, loomed large over the top. The bank that sloped steeply towards the shed took a fantastic amount of sunlight, the grass around us so green and luscious that it looked almost envious of the rest of the forest.

  Laying on my back on the slope, my feet towards the building, I felt quite content, allowing myself to become immersed in the slight movements of the trees and the glimmering stars, as they played a game of hide and seek in amongst the leafy canopy.

  There was a faint, musky light coming from inside the hut, from what I presumed was a small electric lamp hanging somewhere on the ceiling. It was cold where I was, but I knew that I would soon be moving, but the poor souls inside were expected to sit where they were for hours on end. I hoped that it would all play to our advantage when the time was right.

  There was a mutual silence between Mike and me, but I was glad for it. I was glad also that once again things were just down to us, as I knew that I could depend on him to do the right thing when the starting pistol sounded.

  From what we had observed in the hour or so since we had been concealed in the undergrowth, there would be at least two people in the building. There was an element of guesswork to be made but, we had seen one man lighting a cigarette as he took in the evening air, calling back to another somewhere in the shed. One man talking to another made two, unless he was some kind of psychopath.

  I felt anxious, my heart fluttering impatiently and my mouth suddenly drying up of any liquid that I had. I was gagging for a drink, so much so that it became all I could think about, even when the silence of the swaying branches was interrupted by some laughter.

  It was a deep, throaty laugh, how I imagined a lion to laugh if they could have done such a thing. The laugh was fused with the sound of a latch clicking shut, the door closing behind the man as he stepped out onto the small veranda at the front of the hut.

  We both watched silently, as the man’s face was illuminated by a striking match, his collar patch briefly lit up to reveal two grey bars that flickered gently in the light. The match went out, but the tip of the cigarette continued to burn fiercely, a glowing orange that matched the intake of breath of the soldier.

  Mike nudged me inadvertently as he drew out his pistol from one pocket, and a magazine from the other. Like an eager younger brother, I began to do the same.

  I was careful to slide the magazine into the well first time, so that I did not accidentally clink on the side of the grip, or scrape clumsily into place. It slipped in without protest and I made sure to give it a gentle tap from the bottom to make sure that it was in place. The last thing that I wanted was to pull the trigger only to watch the magazine drop from under my grip.

  I felt Mike do the same as me, as we both pinched firmly at the top of our weapons and dragged the top slides back until there was a soft, but easily audible click, akin to when a dry twig snaps under the weight of an advancing man.

  Together the three of us, Mike, me and the soldier, all stopped. The cigarette hovered in the air for a moment, a dull glow just about visible, while the two of us gently eased the top slides back into place.

  We listened for a few moments more, wondering if it was our weapons that had made the noise or whether we had an unwanted visitor sneaking up behind us. Normally, if we had been able to set up an observation post, we would have taken the time to rig up some kind of early warning system, a bunch of leaves or two tin cans rigged up to a piece of string. But there had been no time for that tonight. We were going in as primitive as possible.

  As I eased back the top slide once more, confident that the burning cigarette was back up at the man’s lips, I could not help but wonder how many more times I would have to do this. I had inspected hundreds of weapons now, preparing to engage in combat with the persistent thought that each step could well be my last.

  It took its toll on a man, to such an extent that nothing short of a complete cessation of hostilities would be able to reinvigorate the mind. It felt as though my body had not slept properly for months, which was probably down in no small part to the fact that I hadn’t. I longed for a proper rest, one where I could completely close my eyes without having to think where the nearest weapon was or the closest escape route.

  But the longer I stayed out there, lying down in forests and sneaking around factories, the closer I came to achieving a complete rest, one that I knew I would never wake from. As we prepared to slip down the bank, it was a prospect that wasn’t completely disregarded anymore. It was a thought that I had often welcomed.

  Slowly, we moved down the bank, all kinds of prickles and thistles embedding themselves in my buttocks as we slipped our way towards the shed. My trousers began to flap around as I realised that I had torn the fabric, and that a stream of cool air was circulating around my limbs that wasn’t as unwelcome as I had first thought.

  We were going to have to get a move on, if we wanted to stand a chance of taking out the first soldier before he returned back inside. He had already turned his back on us to look down at the valley below, which was completely motionless and full of an inky blackness like that of an inkwell. I could not imagine what it was that he was looking at, but he had already ceased to lift the orange tip to his mouth, instead flicking it somewhere around his feet for his boot to finish off.

  I pulled my knife from the small sheath that I had strapped to the inside of my jacket, its well-polished and recently sharpened surface just glinting in the moonlight momentarily. Quickly, I hid from any source of light, instead keeping it close to my chest as I pulled myself down by the heels of my shoes.

  Hitting the ditch at the bottom of the bank, Mike was quickly on his feet and gliding towards the hut, his feet dancing around the gravel and somehow avoiding making too much noise. I followed, slower than he but just as quietly, as we fixed our eyes on the man that was now leaning over the bannister on the other side of the veranda.

  It was going to need to be quick and ruthless, as we were going to be immediately disadvantaged the second we made any noise over that of a normal woodland mouse. Pressing my body into the veranda, I laced my fingers together to make a stirrup for Mike to step into. As if he was simply mounting a horse, he stepped in, swung his leg over t
he bannister and thumped down onto the other side.

  There were two loud, heavy footsteps that thumped over the wood as he lunged towards the soldier, while I ran around to the far side to make use of the stairs.

  By the time I reached the top of the four or so stairs, Mike was already embroiled in a rather fierce fist fight with the man, as he struggled to embed his knife into the fellow as he had planned.

  Instead, they fell to the floor tussling and turning as each one tried to gain the upper hand. Mike was refusing to use his pistol, for now, instead preferring the softer approach of a knife, while the German was struggling with the catch on his leather holster down by his hip. If he got that pistol out, then it was game over for Mike.

  There was a sudden grunt, as the German managed to land a nice square fist on Mike’s jaw somewhere, which was followed by a furious roar, similar to the laugh, but the tone far more murderous in its intent.

  “Hilfe!” he screamed, half a second before an ear-splitting bang, and the sound of light matter slowly sticking to the ground around us. The screaming figure fell to one side, and I could just about make out the heaving chest of Mike, as his pistol was still levelled at where the German’s chest had been seconds before.

  Not waiting for gravity to do its work, Mike heaved the body to one side, thumping so loudly on the wooden veranda that I thought it might fall through.

  Instead, the body remained motionless, as the two of us set to work quickly, and as loudly as we now liked.

  I took the lead, using my shoulder to smash into the door, the latch spinning off its mountings and falling to the ground.

  Inside was nothing too spectacular, just one large room with a few amenities to make the night pass a little quicker for the poor souls posted out there.