by Thomas Wood
My eyes were heavy and cumbersome, and I struggled to lift them, but the noises around me were pricking my curiosity so much that I simply had to try and take in my surroundings.
I could not remember crossing the river that I had been lying next to, but I was aware that I was dry, in freshly laundered clothes and most importantly, warm. I wished that I could have added pain-free to that list, but that was most definitely not the case.
Lifting my eyelids, I could make out a face peering over me, how I imagined the first glimpses of heaven to be if I had ever made it there.
But as my eyes refocused, I realised that I couldn’t have been in heaven. Not unless Philippe, the local policeman, had been taken from the mortal realms at some point that I had not been made aware of.
He smiled at me, a stupid toothy grin, that frustrated and angered me more than I could ever know. But I had no energy or inclination to want to move or do anything about his juvenile grinning face.
“Good morning,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be watching me waking up from my slumber.
“What happened?” I asked. “What’s going on?” I said, as I felt the bed that I was lying on jostling from side to side without my permission.
“We’re moving you, Jean. Before the Germans get to close.”
“You mean to say that they haven’t caught me?”
He let out a hearty chuckle that bubbled away in the back of his throat.
“I should hope not!” he guffawed, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “As for what happened, well…this blood-soaked and fetid mess threw himself at my front door. Didn’t even have the courtesy to knock…It was a good job you turned up when you did. Had it been five minutes later then I would have been on my way to church.”
He chuckled again, as I closed my eyes with what I hoped was a smile, but my body was so numb I was not sure what I was able to do with my face.
“We’re smuggling you into Switzerland. You should be safe from there. We aren’t able to tell the others. It’ll keep them safe as well as you.”
My heart leapt at the thought that I was leaving France. It grew faster still at the thought that I was going to Switzerland. I could not recall saying anything in response to Philippe, but I heard his question loud and clear.
“Why’s that? Who is Suzanne, my friend?”
I found it difficult to answer him, and so remained silent for a few minutes more, content to waft in and out of my sleep and spend my time trying to discern whether I was hallucinating, or if I was experiencing reality instead.
“Did you get there?” I asked, lifting my arm for the first time and patting Philippe somewhere that I hoped was his stomach.
“Did I get where, my friend?”
“C-church. Did you make it?”
My eyes were closed but I could tell that he was smiling a smile bigger than ever before.
“No! No of course I didn’t. But I can tell you one thing, I’ve done more praying in the last few days than I ever have done in my life before.”
I felt his body lean backwards, chuckling. My stretcher was still wobbling about from side to side, and I could now make out the vague chug of an engine not too far away. It was difficult to tell whether I was on some kind of a paddle steamer or in the back of a truck. I supposed it did not matter all that much. Just so long as the Germans didn’t know either.
“Can you do me one more favour, Philippe?”
“Anything, my friend.”
“Keep praying. Keep praying for my friend Mike.”
The End…
For now.
Also by Thomas Wood
Gliders over Normandy:
The Silent Invader
All Men are Casualties
As If They Were My Own
The Trench Raiders:
Slaughter Fields
Wavering Warrior
Invisible Frontline
Take Aim
Clouded Judgement
Long Forgotten
Alfie Lewis Thrillers:
The Evader
The Executioner
The Betrayed
Circuit Fortunae:
Don’t Look Back
Playing with Fire
Close Quarters
