Ungentlemanly Warfare

by Howard Linskey

  And they left the ashen-faced traitor to consider his options.

  37

  ‘God created man and, finding him not sufficiently alone, gave him a companion to make him feel his solitude more keenly.’

  Paul Valéry

  They walked a long way in silence, alone with their thoughts. So many good men killed that day, thought Walsh, and others captured, which meant as good as dead, and all for what? A bridge destroyed, a rail line damaged, a traitor killed. It seemed such a puny bargain now.

  For her part, Emma kept returning to the moment when she had pulled the trigger and killed the young soldier. The move had been instinctive. She was protecting Harry and somewhere deep within her there was elation, for she had most definitely saved his life. But for Emma Stirling, the legendary Harry Walsh would be dead. He had saved her life twice before; once when he rescued her from an impostor’s trap and again as he bargained her from the Milice, and it felt good to repay him. It made her less the junior and unequal partner. But there would always be a small part of her that would regret the act, and it left her wondering about the man she had killed. She hoped he had been an unflinching Nazi zealot or did she merely shoot a scared, young man, conscripted into the army through no choice of his own. Did he have a sweetheart, a sister? Was there a mother somewhere waiting for the telegram?

  She told herself it was wrong to think this way. Even she could see the soldiers that attacked the maquisards were hardened SS, and she really had been left with no choice; it was either him or Harry, so she forced further thoughts of the soldier from her mind and trudged on in silence.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s not far now,’ said Walsh. ‘Sam found an old hunting lodge when he was scouting the air base. We agreed we’d use it for a rendezvous if anything went badly wrong.’

  ‘Who knows about this?’

  ‘Not many,’ he admitted, ‘I didn’t think that was wise. Only Sam, Valvert and Montueil. If any of us were caught we agreed the lodge was the one thing we’d never give up. We should be safe there.’

  Emma was angry, ‘And were you ever going to tell me about this place?’

  ‘No need,’ he said dismissively, ‘I wasn’t planning on leaving you.’

  They reached the lodge by mid-afternoon and, exhausted, sat down outside it to wait, not knowing when, or even if, Cooper or Montueil would come.

  ‘Who did it, Harry? Who betrayed us?’

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t.’ He could have given Emma a list of suspects, but the names seemed scarcely credible. Walsh felt guilty for ever doubting Valvert; his suspicions based on little more than the poor man’s habit of keeping himself to himself. Someone had betrayed them though, that much was certain. ‘I’ll find out,’ he assured her, ‘and when I do I’ll kill the bastard myself.’

  They waited at the old lodge all afternoon and into the evening but no one came.

  ‘Do you think they’re…’ asked Emma, as the darkness closed round them.

  ‘I don’t know,’ snapped Walsh, ‘but there’s no point in leaving now. There are tins of food in my bag and we can sleep on the floor of the lodge. This is as good a place as any, until we know where we stand.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Emma, though it seemed pretty clear to her they stood alone.

  Tauber leaned forward over his desk, eager for an update.

  ‘What progress on the search for the Englishman?’ he asked of Kornatzki.

  ‘There are patrols out everywhere and I’m conducting house-to-house searches in Rouen and Elbeuf in case he is being sheltered there. There are still five unaccounted for, assuming our informant is telling us the truth, including the Englishman, an American and a girl.’

  ‘An American and a girl?’ Tauber tutted, as if to say whatever next. ‘I can’t imagine how an elite Schutzstaffel assault team could allow anybody to escape from a surprise attack when they were all still in their beds, let alone a woman. We knew everything, the site of the camp, the location of the lookouts, all killed silently before they could raise the alarm, and still they let the Englishman escape. It’s shoddy, simply shoddy.’

  Kornatzki was grateful someone else was on the receiving end of his master’s scorn for a change. ‘We will redouble our efforts, Colonel.’ It was the kind of meaningless, unquantifiable phrase Kornatzki often employed when he wished to buy some time.

  ‘Do so, but the Englishman will be long gone by now. All he can do is run, that’s all he ever does; run away.’ Tauber rose from his desk and picked up his leather attaché case. He gave a self-satisfied little smile. ‘I am going to see the professor this morning to tell him how I foiled a British plot on his life. That ought to make him appreciate us a little more, don’t you think?’

  Cooper had chosen the location well, for the lodge afforded an uninterrupted view of the valley below, and Walsh spotted the figure long before she reached them. There was no need to take cover because the new arrival was Simone.

  Walsh wondered how she could have known about the lodge. The answer came in her breathless explanation. ‘Sam sent me to find you. He didn’t know whether you were alive or dead but he said, if you made it out of the camp, you’d be here.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Hidden in an old barn on the edge of our land. It’s not safe to hide him in the house. Our workers know he’s there but they won’t tell.’

  ‘That’s the only good news we’ve had, Simone,’ said Emma, ‘we thought Sam must be dead. Have you heard about anyone else?’

  But Walsh cut across her, ‘Why didn’t Sam come himself?’ he asked, ‘is he hurt?’

  Simone nodded. ‘He’s been shot,’ she said, ‘he managed to get to us then he collapsed.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  She seemed to hesitate, ‘It’s bad but we think my mother got the doctor to him in time. He is a friend of our family for many years and will not betray us. He took the bullet out of Sam’s side.’

  ‘Can he be moved?’

  ‘The doctor says no, not yet. He must rest and I will care for him.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Simone,’ said Emma and Walsh thought he detected something hidden behind Emma’s words but he wasn’t sure what it was.

  ‘Can we see him?’ asked Walsh.

  ‘Perhaps, it might be possible,’ she hesitated, ‘tonight maybe, once it gets dark.’

  ‘Tonight then,’ said Walsh in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Sam Cooper was almost unrecognisable; his face a ghostly white and his hair matted to his forehead by sweat. He was too weak to even raise a hand in greeting when they scaled the ladder to see him. Simone had done her best to make him comfortable in the roof of the old barn, preparing a bed of sorts, with blankets set down on straw. He was completely hidden from view on the ground floor. She had been careful to leave ancient cobwebs in place by the front of the alcove so, when the ladder was removed it looked like little more than a tiny ledge that must have been undisturbed for years. The rest of the barn was in a dilapidated state with holes in its roof and broken panels in its walls. If the German patrols did make it out as far as the edge of Simone’s farm, they would hopefully be fooled into thinking no one had set foot in here in years but Walsh knew that a determined search would uncover their friend. Sam needed to heal quickly so he could be moved. Looking down at the American now, Walsh knew that prospect was unlikely.

  Simone had explained that when Sam collapsed on her doorstep the trusted farm workers had wheeled him out to the old barn on a cart then carried him as gently as they could into the upper part of the barn. Walsh could only imagine the agony of that journey. Despite their care, Cooper had passed out through a combination of intense pain and blood loss. Simone stayed with him while the doctor went to work, until he finally woke and begged her to fetch Walsh.

  Simone’s mother had been trying
to feed the American some soup when they arrived but he was too ill to take any. She gave up and left them to talk.

  ‘Harry,’ he managed, ‘good to see you. No flowers?’

  Walsh shrugged, ‘Didn’t pass a cemetery.’

  Cooper laughed then winced in pain.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Walsh.

  ‘My own fault,’ said Cooper, ‘keep forgetting I’ve been shot. Ain’t that the thing? In agony most of the time, and when I’m not, I forget and move and…’ he winced again, no further explanation was needed.

  ‘Well, you’ll live,’ said Walsh brusquely, ‘I’ve seen men a lot worse than you and they were back in action in no time. You’re a lucky man.’

  ‘I do know it,’ said Cooper grimly, ‘just don’t feel it yet,’ Simone offered him water and Cooper sipped it gratefully, ‘but we both know I won’t be back in action for a while yet.’

  ‘I’d say you have the best nurse in France,’ said Emma brightly, searching for something positive to offer Sam, who was whiter than a corpse.

  ‘That’s a fact,’ and he gazed at the French girl as if she was his own personal guardian angel. ‘Simone saved my life. When the shooting started, well I just ran. I’m not proud of myself but they were on us so fast I couldn’t do anything else.’

  ‘That’s exactly how it was for us,’ admitted Walsh.

  ‘I managed to get one of them but the bastard shot me before I sent him to hell. I was bleeding and I doubt there was anywhere else I could have gone but here. Simone got me to the barn and patched me up. The doctor came later and took the bullet but without her I’d have bled to death for sure.’ The effort needed to speak was tiring him and he let his head fall back on the pillow.

  ‘We should let him sleep,’ said Simone.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Walsh, ‘can we stay here tonight, Simone?’

  She shrugged. ‘What difference will two more make? The Germans can only shoot me once.’

  They slept in the lower part of the barn so as not to disturb Cooper. Emma asked quietly, ‘Do you think he’ll recover?’

  ‘I don’t know, Emma, he doesn’t look good, but Sam’s young and strong and he’s a stubborn bastard.’

  ‘Like you, you mean?’ countered Emma.

  ‘Sam is nothing like me.’

  ‘More than you’ll ever admit.’

  ‘He’s right about one thing though,’ said Walsh, ‘Simone kept him alive this long.’

  ‘Well, she would,’ said Emma matter-of-factly.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked.

  ‘Young Simone is in love with our Sam, can’t you tell?’

  ‘Really?’ He could not hide his surprise.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Walsh and he wondered what secret, unspoken language women dealt in that made it so.

  Next morning Sam Cooper didn’t look any better but at least he was strong enough to hold a conversation without passing out in mid-sentence.

  ‘Do me this favour, Harry,’ he grimaced, ‘when you find out who did it, don’t show them any of that English mercy.’

  ‘There’s no danger of that.’

  ‘Too many good men dead,’ added Cooper, ‘and I almost joined ’em. What bugs me the most is we never did find out if they could have taken that convoy. It wouldn’t have been easy but I’d have liked to have given it a try all the same. Instead, you get to tell London the bad news: Professor Gaerte lives and breathes and this mission is over.’

  Walsh could not fault Cooper’s appraisal, his plans had been wrecked by the attack on the camp; the maquisards were all either dead or captured and he had to assume the Germans knew about their plot to assassinate Gaerte. They would be scouring Rouen and the countryside around it for survivors, which meant Walsh would be hard pressed even to get safely away from here. Colonel Tauber had won the day. It had been eating away at Walsh – the thought of Tauber lording it with his superiors, boasting about the massacre of the maquisards and revelling in the interrogation of good men like Montueil. The more he thought about this injustice the more the rage began to build within him.

  ‘Who said it’s over?’ asked Walsh defiantly and Emma stared at him.

  38

  ‘We owe to the Middle Ages the two worst inventions of humanity – romantic love and gunpowder.’

  André Maurois

  Only when they were reasonably convinced Sam Cooper was unlikely to die imminently from his wounds, did Emma and Walsh leave the American and return to the isolation of the hunting lodge. They slept together in the ruined building but made sure no trace of their presence could be found there during daylight hours. Their meagre possessions were stored in just two bags, so it was easy to run at the slightest hint of an approaching patrol and from their vantage point they could see everything for miles around. Simone brought food and regular news of the doctor’s bulletins on Sam Cooper’s steady progress. It seemed he was recovering and Walsh could now detect the relief in Simone’s eyes.

  The frenzy of patrols into the countryside and the house-to-house searches in Rouen and Elbeuf gradually began to subside. The SS were pleased enough with themselves for destroying the local Maquis group. If an Englishman, his girl and an American had escaped the net, along with one or two lowly foot soldiers from the partisans then it was a pity, but it would not ruin their self-congratulation. The foreign agents were likely to be miles away by now, they would reason; terrified fugitives, desperately trying to flee the country. Only a fool would stay in the area but then Walsh had been called a fool often enough before, usually by his own commanding officers.

  ‘You’ve been quiet,’ Emma told him.

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘For days.’

  They were lying on the floor of the hunting lodge, not sleeping, staring up at a pregnant moon that was clearly visible through a hole in the dilapidated roof.

  ‘I’ve been thinking it all through, where we went wrong, the people we lost; Montueil, Triboulet, Alvar, Lemonnier, the others, poor Christophe. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘What else is there?’

  ‘What did you mean the other day when you told Sam it wasn’t over?’

  Walsh paused before answering, ‘Just that.’ He picked up a stick and started to scratch random lines into the dirt with it, avoiding her gaze. ‘I meant I hadn’t given up; that maybe I could still think of a way to get to Gaerte.’

  ‘It sounded to me as if you already had.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But it’s dangerous?’

  He looked her directly in the eye then and nodded slowly.

  ‘So what’s your big plan?’

  ‘It was something Montueil’s contact at the hotel told me when I met him in the café. I didn’t think much of it at the time and we had the Milice to contend with.’

  ‘But he gave you an idea.’

  He nodded again but stayed silent. Emma watched Walsh as he continued to use the stick to draw shapes in the dirt to distract himself. She waited for him to to speak again and when she could take no more of the silence, she said it for him.

  ‘And it involves me otherwise you would have gone off and done it by now.’ Walsh did not contradict her, ‘But you can’t keep thinking like that. There’s no “us” when we are on a mission, and we have to kill Gaerte. If we don’t, this war could drag on for years. If there is a chance we can get to him, any chance at all, then you must tell me.’

  ‘Even if it means dying, Emma?’

  ‘Yes.’

  39

  ‘In my view women were very much better than men for the work. Women as you must know, have a far greater capacity for cool and lonely courage than men.’

  Captain Selwyn Jepson, SOE Recruiter

  Harry Walsh was not feeling proud of himse
lf. How could he be? First he went to Simone to tell her that Sam Cooper must be moved, whether she deemed him well enough to travel or not. Walsh knew what they were about to attempt would have the Germans swarming all over every inch of countryside that they’d neglected so far and there was a better than even chance that this time they would find Sam.

  Simone took the news without complaint. She told Walsh of her plan to spirit Sam away to a different Maquis group miles from there. ‘I made contact with them and they have already agreed to take us when that day comes,’ she informed him.

  ‘Us?’

  ‘I’m going with Sam. I won’t stay here on the farm and wait for the Germans to take me in. Someone will mention my name eventually.’ It was a possibility that had crossed Walsh’s mind. ‘We’ll just have to go sooner than I planned.’

  Simone explained how she would take the little, green truck that normally ferried the farm’s produce to market and use it to transport Sam to higher ground. They would walk the rest of the way to the camp. If they took it slowly, Simone felt sure Sam could make it.

  ‘Before you leave,’ asked Walsh, ‘can I use the van?’

  ‘Yes,’ she told him, ‘what do you need it for?’

  Walsh answered her with silence and a grim smile. Simone understood. ‘I don’t need to know,’ she admitted, ‘and I probably don’t want to know.’

  ‘You’ll get it back,’ he promised, ‘I just have to make a little visit to Rouen.’

  Simone’s truck would help Walsh to commit his next shameful act; the kidnap and terrorising of a blameless middle-aged Frenchwoman.