‘Scoot,’ Paul ordered, but the goat didn’t take the hint so he tossed a few shavings off into the distance and gave her a shove.
The chickens knew food was coming and ran to the wire as Paul approached the cage, but he stopped because there were two cars coming up the road. None of the nearby farms was occupied and as this was the first traffic he’d seen since they’d moved in, he dropped the peelings and ran back to the house.
‘Cars,’ Paul gasped, as he broke into the kitchen. ‘I think they’re coming here.’
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Henderson said, as he frantically folded the road map and stacked away the papers and the encoding grid. ‘Rosie, get back in here.’
‘I heard,’ Rosie shouted, ‘I’m just tuning the radio away from the BBC.’
Pas-de-Calais was a special military zone and listening to an overseas radio station was on the long list of offences the German Army deemed punishable by death.
‘They might search,’ Henderson yelled frantically, as he stuffed the map and paperwork into his briefcase. ‘Get these papers out of the house. Keep low so they don’t spot you.’
As Rosie raced out the back door with Henderson’s briefcase, Maxine walked on to the front lawn to welcome the two cars coming up the driveway. The first was a luxurious Citroën saloon, with Luc Boyle at the wheel and his wife Vivien in the passenger seat. There were two Germans in the Kübelwagen behind.
Luc pulled down his window as he came to a halt and Maxine saw that his wife was crying.
‘Whatever happened?’ Maxine asked, as Henderson stayed back in the house.
He’d made a contingency plan for a German raid and kept a loaded German service revolver under a paving slab out back. If the situation looked bad, he’d go out the back door, grab the weapon and sneak up on the two Germans.
‘Something to do with your boys,’ Vivien sobbed. ‘They’re in Calais with Dumont. We led the Germans out here because they didn’t know the way.’
Henderson strode out when he recognised the passenger stepping out of the German car. He was military police and Henderson had translated in several meetings with him before being reassigned to Oberst Ohlsen.
‘What’s the matter, sir?’ Henderson asked, in German.
The policeman pointed at the rear seats of the car. ‘You and your wife, get in. You must come to Calais at once and speak with Major Ghunsonn.’
Paul watched from inside the house as his surrogate parents climbed into the open-topped Kübelwagen. Henderson was trying to hold a conversation with the military police officer, but judging by the body language he was in no mood to listen.
Lottie the goat bleated with disgust before scrambling off as the two cars used the front lawn to turn around. When the headlights disappeared from view, Paul slumped into a dining chair and felt sick with nerves.
A moment later the door creaked and Rosie came in. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Maybe they found the radio,’ Paul suggested.
‘I doubt it,’ Rosie said. ‘I mean, if they thought we were spies they would have taken everyone and turned the house upside down looking for clues.’
‘Plus Luc and Vivien were there, and earlier …’ Paul tailed off, but Rosie glowered at him.
‘Earlier what?’ Rosie snapped. ‘Spit it out.’
‘We robbed this house. Like, a really nice one with loads of fancy stuff in it. Maybe they found out.’
Rosie bristled with contempt. ‘I know Marc and PT are always up to no good with that fat moron Dumont, but why did you get involved this time?’
‘I didn’t really,’ Paul explained. ‘I only wanted to tag along and not be such a loner for once.’
‘What a mess,’ Rosie sighed. ‘I mean, robbing a house. It’s not like there’s anything we badly need and it’s attracting attention that we can do without.’complete
‘So what do we do now?’ Paul asked anxiously. ‘What if Maxine and Henderson don’t come back? What about all those notices the Germans put up everywhere about shooting people for doing any tiny little thing wrong?’
Paul backed up because Rosie had the look she always got when she was about to thump him.
‘Boys!’ Rosie shouted. ‘You’re total morons, all three of you.’
‘So what do we do?’ Paul asked.
‘Henderson’s got all that information to send. I’ve already started encoding the message.’
‘You’re still going to transmit?’
‘Absolutely.’ Rosie nodded. ‘And if Henderson isn’t back we’ll sit up until two and listen to the return message too. I’ll go out the back and grab Henderson’s briefcase. You’ll have to help me go through his notes and work out which information is most important.’
*
PT, Marc and Dumont sat against the wall of a bare hotel room. Strip out the furniture, strengthen the doors and weld bars over the windows and just about any hotel makes a prison. There was a bucket on the floor as a toilet, which created a nauseating stink because Dumont had used it to throw up. A bare bulb illuminated walls and a floor spattered with blood and down the hallway a woman screamed horrifically as the military police worked her over.
Marc was in the best condition out of the three boys, but he almost wished that he was drifting in and out of consciousness like PT or paralysed with fear like Dumont, who still had the noose around his neck. As the woman’s screams pierced the walls, Marc looked at a crusted pool of blood on the floor. Death had never felt closer.
He tried not to think, but it was too important not to. Whose blood was it? Men or women’s, kids as young as him? What had they done? Had they begged for mercy? Was it a bullet through the head or something slower or more painful? And how idiotic was it to earn yourself a spot in this hell hole because of Dumont’s stupid idea?
‘Pass the bucket,’ Dumont said.
Marc got to his feet. The bucket had been emptied but not cleaned out properly and there were bugs and streaks of shit stuck all over the outside, so he used his boot to sweep it across the floor. He couldn’t bear to watch or smell Dumont throwing up again and the furthest away he could get was to stand up near the door and peek out through the spyhole.
The corridor outside hadn’t changed from when it was a hotel, with moody lighting and carpeted floor.
‘What can I know? What can I know?’ a man screamed. ‘Just kill me now.’
As Marc shuddered, Dumont groaned. A second later the door burst open, knocking Marc into the room. It was Major Ghunsonn, accompanied by the bespectacled brute who’d worked Dumont over in the lane.
‘So,’ the major smiled, speaking in German as he loomed over Dumont. ‘This is the little cockroach that pissed in my car?’ Then he switched to French so Dumont would understand. ‘I think he’s a spy. Don’t you, grenadier?’
‘Absolutely, sir.’ The grenadier nodded.
‘You know what we do to spies, cockroach?’ the major said, as he made the shape of a gun with his fingers. ‘Bang.’
‘Please,’ Dumont sobbed, ‘I’m sorry.’
The major ignored Dumont’s plea and resumed talking in German. ‘Grenadier, I want that fat bag of shit on the firing-squad list for tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the grenadier said enthusiastically. ‘What about the other two?’
‘Tell the police to take them down to the holding cells for a couple of days. Make sure they get a few lumps knocked out of them and then send them home. We need to give these French peasants a clear message about what happens to people who mess with our equipment.’
Marc spoke in German, ‘Major, sir,’ he said meekly.
The twelve year old trembled as the two Germans swivelled towards him. ‘Something to say?’ the major asked.
‘Dumont’s parents are wealthy,’ Marc explained. ‘Perhaps they could pay for the damages or something.’
There was a sharp crack as the major knocked Marc to the floor with a hard slap.
‘What about you?’ the major growled. ‘Are parents wealthy
? Maybe you could take Dumont’s place. I’m a sworn officer of the Reich. How your dare you suggest that I’d take a bribe.’
*
Three floors below, Vivien Boyle sat in an interview room, bawling, as a female translator explained that her son had confessed to urinating in a German officer’s car and that Major Ghunsonn had ordered him to be put before a firing squad at noon the following day.
‘He’s a simple boy,’ Vivien wailed. ‘He wouldn’t have known what he was doing.’
Maxine stood behind. ‘What about my two?’
The translator patiently explained that Marc and PT would be released in a few days. As Luc Boyle hugged his desperate wife, Henderson backed out of the room and searched for a telephone.
‘Aren’t they entitled to a trial?’ Luc asked.
‘Criminal offences are dealt with by French police,’ the translator explained. ‘Offences against the German forces are dealt with in summary fashion. No lawyers, no courts.’
Henderson walked down a long hallway and found a public telephone near the reception desk in what had previously been the hotel lobby. He picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him to the army headquarters where he worked.
Army HQ was permanently manned, but there was only a skeleton staff at night. It took several minutes to get one of the operations staff to pick up the telephone and some smooth talking to get the switchboard operator to hand over the number of Oberst Ohlsen’s quarters. Luckily the Oberst was in his hotel suite across town.
‘Sir, I know this is a terrible liberty,’ Henderson explained meekly, ‘but my oldest son and two of my nephews got themselves involved in something rather stupid and have landed themselves in a cell at military police headquarters.’
‘I see,’ Ohlsen said suspiciously. ‘What is something stupid?’exactly
‘Something to do with urinating in a Kübelwagen. It’s wrong, I know, but boys often do such things.’
Ohlsen’s tone became more jovial. ‘Was that Major Ghunsonn’s Kübelwagen, by any chance?’
‘Probably,’ Henderson said. ‘I mean, how often do your Kübelwagens get urinated into?’
‘Good point,’ Ohlsen said cheerfully. ‘Ghunsonn’s a pompous prat. Never would have made any kind of rank if he hadn’t married the daughter of a well-connected general. I’ll put a call in to the duty commander.’
‘Sir, that’s ,’ Henderson said, gushing with genuine relief. ‘I owe you a great deal and I assure you that I’ll be thrashing those boys to within an inch of their lives when they get home.’wonderful
‘Good,’ Ohlsen said. ‘I’ve got a call to make, so you’d better hang up. You stay by that phone and I’ll let you know if there’s a hitch.’
*
The translator exited the interview room, leaving Luc and Vivien crying. Maxine felt horrible, knowing that Marc and PT faced a much less serious fate, but it was still a shock when Vivien turned on her.
‘My Dumont has never been in trouble before he met your two,’ she snapped.
Maxine knew Vivien was hurting and ignored the jab. ‘Let’s try to stay calm, eh?’
‘Oh, that’s so easy for to say,’ Vivien screamed. ‘You’ll have your boys back in a few days, but my Dumont will be dead.’you
‘I’m so sorry,’ Maxine said. ‘I know this is horrible. I wish I could say something that would help.’
‘It was your two who put Dumont up to it,’ Vivien said. ‘Like that first night when you arrived at my house. Straight away those two little devils of yours had him sneaking the wine and my Dumont was up being sick all night afterwards.’
Maxine was irked, but stayed calm. ‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair.’
This innocuous remark pushed Vivien over the edge. She broke free of her husband’s grasp and lunged for Maxine’s neck.
‘Prostitute!’ Vivien screamed, as Maxine thumped back against the wall.
Vivien carried more weight, but Maxine was half her age. Maxine felt pity, but had to defend herself from the attack. She reached out and ripped her long nails down Vivien’s cheek.
‘Bitch!’ Vivien shouted, as her husband tried to prise the women apart. ‘Your brats killed my Dumie. As good as murdered him.’
‘Calm down,’ Luc said, as he pulled Vivien away from Maxine, but she instantly turned on her husband.
‘So now you take her side, you old bastard?’ Vivien wailed, as she thumped on Luc’s chest.
Maxine realised her best option was to leave the room but as she grabbed the door, Henderson pushed it inwards, hitting Maxine in the face and knocking her back within hair-pulling distance of Vivien.
Henderson bundled into the fray as Vivien wound Maxine’s long hair around her hand and pulled with all her might.
Maxine screamed so loud that nobody heard Henderson shouting, ‘It’s going to be OK, I’ve sorted it.’
*
Marc shuddered as the cell door came open and an Unteroffizier
11 walked into the room. He had bright red hair, but after three hours of beatings Marc found himself judging fist and boot size before anything else.
‘Can you walk?’ the Unteroffizier asked. ‘I can,’ Marc said, using German because the Unteroffizier’s French was terrible. ‘The other two won’t get far. Where are we going, anyway?’
‘Out,’ the Unteroffizier said, as he moved across to help PT stand up. ‘Your parents are waiting in the reception area, I believe.’
Marc was elated, but didn’t let it show in case it was a trap.
‘I thought …’ Marc began, but the German cut him dead.
‘Release papers are posted.’
PT could just about walk, but the German had to call one of his colleagues and the pair dragged Dumont down the hallway to a lift. The Germans shoved him into the lift and when it reached the ground-floor lobby Luc and Henderson rushed over to pick him up.
At the same moment, Major Ghunsonn came out of an office and went berserk.
‘Who are you?’ he shouted. ‘Who authorised the release papers? Where in the name of Christ is my custody officer?’
Once Dumont was on his feet his parents supported him. Henderson gave PT his arm and Maxine gave Marc a quick hug. But as they reached the former hotel’s entrance, Major Ghunsonn sent two armed men to block their path.
‘Somebody tell me what is going on,’ Ghunsonn demanded, as a worried-looking officer presented three sets of release papers. ‘Oberst Ohlsen! What has this got to do with that bald cretin?’
Ghunsonn stormed over to Henderson and pointed at Marc. ‘Your boy said that you’re a wealthy family. How much did you bribe Ohlsen?’
Henderson spoke in his politest German. ‘That’s a very serious accusation to make about a senior officer in a public place, Major. If you feel aggrieved, I’d suggest putting your accusation in writing to General Schultz.’
The major was turning bright red. He eyeballed Henderson for several seconds, before looking at the two guards blocking the exit. ‘Get them out of my headquarters.’
Luc took a deep breath and looked at Ghunsonn. ‘The valet has the keys to my car – can you arrange—’
Ghunsonn sensed a chance for revenge and waggled the release papers under Luc’s nose. ‘I see papers for three boys. I have papers for a car, in fact I believe that the only car that I saw has been requisitioned for essential use by the occupying forces. Now get out of my headquarters before I have the whole lot of you locked up for loitering.’no
Marc was delighted to breathe outdoor air as they moved down the front steps of the hotel.
Luc turned towards Henderson as he struggled down the steps with Dumont. ‘You clearly have some influence. Can you do anything about my car?’
Henderson smiled dryly. ‘I got your son out. I’m not pushing my luck by calling back and asking to save a car.’
Vivien had bloody claw marks down her face and gave Henderson an evil look as Marc looked up and down the deserted street. The streetlights were off and the wi
ndows blacked out to prevent air raids.
‘So how do we get home?’ Marc asked. ‘PT and Dumont can hardly walk, it’s thirteen kilometres and we’ve got no papers to be out after curfew.’
‘I’ll think of something,’ Henderson said wearily, as PT’s weight dragged on his back. ‘I always do, don’t I?’
* * *
11Unteroffizier – a mid-ranked German soldier, equivalent to a British or American corporal.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Henderson stepped into Oberst Ohlsen’s office holding one of the best bottles from Luc Boyle’s cellar.
‘Compliments of me and the rest of the Boyle family,’ Henderson said. ‘And I’d personally like to show my gratitude by offering to buy you lunch.’
‘You look bloody awful,’ Ohlsen noted, as he tipped back his chair and studied the label on the bottle.
‘I had to come here and practically beg the night staff to set me up with a set of curfew papers,’ Henderson explained. ‘My nephew Dumont took a real hammering, so my brother Luc and his wife stayed in Calais with friends. It was nearly two by the time I’d walked thirteen kilometres home with my boys.’
Henderson obviously didn’t add that he’d had to stay up another hour to listen out for the return message from McAfferty. After walking back from the barn, he’d ended up getting into bed less than two hours before he had to get up for work.
‘The wine is appreciated,’ Ohlsen said. ‘But I’ll have to decline lunch in case people talk. Major Ghunsonn came to my quarters in a furious temper, accusing me of taking bribes. He only calmed down when I reminded him of his rank and threatened to court martial him for insubordination. Ghunsonn is well connected and the type who bears a grudge, so you your boys had better steer clear of military police from now on.’and
Henderson nodded. ‘Marc and PT have been told that if they put one toe off my farm they’ll be getting a thrashing like they’ve never had before.’
Henderson's Boys: Eagle Day: Book 2 Page 16