Don't Look Back: SOE Circuit Fortunae Book 1

by Thomas Wood

  The paranoia in me told me that it was another German truck, searching the houses in Restigné after another tip-off. The water-filled eyes of Mike told me that he was thinking the same.

  But the truck rumbled down the road somewhere, and the recognisable squeal of brakes, followed by shouted orders, did not come. Not near Alfred’s house anyway.

  “What is your plan?”

  I looked across at Mike, whose moody face seemed moodier than ever. It was as if someone was shining a light behind his head, casting long and drawn out shadows around his eyes, which were filled with a sadness that had taken on a renewed purpose in the last few days. He had lost something while we had been out in the field, something that had silenced him considerably.

  There was no mistaking what it was, I could practically see the tumbling body of Teddy Higgins at fifteen thousand feet, as Mike pushed the control column down to see if he could somehow catch him. I winced as I thought of his body connecting with the ground, at such a speed that I was sure he would have punched a mighty hole into the earth.

  Mike had lost his cover, the façade that he had been building up over the last few months. It was gone now. He had revealed his secret to me, and I could tell that he was concerned about what I now thought of him, as the man responsible for Teddy’s death.

  But that was the last thing that had been occupying my mind. Each and every time I thought about it, my mind quickly diverted to that night, the one where my eyes had seen things far worse than Mike’s ever had.

  He had been with me, of course, but it’s odd how what one man sees can affect another so drastically differently.

  I looked back towards Suzanne. She needed her question answered, otherwise she would know that we were hiding something, and that could lead to further trouble down the line. Besides, there was no refuting the fact that we would be in desperate need of help, from her and her friends.

  “The chateau, about fifteen kilometres from here.” It had taken me a while to get used to it, but I was finally using the correct unit of measuring the length of things. Although he was dead against what I was saying, I knew secretly that Mike was impressed that I had remembered.

  “Château de Serrane?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “What is your concern there? It is only a resting place for Luftwaffe junior officers who are recuperating, is it not?”

  “Yes, it is. But they have a special visitor. The commander of the air fleet. Generalfeldmarschall Sperrle. London want him dead.”

  She gave it some thought.

  “Why?”

  Mike, renewed of confidence and sarcasm chimed in. “It probably has something to do with the fact that he is a high-ranking Nazi official. That would be my best guess anyway.”

  She decided to ignore his outright impertinence, as she so often did. It was probably why she had managed to make her way to become London’s contact, as it seemed like nothing anyone said could deter her from what she wanted to do.

  “So, what is your plan? How do you actually propose to take this man out?”

  Mike suddenly exploded, unable to keep his emotions in check any longer. It was a trait that was a dangerous one, but for now, inside the relative safety of Alfred’s home, it was one that could be expressed.

  “Are we all just going to waltz straight past the elephant in the museum?!” I turned to look at him. As well as being into the historic literature of our home nation, he had too tried his hand at that of the Russian variety, where he had discovered the works of Ivan Krylov, a fabulist from some one hundred years before.

  He had tried to entice me into his works, unsuccessfully, but not before I had read The Inquisitive Man, in which the protagonist wanders around a museum, taking note of all the tiny, minute animals, but missing the large white elephant that was sat in the centre of it.

  It was an amusing enough story, but not one that piqued my interest in Russian fables, but that did not stop Mike from dropping in a reference or two whenever he could.

  “She stitched us up! She handed us over to the Germans, not once, but twice! If we had any good sense, we would kill her now!”

  “What are you going to use to do that? A sharpened stick?”

  “How would you—”

  Mike shot a look over at me, as if accusing me of speaking to her without his prior knowledge. The look he received back from me was the exact same that I was giving him.

  “I didn’t say anything,” he almost pleaded with me.

  “You better start talking, Suzanne. Otherwise, there’s going to be quite a lot of trouble heading our way.”

  She seemed reluctant to talk at first, as if she suddenly realised that she had been caught out. I noticed her eyes quickly dart towards the door. She stayed where she was. Clever woman. There was no way that she would get very far, not with an incensed Mike on her heels.

  “I know someone. A German soldier. He keeps me informed of these things. They’re rumours and whispers mainly. But every now and then you know what he says is true.”

  “How?”

  “You can see it in their eyes. They aren’t just individual soldiers when they are here. They are a group. Everything that happens affects them together.

  “They found the body of the soldier, with a stick in his neck. A dog apparently found him. Was going berserk and barking at the German as if he was waiting for his stick to be thrown.”

  I felt Mike glance over at me, but I did nothing but blink as I held my gaze on Suzanne.

  “They are all scared at the moment. They know that there is something going on. But they don’t have enough information to shut it all down.”

  “Where do they think they are getting all this information from?”

  “I…I don’t know. I have never asked him.”

  “You need to put a stop to it,” Mike said, all of a sudden becoming quite defensive over the woman who, five minutes ago, he would have happily beaten to death.

  His thinking was the same as mine. Suzanne had been careless, foolish. The German soldier, whoever he was, knew that Suzanne was involved with us, and so by association, knew that she was implicit in the killing of the German soldier.

  “Does he know where you live?”

  “N-No, I do not think so. Do you think I am in danger?”

  “Have they started searching for the killers yet?”

  “No, not exactly. They are trying to keep things hidden, for now. They say they are looking for spies. It gives them the chance to search the houses without anyone really knowing what is going on.”

  There was a silence for a moment, an uneasy one, in which Alfred took his leave, presuming that we could all do with a cup of tea right now. He wasn’t far wrong.

  “What does this soldier get in return? Are you telling him about what you are doing?”

  Her face flushed a bright red. “We are friends. But, occasionally, I do let slip about what is happening. It makes it seem more reciprocal. That way I know he won’t just stop telling me these things.”

  “Did you tell him about us? The house search at Monsieur Plantier’s house. Was that you?”

  She shifted in her seat.

  “You have to understand that I had to give him something that was worth more than just a rumour. He needed concrete evidence that I was a part of this movement. Besides, I needed to check that you were who you said you were.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “There are stories of the Gestapo sending in spies like you. Then, when the network is slowly revealed, they are shut down, one by one. Arrests, executions and everything in between.”

  “But you saw us land in that field. You saw us come from that plane.”

  “That means nothing nowadays. The Germans are very inventive in trying to fool us. I needed to see if they would come after you. If they didn’t, then I would know that you weren’t who you claimed to be. If they did, then I would be able to trust you.”

  “They jolly well did come after us! And they d
amn well nearly killed us too! What would you have done if they had killed us? You would have lost two agents in the process!”

  Mike was furious, his eyes, bulging as they had done in the forest, seemed to burn a ferocious red colour, as if he had been overcome by some sort of demonic influence.

  “That was all part of the risk. Anyway, you made it out alive.”

  “Yes, with no thanks to you.”

  The tension continued to simmer away at the surface, as Alfred stumbled his way into the room with a tray of refreshments. I guessed it was half-time. The second half would kick off again soon.

  Mike’s eyes seemed intent on burning a hole in Suzanne’s forehead, causing her to stand from her chair and walk over to the window, staring up and down the street outside, searching for the truck that had trundled past moments ago.

  I had nowhere else to look, so found myself staring at the portrait above the fireplace, for what felt like the thousandth time. The picture was as entertaining as anything that I had seen before, each and every time I looked at it, I noticed something new. A new crease in his face, a new blemish, each one appearing as if the picture was somehow ageing alongside my own face.

  “Alfred,” I croaked, forcing a sip of tea down my throat, which was somehow only lukewarm. “That boy, in the picture. Who is he?”

  The old man looked straight into my eyes, as he lowered himself into his chair, gingerly. His arms seemed stiff as he withdrew his handkerchief and delicately dabbed his nose with it, the red embroidery flashing around the room as he did so. He had never struck me as the kind of man to move around the room in pain, so why he had cautiously lowered his body into the chair was beyond me.

  “That…that is my son.”

  “Yes, and we don’t talk about him. Do we Alfred?”

  The old man, as petrified of the young woman as ever, shook his head in agreement with her.

  22

  It would be easier for me to keep the whole thing quiet, never to be mentioned again, than it would be for Mike. He had only lasted a couple of months before blurting out the truth about what had happened to Teddy Higgins, whereas I was still able to keep a lid on the truth as I sat, still staring at the portrait of the young man.

  The lid, that had stayed firmly in its place for the best part of a year now, had begun to wobble in the last couple of days. It had almost slipped from its place completely at Suzanne’s outburst towards Alfred. But still, I managed to keep it on, at least to the outside world anyway, not one of the others knew what was tumbling through my mind, as I sat there catatonic for what must have been an hour or two.

  I looked towards Mike, as I had done on that night, the same expression that he had had on his face then, slowly morphing its way onto his face in Alfred’s house. We were not there, of course we weren’t, but for a moment or two, I could not distinguish between what was real, and what was playing itself over in my head.

  “Can you lads help us anymore?” an elderly gentleman, steel helmet pulled over to one side, called out to us as he stumbled his way through the loose bricks and debris.

  “Really sorry, old chap. But we must be heading off now. Our CO will be wondering where it is we have got to.”

  The man’s face fell, momentarily, as if he understood that we must do our duty, but also disappointed that the two strong, well-fed chaps in front of him were no longer at his disposal.

  Regardless, even if we could have helped them out, it did not mean that I would have done. I had already seen enough. I knew London was getting it bad, but I didn’t want to have to be the one that was dealing with it head-on. I was perfectly alright with going head to head with the bombers, angels two-zero, where all that could kill me were the rounds that zipped from the end of an MG15.

  At least, in the air, the only person that I could blame for my death would be myself. It would be a mistake that I had made that would kill me.

  On the ground, as the bombs fell all around you, it was the luck of the draw. As if some mythical giant had dropped a handful of conkers, the unfortunate few who lay in its path with nothing to protect them other than a thin layer of concrete at best.

  “That’s a shame chaps. We are really taking a hammering tonight. Two waves already, and it’s not even eleven o’clock yet. The south-west Londoners are taking a few hits as well, from what I’ve heard.”

  My interest was inextinguishable, and I could almost feel the sigh from Mike as he realised that I would now no longer be returning with him, even if he managed to carry me onto the train.

  “Where abouts in the south-west?” I asked, tentatively, not really wanting to know what was happening down there.

  “All of them. Twickenham, Putney, Kew.”

  “And Richmond?”

  “I daresay they’ve taken a few, Sir. Although we ain’t heard much from their brigade down there, truth be told.”

  I looked to Mike.

  “I’ve got to go there, Mike,” I could already feel the whimpering tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. I made sure that they stayed in there for now. I could not crumble at this point.

  “I know you do, old fruit. Come on, I’ll come with you.”

  I didn’t offer up any kind of argument or protests as, in truth, it felt good that he was coming with me. I wouldn’t have thought any less of him if he had decided that it was not for him, it was not his family after all, but the fact that he was prepared to come meant the world to me.

  It took us a good ninety minutes to make the journey across London to Richmond, having to apologetically turn down hundreds of pleas for help as we did so. Some cabbies were still running defiantly, not even allowing the falling bombs to stop them from picking up a passenger or two.

  “The gits tried to stop me with shells twenty years ago lads. They failed then. They’ll fail again tonight. Put it away son,” he finished off, as I went to pass him a handful of coins.

  “Only the desperate are out looking for cabs tonight. And I make sure not to take a fare off anyone who is that desperate. I hope you find your family.”

  “Thank you,” I gasped, as I was already hurdling over smashed walls and broken windows, running through the town to the place where I had, until recently, lived happily with my family.

  I charged past the town square, which had over the previous couple of months, been a hotbed of local activity, as money was raised for a fighter plane.

  There had been all sorts of goings-on in the locality to raise funds for what became known as The Jubilee Fighter, including showing bits of a smashed Dornier that had been shot down somewhere over central London. There were tales of schoolchildren raiding piggy banks and downright thievery, all the way to the tramp who had managed to scrape together three farthings for the cause.

  “It is all that I can muster,” had been his remorseful sigh to the shop owner.

  But now, the joviality and fun of fundraising was nothing but a ghost in the square, as bits of broken water fountain lay strewn across my path. I leapt over it athletically, and seconds later I heard Mike do the same until we came screeching to a halt, at the top of Sheen Road, which had become a hubbub of activity.

  “You can’t go down there, Sir,” a plump faced, sixty-something man said as he stepped across my path. “Who are you?”

  “Flying Officer Johnny Parker. And who are you?”

  “Captain Derwin, 2nd Platoon, Richmond Home Guard. We’re overseeing the rescue efforts here.”

  “Rescue efforts?”

  “Can’t you see, Sir? We’ve been bombed. Mightily hard at that. This road here has had all its houses destroyed.”

  “This is Peldon Avenue?”

  “Well…it was Peldon Avenue, Sir. You know this area well?”

  I did not wait around to give him an answer, and I heard Mike give the bloke a good shove behind me.

  “We’re coming through, he lives here!”

  I could not tell where it was number thirty-two had once stood, but I stopped in the middle of the street and looked aro
und me. To my surprise, there were no armed men giving chase to the two who had just barged through the perimeter, just sad and confused faces as they wondered where to begin.

  “W-What happened?”

  “Parachute mines, Sir.”

  “Did they all detonate?”

  “As far as we know, Sir.”

  I had heard of parachute mines before, although I had never seen the scale of devastation with which they truly operated. They would fall from the aircraft, immediately opening up a parachute and would dangle their way to earth, in a similar fashion to a pilot who had baled out of his aircraft.

  They would then descend comparatively slowly to a normal bomb, before detonating some fifty feet from the ground, the idea being that the blast of the bomb would be far more effective, without the obstacles around it to absorb the blast.

  I had no idea how many had fallen on Peldon Avenue, but they had done their job. The entire street had been reduced to a pile of rubble and broken glass.

  “Well, come on then! Let’s get a move on!” Another man appeared at the end of the street, with a tin hat on, just like most of the others around there, with ‘POLICE’ stencilled in white on the front.

  He didn’t look like a police officer, nor did he speak like one, as he began to boss people around with language that would have made even a deaf man blush awfully.

  The rest of the men around us sprang into action, with a terrific efficiency, moving piles of brick around and fallen door frames, collecting them in the middle of the street where they were confident that no one could be buried.

  Within seconds, my hands were a mess of blisters and pockmarked with blood, as I ignored the shards of glass that had begun to protrude from them. There was far more at risk here than a few surface wounds.

  “Over here!” someone screamed, with such an urgency that I felt the vocal cords begin to strain under the pressure. “There’s a baby here!”