Vernhes made a speech, flanked by members of the Committee of the United Resistance, announcing the deposition of the mayor and the establishment of the Fourth Republic, to ecstatic cheers.
Afterwards Nikola had thought a lot about what had happened and he’d remembered the surge of annoyance that he’d felt when the FTP had placed themselves too far over in the square. Even at the time he’d thought, contemptuously, that they looked as if they were ready to make a quick getaway. The noise of engines at the end of the speech was like a dream of thunder; you wondered if you’d really heard it. Then you knew you had. The townspeople had evaporated. One minute they were standing there applauding, the next there was not one of them to be seen, except an old girl desperately trying to reach a shutter on an upstairs window that kept evading her reach.
Nothing for it, they couldn’t just run away after marching in so proudly. The Germans were up on them fast and in force. They received fire at the entrance to the village and responded at once. The shoe mender’s house, oppose Dr Maniotte’s, was targeted and a fire started. Very rapidly he recognised that the situation was hopeless. They were being pushed back towards the centre, rounded up.
Where, he asked himself, then shouted the question aloud, Where are the fighters of the bloody Group Noix? None of them were to be seen. He rallied his men, the ones close enough to him to hear and obey. He wouldn’t let them be herded into the square, like a troop of cattle to the slaughter. He saw that Henri still going strong as they ran down one of the narrow alleys where no vehicle could follow them, over a wall into a back garden. Through the cabbages, into the next. They could run more freely here, with houses between them and the German armour. Finally, over the last wall and into a green orchard where two sheep huddled together in one corner under arthritic apple trees, laden with ripening fruit. They were out of the town now. Their trucks had been left on the road to Racines and couldn’t go back for them. The Germans would certainly have taken them, so there was no alternative but footing it into the forest to count their losses.
* * *
Nikola blew his nose loudly. ‘You want me to tell you that we fought a famous battle, retreating from house to house; that we caught them in the rear and captured the lot? We didn’t. We ran away. What could we do? Who wants to die the day before peace breaks out?’
Theo, who had offered no word of professional criticism, had no difficulty in understanding that the Russian’s military pride was bitterly offended by this episode, from its opening braggadocio to its ignominious end.
‘But the question!’ Nikola was shouting now, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, his face flushed with vodka and flames. ‘The real question you’re asking yourself is …’
He poured some more vodka. They were well into the second bottle by now.
‘The difficult question is, how did the Germans know? How did the Germans know so damn quick?’
‘Perhaps they didn’t know. Perhaps it was just bad luck that they turned up there and then.’
‘Yes, perhaps.’ His voice dropped. ‘Yes, perhaps. The whole unit, turned out to visit Lepech Perdrissou one Thursday afternoon. Perhaps they just happened to have a field gun, flame throwers, mortars with them? Perhaps it was just bad luck. The other question is, where did the FTP get to? I didn’t see them fighting alongside me, hiding behind garden walls, lobbing grenades at the bastards. Was anyone from the FTP captured? Perhaps we were just unlucky, like you say.’ He brooded over ill luck and the vagaries of chance.
* * *
In the forest they had regrouped. He found Henri in a clearing with some more of their men. The boys flung themselves on the ground panting, some laughing aloud with relief at their escape and the exhilaration of the chase. Henri was breathing hard, wiping sweat from his neck.
‘Jeannot was shot outside the boulangerie,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid he may have copped it.’
There were no recriminations. Henri wasn’t one to start asking why did we do it; he just got on with what he had to do, but he must have thought, what a bloody waste.
Nikola grunted and said, ‘What next?’
‘We’d better move ourselves as fast as we can over towards La Peyre,’ Henri said. ‘The Germans will be around here like a disturbed wasps’ nest for the next day or so. We want to be as far from them as possible.’ He began to count how many men they’d managed to assemble. ‘I’m going back to Bonnemort, but I’ll join you tonight or tomorrow morning.’
‘Henri, don’t go home. It’s asking for trouble. Leave Madame Ariane to deal with them. She’s got them wrapped round her finger.’
‘No, I must go back. After this, they might do anything.’
Just then they heard the sound of a truck bumping up the track. They all picked up their weapons and scattered, but only half-heartedly. They could tell from the sound that it was a wood burner, so it must be French and, sure enough, the two lorries that drew up were full of men from Group Noix, Vernhes sitting up front with the driver of the first vehicle.
Nikola had no thought then to ask them what the hell they had been doing back there in Lepech; he simply wanted news of his own guys. From what Vernhes told them it was bad, worse than he had imagined. At least five of Group Rainbow had been killed and two had been taken prisoner, Pierre Rouget from Cavialle and Philippe Boysse, both of them local boys. The Germans had put them into one of their trucks and it was moving out; back to Bonnemort, they supposed.
‘We ought to try to get them back,’ Henri said. Vernhes nodded. He strolled away from his truck, signalling with a movement of his head for Henri to follow him where they could not be overheard. Nikola went too.
‘Look, we could get them before they even reach Bonnemort and have a chance to work our guys over,’ Vernhes urged.
Henri said, ‘I’d rather wait till dark and gather a few more men.’
‘No, no. You’ll have fewer rather than more. They’ll be patrolling the roads, picking up anyone they see, not to mention putting the screws on Pierre and Philippe. We must act at once. This is what I suggest: you hold up the lorry and we’ll come up behind.’
Henri was looking thoughtful. He wasn’t sold on it. Vernhes grew impatient. ‘It’s only one truck. What are you afraid of? You must have twenty guys here, and we’ve got the same.’
When Henri still did not reply, Vernhes said, ‘I don’t want to keep my men hanging around here. If you don’t like the plan, say so and we’ll move out at once and no more time wasted. But don’t count on us tonight. We’ll be a long way from here by then.’
Nikola could see that Henri didn’t like it, but he wanted the back-up that Vernhes could give, so he agreed. Vernhes had it all worked out.
‘This is what we’ll do,’ he explained. ‘You lot’ll take our Renault truck and drive as fast as you can through the woods to the Bonnemort track. You’ll make it in time because they’ll come the long way round by the main road. They haven’t dared take the short cut for weeks. We’ll drive the other truck to the junction and wait till we see the Germans turn up the Bonnemort track and then we’ll come up behind them.’
It was all planned and agreed so fast that within minutes Vernhes was walking back to the men, shouting for his lads. Henri climbed into the cab, and Vernhes slapped him on the back.
‘Don’t worry, Henri. We’ll get them back for you.’
* * *
The top of Nikola’s bald head gleamed in the firelight. He put down his vodka glass on the floor between his feet and heaved himself upright, almost tipping into the fire. He opened the front door, fumbling with the shutters.
‘Got to pee,’ he mumbled.
Theo, whose bladder had been begging for relief for at least half an hour, followed him gratefully. The solace of sending the jet of urine steaming into the earth just beyond the rectangle of light thrown from the house was so great that he felt he had reached the understanding that he sought. He had it, he understood what had been going on. But, by the time he had rebuttoned his flies and stepp
ed indoors once more, it had disappeared.
The cold air outside, only a degree or so above freezing, had sobered the Russian a little. The flow of his story was arrested and Theo could not at first coax him back into his rhythm, the piston of memory driving the engine of speech.
‘Why am I telling you this?’ Nikola grumbled. ‘No one knows this. We made this plan on the spot, Henri, Vernhes and I, standing on the edge of the track. No one was listening to what we said. So I know what we agreed, but if what I say is different from what he says, then I must be wrong. I’m not French; I don’t speak French good. I’m not a communist. He’ll have two witnesses to support him, to say they heard what was said and he’s right. So I decided to say nothing. What’s the point when Henri’s dead?’
‘Wait, slow down a bit. Who’s he here? Who are we talking about?’
Nikola looked at him witheringly. ‘Him, Vernhes, the mayor, who else?’
‘He denies that you made a plan to rescue the prisoners?’
‘He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even acknowledge that we saw one another. After the liberation, at Henri’s funeral, he made the oration. Henri was a hero, he says. He died for France, trying to save his compatriots from the hands of the invader. He spoke to me afterwards. Henri wasn’t a soldier, he says. Pity he had to rush off to Bonnemort to get the guys back without waiting for reinforcements. If we had all attacked together that night, we might have done something. I may not speak French good, but I can tell when someone is warning me off in any language.’
He picked up the third vodka bottle and waved it at Theo, who shook his head.
‘You’re Henri’s friend. You’re high up in the Free French. You’ve got power …’
Here Theo expected a plea for help to reveal the truth and let justice prevail. Nothing of the kind.
‘You’ll want to make enquiries, demand justice. Don’t do it.’ He slapped his thigh for emphasis. ‘Don’t do it. Go back to Paris and forget about it. I’ve seen what these people, the communists, can do. I saw it in Russia, more than twenty years ago …’
‘But that was in Russia at the time of the Revolution …’
‘You mean, Russians are barbarians and it couldn’t happen here among civilised Frenchmen, who don’t denounce or torture or betray one another for the sake of politics?’ Nikola said combatively. ‘Where have you been living for the last four years? Not in France, that’s for sure. And now the communists will have their turn.’
The vodka had made him aggressive.
‘In August and September last year they were shooting prisoners, executing men from the Milice on the spot. It was only necessary for one of the comrades to accuse you and that was it.’
‘What happened to Henri?’ he asked quietly. ‘Just tell me what happened.’
Nikola looked mulish. ‘You’ve got to promise me you won’t stir things up with demands for justice.’
‘I can’t do that. I can’t tell what I’ll do until I know.’
‘I want to live here quietly. I’m not going to take part in the French civil war. I’m not going to be used by you.’
They had reached a stand-off. Theo could think of no way of persuading the obstinate man beside him to speak. There was nothing Nikola wanted, except to live in his French dacha without interference.
Nikola was moving round the room, picking things up and replacing them amid the chaos. He trimmed the lamp on the table, opened the cupboard and took out another bottle, two more glasses.
Theo held up his hand. ‘I couldn’t, thank you.’ He lifted himself out of his chair, his brain turning in his skull, stabilising itself in its new position moments later, like the point of a compass coming, with some wavering, to rest.
‘Sit down, sit down. These are my cherries in marc, from the last year before the war. You’ll have some before you go.’
Theo sat down again and took the proffered glass, sensing a change of heart. The Russian sucked sulkily on his cherry, like a child with a sweet. He was obviously disappointed not to have been cajoled into continuing his story.
‘You can work it out anyway,’ he said. His tone was still argumentative, carrying on the debate that Theo had refused. ‘You know what happened.’
‘Nobody else was there. I’ve not heard the story from someone who was there with Henri.’
Nikola spat out his cherry stone, took another fruit.
‘How many were you?’ Theo asked, as if he were debriefing him.
‘On our side? Nineteen with Henri and me. All Secret Army, note that.’
‘How many survived?’
‘Five plus me, two of us wounded. Henri and five others were captured and executed in the square, along with one of the guys we’d been trying to rescue, Pierrot Rouget, who’d been caught that afternoon in Lepech. Seven were killed there on the track and so was Philippe Boysse, who’d also been taken prisoner in Lepech. The Germans had made him drive the lead car. That tells you something, doesn’t it, putting him in the line of fire.’
* * *
They had scrambled down the escarpment above the Bonnemort track, so that they would be facing the arriving German vehicles as they climbed up the road. It wasn’t an ideal spot for an ambush because the slope was too steep, but there was plenty of cover in the rough undergrowth and they were above the sight line of the driver. Henri took up a position low down. Beside him was Richard, one of the best shots in the group. Nikola placed half a dozen of the others on the slope and the rest on the top of the hillock, ready to attack when the lorry was brought to a halt.
* * *
‘We heard them coming, two of them, a car first, a truck following. I thought that our guys would be in the second vehicle, and I hoped that even if they were handcuffed, they would be able to save themselves once we’d engaged. I saw the German staff car. I’d hoped it would be the Hispano-Suiza, then we would have been sure it was the major. The car was notorious in the whole area: Madame Ariane’s car. The evil tongues said that she gave it to him, as a bribe or a gift …’ He suddenly recalled to whom he was speaking.
Theo did not react. ‘Go on,’ he urged. He wouldn’t let him stop now.
‘Everything was perfect. These boys sometimes are so excited that they can’t stop themselves loosing off before time. But Henri held them back until they were just below us. First round, the windscreen of the car shatters, the driver is hit. The car swerves, hits a tree trunk. Truck can’t pass. The Germans jump out and take cover. We hit two more then, killed them. That cheered us, I can tell you, seeing them lying there. I tell five of our boys what to do: leave us to hold their attention while they take off, up the hill and round to outflank them. We’re exchanging fire now. They’re trapped, but we can’t winkle them out until our guys get down there, or Vernhes comes. He should arrive any minute. I hear an engine, more than one. Is this the first sign that things aren’t right? I think I start backing off already then, changing my position. Now I can see the staff car, the glass all smashed away. The driver is lying face down, tipped a little away from the door. Then I see who it is: our guy, Philippe Boysse. He isn’t going anywhere, for he is dead and his wrist is handcuffed to the steering wheel. Then I’m sure there’s something wrong and the trucks come round the corner. It isn’t Vernhes and his boys; it’s the rest of the Germans, the whole bloody lot of them. They’re out of the trucks in seconds, firing all the time. The next thing I know, I hear shots in the forest behind us. They aren’t just coming up the road, they’re already outflanking us. At that moment I know it’s time to leave. I get together the guys nearest me and we quit. We could hear the firing going on and on, as we made our getaway. I got five of them out of there, one with a wound in his head, another a scratch. You know what happened to the rest of them.’
In the silence that followed the wood on the fire crumbled, folding inwards onto the glowing ash.
‘And the SS major?’ Theo asked. He thought Nikola was going to finish the story for him. ‘Was it you who killed him?’
For the first time Nikola hesitated, breath indrawn, as if reflecting on the consequences of saying yes, saying no.
At last he said, regretfully, ‘No, I didn’t kill the bastard. I wish I had. I’d have done more than slit his throat. But, no, it wasn’t me. I walked thirty kilometres that night, so I didn’t hear what happened to Henri and the others until two days later. And by that time the Germans had gone. We were liberated.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
The next morning Theo’s head was pulsing like a lighthouse. Moving it was, he had discovered while tilting his jaw to shave, a painful manoeuvre. His eyelids were lined with sandpaper, abrading his eyeballs with each flicker in defence against the assailing daylight. His mouth, even after cautious toothbrushing, was a silage pit, sweet and fermenting.
The walk home, about four kilometres through the dark woods with a torch borrowed from Nikola to guide him along the track, had not cleared his head enough to draw any conclusions from the massive Russian epic to which he had just been subjected. The problem lay in separating the significant from the trivial, which returned to his mind with distracting vividness. He had entered their bedroom as quietly as he could. The fire was a crumble of ash. Ariane was asleep with a lamp still burning. She woke up, instantly alert.
‘Theo, where have you been?’
‘I couldn’t let you know. No telephone. With Nikola.’
A Good Death Page 22