Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  Something caught his eye. The small boy was fidgeting. Such was the way of small boys. Slowly he leant across and said deliberately, ‘Waiting’s not much fun, is it?’

  Silence. He could feel the boy’s eyes staring at him. David thought: The boy thinks I am about to eat him.

  ‘When I was your age I used to play a little word game to pass the time.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Would you perhaps like to give it a try?’

  A pause then a cautious, ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Excellent. Shall I begin then?’

  Vasson lowered himself on to his belly and, holding the torch in his hand, pressed the button once, twice, three times. He waited, dropping his head behind a tussock of grass. There was a knot of fear in his stomach: this was where Baum and his friends might just do something stupid, like blast him out of the ground.

  Come on, where the hell were they?

  He wiped the rain off his face, lifted the torch up and flashed the signal again.

  Suddenly a small pinprick of blue light appeared through the downpour: once, twice, three times.

  Vasson got cautiously to his feet and, moving away to his left, approached in a slight semicircle. The hunched silhouettes of helmeted men appeared black in the greyness. One of them moved. Then another. They were putting rifles to their shoulders. Vasson thought: Christ! And dropped to the ground. Then someone was striding out towards him and a foot kicked him hard in the ribs. Baum’s voice said furiously, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Get those bloody rifles off me!’

  Baum snorted, ‘Even if they had thought of shooting you, my stupid friend, they are not going to shoot me too, are they!’

  Vasson got angrily to his feet and hissed, ‘Just keep them away from me, do you understand!’

  ‘Don’t be a fool. People can hear you.’

  Vasson swallowed hard. ‘Just keep your animals under control, d’you hear me!’

  Baum ignored him and said, ‘They’re all on the beach, are they – the lot of them? We’ll move in, then.’

  ‘No! We wait!’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Because you want the lot, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  Vasson put his face close to the German’s and spat, ‘We wait.’

  The MGB stole quietly in towards the coast on one muffled engine. Ashley peered through the darkness and thought: Some luck at last. The weather had been foul all winter but now, finally, they’d been blessed with a calm night. The rain was a nuisance, of course, because it reduced visibility, but it was clearing away now and, with a bit more luck, should be gone by the time they reached the beach. Anyway, rain was better than a crystal clear night. Once, Ashley had seen the glow of a German sentry’s cigarette up on the point.

  The voice of Tusker, the navigator, came floating up. ‘Course 165 degrees.’

  ‘Course 165 degrees,’ the coxswain repeated and turned the wheel.

  In a moment Tusker would start calling out the depth until, finally, at five fathoms, they would anchor.

  Already Ashley could smell the strong scent of the land, an aromatic mixture of vegetable matter and earth.

  His mouth was dry and he swallowed several times. The adrenalin was working overtime tonight. It was the thought of Julie and Peter waiting on the beach. After so long.

  When she’d first told him that it would be at least a month, probably two, before she could get away it had exasperated him. He’d made all the necessary plans and he was surprised and a little hurt that she hadn’t wanted to come straight away. But then he’d looked at it from her point of view and begun to admire her for it. After all, he would have done the same. Waited and seen the job through.

  The waiting had been terrible. That was because no-one that he’d met in the last few months had been a patch on Julie. It had taken a long time for him to realise how much he loved her. And Peter. He loved them both, and now, at last, he would take them home.

  Tusker’s voice called softly, ‘Seven … seven … six …’

  Ashley said, ‘Stop engine.’

  ‘All stopped, sir.’

  There was a rock close by, Ashley could hear the water lapping against it. ‘Port twenty.’

  ‘Port twenty,’ the coxswain whispered.

  Ashley saw the dark shape of the rock slip past some five yards to starboard and recognised it. The best anchorage was a few yards further to the east. ‘Steer 080 degrees.’

  ‘… six … five fathoms … five … five …’

  Ashley left it another minute then gave the order to lower the anchor. There was a slight plop then a swishing as the grass anchor rope unwound and raced out through the stemhead fairlead.

  As he waited for the boat to settle to the anchor, Ashley stood listening to the night. Now that the rain had stopped, every sound was magnified by the stillness of the air. He could hear the gentle hissing of the surf in the cove, and the echo of the swell rumbling round partly submerged rocks.

  They would have to be particularly quiet tonight; the slightest sound would carry for miles.

  He waited impatiently for the men to launch the surf-boats and stow the gear, then he dropped into the first boat and they were off, rowing softly towards the beach.

  With each stroke of the muffled oars, Ashley thought of the woman and the boy waiting in the darkness, and realised with no surprise at all that he had been looking forward to this night for a long, long time.

  It had to be well past midnight. The rain had eased off and Julie could see some way along the beach. She strained her eyes for sight of a boat. But there was nothing. She looked back into the darkness of the rock cave. The word game had finished some time ago. Peter was asleep, his head on his bag. The old man was silent, probably sleeping too.

  She closed her eyes for a while to rest them, then looked out through the gap in the rocks again. If you stared too hard the blackness seemed to dance before your eyes.

  And yet …

  She stiffened: there was something. A black blur on the water. It was moving. And up on the shingle there were other movements: dark figures running down towards the water’s edge.

  The boat. It must be the surfboat.

  She cried out and raised her fist to the sky in a gesture of delight.

  Peter woke up. ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Darling, it’s come! The boat’s here!’

  ‘It’s really Richard? He’s really here?’

  She laughed with excitement. ‘Yes, darling!’ She remembered the scientist. ‘Monsieur? The boat. It’s come!’

  ‘Yes … yes …! I – I – It’s wonderful. Yes!’

  ‘Wait here, you two!’ Julie went onto all fours and crawled out on to a flat rock. She stood up and peered into the night. The surfboat was there all right, just riding in towards the beach. A dark mass had appeared under the cliff – the first group of passengers being gathered together. It would take five minutes to load them and twenty minutes before the boat returned. Not long. For ever. She desperately wanted to run along the beach that very second – but there was Peter and she couldn’t leave him.

  She laughed with excitement. Richard. He was there, she knew he was. He would have come himself, just to make certain. She wanted to say, I’m here, darling, of course I’m here!

  The boat flew on to the beach and figures jumped out. The dark mass of the passengers started down the beach.

  They seemed to be going very slowly. She willed them to speed up.

  At the water’s edge there was some more movement – she guessed the crew were floating the surfboat off again, ready for the passengers.

  Behind, another black shape slowly emerged from the darkness of the sea. That would be the second surfboat, coming in to the beach.

  Julie watched with satisfaction. For once it was a perfect night. Everything was going smoothly. A marvellous piece of luck. She couldn’t help thinking that it was fate; that, after all the storms of the winter, this calm night had been arrange
d, just for her.

  The passengers had reached the water’s edge at last. In a moment they would be in the surfboat and on their way.

  She clenched her fists. Hurry. Hurry up. This waiting is killing me. And she laughed a little, because the anticipation was so sharp and warm.

  Suddenly she gasped and froze, the last of the smile still on her lips.

  Light.

  There was light—!

  The picture in front of her jumped from negative to positive, the blacks to whites.

  She blinked and focused, disbelieving.

  The surfboat and the figures around it were sharply illuminated, encircled with brilliant white.

  Dear God—!

  The brilliant whiteness was coming in a long shaft from the left – from the sea. She jerked her head towards it. The beam was radiating from a single point out in the bay.

  She let out a small cry.

  The British boat must be mad. What were they doing? What were they doing? She hissed, ‘Turn it off! Turn it off!’

  Suddenly she jumped.

  There was more light. This time from the clifftop. A great cone of dazzling brilliance which swung from side to side across the cove, searching, trying to trap the running figures.

  Crack! Crack! Gunfire from the clifftop. Then, almost immediately, a deep low Bang! from the bay, where fingers of yellow-tongued light flashed across the darkness.

  Suddenly she understood. It was a German boat out in the bay, shining the light. Just as there were Germans up on the clifftop.

  A shot rang out, closer, much closer. Then more shots. Shouting. Men running or pausing to shoot back. Men falling.

  Julie shrieked, ‘No!’ and cried with rage. ‘Please, dear God, No!’

  A second great cone of light shone down from the clifftop, sweeping back and forth like the first, trapping running figures in its glare, figures which ran then fell, figures which froze, sometimes, and raised their hands. The guns were rat-tat-tatting in a continuous stream of noise, from the beach, from the clifftop, enveloping the cove. In one sweep of the light she saw a group of figures crouched behind the surfboat, guns aimed upwards, towards the clifftop.

  ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Peter was pulling at her jacket. ‘Mummy! Come back! Come back! Come back in – please!’

  For a moment Julie was frozen, unable to comprehend, then, slowly, she realised it was Peter calling her. She shuffled backwards until she felt the rock against her back. Then, her eyes on the beach, she pushed herself into the rock cave. ‘Dear God … Dear God …’ She buried her face in her hands and, rocking back and forth, cried with rage and despair, loudly, to shut out the terrible noise. Peter hugged her back, patting her ineffectually, crying too.

  On the beach the rat-tat-tatting of machine-gun fire became more spasmodic.

  Out to sea the low boom of the big guns had ceased and the faint roar of deep-throated engines was fading into the distance.

  Suddenly, there was a deathly silence.

  Julie looked up. Light was still reflecting from the beach. Sick with fear, she crawled forward on her stomach and looked down.

  There were soldiers everywhere, encircling the beach, rifles at their shoulders. In the centre stood a ragged forlorn group, their hands above their heads.

  Gérard … Maurice … Pierre … Many of the airmen, too.

  But no oilskinned figure with a cap on his head—

  Scattered around the beach were bodies lying inert on the pebbles. She stared at them in horror, terrified that she would spot some clue – a fleece-lined seaboot, a duffle coat …

  Suddenly she realised she couldn’t see the surfboat. She grabbed at the ray of hope. He must have got away. Yes, of course – he’d got away!

  Then she remembered that the British boat had been chased away and that there was nowhere for him to escape to …

  And she saw that some of the soldiers were down at the water’s edge, raising their rifles to their shoulders, pointing out to sea, shouting … A light was shining from the sea again, but much closer.

  Her heart sank. There were heads in the water, heads swimming around a waterlogged boat – the surfboat. For a moment the swimmers seemed undecided, then one tried to dive out of sight, surfacing some distance from the boat. But it was too calm. They spotted him the moment he came up. The sharp cracks of shots rang out.

  Julie bit her knuckle and shook her head rapidly from side to side.

  The lone swimmer held up a hand, as if in surrender, and began moving towards the shore. The others followed. There were four of them. They emerged slowly from the water and held up their hands.

  She recognised him immediately. He walked through the other men and stood at the front. A soldier stepped forward and searched him roughly, then pushed him forward with his rifle butt.

  Richard walked quickly to the group of prisoners and pushed his way through them. Julie realised he was looking for somebody – her.

  She cried very softly, ‘I’m here, I’m here.’

  Shouts again, and some of the prisoners were pushed towards the dead and wounded. With difficulty they picked them up and rejoined the group. More shouts and the prisoners formed a ragged line and moved off towards the cliff path, the dead and wounded carried like sacks between them.

  The last she saw of him was when he paused at the bottom of the path and took a quick glance over his shoulder.

  Then the lights went out.

  Only the weak beams of torches remained. She watched them weave their way slowly up the path to the clifftop. Then they, too, were gone and there was nothing but darkness.

  Julie whispered, ‘Dear God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please!’

  Then she beat her hands against the hard rock until they hurt, because she couldn’t do anything and because, somehow, she had the terrible feeling that it was all her fault.

  David opened his eyes. A long time had passed. Through the opening in the rocks he could see a cold grey light. Dawn. How he hated it. He’d never understood how people could rapture over it. Dusk was more beautiful every time.

  He peered along the rock cave. The young woman was finally asleep, poor thing. How he had felt for her – she had suffered so terribly. The people on the beach, they had been her friends, perhaps even her family.

  And the child: so young to understand such terrible things. What a world for a child, what a world.

  But what now? The woman had been almost hysterical with grief. What if she was still in a state? Who was to decide what they were to do? One thing was certain: David had no idea of how to get out of this place on his own.

  He looked towards the patch of sky at the end of the crevice. At least it wasn’t raining any more.

  There was a sound. He turned. The woman was awake, her eyes open and staring. There was a hopeless look on her face. David recognised it: he’d seen it many times before. He whispered so as not to wake the boy, ‘Good morning. How about some breakfast?’

  She stared at him dully, her face blank. David smiled at her. ‘I have – let me see—’ He opened his bag and rummaged inside. ‘Yes, cheese, always cheese. I think, one day I’ll turn into a cheese! Then some bread. Yes, and an apple! I’m sure our young friend will like that won’t he? We’ll keep it for him. Just for him.’

  She wasn’t listening. She was looking into the distance. David could see that terrible thoughts were going through her head. She was remembering the night.

  ‘Dear lady!’ he said more firmly. ‘I think we should begin our breakfast. Then we think! No thinking until then!’ He wagged a finger at her.

  She nodded vaguely and slowly sat up, trying not to disturb the boy on her lap. David broke off some cheese and handed it to her with a slice of bread. She stared at the remaining food lying in the paper on his knees. He realised she was checking to see how much was left. David said, ‘It’s all right. Plenty for me and the boy.’

  She nodded and ate, slowly at first then hungrily. When she had finished she started to car
ess the boy’s hair and he saw that she was crying again.

  David pursed his lips. ‘Well, now, let’s make a plan! Let’s be very practical!’

  Her eyes focused and she blinked away the tears. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We need to decide what options are open to us. First …’ He thought for a moment. ‘First, can we just walk back up the beach?’ Without waiting for her to reply he said, ‘No. They’ll have guards, won’t they?’

  ‘Up on the point. They have a post there. And … they’ve probably got extra guards at the top of the path.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was silence while they both thought. David ventured, ‘Perhaps at night … Perhaps we can climb the cliff somewhere else?’

  She shook her head. ‘There’s no other way that I know of. The cliff here is sheer. It’s impossible to reach the next cove … This place is cut off.’

  The silence was longer this time. David thought: I wish I could think of something else, for her sake. For myself I don’t care any more. Enough is enough.

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Not much choice, is there?’

  He waved his hand from side to side. ‘Nonsense! We will think of something. Defeat is in the mind!’

  The woman sighed. ‘I suppose so, but …’ She shook her head.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, Julie, it’s Julie. Short for Juliette.’

  ‘Well, Julie, there must be a way out of here. Mustn’t there? Yes?’

  She shrugged hopelessly. ‘Maybe …’

  ‘For your boy’s sake.’

  She stared at him hard, her eyes round with anger and surprise. Then she softened and nodded gently. ‘Yes. For his sake …’

  David smiled. ‘We’ll think of something.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘We’ll have to.’ She looked at him again and David noticed that her eyes had lost their lifelessness and were alert again. She said softly, ‘But what?’