The '44 Vintage dda-8

by Anthony Price

  "Do—you—have—the—key—to—the—handcuffs?" repeated Audley slowly.

  Butler lifted up the German's handcuffs. " La clef?" he said.

  "Oh, la clefl" Pierrot nodded. " C'est dans ma poche."

  Audley gave Butler an exasperated look, then turned back to Pierrot. "Do—you—speak—English?"

  "M'sieur?"

  Audley smiled. "Is it a fact that your sister sleeps with your father?" he said amiably.

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  Pierrot shrugged. " Je ne comprends pas, m'sieur."

  Winston leaned forward suddenly. "Okay, Lieutenant"—he held up a finger behind Pierrot's back

  —"when we slow down at the next intersection, I'll stick this knife of mine into his back—right?"

  "Exactly right, Sergeant." Audley nodded. "And I'll grab the steering wheel. Just make sure you stick that knife of yours in the right spot, eh?"

  Winston waggled his finger. "You betcha."

  Audley stared ahead again. "Here we go, then."

  The Kübel slowed in front of them as the road forked. Butler watched fascinated as Winston placed the tip of his finger gently below Pierrot's shoulderblade.

  "Now, Sergeant," said Audley conversationally, tapping the dashboard with his left hand.

  Winston jabbed his finger.

  Pierrot wriggled slightly. " Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

  "Sorry, mac"—Winston leaned forward apologetically—"I was just stabbing you by accident.

  Pardonnez, huh?"

  Pierrot shrugged.

  "Okay, Lieutenant," said Winston. "You can take it from my finger that he's not with us. So now what?"

  "So now we're in trouble again," said Audley.

  "You don't say!" Winston gave a grunt. "And what sort of trouble this time?"

  "We're being double-crossed." Audley nodded at Butler. "D'you remember the colonel gave us the cover if we got picked up—no matter who we were picked up by?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Yes . . . well, I thought it smelt to high heaven then, and now I'm bloody sure of it." Audley gave Pierrot another friendly grin. "These people know there's something in the wind."

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  "How d'you figure that?" asked Winston.

  "The wrong code name," said Butler suddenly. "You gave him the wrong code name—and he knew it was the wrong one. He was waiting for you to give the cover—the right cover." Then he frowned at Audley. "But how did you come to suspect him, sir?"

  "I didn't exactly suspect him. But when he was showing me the ambush setup he kept asking questions in between—he wanted to know where the main party was, and where they were going."

  Winston nodded. "Yeah, I get you . . . and when you wouldn't play ball he gave us lover-boy here, to make sure you didn't run out on him." He patted Pierrot's shoulder. "You're doing a great job, man."

  Butler stared blindly at the road ahead. If Audley was right they were in all kinds of trouble now—

  trouble multiplied by ten. What they had run into had been practically a reception committee lying in wait for them. The German at his side had fallen into the trap almost incidentally—the Frenchman had picked him up almost as a man hunting a fox might bag a rabbit or two on the side for the pot while he searched for the killer of his chickens.

  And, what was more, it meant that the major himself had slipped through the net.

  "Wow-ee . . ." Winston breathed out noisily. "You really got yourself into the shit right up to your chin, Lieutenant!"

  "What d'you mean?"

  "Man—I mean when that schoolteacher gets you home he's going to take you apart piece by piece to find out where the major's heading for." Winston shook his head. "And the joke is—you don't know . . .

  and he's not going to believe you one little bit."

  Audley scowled at the American. "But that goes for you too, Sergeant," he said nastily.

  "Me? Hell no!" Winston sat back. "I'm just a poor Yankee who's got caught up in a private fight." He gestured with his head towards the German. "Me and the kraut—we're just a couple of innocent bystanders . . . Say, Captain—did you really try and kill the Führer? I heard tell someone tried to blow him up just recently—was that you?"

  Captain Grafenberg looked around him a little wildly, from the American to Audley and back. As well he might, thought Butler bitterly: if ever there was a case of au s dem Regen in die Traufe it was now.

  "No— nein," he said hoarsely.

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  "Well, Captain, I wouldn't deny it if I were you. Right now, in this company, I'd say I did it and I was just sorry it hadn't worked out. Because that's going to be almost as good as saying that you voted for FDR in the last election—if you say it loud enough and often enough they'll probably make you a general after the war, if you live so long." Winston winked at Butler. "If any of us live so long, that is."

  The German captain looked at Audley. "Lieutenant ... if you please . . ." He trailed off miserably.

  "Okay!" Winston lifted his hand. "So he didn't try to kill the Führer. But I still think I've given him good advice."

  Butler was suddenly aware that his foot hurt again, and that there was a dull pulse of pain centred on his ear. But he was also conscious that his physical problems were now minor ones.

  "I bloody wish you'd give us some good advice," he said before he could stop himself.

  "Shit, man! You've already got my advice," said Winston conversationally, lifting up his finger. "Next time this old car slows down you take your bayonet and you stick it in lover-boy—and then you run like hell."

  Butler stared at Pierrot's back.

  "That's right!" Winston nodded round the German. "Only don't include me when you do it. Because as of now you two are on your own —you and the French can double-cross each other until you're blue in the face. The man didn't draft me to get mixed up in private fights."

  Butler was no longer listening to him, but was staring at the countryside round him for the first time.

  They were coming out of the woodland at last, into a more open terrain of fields and copses, well cultivated but un-English as usual in its lack of hedges and proper ditches, and distinctively French with its line of spindly trees marking the straight road that climbed the ridge ahead of them.

  Butler met Audley's eyes and read the same conclusion in them: if they were going to make a break for it they needed better cover than this; a forest for choice, but woodland of some sort for sure if they were to outrun the machine gun on the Kübel.

  But without the sergeant . . .

  He looked at the American.

  "No sir!" Winston said quickly. "I mean it. I don't mind running away from Germans—that's part of the deal . . . but running away from Germans and Frenchmen—"

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  " Sssh—" The German sat bolt upright between them, his manacled hands raised.

  "What the hell—" said Winston.

  "Jabo!"

  "What?"

  The German was listening intently. "Jabo!" he repeated.

  "Year-bo?"

  Grafenberg turned on him. "Jabo—Jabo!" He switched to Audley. "Lieutenant— Achtung, Jagdbomberen

  — fighters!"

  Butler heard the snarl of aircraft.

  "Oh, sure!" Winston ducked his head to peer through the side-screen. "I've got them . . . Mustangs, two of them ... no sweat, Captain—they're ours, man." The engine note changed.

  "No—no— no! " Grafenberg's voice cracked. “We are the enemy— du lieber Gott!— don't you understand?"

  "Oh my God!" whispered Audley. "He's right We're the enemy!"

  "Oh, Jee-sus!" exclaimed Winston, ducking down to peer out of the side-screen again. "Now I've lost them—"

  "Down the road—they'll be coming down the road—" Grafenberg hunched himself down to get a view ahead.

  "So we b
etter get off it." Winston shook Pierrot's shoulder. "Fighter-bombers, man—we gotta get off the road."

  The car swerved. " Qu'y a-t-il?" protested Pierrot angrily.

  " Des— bloody hell!— des chasseurs . . . no, des chasseurs-bombardiers —Us vont nous attaquer,"

  shouted Audley desperately. " Quittez la route, pour l'amour de Dieu—quittez la route!"

  Pierrot rocked away from him. " Que voulez-vous dire—?” He did a double-take of Audley, as though the lieutenant's newly found fluency surprised him more than what he'd actually said.

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  "Hey?"

  "Here he comes!" cried Grafenberg.

  Butler saw a black dot framed between the trees on the skyline—a dot which grew and sprouted wings as he watched it.

  Winston and Audley both simultaneously grabbed at the steering wheel, the American from behind and Audley from the right. The car lurched to the right, tyres screaming. A tree flashed in front of them and then the car left the road with a tremendous grinding crash. Butler was thrown upwards and sideways—

  he bounced off the canvas roof and came down partly on top of the German, who cried out in pain. The car crashed down again. The door beside Butler burst open and the side-screen fell away just as he was bracing himself for the next neck-breaking bounce—this time he hit the canvas less hard but descended agonisingly onto his Sten. Sound and pain were indistinguishable for a second, and then both were overtaken by a terrifying vision of corn-stubble rushing up and past his face. But just as it was about to hit him his webbing straps tightened against his shoulders and he was jerked backwards into the car again. The door bounced back and hammered him into the car, filling his head with exploding stars and deafening noise.

  Suddenly he was conscious that the sound had been outside him—it was receding—

  He clawed himself upright.

  Winston and Audley and the Frenchman Pierrot were still fighting for the wheel, all shouting at each other at the same time.

  They were in the cornfield alongside the road, bright sunlight all around them. And they were also still moving, although there was now something desperately wrong with the car—a juddering, grinding underneath them.

  "Back under the trees!" shouted Grafenberg gutturally, his English accent breaking down. "Under zerr trrees!"

  This time there seemed to be a measure of agreement among the contestants, and the car swung back towards the line of trees beside the road. But the flash of comfort this brought to Butler's confused mind was instantly blotted out by the sound of the reason for it—the same sound he had heard as the German had screamed Jagdbomberen.

  Hunting-bombers, he thought foolishly.

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  He saw the RSM's face: There is a requirement for a German-speaking non-commissioned officer.

  The hornet sound of the approaching Mustang dissolved the RSM's face. It wasn't fair, he decided angrily. It wasn't fair that it should have been him. And it wasn't fair that they should be here. And it wasn't fair that their own planes should attack them.

  There was a bright orange flash ahead of them—

  The car was moving so slowly—

  The flash blossomed, and to his horror he saw the Kübel lying on its side in the road, burning fiercely.

  "Turn the goddamn wheel!" shouted Winston. "She won't take the ditch again—"

  The staff car swung sharply to the right again, parallel to the road, but still in the field and just under the canopy of branches. As it did so there was a sharp, hammering noise and the road burst into dust and sparks alongside them. The Frenchman wrenched the wheel instinctively away from the road.

  "Stop the car!" commanded Grafenberg.

  "There's a copse up ahead." Audley pointed.

  "We would not get to it in time," snapped Grafenberg. "If we stop he may think he has hit us—if we go on then he knows we are still alive. So we go behind the trees on the other side of the road, then there is a chance. Believe me—I know!"

  "Right—everyone out—on the double!" said Audley.

  Butler threw himself out of the car. He was halfway across the road before he realised he had left his Sten behind and that he didn't give a damn. Anything—any humiliation—was better than being a helpless target.

  "Do not move—and do not look up," Grafenberg shouted. "Whatever you do—do not look up!"

  Butler hugged the ground in the shadow under his tree, listening to the high drone of engines above him.

  The earth was dry and powdery between the patches of dead grass below his face; as he stared at it a droplet of moisture fell from him into the powder. He didn't know whether it was blood or sweat, or maybe even a tear of fright. His eyes felt wet, so it probably was a tear, he decided. He couldn't remember when he'd last cried, but it had been a long time ago, and it would certainly have been with pain, not fear as it was now. He hadn't cried with fear since he'd had nightmares as a kid.

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  He lowered his face slowly down until he was able to wipe it on his battle-dress cuff. The cuff was greasy with sweat at the edge, and there was a darker stain on it which was probably blood from his ear.

  Now it had tears as well, then—but that was no more than Mr. Churchill had promised everyone years ago: blood, sweat, and tears. And that was rather clever, remembering those words, even though he'd never be able to bring himself to tell anyone how he'd remembered them just after his own side had tried to kill him. And that was the third time in one day—Was it really only one day?

  "Okay, Butler?" said Audley.

  Butler rose to his feet quickly to prove to Audley that he wasn't in the least frightened. "Sir!"

  Audley was standing in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips. Butler had the very distinct impression that the second lieutenant was also doing his best to prove how second lieutenants ought to behave.

  " Jee-sus!" Winston came out from behind his tree, dusting down his combat jacket. "Jee- sus!"

  "Sssh!" Grafenberg held up his hands again, listening.

  Butler's stomach turned over.

  "Oh—no—" began Winston.

  They all listened. Finally Grafenberg relaxed. "No . . . there were only two. Sometimes . . ." He shrugged. "Sometimes there are four—or twenty-four. But we are lucky."

  "Well, you could have fooled me. But I guess you know better, mac."

  "Yes, I do know better. Sie haben Wichtigeres zu tun— so we are lucky." Grafenberg looked at Audley.

  "And now?"

  As Butler turned towards Audley there was a sharp double crack behind him. Audley jumped as though he'd been shot.

  "The Frenchman!" exclaimed Winston.

  They all looked down the road towards the burning Kübel, from which the sound had come. Pierrot was bending over a body at the side of the road, fifty yards away, and as they looked at him he turned. For a moment he stared at them, straightening up slowly, then he started to run back down the road away from them.

  Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  Audley took a step forwards, fumbling at his holster, and then stopped as Pierrot left the road to zigzag among the trees.

  "Yeah . . . that's right, Lieutenant," murmured Winston. "You can maybe run after him, but you sure aren't going to hit him with that thing."

  Audley watched the departing figure dwindle in the distance.

  "So now we'd better stir our asses to get someplace else, huh?" Winston's voice was suddenly gentler and more encouraging—so much so that Butler looked at him with surprise. "It'll take him an hour or two to find his buddies. We could still get lucky."

  For the first time Butler saw Winston not just as an American and a foreigner, but as a senior NCO who

  —no matter what army he belonged to—had the job of jollying along young men like Audley when they no longer knew what to do. And it was his own plain duty no less t
o support the sergeant

  "The car, sir—" he said quickly.

  "—Isn't going anywhere," snapped Winston. "It's a goddamn miracle it got us where it did."

  Audley straightened up. "And you're back with us, Sergeant?"

  Winston grinned horribly. "Seems I got no choice, Lieutenant sir . . . so—which way?" He pointed up the road.

  Audley looked round, squinting up at the sun. "South—then southeast," he said.

  "Yes . . ." Winston nodded patiently. "But where to, Lieutenant?"

  Audley stared southwards without answering, as though he hadn't heard the question.

  Winston waited for a moment or two, and then moved round to block the subaltern's view. "Lieutenant, we have to have some kind of plan, for God's sake. We have to know where we're going—or at least: we have to know whether we're still chasing the major or just running away from the frogs. So you tell us, huh?"

  "Yes—" Audley roused himself. "Yes, of course."

  "Okay." The American paused. "So?"

  Audley drew a deep breath. "About fifteen kilometres south of here— or it may be southeast. . . and it Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

  may be more than fifteen kilometres, but we should be able to pick up the signposts if we keep going . . ." he frowned.

  "Yes?"

  "There's a village called La Roche Tourtenay—it's off the road to Loches somewhere. And the Chateau Le Chais d'Auray is a mile to the west of it."

  "The chateau—? Is that where the major's heading?"

  "No." Audley shook his head. "But that's where we're going, Sergeant."

  "Why there?"

  "Wait and see." Audley turned decisively to Butler. "Get your Sten, Corporal . . . Hauptmann—I'm sorry about the handcuffs. But we'll deal with them when we get to Le Chais d'Auray."

  Sergeant Winston stood unmoving in front of Audley.

  "You know this place—the Chateau Shay-dough-ray?"

  "Yes, Sergeant."

  "You've known it all along?"

  "Yes."

  "And we've been heading for it from the start—but you just forgot to tell us. Is that it?"

  "No. That isn't it at all, Sergeant."