Moral Compass (The Samuel Beasley Trilogy Book 1)

by Adam J Watts

  Having said that, the prerequisite of declining an offer is usually being given a choice and no such thing was offered by Gerald...

  Slowly he shook the dust of the dream from his subconscious and sat up. As he did so, something fell from his trouser pocket.

  Makes sense.

  The metal object was staring up at him and in the light of day its identity was clear to see. A compass.

  Thank you Michael. This will come in very handy.

  He would use this in conjunction with a bearing to ascertain his current location and calculate the direction in which he needed to head. The obvious place to check was the farmhouse, but this would have to be done carefully. For all Seb knew there may still be someone inside.

  Cautiously the stranded scholar edged his head through the crack between the barn doors. The action reminded him of his father's beloved pet tortoise Harold. To this very day bemusement befell him when thinking about anyone who could show more affection towards a reptile than his own family.

  The coast appeared to be clear, so as quick as his weary legs could manage Seb darted across the expanse of farm yard and pressed himself flat against the door of the main building. Catching his breath he peered through a dirty window and came to the conclusion that although occasionally used for other purposes, this particular building had long-since seen action as a working farm.

  The mystery of the meandering moos.

  Bottles of varying sizes stood tall and lay small atop the kitchen table. His best guess would be that someone had been seeking shelter here. A group of at least five would have been a conservative estimate.

  Quietly he tried the door. Unsurprisingly it opened. Slowly he edged inside, checking his immediate surroundings for any kind of home-made booby trap.

  Ah ha! How pleasant.

  Stopping a few inches short of the wire, Seb nodded to himself. Two hand grenades connected with a thin piece of wire, no higher than ankle height.

  'Welkommen,' he mumbled, as he strode over the rudimental, but effective trap.

  Such a device would usually be in place when nobody is home, but there was no telling how recent this little contraption was. He would have to be quick in his search and clear out before anyone could stumble across him rummaging through the many drawers and cupboards.

  His search of the lower levels had proved fruitless, with the exception of some liquid paraffin. Always useful for fire lighting on those frosty spring mornings. He would have to head upstairs, but before he did, there was something he needed to do.

  Job done, he soon found himself in the bathroom. Medical supplies from the cabinet above the sink would have been handy, but all that remained inside was an empty glass bottle and a pair of rusty old scissors. Pocketing the seemingly useless items, Seb took the opportunity to use the facilities. It was actually quite nice to find a proper toilet to sit on.

  An Englishman and his toilet are seldom parted.

  Was that the sound of an engine in the distance?

  'Oh God, not now,' he exclaimed from his compromised position.

  Moving things along as fast as physically possible, he sat in silence and prayed that the vehicle would just pass the farm by. No such luck. The drone from the diesel motor informed Seb of its strength to weight ratio. This was at least a van, possibly a lorry.

  His business concluded Seb lurched forward from the bowl and fastened the buckle on his belt. He needed to get to the south facing bedroom for a closer look at the approaching truck.

  Scanning the distance his fears were confirmed. The purpose of this particular vehicle was to carry troops. Within seconds the halftrack was pulling into the courtyard.

  'Bugger!' he hissed under his breath and withdrew the Webley from his pocket.

  Including the driver, he counted an extremely worrying ten soldiers.

  Stealth and the element of surprise would be in his favour, but the odds were still stacked against him.

  He would need to create a distraction of some sort, so that the advancing troops - whom were now approaching the door to the kitchen -- would not enter the building just yet.

  The medicine bottle!

  Quickly, Seb set to work filling the medicine bottle with the liquid paraffin he had previously found. It would never do enough damage to kill anyone or indeed destroy the half-track, but if he could be accurate enough his throw might disable the machine gun on the APC.

  The bottle now full, Seb tore a strip of material from his newly acquired airman's outfit and stuffed it into the neck of the vessel. At the same time, he could clearly hear the door being opened downstairs and a conversation between the two men on point.

  With one flick, Michael's lighter produced a flame and Seb held this to the end of the rag. Thankfully it took and was now well alight.

  This next part would have to be succinct. Open the window, throw the bottle and duck back inside before anyone knew what had happened.

  The throw was good. The chap in charge of the machine gun during manoeuvres was still to dismount. Seb presumed this was done to cover his unit until they were all inside the safety of the building, but it could also have been this poor fellow's turn to take guard duty. Either way, his upper body was now on fire.

  It certainly wasn't a pleasant sound, but the German's yelps of pain had the desired effect. Attention averted, Seb could now relocate to the bathroom once more and take up his position in the bathtub.

  Even if the soldier manning the machine gun survived this encounter, he would be of no threat to Seb in the short term. There was also the added benefit of removing a key piece from the chessboard in the form of the mounted gun.

  Time ticked by in what felt like an eternity, but Seb would remain calm. Gerald's little device was still working perfectly and on this occasion at least, he was thankful for that. Suddenly, there it was. The sound of footsteps, slowly ascending the creaking staircase.

  As far as he could tell from his hiding place, there were two pairs of jackboots heading his way. They had been sent upstairs to investigate in the standard pairing, but Seb hoped they would live up to his expectations and part ways to search the upper rooms.

  He mused at how predictable they were if you just took the time to think about things. The training of your average soldier is good, but it doesn't leave much room for variation. The procedures are all taught from the same manual and delivered in the same way. In this game it pays to never play by the rules. The sooner you learn that the better.

  It was almost time. The first soldier had reached the bathroom and wandered towards the open window to peer outside.

  Seb's intention had been for him to assume that whoever the attacker was, he had fled through the window, down the trellis work on the side of the building and out into the open expanse of fields.

  How very wrong...

  The words lingered in his head, as he plunged the blade from one half of the scissors into the soldier's neck and twisted. He then proceeded to pull towards himself and cut the main artery.

  He twitched and groaned a little, but nothing loud enough to catch the attention of his associate.

  Into the bathtub with you old boy.

  The now limp German lay in the bottom of the bath leaking lifeblood, as Seb ransacked his still warm body for useful items. It went without saying that the MP40

  machine gun would prove useful, but he didn't want to use it unless absolutely necessary. It was relatively loud and would give away his location. It needed to be kept in reserve until all other options had been exhausted.

  Spare magazine, another hand grenade and a Nazi dagger. The latter would prove more useful in the long term, but for now Seb was pleased with the haul.

  'Nils?' the other German called out.

  As if in response to this, Seb sidled behind the bathroom door and held it open with one finger. With a combination of careful forethought and good fortune, the remaining soldier on the upper level of the farmhouse would enter the room, see his friend and move towards him.

 
Events played out as well as he could have expected and there were now two dead Germans in the tub. The dagger was well maintained and made short work of another Nazi neck.

  The irony.

  Now for his next move. Three grenades, two explosions, several deaths... hopefully.

  Making his way slowly down the corridor between the bedrooms, Seb reached the top of the staircase. It was only a matter of time before those downstairs began to wonder what was taking Nils and company so long to perform a routine check.

  Quickly he unfurled the length of wire and the two Allied grenades it was attached to. He wedged them at either side of the staircase.

  Seb wasn't entirely sure how the explosives had come to be in German possession, but he thought - now at least - they would be used for their intended purpose.

  Back in the bedroom again, he twisted the stick grenade to arm the device. A little cooking time before the release and out she went. Straight under the halftrack where two more soldiers stood over their wounded guard.

  Three... The heads of the soldiers turned towards where the noise could be heard.

  Two... They begin to comprehend what has just happened.

  One... They try to flee.

  The bang was somewhat muffled, as the underside of the vehicle took the majority of the blast. There was however, adequate shrapnel to take down the two standing closest to it upon impact.

  Several shots rang out across the still morning air. Seb had been spotted by another of the men outside the house, but this was intentional. He was never in danger of being hit by a machine gun from that range, especially when he knew it was coming.

  He would simply sit tight, his own MP40 at the ready and wait for the mountain to come to Mohammed.

  He was fairly pleased with his little idea. Not only would it take out another soldier, but also held a good chance of rendering the staircase impassable. If all went to plan that was.

  Wire tripped, explosion triggered Seb waited a few seconds to see if anyone came hurling down the corridor. Nothing.

  Bloody hell! It worked.

  No point in pushing your luck though, so he carefully rose to a crouched position and waddled into the corridor. The dust was still settling, but he was aware of the few remaining soldiers downstairs and how they must have been plotting for ways to remove their unwanted guest.

  Back to the bathroom, which was now awash with crimson. The window and the trellis would play its part after all. He would shimmy down, work his way around to the front of the house and formulate a new plan from there.

  Halfway down the framework Seb was startled to hear the sound of gunfire again. For a moment he thought he was being fired at and braced himself for the barrage of bullets hitting his back. He hadn't expected it would end like that.

  When they did not arrive, he struggled to figure out what was happening on the blindside of the building. Whatever it was it was doing him a big favour.

  With little grace he dropped from the wall and began to make a run for cover in the nearby shrubbery. Once inside Seb set to work on producing a small spy hole and flicked off the safety on his machine gun.

  What happened next took him by complete surprise.

  'Why don't you do us all a favour and step out of the hydrangea, eh?'

  That was not a German accent. Slowly he placed his gun on the floor and emerged from the purple and

  green plant, his hands in the air. 'Put your hands down. It's embarrassing.’

  'Who are you?' he enquired in as pleasant a tone as he could muster.

  'Who am I? Can you believe this guy? Who the hell are you, mister?' the man standing opposite him exclaimed with a chuckle, 'Or should I say, what the hell are you?'

  The two young soldiers looked at each other and laughed.

  'And what is that supposed to mean friend?' Seb probed with some distain.

  'Hey, don't get me wrong. It was kind of a compliment... You did take out seven German soldiers single handed right?'

  'I suppose so... Anyone would have done the same.’

  'He's modest too eh?' a loud voice interjected.

  Approaching from the direction of the farmhouse was another soldier, although this one was different. He was brash. Seb had a natural distaste for people of this nature, but was willing to give him a chance.

  'Naturally... I'm Seb. Thanks for your assistance.’

  'Pleased to meet you Sebastian. Good solid name! I am Pierre and these two reprobates are Privates Hewitt and Stanley.’

  'Pleased to meet you. I hope you don't mind my asking, but where exactly are you from? I wasn't aware that the Americas were in the war yet.’

  'We ain't no Americans!' Hewitt exclaimed.

  'We're Canadians from The Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment and we signed up to fight.’ Seb did not approve of complacency.

  'I said Americas, not Americans. The continent not the country... Has all that gunfire made you deaf, Private?'

  'What if it has? You got a problem?'

  'Not yet, but I'm quickly getting there. You've seen my moves. Care for a dance?'

  With this Pierre -- the man who appeared to be in charge of the two clowns with machine guns -- stepped between the feuding men.

  'I have seniority here and I say that you are both out of line! You, go and cool off. You, come with me.’

  Seb did not argue with the commanding officer. He respected his rank and likewise his decision to defend neither party.

  They talked as they walked back towards the farmhouse. What was once a voice of authority had now mellowed into something similar to that of an old friend.

  'I apologise for the behaviour of my unit. Hewitt is a good man, he is just a little highly strung... The things we see can do that to you, you know?'

  'I understand. It's in the past...'

  'Thanks. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but shouldn't you be up there.’

  Pierre gestured skywards to demonstrate his point.

  'Yes. I was shot down last night.’

  'You have an interesting set of skills for a flyer,' he mused openly.

  Seb paused for thought. In the few seconds it took to respond, he had calculated the pros and cons of both honesty and deceit.

  'Can you keep a secret?' he asked playfully.

  'Who am I going to tell? Those two piss ants?' he laughed.

  'I work for British intelligence. I was hitching a ride to Berlin when we hit some anti-aircraft fire.’

  The bearded Canadian nodded in recognition, as if the words Seb had just said carried some kind of unspoken level of respect.

  'I see... I think we may be able to help each other.’

  An unexpected arm wrapped around his shoulder. Not being one for physical contact, Seb resisted the urge to flinch, as this would most likely been interpreted as an insult.

  'Come with me. We have much to discuss.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Fate Worse Than Death ~ Autumn 1940

  In somewhat of an ironic twist of fate, Ed was now on the other side of the prison bars. It had been three days since his first conversation with the German called Hackbeil and the man was clearly insane.