Pursuit of Passy

by David Moore Crook

CHAPTER V

  A GERMAN DIES

  THE road ran straight and was lined with poplars which cast deep shadows across its moonlit surface. There were still many evidences of the great retreat which had just finished. At intervals along the side of the road cars lay abandoned, wrecked or burnt out, sundry equipment was scattered in the ditch and once or twice I passed a ragged bomb crater which had not been filled in.

  I walked along quickly, keeping in the shadow of the trees and ever on the alert for the sound of cars, but none appeared. I was now making good progress and feeling rather more hopeful, but time was getting short and I knew that in another hour it would be dawn and I should have to be in cover. I looked in vain for any likely place to hide. There were one or two small woods but I thought those would be the first places to be searched and decided to use them only as a last resort.

  I was still worrying about this when I heard a car approaching from the direction I had come. Immediately I jumped off the road and crouched behind a tree. The car came on at high speed, blew its horn once and flashed past. When the sound died away I got up and stepped back on to the road. I had just emerged from the trees when a voice said loudly, “Halten, wer ist da?” I whipped round and saw a German soldier ten yards away. He was just jumping off a bicycle as he spoke and in an instant he unslung the rifle he was carrying and covered me.

  I never had a chance. I was so startled and taken completely by surprise that I just stood there helplessly while he flashed his torch on me. I realised miserably that I'd been caught absolutely off my guard, thinking when the car had passed that the coast was clear, whereas actually the noise of the car had covered any slight noise made by the cycle and enabled him to approach unobserved. He was riding without lights and I realised now why the car had sounded its horn.

  The soldier completed his scrutiny. “So,” he said. “Französich Vorwarts.” He pushed his bicycle into the side of the road, motioned me to turn round and then banged me on the arm with his rifle. I gathered what he meant and put my arms up, clasping my hands at the back of my head.

  “Vorwarts,” he repeated roughly and emphasised the point by a sharp jab in my back with the muzzle of his rifle. I started to walk and he fell in behind me.

  We were going back along the road we had come and I knew that probably in less than two miles we should meet another section of the search party.

  Over and over again I muttered savagely to myself, “You bloody, fool, you bloody fool.” If only I had kept to the fields, if only I had been more careful emerging on to the road, if only—but what was the good? I ought to have expected patrols to be sent along the road and obviously they would not advertise their approach by using lights.

  What a silly, rotten ending to this mad adventure, to be captured as soon as I set foot in France. A thousand mad thoughts surged through my brain and at the back of them all lay that black overwhelming certainty that this was the end. I felt almost resigned in a dull hopeless way and then my mind would react vigorously and I would realise that, short of a miracle, this was the end of my life. But I couldn't see the miracle.

  Our venture had gone wrong from the very start, when that night-fighter attacked us and again when the searchlights caught my parachute. Perhaps Carnac would fare better and accomplish our mission alone. That was the thought that depressed me most of all, that I had failed so completely and that I was going to lose my life without accomplishing anything in return for it.

  We walked on in silence. I began to wonder how far my captor was behind. I could hear his footsteps very close but it was difficult to estimate the distance and I dared not look round.

  Another thought suddenly occurred to me. The soldier had never searched me and in a sheath under my tunic I was carrying a small fighting knife. I also had an automatic in my side pocket but there would be no time to pull this out, and anyway I had put on the safety catch for the jump from the aircraft.

  I didn't see how I could possibly use the knife. The man behind had me covered and I knew he would fire without hesitation at the first wrong move I made. He just couldn't miss at such short range, though I didn't worry very much about that. I should certainly be killed if I remained a prisoner, and a bullet in the back now suited me better than ‘interrogation’ by the Gestapo followed by a firing squad.

  And then another idea occurred to me. When he covered me in the first instance he was holding his rifle at the waist in the usual way, i.e. right hand on the butt holding the trigger, left hand on the barrel. That meant he would probably now have his rifle held across his body with the muzzle pointing up to the left. This would make it very easy to take a quick shot to the left but a shot low down on the right would be much more difficult, and would necessitate either swinging the body round and probably moving the feet or else changing hands on the rifle. Of course I couldn't be certain that was how he was carrying his rifle and I dare not glance round but it was a chance. And I remembered also that jab in the back—he hadn't got his bayonet fixed. A quick dive down to the right and at the same time snatch out the knife from the sheath and come up under his guard—there was a ghost of a chance in it.

  Now to get him closer. I slowed down my pace and started to limp slightly. Nothing happened and he seemed quite prepared to slow down too. I dare not say anything for fear of rousing his suspicion but I slowed down even more.

  His footsteps sounded right behind now. The gap must have lessened. The moment was coming. I clenched my hands very tight and braced myself for a supreme effort.

  An instant later he got impatient. There was an angry grunt and I felt a sharp blow from the rifle across my back.

  I waited a split second for his rifle to be withdrawn slightly and then as my left foot came on to the ground I suddenly flung myself down to the right, at the same time dropping my left hand to my belt.

  Immediately he gave a startled shout and fired. He was so close- that the explosion sounded right in my ear but he missed.

  I fell with my shoulder on the ground, fumbling for the knife and missed it. I knew if I didn't catch it at the first grab it was no good and without pausing I somersaulted over, saw in a flash his legs beside me and dived hard for them.

  I banged into him and at the same time a frightful blow crashed down on my back. He must have made a vicious downward jab with his rifle butt, fortunately missing my head by inches but nevertheless it nearly finished me. I felt quite sick and faint with the pain and it seemed to have affected the strength of my legs as though they were half paralyzed.

  The next thing I knew he had fallen backwards on the ground under the weight of my tackle and I was lying on top of him with my arms round his waist.

  I shot one arm out to seize the rifle and stop any more of those terrible jabs and at the same time brought my other hand up to try and get his throat, but he was a powerful man and very quick; he seized my wrist, twisted it outwards so sharply that I thought it had gone, and then brought his knees up violently underneath me so that I was thrown sideways on to the ground. He must have let go of the rifle because as I rolled over he tore his other hand from my grip and hit me a tremendous blow in the face.

  I thought I was finished. I was half-stunned and though I'm fairly strong I was no match for the powerful brute.

  My right arm was numb and useless after that vicious twist but as I fell back on the ground I fumbled again with my left hand for the knife in my belt, and this time I was lucky and seized it at the first grab.

  He half rose to his feet and flung himself across towards me to finish me off. By a great effort I drew my legs up and with the last despairing strength that I could raise I jabbed out viciously as he approached and caught him in the body fair and square. He gave a sharp grunt of pain and went over backwards. I think he was hurt pretty badly too.

  I had the knife in my hand now and staggered across to him but he was tougher than I thought and grabbed me by the legs and dragged me down. He was incredibly strong despite the awful knock he'd taken, and he got both hands on m
y throat with tremendous pressure and rolled over on top of me. I remember as clearly as though it were happening now the feel of his hot breath in my face and his short tearing gasps as he made this tremendous final effort to kill me. He was just fighting mad with pain and fury.

  Another few seconds of that iron pressure on my throat and I should have been finished but I made a wild stab with my left hand at the dark outline of the man above me. I heard a grunt and struck again and then, very slowly, his hands loosened their grip on my neck and he collapsed gently on the ground beside me and lay there absolutely motionless.

  I struggled to a sitting position and remained on the ground for some little time, fighting against the nausea and faintness that seemed to come over me in great waves. I was so nearly done that I didn't really care any longer what happened; all I wanted was to crawl away and lie down and be sick.

  I don't know how long I was there—perhaps five minutes —and then I began to realise that I was free again and must be moving quickly. I struggled slowly to my feet and looked at the German soldier. He was lying with his head in a dark pool of blood and his helmet which had rolled off, during the fight lay on the ground beside him. I had stabbed him in the neck. He was quite dead.

  I got hold of him by the legs and dragged him off the road. He was a heavy man and in my weak condition I had considerable difficulty in moving him at all. I left him lying in the long grass, collected his rifle and helmet from the road and dropped them by his body. He was bound to be discovered soon but it might give me a few hours start.

  I looked round. In the eastern sky a streak of light showed above the horizon. It was nearly dawn and I was still on the road without any hiding place. Worse still, any hideout I did discover now would be near at hand and once the body was discovered there would follow a most rigorous search of the whole neighbourhood. There was going to be absolute hell to pay, firstly because they knew a parachutist was still at large and also because a German soldier had been killed. That wouldn't please them at all.

  The road was now too risky and I set off across the fields in the first light of dawn. For nearly a mile ahead of me the country was flat and open, covered here and there with patches of white mist and then the ground rose gently to a wooded ridge. I walked on through the fields, knee deep in standing corn, crossing ditches and hedges until I reached the slope and started to ascend it and was soon amongst the trees. It was now daylight and I had reached my hiding place in the nick of time.

  I sat down to rest and think out my next move. For the first time I glanced down at my clothes and was amazed to see that my tunic was covered in blood. I took it off hastily but could find no wound, and it dawned on me suddenly that the Hun must have bled on to me when I stabbed him. For some reason this was the last straw to my worn nerves and aching body and I was miserably sick. I never felt so rotten before; my face and mouth were stiff and swollen from the blow he gave me, my right arm ached and my back felt as though it was broken after that jab with the rifle. It wasn't, of course, but it still hurt like hell.

  I had a small packet of rations and Horlicks tablets and I ate some of these and felt a little better. The food refreshed my mind too and I was able to think clearly again and try to puzzle out my best course of action. I reckoned that if only I could stay in hiding for a couple of days the hunt might have died down, and it would be possible to resume the journey to Laon. This wood wasn't much good as a hiding place, being neither large enough nor thick enough, and if the searchers used dogs they would soon run me to earth.

  However, the first thing was to get shelter and food and rest, so I got up and walked along through the trees.