Barrett shook his head in annoyance. “What a waste, both damn good police officers with young families, they didn’t deserve that. We’ve got to stop this maniac one way or another if it’s the last thing we do.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Finding the vehicle is the key to unlocking the present situation – when that’s found it’ll give us some indication in which direction he is travelling in. He will no doubt abandon the car now it’s light and try for another mode of transport but in what form that will be, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Well, we’ve a full description out on this Lillian Gilbert and the police car so I shouldn’t think it will be too long before something turns up, but even so I don’t like the state of affairs, what with this Gilbert woman going to ground here in Gloucester and now this murdering sod has taken off to God knows where, we seem to have a very dangerous situation on our hands at the moment.”
Maynard lit his first pipe of the day and made a prominent gesture of putting out the lighted match. “Yes, we do and the first thing I’d better do is give Clifford Granville a ring and tell him about last night’s events and see what he advises.”
*
Griselda felt tired, cold and used as she sat in the waiting room on Shrewsbury station. She thought over the night’s events, to being picked up by the pantechnicon lorry on the outskirts of Gloucester and the slow and uncomfortable night’s journey along the roads through Worcester, Kidderminster and Bridgnorth then the seedy sex in the rear of the van which had been the driver’s payment for the lift. She knew she had to get as far away from Guntram as possible, but where? What she needed was help to get her out of the country but without the means of communication that wasn’t possible unless she made contact with another agent and Martha had immediately come to mind. Martha had been her contact when she first arrived from Germany, married to an Englishman called Ronald Warner who was sympathetic to the Nazi cause; they had together set up a small but successful network in the northwest of the country where their spying activities kept a constant eye on the comings and goings of the Manchester and Salford docks and Metrovick who had in 1938 entered into a joint venture with A V Roe to manufacture aircraft. Later assembling the Avro Manchester and Lancaster bombers at their factory at Trafford Park. Griselda had for a short period been assigned menial tasks under Martha’s guidance to prepare her for the more dangerous operations when the time arose and the training had stood her in good stead when she took up the assignment at the Bristol Aeroplane Company.
“Are you warm enough?” a voice asked, breaking in on her thoughts.
“Not really,” she answered, looking up at the gaunt features of the young railway porter.
“I’ll get a drop more coal,” he smiled, closing the door and returning a few moments later with a bucket that had seen better days.
Griselda watched him place the lumps of coal on the fire and was glad of the warmth as the flames began to take hold.
“What train are you waiting for?” the porter asked, busying himself cleaning the fallen ash from the hearth.
“The Manchester train, why do you ask?”
“It’s just that there’s been an incident on the line between Whitchurch and Nantwich so they have been re-routing the Manchester trains via Wrexham and Chester, so you will have a longer journey.”
“I see. So what was the incident?” Griselda enquired.
“I’m not sure of all the details miss but I believe there’s been a problem with the engine on a goods train.”
“Oh! Nothing too serious then,” she replied, inwardly gloating on the railway’s misfortune. “So what time does the refreshment place open?”
“Another twenty minutes,” the youthful porter told her, looking at his pocket watch before leaving the room.
To idle away the time she casually browsed through a couple of the magazines that lay close at hand while keeping a watchful eye on the other passengers that had started to congregate and take advantage of the warmth of the waiting room fire. Bored with people watching, she eased her way through the waiting travellers and out onto the platform and made her way to the refreshment room, which to Griselda’s surprise was relatively quiet given the number of people on the platform awaiting the arrival of trains. After purchasing something that resembled tea she sat down at an empty table and started reading a discarded newspaper. Embroiled in the success of a German air raid she failed to notice the railway police officer make an entrance and cast a slow searching eye around the room before coming over to where she was sitting.
“Good morning, could I ask you where you are travelling to?” he asked, in a demanding tone.
Lowering the newspaper Griselda looked at the rugged features of the mature officer and took a drink of the lukewarm tea before answering. “Manchester,” she replied politely.
“Could I see your ticket if I may?”
“Yes, of course officer, is there a problem?” she queried, handing the ticket to him.
“We are just making routine checks, some people think they can travel on the railway for free, it is my job to make sure they don’t.”
“Oh! I see, so have you caught anybody yet?” she asked in a provocative voice.
“Not as yet, but the day is young,” he grinned, handing back the ticket before moving off to the next table.
Griselda gave a sigh of relief, firstly to see him leave and secondly on hearing the arrival of the Manchester train. Making her way around the central crowd of waiting passengers she walked briskly along the platform and as the train came to a halt was able to get a seat in a compartment in the last carriage. With the train underway she began to relax. The previous night’s ordeal and the swaying motion of the carriage soon lulled her into a state of drowsiness and while thinking of Guntram and their past relationship, sleep soon overtook her. It had been the preparation to leave by her two fellow passengers that woke her as the train began to slow for its arrival into Wrexham Station. After the compartment had emptied she moved to the seat by the window and cupping her chin in the palm of her left hand watched the everyday workings of a busy station. As the platform began to clear her curiosity was aroused by the sight of two men in dark overcoats approaching a uniformed police officer who after looking at what was either a document or photograph pointed the two men in the direction of the Manchester train. Griselda had an uneasy feeling; her assault on the woman at Gloucester would have been reported to the police and she wondered, were they now looking for her? She had heard through the grapevine that checks were being made at Filton on all the personnel and her being absent from work would have now been noted. Lighting a cigarette she began to turn events over in her mind as she watched the remaining empty seats being quickly occupied. The personnel checks, the feeling of being followed on and off the train, then there had been the man in the compartment the previous evening who she had foolishly struck up a conversation with. The transmissions to Germany, which no doubt the British had been monitoring. Then there had been the killing of the soldier at the airfield by Guntram… it all seemed to be falling into place; if these two boarding the train were police, or MI5, they could well have her description or even a photograph of her and make a search of the carriages. Griselda tried to think rationally. She knew she had to get off the train, but how? Her only chance would be when they arrived at Chester but there could well be more security men waiting there to board the train and watch the platform. She stared out at farms and fields as they sped by, her mind trying to think of a way to avoid capture. Could she hide, maybe in the toilets? No, they would surely check those as they worked their way along each carriage. Was jumping off an option? She tried to anticipate the train’s speed and if she would survive such a fall; time was beginning to run out for her, the distance between the stations wasn’t far. She suddenly heard the squeal of the train’s brakes and it start to slow down; expecting the urban sprawl of Chester to confront her Griselda was surprised to see green pastureland on either side of the carriage as the train
came to a halt.
“Not another damn signal failure, this will be the third time this week I will have been late for work,” a female voice complained, her protest starting a debate among the other travellers.
Griselda knew it was her only chance of escape. Excusing herself for the inconvenience she caused she made for the corridor. With the discussion well underway between her fellow passengers she slipped unnoticed into the passageway behind the compartment to the carriage door. Lowering the window she checked to see if the line was clear of any oncoming trains before opening the door and climbing down onto the track bed just as the train began to get underway. Grinning to herself at avoiding being apprehended, she waited until the train was out of sight before attempting the steep embankment to the fence below. A dilapidated gate gave her access to the field and the lane beyond, which after a twenty minute walk brought her to a level crossing and the gatekeeper, who from the doorway of his cottage eyed her suspiciously.
“My car broke down on the main road so I set off walking, but I seem to have gone and got myself lost; could you tell me which way I need to go to get to Chester?” she asked, hoping her explanation for being there sounded convincing as she followed the elderly gatekeeper’s steady progress down the path to the garden gate. Leaning on it for support for a few moments he then went through the procedure of rolling a cigarette before answering.
“Chester you say?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Griselda answered, eager to get moving.
“So how far have you come in that motor car of yours before it broke down?”
“I’ve come from Shrewsbury,” she replied.
“Shrewsbury! That’s a good bit of travelling you’ve done this morning.”
“Yes, it is and I must get to Chester, so if you don’t mind… What direction do I take?”
“Been there once you know, when I was a youngster.”
“Where, Chester?” Griselda enquired, irritably.
“No, Shrewsbury, didn’t like the place much, glad to get home, I was… too many people there for my liking.”
She closed her eyes and gently stroked her forehead in frustration and decided to try one more time. “Please, which way do I go to Chester?”
“Well, let’s see. You want to bear left at the fork yonder, that will take you straight into Chester; mind you, it’s a fair stretch of the legs from here if you are walking.”
Griselda forced a smile. “It doesn’t look like I’ve got any other choice, but to walk?” she answered, before heading off in the direction she had been told.
Chapter Fourteen
WILL WINCED as he eased himself into the wicker chair, the cushion giving him some support for his sore back. The second operation had been a long drawn out affair with the surgeon having to probe deeper to remove the last of the wood splinters. The winter sun felt good on his face as it filtered through the trees and glass roof of the recreation room that adjoined Melruish hospital.
Watching the resident birds that could withstand the harsh British winters, his mind reflected back to the encounter with the German aircraft and the hard fought battle that ensued. It had been a close run thing, and if it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of the Sunderland the fight may well have gone in the enemy’s favour. Resting his head back, he closed his eyes and tried to put the engagement to the back of his mind and think of happier times, like his leave in the Lake District and walking the coastal path with Isobel, the thoughts of more pleasurable times eventually lulling him into a deep sleep.
Will’s eyelids flutter. But sleep holds its grip as the nightmare scenario in the dream begins to unfold:
He stares from within the glass cupola at a near cloudless night sky; what cloud there is looks translucent from the moon’s ghostly halo. Behind him lies a city in ruins, in front the long perilous journey home, but there is a deathly silence, no sound of the aircraft’s engines, no cross chatter between the other crew members; he calls out over the intercom but gets no response – he is alone in the moonlit expanse.
He utters a cry in desperation.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees a small speck appear. The turret reacts immediately to his touch as he follows its progress, losing it in the moon’s glare only for it to reappear directly astern and turning towards him. He breathes heavily into his face mask and the oxygen dries his mouth, he calls again over the intercom to alert them of the oncoming danger and be ready to take evasive action, his words are met with stony silence. Names of long dead airmen he has known flash across his mind, men who have died horrific deaths ending their young lives. He pushes hard against the turret doors behind him, trying to free himself from the horror that confronts him while a feeling of guilt gnaws away at his very soul for still being alive. Time seems to stand still as the spectre grows in size as it races towards him; he has been here before in another time and place and his inner strength has always carried him through. He has never flinched in carrying out his duty but this time it is different, there will be no coming back from the depths of despair he is now feeling. This time it is his turn to meet the… Grim Reaper.
Deep in sleep, he cries out a long drawn-out ‘Noooo…’
The enemy aircraft’s propeller seems to turn in slow motion blotting out everything around him and he can make out the dark shape of its pilot, the terrifying spectacle making him reel back in intense fear. From under the draped black hood, piercing red eyes burn from the featureless skull while the Reaper’s outstretched hand points a bony finger at him. Screaming abuse, he opens fire at his tormentor; the stream of tracer bullets arc towards the enemy aircraft which seem to have no effect. He knows it is too late and only a matter of time; nothing can save him now, it is his time to join the ranks of those who have fallen before him… he feels calm as he waits for the end to come. He is by a lake in the moonlight; its rays shimmer across the broad expanse of water. It is peaceful here. If this is death he will accept it without remorse.
“And how are we this fine afternoon Warrant Officer Madden?” the words ask, coherently.
The words sound distant and well-formed. But they have no business being here and he fights to resist any intrusion into his tranquil world.
“Warrant Officer, you have a visitor.” The words are delivered with authority.
Consciousness is still far away but slowly he endeavours to claw himself back from the depths of slumber, his eyes eventually focusing on the crisp neat uniform of Sister Murray.
He was awake and safe from the nightmare. “Thank God it was only a dream,” he said, staring wild-eyed at the Sister as he tried to moderate his breathing. “Only a dream,” he repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow.
Sister Evelyn Murray had seen the signs many times before in her long career; having nursed the sick and injured during two world wars, she knew what war could do to these young men. Sitting down in the seat next to him she rested her hand gently on his arm in a show of comfort. “You are safe now,” she whispered. “And what’s more you have a very attractive lady come to see you,” she added, in a cheerful tone. “So we had better make you look more presentable for your visitor,” she smiled, easing him forward to plump up the cushions into a more uniform position. “There, is that more comfortable?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“She has been quite concerned about you these last few days, rang the ward several times to see how you were getting on. Is she your young lady?”
Will didn’t quite know how to answer her, so decided to be tactful. “I’m working on it Evelyn,” he replied, which earned him a look of being told off for using her first name when on duty.
“I see! Well I had better bring her in so you can work on her some more, the poor girl,” she said, getting up to leave.
*
Isobel realised she had a touch of butterflies in her tummy as she sat alone in the empty waiting room. How would he react to her visiting him? Their first meeting had not got off to the best of starts, hostile to say the least would b
e a better word for it, which she knew was down to her own stubbornness after receiving, what did her brother call them? A ‘Dear John’ letter, from Roach.
Footsteps coming along the corridor interrupted her thoughts and made her look towards the door, only for them to pass by and recede into the distance. Getting up from her seat she walked over to the side window where she stood and took in the rolling landscape. She knew she wanted to get to know Will better in spite of what she had said to David about having nothing further to do with RAF airmen. She had been hurting then and felt betrayed, but since being told a few home truths by her mother, the cliff walk together and him being hospitalised after being injured she had realised that he had been constantly on her mind. At first it had annoyed her but over time, annoyance had given way to a slight tingle of excitement at the thought that, just maybe, their friendship could blossom. She found she needed walks, each one longer than the last and wishing she had Bobby her black Labrador to talk to. The brisk breeze and tang of the salt air had filled her with vitality during her rambles as she thought about him, prompting her into making that first phone call to ask how he was. Isobel had been watching the first of the grey clouds rolling in from the sea, heralding the arrival of the heavy rain that had been forecast by late afternoon when the door opened and Sister Murray came in smiling.
“Right! He is awake and waiting to see you,” she declared in an authoritative manner.
“Before I see him, Sister, could I ask you if the operation to remove the rest of the splinters was successful?” Isobel asked.
“Yes, it was. The surgeon was very pleased with how the operation went. He will of course need plenty of rest until it heals, after that he should be fine.”
“To go back flying?” she enquired, as she was gently coaxed towards the door.
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