The breeze blew cold on her neck. The pony lifted his head and let out a high-pitched neigh. The strangled sound seemed to echo something inside Amber. She heard footsteps and swung round. A girl, perhaps a year or so younger than herself, rifle slung over one shoulder, stood staring at her. She carried a basket full of what looked like straggly weeds but were probably herbs. It might have been a scene from any time in the last millennium, when women foraged for something to eat out on the karst at the close of winter. Only the rifle placed the girl in the middle of the twentieth century, in a struggle that was convulsing almost the whole world, not merely a corner of the Balkans. With a nod, the girl walked by. Probably going to boil the herbs for soup. Amber resisted the urge to call her back, to ask her about herself, her family, the home she’d left, anything to make herself feel less alone. She looked at her watch. Perhaps something had gone wrong with the transmission. She’d checked the coded message so carefully, but had she missed something? She walked up and down, waving her arms around in an attempt to keep the blood flowing, peering at rocks and shrubs, reminding herself that she had her pistol.
The hour was almost up. Amber returned to the rock and replaced her headphones and repeated the process of tuning in to the signal. She translated the words as they arrived in Morse and wrote them down.
Want decommissioned Belgrade parcel STOP. You confirm arrangements soonest STOP. Paprika consignment noted STOP.
How quickly they’d forwarded her messages on to Robert and got his approval for the airlift of Stimmer. What about Naomi – the paprika consignment? He’d seemed to accept her absconding alone. Perhaps he thought it made such good sense it barely needed comment. Naomi’s mission was always going to be dangerous.
Once again the strange churning in her stomach caught her by surprise. It must be a combination of relief that the transmission was over and loneliness at losing the brief, cryptic contact. She pictured Robert himself standing by the wireless operator in Bari or Cairo, dictating the reply. He knew he could trust her. She closed her eyes briefly, almost smelling his particular scent: wool and cotton and that woody aroma. Did he miss her? Probably not as much as she missed him. He’d enjoyed sleeping with her, that was all. Time to forget all that. Robert was simply her handler, even if she’d felt more for him than she should. Naomi had been right to call the relationship dangerous.
When Amber had stored her equipment, she found the German prisoner and asked him if he needed water.
‘Please, I am thirsty,’ he replied in fluent Serbo-Croat. His lips curled slightly as he registered her surprise. ‘I spent some years in Belgrade before the war. And have had many opportunities in the last eighteen months to practise the language.’
‘Doing what?’ German military intelligence wasn’t supposed to be as evil in its methods as other German security departments, but the bar was not set high. Had this man interrogated prisoners in their own language, resorting to the other language of pain and fear, too?
He narrowed his eyes.
‘We both know that it is in your interest to be cooperative.’
He continued his silence.
‘I could tell this group that I’ve changed my mind. They can do what they want to you. I hear Germans aren’t well treated when they fall into Partisan hands.’ Robert had told them how Partisans would occasionally mutilate prisoners before killing them. Don’t imagine that our allies adhere to normal wartime rules.
He stiffened.
‘Who are you, Fräulein?’ he asked. ‘You’re not a Partisan. Last year there were some Canadian-Croats around these parts.’ He looked at Amber inquisitorially, forgetting who was the prisoner and who the interrogator.
She took out her pistol to remind him.
‘One of your number has headed north.’ He gave her a curt smile. ‘I overheard them talking about her. In English.’ He nodded towards Samuel and Daniel. She looked at the young men. It was dangerous for them to discuss Naomi anywhere near the German. They’d need speaking to. Strange how it now seemed natural for her to do this.
Someone shouted. ‘Avioni!’ She heard the planes overhead, screaming towards them, and grabbed the field glasses she wore around her neck to identify them: German Stukas.
‘Get down.’ She waved her pistol at the German. The pack ponies screamed, kicking out and pulling at the stakes to which they were tethered. Little puffs of earth flicked up around the clearing. Explosives landed nearby and the ground shook. Amber rolled onto her back. The pistol wasn’t going to accomplish much – she needed her rifle, which had been unpacked and stored in the cave. The planes banked for a return.
She ran for the cave, very low, as though starting the sprint at sports day, diving on to her sleeping bag, throwing off the field glasses, and pulling the rifle from its hiding place. As she left the cave, the planes were overhead. Three of Naomi’s group ran to the patch of firs on the side of the clearing, rifles in hands. They dropped to their knees, firing up at the formation. From behind them further shots rang out, Branko shouting between rounds. Had he had time to assemble the weapons dropped yesterday night? Amber fell to the ground behind the log, timing her shots. The Stukas flew very low. A tree beside the cave entrance catapulted into the air, roots and all.
A salvo of heavier fire opened up to Amber’s right: the Brens, the machine guns dropped last night. With no time to attach them to their tripods, the Partisans were firing them from their shoulders. A Stuka’s wings flashed silver and orange. The plane turned away, seeming to have survived with just a flesh wound, before it screamed and spiralled to the ground. Its companions banked sharply and retreated. The men cheered.
Amber stood up. Two of the pack ponies writhed on the ground, one appearing almost untouched, the other spilling intestines onto the ground, a dung-stench already spreading from the animal. Branko pulled out his pistol and shot each between the ears. ‘Get them carved up quickly,’ he told a man on his right. ‘Don’t let them spoil.’
The Partisans who’d fired the Brens patted the weapons as though they were pets. At least something from the parachute drop had proved its use.
Ana emerged from the hospital cave. ‘We got off lightly,’ she said. ‘Two ponies killed and some of our comrades with flesh wounds. This will cost us when we travel onward.’ She looked past Amber. ‘Where’s that Nazi of yours?’
Amber looked where she was staring. The stake was still there. Stimmer was gone. The blast must have shaken the post from the ground and he’d released himself, unnoticed in the melee.
‘He knows our numbers and how we’re armed,’ Ana said. ‘He’s probably overheard us talking about where we’re heading.’ Her eyes, when she turned to Amber, were cold with anger. ‘You insisted that we give up supplies to take him prisoner. We were wrong to listen to you.’
Naomi had been wrong about Amber, too. Some leader she was proving to be. ‘I’ll find him.’
Ana stared at her, her upper lip curved, ‘You’d better hurry.’
Amber ran down towards the stream. The German would be making for the scant protection of the trees, then he would work his way back upstream, where there was most cover. As she ran, her hand went to the small of her back: damn, her rucksack was still in the camp, the map inside it. No time to return for it. She reached the stream and ran uphill, forcing herself to remember the terrain. At the top of the slope Stimmer would need to scrabble around a steep rock face and then walk down to a track leading to the road.
Amber was fit, fresh from training, armed. She patted her jacket pocket. Good, her torch was safely inside it. She could stalk him all day and all night, if necessary.
A fine drizzle fell, almost cold enough to become sleet. Amber pulled her cap down over her eyes and walked on, ears pricked for the slightest sound indicating that Stimmer was on the move again. The slope grew steeper. She climbed the rock face at the top, grateful for the Cairo gymnasium sessions that had strengthened her arms.
She reached the summit. On the other side, somewhere to the no
rth, was the border with Slovenia to which Naomi was heading. Because the drop location had been changed at the last moment, there hadn’t been as much time to learn the new locations, but she recalled a German garrison some twelve kilometres to the east, where the landscape sloped into less rocky terrain, with trees and fields. With her field glasses she made out the track leading downhill. Something shadowy jumped out a couple of hundred yards away. A deer startled by something?
He sprang suddenly from behind a rock, just feet ahead of her, pushing her over, his booted foot stamping on her right hand. He stooped and removed her pistol from the ground.
‘A reversal of fortunes,’ he said in precise, barely accented English. ‘Stand up slowly and turn out all your pockets. And take off the field glasses.’
She felt her stomach flip as she stood and placed her things on the ground. He picked up her identity card and examined them. ‘So you’re claiming military status, Fräulein? Even though we both know you’re a spy.’
‘I’m in uniform.’
He looked at her cap, flying jacket, breeches and boots. ‘They set you loose on the dressing-up box?’
Her head thumped.
‘Pick up your possessions. Except for the field glasses.’ Feeling nauseous, she obeyed, replacing her few personal items in her jacket. She could smash the mirror and turn it into a blade, but he’d need to be looking away . . .
‘Put them back in your pocket. Don’t try anything with the comb, or mirror: I know all the tricks. You and I are bound for the nearest garrison, where we will talk in detail.’
He would interrogate her himself, but bring in rougher guards if necessary. Then there would be a cell, perhaps further interrogation. Then a short walk to a wall where she would be shot. They wouldn’t believe she was really a combatant. Despite the uniform, they’d say she was a spy.
‘You had a map?’ he said.
‘Left it in the camp.’ Amber was surprised at how level her voice sounded. It didn’t seem quite real yet, this abrupt end to her operation. She didn’t even feel scared. Yet. Just sad. So much time and trouble bestowed on her for it all to come to nothing. How long would it take word to reach Robert of what had happened, for her parents to be informed? Would they send a telegram to Shropshire or would someone visit the house in person? She swayed, the world spinning in front of her.
‘Sit down there.’ He pointed to a spot on the ground five metres away, close enough for him to catch her if she ran, but far enough away that she couldn’t grab at the pistol. ‘Hands on your head.’
The sickness was passing. Apart from a throbbing right temple, she was uninjured. Without moving her head, Amber surveyed the landscape over which she had just come. If she sprinted she could make the dead ground behind her, hide on the far side of a limestone outcrop. She might gain a second or two – she’d always been a fast starter in school sprints.
Stimmer made a faint sound. Surprise? Relief? She strained to hear. Below them a motor engine purred up the track, which must be more navigable in its lower parts than it had seemed. Stimmer said nothing, but even without seeing his face she could feel the satisfaction floating off him. The car braked and the ignition was switched off. Doors opened. Footsteps trudged towards them. She couldn’t turn her head to see whom the car had delivered.
‘May we help you, sir?’ one of the voices said, in Croatian-accented German.
‘I have a prisoner.’
They walked around to examine her. Two men in black uniforms. Ustaše militia. Do all you can to evade capture by the Croat fascists. I could tell you stories of the limbs of murdered women and children floating down rivers and blocking culverts . . .
‘Lucky for you that we were in the area, sir,’ the more senior said. Amber was back in the classroom at Rustum Buildings, memorising insignia: this one was a captain, his companion a lieutenant.
Stimmer glanced down towards their black car. ‘A relaxing drive?’
The captain glowered. ‘Reconnaissance, sir. Fortunately, we are able to help you. One of the Partisan bitches, I see?’
She looked down at her boots. The lieutenant’s hand smacked her on the left cheek.
‘You going to tell me where your friends are or shall I beat it out of you?’
Calculations ran through Amber’s mind. The Partisan group below had already been fired on by the Stukas. They’d be moving out now, not waiting any longer. If she could wait an hour or so longer before giving their location away, it would give them precious time.
‘Let’s take you back to headquarters, sir, along with your prisoner. We’ll send more men back here.’ Amber said nothing. The lieutenant slapped her other cheek. Her eyes watered.
‘Not bad looking, is she?’ the captain said.
‘We have a moment, sir.’ One hand reached for her jacket, pulling the zip down, fumbling at her jumper, trying to tug it up and expose her breasts. Amber’s mouth filled with bile.
The captain’s other hand groped between her legs. ‘She’s attractive enough. Shame these Partisan whores insist on trousers.’
‘Shouldn’t present much of a problem, sir.’ The lieutenant shoved Amber down onto the stony ground beside the track. She winced as stones cut into her. One of his gloved hands held her by the throat, as though she were a dog that needed disciplining. The captain pulled at her breeches. She could feel him hard against her leg, smell the scented oil on his hair. She kicked at him. The gloved hand tightened on her throat. His smell sharpened with the aroma of sweat and metallic excitement. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly. Part of her brain knew what was happening, was going into shock, while the other half insisted on control, on calm, as she had been trained.
‘Little she-devil.’ The captain was having trouble with the button of her breeches. She squirmed on the ground so that his fingers wouldn’t be able to undo it.
She winced as he pressed her down. He undid the button with a grunt of satisfaction and pulled the breeches down, undoing his own clothes to expose himself. She closed her eyes, but could feel him hard, jabbing against her, trying to enter her. She squirmed from side to side to stop him but the other man held her tighter. Perhaps it would be easier to submit, to let him penetrate her, but instinct wouldn’t let her stop defending herself, even though she was probably receiving more injuries than she would do if she surrendered. He gave a bigger thrust and this time he succeeded in his attempt. He gave a sigh of satisfaction. His eyes glazing as he looked down at her.
‘Stop,’ Stimmer said quietly but with an authority that made the two men turn to him.
‘Sir?’ the lieutenant said.
‘This is my prisoner,’ Stimmer said.
The captain flinched, his hand loosening on Amber’s breeches as he withdrew. She shook him off. ‘Of course, Herr Maier, I—’
‘You will drive us immediately to the German garrison.’
The captain rose to his feet, brushing down the front of his trousers, breathing heavily.
She pulled her clothing back up and stood up. As she did another mouthful of bile made her cough. Be aware of the signs of shock in yourself. Account for the way it will affect your reactions.
She was trembling, cold. To calm herself she forced her mind back into the present. Look for escape routes. As they walked towards the road her legs struggled to respond to her brain, wanting to fold beneath her. This side of the mountain was almost treeless. An exposed rock face rose from one side of the track, a steep drop fell from the other. Nowhere to run to. The captain opened the door and motioned her inside with the lieutenant. The car reversed and bumped down the rough track. With each jolt Amber winced. She needed to take her mind off what had happened; she couldn’t let the feelings overwhelm her and cost her any chance of escape. Her companion on the back seat would probably shoot her before she’d got the passenger door open, even if it wasn’t locked.
They reached the road. Progress would be faster now.
The world fragmented into shards of glass and a series of bright f
lashes.
Amber’s brain synapses registered the attack a whole second after she dropped her head behind the front seat. The car skidded before lurching first to the left and then to the right, hitting a rock on the inside of the track. It came to a halt.
Silence. She raised her eyes, and then her head, inch by inch. Whoever had shot at them would be approaching. Her pistol was still in Stimmer’s pocket; if she could reach for it or one of her guards’ guns, there might be a chance . . .
The driver seemed motionless. So did his subordinate beside her on the back seat. Stimmer wasn’t moving either, slumped over so that she couldn’t retrieve her pistol. She pushed herself through the space between the front seats. The driver’s forehead had a red hole in it. She wasn’t sure about Stimmer. Amber crawled over the driver and reached for the door handle. A voice called out. She fell onto the road on her hands. On all fours she crawled to the back of the vehicle, instinct screaming at her to run.
You will want to run, but before you do, have you left anything behind that might save your life later on? She was unarmed. Amber forced herself to crawl back to the driver’s door and removed the Walther P38 from the captain’s holster, shoving it into her belt. A woman said something the ringing in her ears made impossible to hear. Amber crouched behind the open door. This time the woman called her by name.
10
June 1947
Ana called me by name and everything changed. I put the cap on my pen. I can’t write any more today, I’m shaking at the memory of what happened to me, of what that Ustaše militiaman did to me. I need to see my doves. Ingrams comes when I push the bell. ‘Are you all right, Maud?’
‘I think I pushed myself too far.’ I put a hand to my temples. I sound flat, worn out. The scene outside revives me a little. Jim is helping the gardener erect a trellis, probably for sweet peas, looking distracted by the work. Ingrams walks with me to the dovecot. He spots a smashed bottle on the path.
The Lines We Leave Behind Page 11