by Vic Robbie
‘What are you doing?’ asked Freddie picking up a stick and endeavouring to help.
Ben put a finger to his lips. ‘Sssh, it’s a secret.’ He winked at Freddie.
When it was deep enough, he gathered rocks from the roadside and took them over to the trench. He found two long sticks and used some of the long grasses to fashion them together into a cross.
On seeing what he’d done, Alena talked to the children and hugged each one in turn. Bending over, she took from the dead woman’s body a gold ring and a necklace and she gave them to the children. She glanced at Ben, signalling she was ready. He picked up the woman’s body and, as he went to take her into the field, the children stopped him and first Natalie and then Lucien kissed their mother on the lips. And Lucien hung onto her body until Alena prised him away. Ben laid their mother out in the trench and with the children watching started to build the rocks around her before putting the cross in place.
Natalie pulled her hand away from Alena and ran back to the roadside scrambling in the dirt as if looking for something and returned with a green silk scarf she draped over the cross.
‘Why is their maman hiding?’ Freddie asked thinking it was a game.
Alena looked at Ben and he nodded.
‘Come on, Freddie,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to check that the car is still there.’
Back in the Bentley he gave Freddie some water and bread and ham and it distracted him from asking some difficult questions. And he felt guilty they were burying the children’s mother and not the other poor souls scattered across the road and beginning to attract the attention of hungry birds. Didn’t they deserve a decent burial, too? He averted his eyes from the carnage and from his seat he could see a back view of Alena holding hands with the children, one on either side of her. And, looking down on the grave, she turned her head and talked to each of them in turn.
Beyond them, the fields of France looked beautiful and peaceful in the diffused afternoon sunlight that glanced off the blonde of her hair and briefly appeared to present a halo around her head.
20
LUCIEN rode on the running board with alena’s arm around him and the wind in his face helped to diffuse his memories of the attack. And Natalie hunkered down on the back seat with Freddie, allowing him to distract her with his incessant chatter.
When they had returned to the car after the burial, Alena reached over and her lips brushed Ben’s cheek and she smiled, sending his spirits soaring. The flotsam and jetsam of the refugees’ desperate flight still littered the road ahead and Alena did her best to divert the children’s attention. Gradually, the sights of destruction petered out and the road became almost clear. The growl of the Bentley’s engine was encouraging him to put his foot down and Alena placed a hand on his arm reminding him to slow down so they didn’t lose Lucien.
‘I’ll keep a watch out for German planes,’ the boy shouted using one hand to hang onto the door frame and the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he searched high into the sky.
‘Where are you taking us?’ Natalie piped up from the back of the car.
They didn’t know. They couldn’t take them across the border and into Spain and onto England. Perhaps when they came to the next village, they would find some good-hearted souls who would care for the children until they contacted the rest of their family.
‘We’re taking you away from all this.’ Alena turned and smiled at the little girl and leant behind to squeeze her hand. ‘Somewhere you’ll be safe.’
‘And maman and papa, too?’
Alena smiled and when she turned back, there were tears in her eyes.
‘Ben,’ Lucien ducked his head through Alena’s window. ‘War is shit, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘Why do people do it?’
Ben shrugged, but the boy kept on staring at him demanding an answer.
‘I don’t think it’s the people, they have no say,’ he began and kept his eyes on the road. ‘It’s the politicians. They become greedy and power mad and politicians are never to be trusted.’
‘Are they our bosses?’
‘They like to think so even though in some countries the people vote them in.’
The boy digested it for a few seconds before continuing. ‘If we vote them in, can’t we tell them what to do?’
‘Watch out,’ Alena’s cry interrupted the questioning and he pulled hard left on the wheel to avoid a crater that would have ripped off the undercarriage. Although the car lurched, Lucien hung on and it diverted him from his questioning and he went back to searching the skies for Stukas.
Again Alena smiled at Ben. Not the hard, suspicious smile of earlier, more a genuine full smile with open lips as she brushed her hair away from her eyes.
‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ he asked.
‘Does what bother me?’
‘Your hair?’
‘No, I rather like it.’
‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘No, I meant the hair falling over your eye like that, does it bother you?’
‘No, not at all, only when men like you ask me that?’ Does it bother you?’
‘Does what bother me?’
‘That I’m not bothered that you’re bothered about my hair.’
They both laughed as did the children and the road seemed much clearer now although Lucien kept watching for enemy planes. Occasionally a vehicle drove past going in the opposite direction and its occupants would shout and wave and they would reciprocate and the children enjoyed it and looked for more.
Bernay’s instructions to him had been specific. They had to be in Estoril in time to rendezvous with an RAF flying boat on Monday and they wouldn’t get a second chance. The British attaché Rafe Cooper was their contact and would liaise so they and the platinum could get aboard the plane.
He had no idea where the Germans were and whether the Nazis knew what the Bentley was carrying? Did they know Alena was travelling with him? Were they in pursuit? Every delay could mean the Nazis closing in on them. As much as he concentrated on the road ahead he kept glancing in his mirror half expecting to see a pursuing vehicle come around the corner behind. Alena kept looking at her wristwatch comparing their progress to her own deadlines as they’d lost valuable time stopping to help the children. Ordering Lucien back into the car, he was determined to press on and cross into Spain as soon as possible.
He had to ensure they’d enough fuel because there was no way of telling what was available farther south. At the first opportunity, he stopped at a small garage so the tank could be filled and he also purchased a couple of jerry cans of fuel as backup and wedged them in the trunk.
Several miles after the garage, they entered a small village consisting of a few houses and shops clustered around a church on the main road. He slowed down looking for a spot where they could stop and, while he checked the map of the rest of the route, the children could have something to eat and drink. They drove on past the boulangerie, a charcuterie and a café with tables and chairs set out on the pavement. Yet it was strangely quiet and there was no one to be seen as if all the inhabitants had just got up and walked away. Halfway through the village was a small square with a gravel boulodrome and benches around it under a canopy of trees, and he pulled in.
The children explored free from the confines of the car and Freddie found a set of boules lying in the dirt and threw them so the balls made a regular metallic clicking. Pulling food out of the car, Alena prepared a meal.
Ben took the maps Bernay had given him and sought a level area of ground under the canopy of an old oak tree’s luxuriant branches. Placing a stone at each corner, he got down on his hands and knees and traced their progress from Paris and attempted to calculate the distance to the Spanish border.
So engrossed was he, he didn’t realise there was now no sound from the children and the clicking of the boules had stopped.
21
RAFE COOPER awoke in stages. he opened his eyes with difficult
y as if the lids had been glued to his eyeballs. It took time to determine where he was. Afternoon sunshine slanted through the shutters and gradually he recognised the large crack on the ceiling he always imagined looked like a relief map of the Amazon. He sighed. He was safe. Too often he awoke in some strange bed and suffered all the obvious inconveniences caused by that uncertainty.
He tried to keep his head on the pillow so as not to make any sudden movements that would aggravate the deep-seated pain emanating from somewhere behind his eyes and stretching to the back of his head. Reaching out with his right hand, he made contact with a whisky bottle and it rolled off the table and shattered on the tiled floor.
‘Fuck it!’ he muttered and regretted having spoken.
With his left hand, he felt a mass of hair. He grasped the sheet and pulled it back. Out of the corner of an eye, he saw a naked brown body lying face down on the bed, her buttocks quivering as they moved in unison with her heavy breathing.
‘Shit!’
He stroked them not out of passion, instead in an attempt to trigger a memory as to who she was and how they’d arrived at this point.
Recollections came to him in flashes, each painful, and just when he thought he’d grasped a strand of the truth it disappeared like mist in a breeze. One thing he’d learned was any movement was counter-productive. From experience, he knew it was better to lie still and let the thoughts creep into his mind and gradually build a picture.
He’d plenty of time. Everything was in hand. They wouldn’t be here for days yet and by then his head might have healed itself. The British attaché stationed in Lisbon sighed and settled deeper into the bed. He’d been excited by the message from Paris. This was real agent’s work.
Most of his days were spent at Estoril’s Hotel Palácio gleaning information from the other agents who frequented the bar. They’d gossip like old women, tell each other tales and each of them would go back and report it to their HQs and let them sort out the lies from the half-truths. Sometimes when people double bluffed or even treble bluffed they let some of the truth escape. It might have been worse; he could have been stuck behind enemy lines without a drink for days on end. Now that would be making a sacrifice for your country.
Getting the woman and child and American aboard the flying boat should be straightforward as long as there weren’t any Nazis around. The platinum was a different matter altogether. He’d arranged a garage where they could take the car and strip it before transporting the bullion to the harbour and loading it onto the plane. It would be tricky work. If the Germans caught wind of it, it would be nigh on impossible to get it off to England. Then there were the locals. While they wouldn’t care a fig about his human cargo, a fortune in bullion was another matter. The sweeteners had been arranged. Still he had to be ultra careful. If the local gangsters learned of it, they’d want a piece of the action if not all of it.
His instructions were simple. The woman and child must be on the plane. If necessary, the American and the platinum could be left behind. And he knew if he failed he would never be allowed home again.
22
ALENA daren’t speak. she daren’t breathe. Although the man’s grip had immobilised her, it wasn’t what stopped her from shouting a warning to Ben.
It was the gun pointed at Freddie’s head.
Two brigands held Lucien and Natalie, whose eyes were wide open in terror, and everyone watched the leader of the brigands, a slight man wearing rimless spectacles and with his long fair hair flecked with grey tied in a ponytail. There were days of stubble on his chin and stress lined his face. His dark jacket was white with dust in places and he carried a bandoleer of ammunition around his shoulders. The leader in turn watched Ben with an amused smile playing around his mouth.
Eventually, Ben realised something was wrong and lifted his head from the map. Alena willed him not to make any sudden movement because two more of the group were behind him with their carbines trained on him. She sighed with relief and relaxed. He hadn’t reacted as she’d feared. Instead, he seemed to take in the whole scene around him evaluating what course of action if any was left to him.
At first, she’d believed Bernay was merely providing a driver, now she realised there was much more to him, and she found she liked his company making the journey a lot less arduous. She liked his pleasant, strong face framed by dark hair brushed back from his forehead. His quiet voice was reassuring and there was always the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. If times had been different, she would have liked to have had the opportunity to get to know him better.
‘So, m’sieu, you are with us,’ the leader said, putting his rifle over his shoulder.
‘Is that necessary?’ Ben struggled to control his voice and pointed to the brigand holding Freddie.
‘Aha, an Américain.’ The leader turned to his men and pointed to him. ‘An Américain.’
There was a rumble of assent.
‘So how goes your war, Américain?’
He ignored the question. ‘We’re no threat to you; please take the gun away from the boy’s head.’
The leader stared at him as if he wasn’t used to being challenged, and his eyes flashed an order to the man holding Freddie who holstered his pistol.
‘What have you done with the people of the village?’
‘Why? Why should you care about them?’
‘If you’ve harmed them, you’re no better than the Nazis,’ he persisted, his voice rising, realising it was the wrong thing to do.
The leader exploded into action and within a few strides was on him grabbing him by the hair and pulling him forward into the dirt. His men cowered anticipating what would follow.
‘Here, you answer my questions. Understand?’
‘I understand,’ he said choking on the grit clogging his mouth.
Just as quickly, the leader’s tone changed and he offered an almost apologetic smile and helped him back onto a bench and dusted him down.
‘Let me ask the questions and it will be better for us all. Why are you here in this village?’
‘We’re on our way to Spain.’
He gestured towards the car and wished he hadn’t.
The brigand studied the Bentley, his eyes running up and down the length of the machine and he knew what the leader was thinking.
‘Ah, more dogs running from the Germans with their tails between their legs although you’re doing it in style, eh?’
He bit his lip, annoyed he’d brought attention to the Bentley.
‘Getting to Spain will be difficult, no Américain?’ And he spread his arms wide.
‘Why?’
‘Because of you kindly donating your car to our cause. I’ll be driven around and I’ll sit in the back with my ladies and everyone will think me a prince.’
His men roared with laughter.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Generosity. Put it down to helping us. While you run, we will stay and fight.’
‘Yours is not a cause, you’re just a thief and you’ll get caught.’
‘I’m no thief,’ he growled. ‘To be fair, in exchange we’ll give you a strong horse and cart to transport your family.’
Again his men roared with laughter and made neighing sounds.
‘You can’t.’
The leader shook his head and looked around as if searching for Ben’s allies.
‘And who’s going to stop me, you?’ An amused look spread across his face. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘The police?’ The leader raised both his arms and shrugged. ‘They’ve all run away.’
‘The villagers?’ He shook his head. ‘They’re all locked up.’ And he waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the church.
‘The Germans? I think not, they’ll find us hard to catch, and we’ll niggle away at their supply lines. When this war is over, we’ll all be very rich.’
His men shouted their approval.
‘I’ve got to get them to safety,’ said Ben wond
ering how he was going to do it. ‘Please don’t try to stop me.’
The leader swivelled and from the hip fired a round from his rifle at a mongrel entering the square. With a yelp, it fell to the ground.
‘That’s what we do to stray dogs. Because you have children – and I like children, I used to teach them – I’m offering you safe passage on your horse and cart. Take it while you can.’
He said nothing. If he argued with the brigands, they could shoot them, and if they left the car behind the Nazis would catch them and their fate at German hands could be a lot worse.
The leader stared at him, angered his message didn’t appear to be getting through and barked an order to one of his men who scuttled off. The leader turned away and walked over to two more of his men and talked to them.
Striding back to where a colleague held Alena, he stopped in front of her and gave a small bow. ‘Madame.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
He reached out and grabbed her by the chin forcing open her mouth.
‘Good teeth, now if she were a horse I’d get a good price for her.’
‘Leave her alone,’ he shouted.
‘Think yourself lucky I’m not taking your woman as well.’
The men came back with a long thick rope. The leader searched out a strong bough and instructed the men to throw the rope over it and one set about fashioning a noose.
23
THE brigand’s men returned to the square pulling behind them a middle-aged man dressed in a shiny suit. His head was on his chest and he watched his steps as he shuffled. There were traces of blood on his face, which was contorted with fright, and his hands were tied together in front of him.
‘Ah, m’sieu mayor.’ The leader turned to Ben. ‘He’s the No.1 man in this village, or rather was.’
‘Please, sir,’ the mayor’s voice faltered. ‘We’ve women and children in the church. Have mercy.’
‘Mercy, eh?’ The leader’s lip curled and he marched over to him and screamed in his face. ‘You showed me no mercy. You had me kicked out of the school and my home because you believed me to be a communist just for challenging the status quo. I’d taught your children yet there was no mercy for me.’