by Vic Robbie
‘We made a mistake.’
‘I know your kind. You use the office of mayor to line your own pockets. It’s because of people like you France is in this mess. This country is like an old woman, who although she’s way past her best plasters on her powder and rouge still thinking she’s the pick of the bunch. There’s no equality here, no socialism. Why are the Germans overrunning us? It’s because we’ve an army of geriatric generals and politicians who are too busy gorging on their greed.’
The leader said: ‘Well, Américain, you see this is what has become of France. There’s now no law that isn’t corrupted and so we must take it upon ourselves to be judge and jury. In fact, you can be the judge here and decide the fate of this criminal.’ The leader spat in the dirt.
He shrugged unsure how to answer and glanced at Alena, who was now holding a bewildered Freddie.
‘It’s time to confess, m’sieu mayor.’
‘Confess to what?’
The leader didn’t answer and instead just stared at him awaiting an answer.
Turning to Ben again, the mayor pleaded. ‘Please help us, m’sieu?’
‘Did you not instruct the school to end my employment?’ The leader interrupted.
‘It wasn’t like that.’ The mayor’s eyes were bulging with fear so much so it looked as if they would pop out.
‘Did you not tell them I was a communist?’
The mayor’s gaze swept around looking for help from the crowd. ‘No, but –’
‘Very well I’ll give you a choice, m’sieu mayor.’ The leader stamped his foot. ‘Deny it and I’ll shoot you between the eyes before the words leave your mouth. Confess and this court, or rather the Américain judge here, will sentence you to a punishment befitting your crime.’
The mayor babbled something Ben couldn’t hear.
‘Well, speak up man, guilty or not?’ The leader sighed as if he couldn’t understand why he was hesitating. ‘This is still a democratic country, well, for the time being. The choice is yours.’
Uncertain how to answer, the mayor’s eyes darted between them, and as if to help him decide the leader raised his rifle.
‘I’m guilty, yes guilty,’ the mayor blurted out and dropped to his knees begging forgiveness and dissolving in tears.
Smiling, the leader clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘You see if all courts were run this way we’d have a more law-abiding population.’
The mayor screamed in pain as one of the brigands planted a boot in his ribcage.
‘There’s no need for that,’ the leader admonished his colleague. ‘It’s okay, m’sieu mayor, I’ll not shoot you.’
A grimace of relief spread across the mayor’s crumpled face before turning to doubt as he wondered what other things they might do to him.
‘What should be his penalty, what would you suggest?’
‘Make him step down as mayor and make an example of him.’ He didn’t know what to say. ‘And let them all go.’
The leader wheeled on the shaking mayor. ‘There you have it. The Américain is a wise judge; he has saved you from shooting. He says you have to resign as mayor.’
‘Gladly, gladly,’ the mayor whispered.
The leader looked doubtful. ‘In this war there will be those who resist and lose their lives, there will be those they imprison. And there will be those like us who will be an irritant to them. And there will be those like you who to survive will collaborate and provide them with anything they need – food, drink, drugs, women and information. When the Germans march in, you’ll be up their arses and selling your own people for favours.’
‘No,’ the mayor protested. ‘No.’
‘Let him go, you’ve got what you wanted.’ Ben went over to the mayor and pushed away his guard.
The leader moved fast and within a few steps was on him hitting him across the side of the head with the butt of his rifle. He went down fast, blood oozing from the gash, and before he blacked out, he heard Alena and Freddie screaming.
‘Right,’ the leader shouted. ‘String him up.’
24
REGAINING consciousness and rubbing blood from his eyes, Ben watched as two brigands stepped forward dragging the mayor to his feet and marching him beneath the tree the leader had selected. One of the men had found a wooden box and they lifted the mayor, his hands still tied together in front of him, up on to it while another placed the noose over his head. One held him in position and when the mayor tried to say something punched him in the solar plexus to silence him. Two others grabbed the end of the rope and waited for their leader’s order.
A nod of the head delivered the sentence and the two men hauled hard on the rope, their biceps bulging and straining the cloth of their shirts. The mayor tried to keep contact with the box and he was now standing on his toes. The men exerted more power pulling free his legs, which were spinning as they tried to regain the support of the box. It was then the men gave a powerful final heave and lifted the body by several feet. There was a horrified silence in the square and a crack, whether it was the mayor’s neck or the tree, rang out like a rifle shot. The executioners let go of the rope and the body dropped to the ground and the rope rasped back across the bough of the tree like an angry snake before coiling up in a heap on the body of the former mayor.
He snatched a look at Alena and she was white-faced and shielding Freddie’s eyes from the scene, and both Lucien and Natalie stood open-mouthed in shock having witnessed the hanging. Brigands dragged away the body and others milled around their leader talking in loud voices and laughing as if they had something to celebrate.
None of them heard it. It was as if it had switched off its engines. It exploded into sight above the rooftops, the plane flying low and the flashes from its cannons signalling its intent. Shells spat up sand and earth as it traversed the square. The leader of the brigands, who’d been standing in the middle of the square watching the execution, was hit in the leg and as he went down another thumped into his chest. Two of his men fleeing along the path of the gunfire were cut down and others dived under trees and behind walls and pointed their rifles in a token response as the plane disappeared over the roofs.
He glanced over at Alena and the children to make sure they hadn’t been hit and felt a surge of hope. This was their one opportunity to escape from the brigands. The plane would come back for more blood like a hungry vampire and, while the brigands were distracted trying to repel the attack, they had a chance if they could somehow make it to the car.
‘Alena,’ he called. ‘Quick, over here.’
He gestured to her and she rounded up the children and led them across to him. The brigands were paying no attention to them now; all eyes were fixed on the sky waiting for the plane to reappear. Dazed and frightened by what had happened, the children allowed themselves to be shepherded into the relative safety of a doorway. Almost immediately he heard the drone of the returning plane and again it swooped low over the square spraying its death. Bullets flew everywhere and if they didn’t hit their intended target, the ricochets off the brickwork probably did.
It was chaos and above the sound of exploding shells and the agonising screams of the wounded and dying he shouted: ‘Keep your heads down. As soon as the plane goes over, run for the car. Don’t look back, just run.’
The plane cleared the red rooftops and in the distance it banked preparing for another attack. It was now or never. He pushed Alena and Freddie out towards the car and they started a stumbling run, Alena half-carrying and half pulling Freddie like a rag doll.
‘Come on, kids.’ He took Lucien and Natalie by the hand.
Across the square, one of the brigands lifted a bazooka to his shoulder ready for the plane’s return. The man had never fired the weapon before and as he was trying to line up the sites he accidentally pulled the trigger and fell back in surprise as it launched its rocket.
Ben heard it hissing along its path towards them and he threw the children face down in the dirt. The shell slammed into the wall
behind and the blast showered them with stonework, throwing them into the air with such force it tore off some of the children’s clothes. He couldn’t tell if he’d been hit although he was seeing double. The drone of the plane signalled its return for the kill and he had to get them to the safety of the car, which Alena and Freddie had reached and were screaming at them to run.
He struggled to his feet, almost losing his balance. ‘Let’s go.’
The children lay still and he knelt down beside them and tried to pull them upright, but they didn’t respond. He turned Natalie over. Her eyes were closed, looking as if she were in a deep sleep. Lucien had sustained a heavy head wound and the eyes staring back at him were empty.
Although he didn’t want to leave them there, he knew he had to and managed to sprint the rest of the distance to the car and threw himself in behind the wheel.
‘The children, the children,’ wailed Alena. ‘We can’t leave them.’
‘It’s no use.’ He fired the ignition as the plane began its descent again on the square.
‘We must, we must.’ Alena grabbed the steering wheel.
With one hand, he wrestled back control of the wheel and with the other he pushed her so hard she fell backwards against the door, her eyes burning with something close to hatred.
He slammed the car into gear and they launched out onto the road away from the square. Seconds later a salvo of cannon fire ripped into the spot where the car had been standing.
25
ALENA didn’t speak she just stared out of her side window with unseeing eyes. Even Freddie was silenced by the experience. Ben didn’t know how long they drove like that. The miles rolled by and he didn’t remember anything of the route, it all passing in a blur.
He blamed himself for the deaths of Lucien and Natalie. Could he have done something to save their lives? If they’d sought cover until the attacks passed, would they still be alive? Perhaps the brigands would have spared the children. Even if they’d let them go, the brigands would have kept the Bentley and the platinum would be lost and Alena and Freddie’s hopes of getting to England would have been shattered. He couldn’t erase the memory of the faces of the two children lying lifeless in the dirt. And the anger welled up in him and was directed at everyone involved in this godforsaken war that was destroying the lives of the innocent.
Although he glanced over at Alena every so often, her gaze was locked on the passing fields as a glorious red sunset began to dip below the horizon. Exhausted and frightened, Freddie had drifted into sleep on the back seat. He’d wake in the morning and Ben hoped time would cloud the memory of the day.
He wondered what else lay in store for them. Events were coming at them so fast he felt they were stumbling from one crisis to another and he was no longer in control of his life, which troubled him more than he cared to admit. Consumed with guilt, he stole another glance at Alena regretting he’d used force to quieten her.
‘Alena...’ he whispered, so as not to wake Freddie from his deep sleep, and touched her sleeve.
‘Don’t.’ She pulled further away from him and so hard against the window if the door hadn’t been properly closed she might have fallen out. In the deepening darkness, he couldn’t make out her face although he guessed her features were set dead against him.
He kept peering in the mirror for an indication of following headlamps that would mean their pursuers were making ground on them. He would need to drive through the night if they were to get out of France. The driving and the adrenalin rush of the escape had taken much more out of him than he’d imagined and he felt more tired than he’d ever felt and he wondered if he could stay awake.
‘I’m sorry about the children,’ he said not knowing whether she was listening. He felt he had to say it if only for his own satisfaction. ‘There was nothing I could do for them. They were dead, I wouldn’t have left them otherwise, please believe me.’
She shifted her position with a rustle of her clothes.
‘I’m sorry I pushed you. We had to get out of there. I’m determined to get you to England if it’s the last thing I do.’ And he thought it just might be.
Alena gave no sign of having heard him.
Not a light showed anywhere. The only illumination was from their headlamps and he wondered if it might give away their position. He switched them off, but only for a moment because it was impossible to make out the way ahead in the moonless night. The roads were empty and they passed by ghostly images of villages. His only companion was the purring of the engine and the singing of the tyres on soft, warm tar and the swish of the car brushing roadside foliage whispering at his concentration. The rhythmical sound dragged him down deeper, deeper. The headlights seemed to pick up shadows crossing the road and each time he realised it was just a trick of the light. His eyes closed and his head dropped, but just on the edge of the pit of sleep he pulled himself back to consciousness and opened his eyes and gripped the steering wheel all the tighter.
Until the next time.
Perhaps he should have opened the window, but he didn’t want to do anything to disturb Freddie and Alena. So he licked his fingers and wet his eyes and blew cool air upwards from his lips. In his head, he repeated an old song and worked through Hemingway’s novels and tried to remember the opening lines of his books.
Sleep.
It swoops down on you like a guillotine. It blinded him to a sharp left-hand bend coming up fast. He awoke too late to the danger and braked hard forcing the car to careen straight through the bend and into some bushes. The collision sent them spinning back across the road hitting a tree with a glancing blow slowing the car and gouging a long groove in its sleekness.
He heard Alena shouting and Freddie screaming from the back seat before the instinct of self-preservation kicked in. Pulling hard on the wheel, there was a horrible rending sound as the Bentley shuddered back onto the roadway and slid sideways. The car stuttered as if it were about to come to a halt then it found some purchase and continued on its way.
Ben opened his window and stuck his head out and gulped in the cold night air and let it play over his eyes. In the darkness, Alena’s hand felt for his arm and squeezed it. ‘Let’s find somewhere to stop, you must sleep.’
26
LOW clouds rolled in from the ocean in the obsidian night and they couldn’t see anything apart from that which came within the compass of the Bentley’s headlamps. Far off to the right, pinpricks of light flickered like distant stars although it was impossible to tell whether they came from houses or from fishing boats sailing out on the ocean.
As they rounded a bend, Ben spotted a break in a stone wall and, taking a chance, drove through it. Entering what appeared to be a paddock, there was no sign of a farm or houses. It was perfect, as the walls would hide them from anyone coming down the road.
Alena had fallen into a deep sleep holding Freddie, who was hugging his teddy bear for comfort and was oblivious to everything around him. She had covered them both with her jacket and her head was resting on the side window and they were breathing as one.
He tried to surrender to fatigue yet just when he was descending into sleep a mental alarm jerked him back to wakefulness. It was as if they were still driving and if he gave in they’d wander off the road and into trouble. So he admitted defeat and just sat behind the wheel staring out into the darkness trying to piece together the steps on route to this point. The platinum shouldn’t be his problem. That was down to Bernay, and why couldn’t the British have arranged Alena and Freddie’s escape? He felt like a swimmer being carried along by a strong current and he had neither the strength nor the wit to save himself.
With a sigh, she awakened and rubbed her head as if that would activate her brain and her hair covered her face like a mask. She turned to look at him although he couldn’t determine her mood in the dark.
‘Have you slept?’ she asked and her voice was thick with sleep.
‘Afraid not,’ he replied, feeling aggrieved.
‘That
’s not good.’ He detected the irritation in her voice.
Placing Freddie on the back seat so she wouldn’t disturb him, she smiled at Ben, opened her door and got out and it clicked shut behind her.
He heard her walk around to the back of the car, and the trunk open and close with a dull thud. She’d been gone several minutes before he realised she wasn’t coming back in and he went out into the cool night air to join her. A bottle and two glasses filled with wine were on the roof of the car.
‘I wondered when you’d come.’ She cupped her hands against a whisper of a breeze as she lit a cigarette. Reaching up, she took a glass and pushed it into his hand.
‘Look at those stars.’ She was leaning back on the car and tilting her head to get a better look through a gap in the cloud cover and her veil of blonde hair fell away showing a perfect profile. ‘Do you imagine someday man will be able to travel out there?’
His grunt didn’t do the question justice.
‘They say the light from the stars comes from long ago. Imagine if we travelled out there for ages and arrived to find no one there? And we were all alone in the universe.’
She took a long drag on the cigarette and screwed up her eyes as if making it easier to see.
He was so tired he couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ was all he could muster.
‘Now and again.’ She turned to look at him, amused by his interest. ‘Only when I’m relaxed or when I’m stressed.’
‘Which is it?’
‘Sorry?’ she asked as if she’d used the line so many times before as a reflex and hadn’t realised she’d said it.
‘Relaxed or stressed?’