by Peter Haden
Chapter 27
Jan guessed what had happened. Almost home, the pilot was probably low on fuel. But Jan’s description and general direction would have been passed back to base. The airfield lay to his west, the farm to his south and east. He had been heading back east, deeper into Germany, but that had to change. He could go north, but that would eventually leave him with a longer ride home, together with more chance of being stopped after dark. In the end he headed south, to put himself on a different position line before finally turning east again for the farm.
He rode gently for about twenty minutes. Jan had no idea what the Germans from the base were doing, but he and Gunnar might need to make a run for it at any moment. He couldn’t afford to have his horse half-blown – all Gunnar’s speed might be needed later, at a moment’s notice. There was probably another hour of daylight left.
He led Gunnar on foot into the next field to save his stamina, rather than take the jump. Jan was closing the gate behind him when he heard the roar of engines. Two motor-cyclists were a couple of fields away, on a narrow lane. Quickly he led Gunnar behind the hedge but the horse had not been trained to lie down. Although he stooped to hold his mount steady it was obvious from the way the riders stopped and the shouting that followed – Gunnar had been spotted. Jan mounted, knowing he would have to ask a lot of his horse.
At first it was barely an even chase. Jan could jump from field to field. His pursuers had to find a gate. Jan and his mount began to pull away, but eventually Gunnar would tire. Jan knew he could not let that happen. He was still carrying a radio on his back and a German officer’s weapon concealed beneath his jacket.
Eventually he found what he was looking for – a field with a taller hedge, interspaced with trees. There wasn’t time to dismount and open the gate. Gunnar had a lot of heart and was still game. Jan set him at the jump. They floated over, then he pulled him up short, turned Gunnar quickly to his right and walked the horse back to where several trees and bushes offered a good spread of branches overhanging into the field – pretty much blocking the view from the other side. The reins secured, he left his pack alongside his mount, ran back to the gate and waited, just to one side. Pressed into the undergrowth, he was barely visible from a few yards away, but he was acutely conscious that Gunnar was less well concealed by the overhanging foliage.
The bikes roared up to the gate then both engines dropped to a tick over. Jan heard shouts of ‘Can you see him?’ followed by a ‘Nein!’ They had made the mistake of assuming he had fled to the next field.
One rider dismounted and rushed to the gate. Pushing it open, with Jan and Gunnar now behind him, he had eyes only for the far end of the field and did not think to look over his shoulder. With the gate almost open his companion roared through, to stop, facing into the field, just clear of a patch of churned mud. Jan took aim at the rider still at the gate and loosed off two rounds. Switching aim he fired again. Whether his second target ever heard the first two shots, through his leather helmet and above the noise of his machine, Jan had no way of knowing. Either way the threat, for now, was over.
Jan dragged both bodies – they yielded two MP 38 Schmeisser sub-machine guns together with a pair of extra thirty-two round magazines for each – then pushed them as far as he could into the hedge. Setting his haul aside, he leant the two bikes over the bodies of their riders. Working quickly, he ripped a few branches from the nearest bushes, which were just in leaf, and threw them on top of the machines. The camouflage wasn’t perfect, by any means, but the branches would break up the shape, shine and silhouette from any distant inspection.
It was then that he heard it – in the silence following his hasty action and before turning back to Gunnar. There was just the faintest buzz somewhere in the sky, way to the north. Jan couldn’t see anything, and for a few seconds the sound died away, only to return. There was another light aircraft somewhere in the distance. It was no coincidence that it was flying a circular search pattern over where he would have been had he not changed direction.
Daylight would fade soon and cloud base was fairly low, but Jan knew that if the aircraft widened its pattern he would almost certainly be spotted. There had to be radio contact between the plane and its base, and almost certainly between the base and whoever was commanding the troops on the ground. Jan knew that if the plane found him, he would be hunted down.
Briefly he considered dumping the damning evidence, the radio and his weapons, and just riding for it. But this was not really an option. If he were caught the area would be searched, with every chance that the two dead Germans, their motorcycles, and whatever Jan left behind would be found – even if he left his own equipment in a different hiding place. To be arrested only a few kilometers away would be as good as a death warrant. And besides, without the radio his entire mission would be over. Jan rode gently south for about ten minutes. The sound of the aircraft engine mercifully died, but then returned, if anything a little more loudly than before.
Jan knew that he had to find shelter, if only for another three quarters of an hour or so till last light. Thinking furiously, he realized that he could not be far from the deep railway cutting that he had found only a few days previously. Turning in what he hoped was the right direction, Jan was relieved to meet a fairly familiar landscape. This time he came to the cutting from the north, with the farm way beyond on the other side. Jan dismounted and led Gunnar down the bank. Pausing at the mouth of the tunnel he listened carefully. For the moment, there was no sound of an aero engine.
Kneeling beside the tracks, he placed a hand on both sets of lines to feel for the vibration that would warn of a coming train. There was none, and he probably only needed this refuge for a half-hour or so. Gunnar was reluctant to be led into the dark mouth of the tunnel, and he didn’t like having to step carefully over the sleepers, but eventually Jan had him far enough inside and turned around. He just had to hope that if he heard a train coming, particularly from the direction of the airfield, there would be time to lead his horse out of the tunnel and up and over the embankment.
Once or twice he thought he heard the faint buzz of an engine, but his luck held and there were no trains. As the dusk of last light faded into darkness they emerged, climbed the left hand bank and set off for the farm. It was difficult, with low cloud, to follow the way home, but Jan was happier to have the cover. A bright, starlit night and a bomber’s moon might just have been sufficient to persuade the Germans to fly another sortie.
Mindful of his arrival when Hans had unexpectedly opened the kitchen door, and in case Renate had other visitors looking for him, Jan tethered Gunnar a field or so from the house, offloaded his radio and captured weapons and walked, carefully, automatic in hand, to the kitchen window. As she was in an isolated farm dwelling, Renate did not usually draw the curtains and he could see her, seated facing the window, a glass of wine to hand on the kitchen table. He stepped back and watched for a minute or two, till he was fairly certain she was alone, then moved forward and tapped, lightly on the window pane. She looked up immediately and almost ran to the door. Jan knew that if there had been anyone else there, Renate would have waved him away. She opened the door and he stepped inside – he was safe.
She threw her arms round his neck. ‘Jan, I was so worried… what happened… where have you been?’
‘I was seen using the radio,’ he told her. ‘Tell you the full story later, but a Storch flew over the wood when I was transmitting.’ She looked puzzled. ‘It’s a small light aircraft,’ he explained. ‘It wasn’t looking for me originally, but it must have radioed my position. After that, I spent the afternoon playing cat and mouse with the German army – with me as the mouse. But we managed to lose them, well to the other side of the railway line, before it got dark. Only then was it safe to ride home. But if you are all right here, I have to see to Gunnar.’
He gently eased her arms from his neck – although it had been an enjoyable welcome – an
d returned to his horse. The weapons and radio he wrapped and buried in his shallow hide, not without difficulty in the dark. He didn’t think anyone would arrive to make a morning search of the farmhouse, but that wasn’t a risk he was prepared to take. Finally, with Gunnar rubbed down, fed and watered, it was well over two hours before he returned to the kitchen.
Renate poured him a glass of wine. He washed his hands, which were still grimed with soil, then took a sip and collapsed gratefully onto a chair. Over a couple of glasses, he told her what had happened from the time he had signed off, having sent his message. She was visibly shocked at the shooting of the two motorcyclists. ‘Didn’t have a choice, though,’ he explained. ‘With what I was carrying it would have been a firing squad for me. And even if I could have held out under interrogation they might have traced the horse back to you – if they had just turned him loose he could even have found his own way home. Then it would have been the end for both of us.’ Jan refrained from telling her that if capture had seemed imminent he had resolved to shoot Gunnar and then take his own life.
Renate had a pot of meat and vegetables simmering on the range. Jan realized how hungry he was, not having eaten since breakfast. ‘It’s the hare you shot the day before yesterday,’ she said flatly. Jan suspected she was still shocked by his account of the day’s events.
‘I’m filthy and I probably stink of horse sweat, not to mention my own,’ he said gently. ‘Do I have time for a bath?’
She seemed to gather herself together. Lifting the lid, Renate stirred the pot. ‘Go on,’ she invited, ‘this will take another half-hour.’ When he returned to the kitchen wearing a dressing-gown that had belonged to a man now no longer alive Renate didn’t bat an eyelid. She, too, had changed into her night-robe, tied firmly at the waist. They sat at the table and sipped their wine, waiting for supper to be ready. Eventually she stretched out her arm and placed a hand over his.
‘We have to talk…’ she said softly, ‘about what we are going to do. If we carry on like this, it’s dangerous here for both of us. And besides, Tantchen Meta will be back any day soon. What are we going to tell her?’ Hans’ name had not been spoken, but the question was very much there. ‘And where will you sleep after that?’ she went on. ‘You are supposed to be an itinerant farmhand, but I don’t want to see you sleeping in that barn. It might be all right for a few months over summer, but not when we go into winter.’
‘We can talk some more in the morning,’ he suggested. ‘I don’t think I’ll still be here come winter, so maybe it’ll have to be my cover story. If only because she will know that the person who brought you here also went on to England?’
‘Meta knows your real name,’ Renate told him. ‘So perhaps you are right. And at least you have German papers to support a different identity. But what about Hans?’
Jan thought for a minute. ‘I think we have to be kind,’ he said at length. ‘You can hardly tell Frau Holzer that her son was a drunken Nazi thug who tried to rape you and is now well under the turf somewhere on her own farm. Perhaps it would be better to let things take their course. From what he said – and I have passed this on to London, by the way – it looks as if Germany will invade the low countries and perhaps then France in the next ten days.’
He shrugged. ‘Let’s stick with what we agreed: Hans was here but left to return to his unit. I suspect there will be only a fairly cursory investigation, assuming there is one at all. With the opening of a second front, the whereabouts of one missing Hauptmann is not going to be a priority in the greater scheme of things. I think that eventually both the Wehrmacht and Meta will come to accept that he was just lost in the early days of the war.’
She was silent for a while, thinking this over. ‘You’re right,’ she said at length, ‘although we are going to have to talk about this some more tomorrow.’ Renate set the pot and two bowls on the table. ‘I know today has been bad for you,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘but I have also been out of my mind…’ She paused. ‘We have to eat,’ she went on, ‘then I think I am going to have a few more drinks. After that, we worry about all this in the morning.’ The first wine bottle was empty. Renate walked into the larder and returned with another, together with the remains of the cognac.
To Jan the meal that she ladled into the bowls was superb. Afterwards they sat at the table till the wine was finished and the spirit bottle almost empty. Renate checked the kitchen door and stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders.
‘Come on, Jan Janicki,’ she said softly, ‘it’s time for bed.’ Jan followed her up the narrow stairway. But she caught his arm as he turned towards his room. They had both been drinking, but her voice was perfectly clear. ‘You told me about Hedda,’ she said, ‘and she was right. We might survive this coming war, but perhaps we won’t.’ She opened the door to her room and took his hand. ‘You have always been the perfect gentleman,’ she told him, ‘and I think I fell in love with you that first night, when we were on the road – perhaps even before. And I’m not stupid. I know you feel the same about me – you’re just too decent to take advantage.’ With that she led him by the hand into her room.
‘We are living in bad times,’ she said, walking round the bed and throwing off her robe. In just her nightdress she threw back the covers and lay on the sheet, patting the space beside her. ‘There is about to be a war in the west,’ she went on. ‘And from what you have told me, I agree with Hedda. I have no intention of departing this world a virgin. So come here, Jan Janicki. I’m going to love you, and give you the most precious gift that I have.’ She pulled off her nightdress and dropped it onto the floor.
Jan took off his own dressing gown and lay beside her. They were both naked. Renate pulled up the covers, threw one leg over his and snuggled up, her arm over his chest. Jan had never been more aroused. His hand cupped her breast. But the anxiety of the day, plus the meal and drinks of the evening, had extracted their toll. Warm and beautiful as she was cuddled beside him, Renate was purring softly. She had fallen asleep.
Drowsy and never more content, his arm around her shoulders, Jan lay on his back and listened. It was absolutely pouring with rain, the wind thrashing in bursts against the window. The weather couldn’t have been better – at least it would muddy out any hoof-prints. Slowly he, too, drifted off.
It was not quite light when he woke and he could hear the dawn chorus. Carefully he tried to extract his arm, which was so numb he could barely feel his fingers, from beneath Renate’s neck. There was silence for several seconds, although he sensed that she was awake. Then she eased from the bed, pulled on her robe and headed for the bathroom.
‘Didn’t distinguish myself last night,’ she said, padding back across the room. ‘I fell asleep.’
‘Cognac and wine one, Jan and Renate – nil,’ he said quietly, as if it were a football score. ‘But we were both absolutely exhausted.’
She dropped her robe and scrambled back into the warmth. He could smell tooth powder. There was no hesitation this morning. Lying on her side, facing him, Jan felt her hand on his stomach. He turned to face her, but she pushed him back. ‘You did enough riding yesterday,’ she said mischievously. ‘This morning it’s my turn.’
With the covers slipping from her shoulders she climbed astride him, sitting on his stomach. He held her breasts, both nipples already hard under his thumbs. With one hand on his chest, the other was behind her, rubbing his penis as she pushed it against her body. Then she moved to place both hands on the bed aside him, lifting just enough to ease the lips of her sex over his. She moved gently, down just a little, then up again. Jan resisted an overwhelming urge to raise his hips and push into her. Renate wanted the moment to last forever. But neither of them could wait. She lowered herself all the way down. There was a brief moment of pain then an overwhelmingly warm, sweet sensation as she felt all of him inside her. Almost immediately they were both arching up and down, thrashing wildly, till she cried out with joy
as they climaxed together. They were both gasping for breath. Eventually Renate slid off him and lay on her back, holding his hand.
‘What will you do today?’ she asked after a little while, speaking softly into the silence. Jan had to force his mind back to the present. ‘First thing, I have to go and check the wood,’ he replied. ‘It was dark when I buried everything last night and I need to make sure that it’s all well covered. After that I’ll come back for breakfast. Think I’ll spend a quiet day on the farm, so let me know if there’s anything you need doing.’
Renate leant over and kissed him. ‘Going for a bath,’ she said, ‘you have made me all sweaty!’ With that she swung her legs from the bed, pulled on her robe and left the room. Half an hour later, shaved, bathed and dressed, Jan allowed himself a quick cup of strong black coffee before setting out into the morning. It was fully light now, the sky had cleared after last night’s rain and it promised to be a sunny if cold spring day.
His cache was fine. He had done a good job in the dark. Jan kicked a few leaves around, but really it wasn’t necessary. Hands in pockets, he enjoyed a leisurely stroll back to the farm. Heaven alone knew what the future might bring, he thought. All Jan knew for certain was that right now, he had never, in his entire life, been happier.
Chapter 28
‘Take a walk into the village?’ Renate suggested after breakfast. ‘Even though he’s getting on a bit, there’s nothing left to do here that Carl can’t cope with, and you might enjoy some time off after the excitement of yesterday. When he arrives, I’ll give him our version of why you are here, then I want to get on with some housework and cooking,’ she told him, ‘but I need a few things from the shop, and there’s a Bierstube where you could stop for a coffee or perhaps Frühschoppen.’ Jan had to smile at the German word for an early-ish morning beer. ‘If you are going to stay here for a while,’ she added, ‘it wouldn’t hurt to be seen from time to time in the local community – establish your identity, as it were.’