Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  She could not help the bitter note, aimed as much at herself as him. He had in a single day brought her to the edge of a strange darkness and made her foothold perilously insecure. She recalled the moment when he had saved her from the icy canal. She knew that that had its own association with her sense of insecurity.

  Her eyes, still fixed on fields and pastures, failed to register the implications of distant movements until she heard Captain Marsh draw a quick breath.

  Then she gasped, ‘Look!’

  He drew her back into the shelter of the trees. From there, they peered into the distance. The crisp March sunlight played its revealing part. The movements resolved into the definable figures of soldiers on foot, an extended line of them, advancing steadily in an obvious and methodical search of the terrain. Captain Marsh felt his chances were narrowing. The Germans had to know by now that he was on foot.

  ‘They’ll reach us. They’ll surround this place,’ said Sophia. Why she felt sad she did not know, unless it was because they would take her as well as Captain Marsh, and escort her back to her father. But was it so desperately vital, her assignation with Fritz? Her mother could not, in the end, stop her marrying him. She would never literally chain her up. Even so, she felt inexplicably sad as she watched the long line of soldiers advancing.

  ‘We’ll be surrounded if we stay here,’ said Captain Marsh. ‘They know we’ve no car now. They probably think –’ He paused, and she saw a faint smile. ‘They probably think I’ve a gun to your head.’

  ‘In effect,’ said Sophia quietly, ‘you have had a gun to my head from the beginning.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s what you must tell everyone. On no account must you admit to anyone that there was a time when you weren’t under duress.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s no time for a discussion now. If you’re still determined to get to Fritz we must move. If we break out on the other side of this wood, we’ll at least be shielded while we make a run for new cover.’

  ‘I will come,’ she said.

  They cast a final glance at the oncoming searchers, then turned and made a quick way through the wood. Emerging, they were faced by the familiar vistas of farmlands, wandering hedges and a few wooded areas. Away to the left was a barn, large and isolated. Everything looked very quiet. Not a single person could be seen. As far as northern France was concerned, Sophia was beginning to believe that all but a few of its men were in the trenches.

  ‘We shall be seen,’ she said. ‘There’s nowhere we can hide except behind hedges.’

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ said Captain Marsh, and they began to move over the open ground. ‘Do you see that copse down there beyond the barn? If we can get to it, and then to that other patch of trees farther on and to the left, we’d have the barn between us and them, providing we made our dash at the right moment. Then we’d have to think about circling back to get behind them. It’s the one way to escape them. Run, Sophia – that is, if you want to.’

  She ran with him. He headed fast for the first objective, Sophia behind him, picking up her skirts and freeing her supple legs. He was going away from her, and she had a feeling he was ready to separate himself from her, to give her the freedom to choose her own way. If he thought to ease his conscience by doing that, he was not allowing for her bitter determination to see he did not. She lengthened her stride. As they began to pass the open end of the high barn on their left, he pulled up so sharply that she almost ran into him. He turned very quickly and plunged into the barn, Sophia following.

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ he said.

  ‘But those soldiers haven’t reached the wood yet.’

  She stiffened as he took her by the arm and drew her cautiously forward to the opening.

  ‘Take a look to the left,’ he said, ‘but don’t show yourself. If they’re moving fast, they’ve seen us.’

  She peered out. Rising from a dip in the distance, in line with the second copse he had pointed out, she saw more men. They were strung out in much the same way as the soldiers, and they too were advancing on the wood, but from the opposite direction. They were Luftwaffe men. She did not, however, think they were moving fast. She drew back.

  ‘All this is because my father is not a man to sit and do nothing,’ she said. ‘Even at a time like this, he has managed to organize a comprehensive search for me.’

  ‘A time like this?’ said Captain Marsh. ‘What does that mean?’

  Sophia, angry with herself at her new indiscretion, said, ‘It means you’ve turned my absence into a crisis. It means my father will find me, and you too.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to stay here and make it easy for him.’

  ‘You can’t run any more,’ she said. ‘You’ll be seen as soon as you leave this barn.’

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ he said.

  ‘No, wait.’

  ‘Sophia, it’s time we parted.’

  ‘No, wait,’ she said again, and looked around the barn. There was a large hayloft, pitchforks and, hanging from a hook, an old leather apron. ‘We’ve a few minutes before anyone gets here. I still want to reach Douai. Give me your scarf and boots. Where did you get those boots?’

  ‘I found them.’

  ‘Never mind. Give them to me, and your scarf. Quickly.’

  ‘Sophia –’

  ‘Quickly!’ Sophia was agitated but insistent. ‘Do you want to get away or not?’

  He unwound his flying scarf from beneath the collar of the greatcoat. She bound it around her head, tucking up and hiding her hair, and it became a good imitation of a peasant woman’s scarf. He took off the black boots given to him by Pierre Gascoigne. She unlaced her own boots, rather more elegant than his, and put the black boots on. She removed her coat and gloves, lifted the large leather apron from its hook and donned it. It hid most of her dress. She stooped, swept her hands over the dusty floor of the barn and rubbed a little of the dirt into her face. He watched in amazement as she turned herself into a farmworker with a dust-marked face and very dirty hands.

  ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Making myself presentable – in a way,’ she said. ‘When the men arrive, I’ll speak no German, only French.’ She pointed to a huge pile of loose hay beside the barn ladder. ‘That’s your only chance, not the loft. They’ll search the loft. Take my coat and boots. Put my coat over yourself, because when they come in I shall stick a pitchfork into the pile of hay. With my coat and that greatcoat, the prongs shouldn’t bite you. I must make them think that whoever might be hiding in the loft, there’s no one under that hay on the floor.’

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ said Captain Marsh.

  ‘No – I don’t,’ said Sophia. They listened. The wood they had left was alive with the sounds of men. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing at all, or why, except that I’m as determined to live my own life as you are to escape. We are reluctant partners. Bury yourself under that hay, lying flat, or stand there and do nothing and be of no help to me or yourself.’

  He spent a few precious seconds trying to understand her, but Sophia did not even understand herself – or if she did she closed her mind to it.

  ‘Sophia, for God’s sake, if this doesn’t work, do you realize just how suspect your part in it will look?’

  ‘Hide yourself,’ she whispered.

  Taking her boots, gloves and coat, he moved to the pile of fallen hay. He could hear the German soldiers clearly now. They were breaking out of the wood. He made a deep rift in the hay, uncovering the floor. He lay on his back and put her coat over himself. Quickly, she began to pile the hay thickly above him, using a pitchfork. She massed the hay high. She heard them coming, the soldiers, she heard their voices. She heard them at the entrance to the barn. She turned, the black boots feeling big and clumsy on her feet.

  Five soldiers were looking at her, their rifles slung and their faces in shadow beneath their low helmets. She heard others outside the barn, moving aroun
d it. The five men entered and glanced about them, noting the loft. Sophia wondered how the situation would develop if a farmworker arrived, or the farmer himself. Her heart, beating fast, beat faster. She knew herself to be quite mad.

  The dry barn smelled sweetly of fodder. Its size interested the soldiers. Sophia’s ragged nerves became raw, but she said nothing. The men wandered about and looked. She stood motionless, eyeing them as she supposed a Frenchwoman would, impassively and without welcome. She knew she must be distant and unhelpful. That was how most French people were towards Germans, although it was the French who had declared war.

  Eyes were on her. They were seeing her, she hoped, as the hard-working daughter of a French farmer, or simply as a French peasant. The madness of her role hammered at her mind.

  One man broke the silence.

  ‘Miss?’ he said.

  Chapter Eleven

  ELISSA AND MAJOR Kirsten had reached the abandoned Bugatti in good time. Elissa, turning off the road into the farm opening, drew up behind Sophia’s car. There appeared to be no one about, but moments after they had alighted a corporal materialized out of thin air. He came to attention and saluted.

  ‘Corporal Haussen of Garrison A Company, Major.’

  ‘Have you been here all night?’ asked the major.

  ‘No, only since seven-thirty this morning, Major, when I relieved Corporal Weiss of B Company. Also present is Private Kreik. He’s—’

  ‘Yes, somewhere about.’ Major Kirsten waved an airy hand. With Elissa, he inspected the Bugatti. The ignition key was there. So was a German helmet. And in the luggage compartment was a case. ‘Corporal, anything to report?’

  Corporal Haussen, impressed by the bearing of an officer with a scarred eye and a missing left arm, drew himself smartly up and said, ‘Nothing, Major, except that a platoon from Douai garrison arrived here at eight-fifteen, and the officer in charge questioned me. I informed him I had noticed nothing, nor had Corporal Weiss who was on duty during the night. I was then told to advise you that a search of the area was to be commenced.’

  ‘It commenced from here?’

  ‘No, Major. The platoon drove off, intending to proceed until they were in a position to begin a sweep over the fields from west to east.’

  ‘There was no search of this immediate locality?’

  ‘No, Major.’

  ‘Thank you, Corporal Haussen. You may resume your hidden watch in company with Private Kreik.’

  Corporal Haussen saluted and disappeared, thinking Major Kirsten somewhat luckier than he was. He only had Private Kreik, a morose comrade, for company. Major Kirsten had a very nice-looking WAC officer.

  ‘I should have thought Colonel Hoffner’s men would have spent a little time here,’ said Elissa.

  ‘And they no doubt thought that would be time wasted, that the quarry would not have lingered. But you have a point.’

  Elissa saw a gate a little way down the rutted farm track. It led into a long ploughed field. She felt she could read what had happened. Although the road was fairly quiet now, it had been jammed with moving infantry last night. The Bugatti, which was pointing at the gate, had obviously been driven off the road in order to avoid being trapped or stopped. Just as obviously, it had been noticed. That would have been the moment when the RFC pilot abandoned it, taking the unfortunate Sophia von Feldermann with him. Regrettably, that seemed to indicate he really did mean to use her as some kind of hostage when the last of his luck ran out.

  ‘Where are they, I wonder?’ she asked in concern.

  ‘Yes, and why did he take Sophia with him when he left the car?’ mused Major Kirsten, making his own survey of the gate and the ploughed field. ‘On foot, she would have been twice the burden, making her value as a hostage a very wearisome responsibility.’

  ‘He would think her worth the effort, Major, if he means to try to exchange her for his freedom. Is there no honour among men of war?’

  ‘I’m afraid this kind of war drains most of us of our finer feelings,’ said Major Kirsten, beginning a walk to the gate and taking Elissa with him. ‘Millions have died. Those of us who are left have few illusions.’

  That disturbed Elissa.

  ‘Major, if you were on the run behind Allied lines, would you consider forcing a Frenchwoman to help you escape?’

  ‘I’d regard my escape as more important to me and the Fatherland than the sensitivities of a hostile Frenchwoman. Yes, I’d consider it.’

  ‘Is soldiering a brutalizing thing?’

  They halted at the gate, and Major Kirsten said, ‘Soldiering is a career based on the high ideals of defending one’s country against its enemies. It’s war which is brutalizing, Lieutenant. Now, where is our audacious friend and his hostage? I doubt if they moved very far during the night. They’d have wandered in circles, exhausting themselves. I’ve a feeling he’d be wise enough to avoid that. Let’s assume he sensibly went to ground and began to move again about dawn. Have you thought about the fact that if he’s making for Douai, his objective would suit Sophia? Her own objective is certainly Captain Fritz Gerder, who’s there at the moment.’

  ‘I can’t believe she would be a willing companion to an English pilot,’ said Elissa. Amid the vista of farmlands far to the right, she picked out a huddled cluster of buildings. ‘Is that a farmhouse? Shall we enquire there?’

  ‘It’s quite a walk, but why not?’ said Major Kirsten. ‘I make assumptions which are entirely improbable, and you make suggestions entirely practical. Together, we may come to make a perfect team – acting, of course, on the practical.’

  ‘I’m modest in my hopes,’ said Elissa.

  They opened the gate. It squealed on its grinding hinges. They made their way along the edge of the field, a hedge on their right. Another gate showed in the distance. The major looked with interest at crumbling depressions in ploughed ridges. Midway, Elissa pointed. Just ahead, between two ridges, lay a lady’s black and white hat. Elissa picked it up. Its pin was missing. A pin was very necessary if the wearer was driving an open car. She explained that to Major Kirsten.

  ‘It’s Sophia’s hat, I can tell you that,’ he said, his sounder eye glinting. ‘Is the missing pin significant except to tell us that’s why the hat fell off? How did it fall off and why did she leave it?’

  ‘Major, did she attempt to resist here? I’m sure these are their footmarks.’

  The furrows looked trampled, the crisp ridges broken in parts, though all that Sophia had done at this point was to wrench herself free from Captain Marsh’s supportive arm.

  ‘You’re suggesting,’ said the major, ‘that Sophia felt either her life or her virtue to be in such danger that she had to attack him or resist him, and pulled out her hatpin to do so?’

  An entirely unpleasant picture presented itself to Elissa.

  ‘Major, no, I can’t think he’d have actually attacked her, not for any reason. He’s desperate, perhaps, but still an officer.’ Elissa noted Major Kirsten’s raised eyebrow. ‘I think she probably refused to go any further with him and made an attempt to escape him.’

  ‘Certainly, it doesn’t look as if her hatpin drew blood. If these are their footmarks, they continue on.’ Major Kirsten smiled, looking as if his sabbatical in company with his trim assistant was proving even more stimulating than he had expected. ‘Assuming there was some kind of struggle, we can further assume he came out none the worse for it. I hope we can say the same about Sophia.’

  They reached the second gate. It was padlocked. Elissa climbed it, and the major experienced a moment of frank pleasure at the shapeliness of her legs. The familiar faint pink touched her face. Alighting on the other side, she said, ‘Do French farmers lock many of their gates?’

  ‘I hope not, if there are others to climb,’ said the major. He took his turn to climb. Elissa, aware of his handicap, was pleased when he sensibly said, ‘May I borrow your hand? I’m still a little clumsy at some things.’ She reached out. Their gloved hands gripped and he swung himse
lf over. ‘Thank you, Elissa.’

  It was a long walk to the farmhouse and its adjacent buildings. There were other gates, most of them locked. Elissa negotiated them quite athletically, the major with a little help. They found the farmer, a typically earthy and insular Frenchman who, in response to questions put by Elissa, complained bitterly that all he knew was that as he was dressing at first light, his chickens set up the kind of screeching row he could only associate with an intruding fox. He rushed out, but there was no fox. There were only disturbed chickens and no eggs. Usually, this time of the year, there were a few overnight lays to collect. There were none this morning. Someone had stolen them. But that was how it was these days, the trials of war making thieves of everyone.

  ‘This was at dawn, you say?’ said Elissa.

  ‘Yes, I did say that.’ The farmer was growlingly irritable. He was never happy, anyway, when Germans in field-grey appeared. ‘Don’t ask me who they were. They were too slippery for me.’

  ‘They?’ Elissa’s smile was encouraging ‘You saw more than your disturbed chickens, then?’

  ‘Not at first,’ said the farmer. He had to answer, however hostile he felt. German field-grey commanded answers of some kind. ‘Then I saw them. Over there.’ He waved an irritable hand towards his pastures. ‘They were running, a man and a woman. Am I to be interrogated because I didn’t catch them? Name of a thief, was I at my age expected to chase after them with my boots still unlaced? I’ve enough to do as it is without—’