Gently, Dawson took the machine-pistol from her and tossed away the empty magazine. He ran back to the body of the soldier, grabbed four full magazines from his equipment belt and a couple of stick grenades, pulled a trench knife from his boot and then turned and ran back to Celine.
‘We go and get your friend,’ she said, ‘and then go across into France. I know he is weak, but he will have to walk.’
As they started to run, Dawson glanced at Celine. ‘This isn’t your fight, you know,’ he said. ‘You can just stay here in Luxembourg. That’ll be a lot safer for you than France.’
‘Safe in neutral Luxembourg, like for my parents? Do not make me laugh.’ Celine shook her head. ‘No, you are wrong, Eddie. There is nothing for me here now. When that German bastard killed my mother and father, he made this my fight. I cannot forgive or forget. If it is last thing I do ever, I will find that SS officer and make him pay.’
‘Not if I get to him first, you won’t,’ Dawson said, and for a moment the shadow of a smile flitted across Celine’s face.
The moment they reached the edge of the clearing, they ran into the forest and then turned to follow the track, but kept within the shadow of the trees.
‘Can we do this?’ Dawson asked. ‘There are still about a dozen Jerry soldiers out there, after our blood. Can we slip past them and get over the border?’
‘I know this forest. Those German bastards do not,’ Celine said, as they reached the tree Dawson had marked earlier. ‘So we have a good try. If they catch us, we make sure we take as many of them with us as we can.’
He couldn’t fault her spirit, but it sounded as if she was happy to embark on a suicide trip. Going down in a blaze of glory wasn’t Dawson’s idea of the best way to end the first week of his personal war. He still had a score to settle with Capitaine de St Véran, for one thing. He’d have to keep his eye on her and make sure she didn’t compromise their position.
They strode through heavily wooded area, still alert for any sign of enemy soldiers. The forest seemed deserted.
They stopped when they reached the two trees that marked Watson’s refuge, checking that everything looked normal – Dawson hoped that they’d managed to steer the pursuit well away from that location, but the SS officer had shown a remarkable ability to predict where they’d go and what they’d do, so he wasn’t convinced.
But that area of the forest, too, seemed quiet and peaceful.
‘You stay here,’ Dawson told Celine. ‘I’ll go and check on Dave.’
Dawson slung the bolt-action rifle over his shoulder, checked the Schmeisser was fully loaded and strode forward. He slid through the undergrowth and into the shadowy bower formed by the trees and bushes, and looked round, the machine-pistol held ready to fire.
But Watson was nowhere in sight. The area between the two trees, where he and Celine had left him when they went off to fetch the horse and cart, was empty. But there was no sign of violence, no bloodstains on the ground. All that was visible were the empty beer bottles left over from their meal that morning.
‘Dave?’ he called softly. ‘It’s me, Eddie. You here somewhere?’
To his relief, there was an answering grunt from the undergrowth at the far end, and a few moments later Watson’s head popped into view.
Dawson stepped forward and helped his friend stand up.
‘I heard shooting,’ Watson explained, ‘so I dived down there to keep out of sight, just in case it was the bloody Jerries or somebody looking for us. What’s happened?’
‘Nothing good, mate,’ Dawson replied. ‘Celine’s parents have been killed, and somehow that fucking SS officer has found a way into Luxembourg with his squad of soldiers and they’re still after us.’
As he led the way out of their hiding place, Dawson explained what they’d seen and what had happened at the farmhouse.
‘The horse and cart isn’t an option no more, Dave,’ Dawson finished, ‘so it’s back to Shanks’s Pony. Can you walk?’
‘If that fucking German’s behind me, no problem.’
And Watson did look a hell of a lot better. Obviously the food and drink he’d had, and the fact that he’d been able to rest for a few hours, had given him a new lease of life.
‘Christ, Celine,’ Watson said, as he and Dawson rejoined her, ‘I’m really sorry about what happened to your parents.’
Celine shrugged, but Dawson could tell she was still close to tears: only her anger held back the flood.
‘We must go,’ she said brusquely and turned away, leading the two men south, and deeper into the forest.
Chapter 45
16 September 1939
For about half an hour they neither saw nor heard any sign of the German troops. They appeared to have the forest to themselves, but Dawson knew that was an illusion. The enemy soldiers were still out there somewhere, still looking for them. It was only a matter of time before they’d make contact with them again.
And when that happened, Dawson knew they’d be in real trouble, outnumbered about three or four to one by better-armed and well-equipped troops. They’d been lucky so far, having taken the enemy soldiers by surprise at the farmhouse, but they’d now completely lost that advantage. The next time they made contact, they all knew the Germans would be ready for them.
Watson was walking fairly slowly, but he was walking and hardly slowed them at all because they were proceeding as cautiously and quietly as possible. He’d insisted on taking the loaded Schmeisser from Dawson, just in case they did run into any enemy soldiers, because that left Dawson’s hands free to use the rifle. And, as Watson pointed out, it didn’t take a lot of strength to aim a Schmeisser machine-pistol and pull the trigger.
But their easy progress came to an abrupt halt.
Dawson was slightly ahead of Celine and Watson, leading the way, when he suddenly froze into immobility as he approached a group of trees growing tightly together. He lifted his left arm to stop his two companions advancing any further, and all three sank silently to the floor of the forest, keeping well out of sight.
Moments later, from somewhere in front of them, they all quite clearly heard a voice muttering something in German. Then there was a faint metallic clatter, perhaps as a weapon of some sort was loaded or a magazine checked, and the sound of heavy footsteps treading the ground.
Dawson moved cautiously backwards and pressed his mouth close to Celine’s ear. ‘At least one man, maybe forty yards ahead,’ he whispered. ‘He’s just behind those trees in front of us and moving left, towards that clump of bushes. Did you hear what he said?’
‘I think it was just a curse. He stumbled or tripped, that was all,’ Celine said, equally quietly.
‘They’re probably setting up a line of sentries all the way from the farmhouse to the Moselle, because they know we’ll have to move through that area if we’re going to get across the French border.’
‘So now what do we do?’ Watson asked.
‘We go through that line. We’ve got no option.’
‘How?’
‘I’m still working on that.’
For a few seconds, Dawson just stood there, considering the options – the very limited options – that they had. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘We can do this quietly or noisily. Noisy and we toss a stick grenade at that sentry, or blast him with the rifles, if we can see him. If we do that, the rest of the Jerries will know exactly where we are, and we’ll have to run like hell and hope we get so far ahead they can’t catch us.’
‘Fine for you two,’ Watson whispered, ‘but not me.’
Dawson nodded. ‘I know that, mate. There’s no way we’re leaving you behind. So we have to be sneaky.’ He turned to Celine. ‘How’s this? The Germans are looking for two British soldiers, right? Not a woman. Suppose you leave your weapons here with us and just walk forward, picking flowers or something?’
‘Do I look like woman who walks through wood picking flowers?’ Celine hissed.
‘No, but they won’t know that. Then, while the Jerry
soldier is looking at you, I’ll sneak up behind him and take him out.’
‘That is it? That is your plan?’
Dawson shrugged. ‘I don’t have any better ideas right now.’
Celine snorted – but quietly, because the German soldier was still fairly close by – and tossed her head. ‘If a girl wants a man’s attention, she does not pick flowers. Here, take this.’ She handed Dawson her rifle, slipped the straps of her overalls off her shoulders, unbuttoned her checked blouse and tied it around her waist. Underneath it, she had on only a thin undergarment, made of a flimsy material that left little to the imagination.
Dawson’s familiarity with the female figure and the garments used to clothe it was limited at best – his only sexual experiences had been essentially adolescent and frustratingly unsatisfactory fumblings outside dance halls and the like – and what Celine was wearing looked to him like a sort of vest. Whatever it was, the effect was electrifying.
She thrust out her chest and the fabric tightened over her breasts and looked at Dawson, a half-smile on her lips.
‘That gets my attention,’ Dawson said, his natural bravado reasserting itself, but barely able to take his eyes off her. Beside him Watson nodded enthusiastic agreement.
‘Now I go and get his attention.’
‘And I’ll work my way round behind him,’ Dawson said.
Celine shook her head. ‘Do not bother. I fight off Luxembourg farm boys for ten years. I can deal with one German soldier. Give me the bayonet – or you have left that somewhere with the knife?’
Dawson shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened, Celine.’ He pulled the bayonet from its scabbard and handed it to her, handle first. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes. Do not worry.’
Dawson looked doubtful, then nodded agreement. ‘OK, but I’ll be watching and I’ll be close by, just in case.’
Celine tucked the bayonet into the back of her overalls, where it would be invisible to anyone. Then she strode boldly forward, humming a tune that Dawson didn’t recognize. She angled over to where they thought the German soldier might have been heading, and did actually stop a couple of times to pick a flower from the forest floor. Then she vanished from sight.
‘I don’t like this, Eddie,’ Watson muttered, as he tried to see where Celine had gone.
‘Nor do I, but we need to stay out of sight – if that fucking Jerry soldier catches sight of either of us, the game’ll be up and no mistake. We just have to hope she knows what she’s doing. She’s our ticket out of this country, because she knows these forests and we don’t.’
At that moment, they heard an exclamation in German, then Celine’s soft voice speaking the same language, somewhere beyond the undergrowth over to their left. Seconds later, there was a grunt of pain, followed by a squeal that was clearly female.
‘You wait here,’ Dawson said, took the Schmeisser from Watson and ran over to the clump of bushes. He stepped behind them, the weapon held ready to fire, and glanced to his left.
Celine was crouched on the ground beside a grey-clad figure, her left hand pressed against the side of her head, blood streaming from her temple.
Dawson ran over to her. His eyes flicked first to the German sentry, but a single glance was enough to tell the tale. The Mauser bayonet was sticking obscenely out of his chest, and, though the man’s eyes were flickering and his hands and legs twitching, they were just his body’s reflex actions – to all intents and purposes, he was already dead.
Dawson crouched down beside Celine and gently lifted her hand away from her forehead, then sighed in relief. There was a cut on her temple which was bleeding profusely, but which was obviously fairly shallow.
‘What happened?’ Dawson asked
‘My fault,’ Celine insisted. ‘I came too close to him and his helmet hit my head when he fell.’ She stood up, gave the German soldier’s body a final dismissive kick, then stepped away from it. She pulled on her blouse and buttoned it, then took a handkerchief from the pocket of her overalls, wadded it into a pad and pressed it against the cut. ‘We must go,’ she said.
Dawson looked at the dead man’s Mauser but decided to leave it there – the hunting rifles they had were every bit as good as that weapon – then followed Celine.
Watson appeared from behind the trees, and the three of them set off again, heading south into the woods, every step they took bringing them nearer to the French border and – hopefully – to safety.
But they’d hardly gone seventy yards when there was a shout from behind them, and suddenly the woods rang to the sound of shots, a couple of rounds from a Mauser ripping through the foliage above them.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Dawson said.
‘They don’t shoot at us,’ Celine pointed out. ‘Those bullets went high into the trees.’
‘I know. My guess is another of the German soldiers has just found the body. The fastest way to alert his comrades is to fire his rifle. They’ll be right behind us any minute now. We’ve got to get moving.’
The woods behind them echoed with shouts and yells in German as orders were passed and acknowledged, the sound of imminent pursuit unmistakable. The three of them started running, knowing their only possible escape was to put some distance between themselves and the enemy soldiers, because they couldn’t win a fire-fight, not against that many troops.
But Watson was already making heavy weather of it, stumbling along, his breath coming in short and painful gasps and his bandaged shoulder wound had started to bleed again. Looking at him, Dawson realized his friend couldn’t go much further, not at the pace he and Celine were setting. Somehow, they had to slow down, and that meant slowing down the pursuit.
Dawson glanced back, looking for the first sight of any of the enemy soldiers. He caught a flash of grey moving between the trees, maybe sixty yards away, hauled the hunting rifle up to his shoulder and snapped off a barely aimed shot. The bullet ploughed harmlessly into the trunk of a tree.
‘How many are there?’ Watson gasped, pointing the Schmeisser back the way they’d come and looking for a target.
‘We saw about a dozen back at the farmhouse, but Celine took care of a couple there, so I’d guess there are about eight or nine left now – plus that SS officer.’
‘Enough, then?’
‘More than enough,’ Dawson agreed, the rifle aimed towards the position where he’d seen the German soldier take cover. ‘They outnumber us roughly three to one’
Watson glanced at Celine, who was also aiming her rifle in the same direction as Dawson, then back at his fellow sapper. ‘Leave me here, Eddie,’ he said. ‘Give me a couple of magazines for the Schmeisser and the two stick grenades. I’ve got a good arm, and I could buy you two the time you’ll need to get away. You’d be faster without me.’
Dawson didn’t even look at him. ‘Not a chance, mate. We’re in this together, win or lose.’
Then he glanced back at Celine, and at the darkening forest ahead of them. ‘But a stay-behind isn’t such a bad idea,’ he said musingly. ‘Celine, you help Dave to that big tree over there’ – he pointed at a massive old oak with spreading branches – ‘while I cover you.’
Celine nodded. She and Watson made their way as quickly as they could to the oak tree.
Moments later, Dawson joined them. He checked the ammunition he had left for the rifle. ‘Ten rounds,’ he muttered. ‘What about you, Celine?’
‘Three rounds in the weapon and maybe twenty in my pocket.’
It was an easy decision. ‘OK,’ Dawson said, ‘let’s change rifles.’
‘We do not have to. They both have the same calibre,’ Celine replied, taking a handful of gleaming brass cartridges and handing them over.
‘Thanks.’ Dawson slid them into his pocket. ‘Now you two go – I’ll catch up with you.’
For a second or two Watson stood there, irresolute. ‘Planning a suicidal last stand, are you?’ he demanded.
‘Hell, no,’ Dawson’s reply was sharp. ‘I
’m going to keep the Jerries at bay for as long as I can, then I’ll run like hell to catch you up. Now go, before I change my mind and leave you here instead.’
Watson nodded and turned away, Celine beside him. When Dawson glanced round a few seconds later, they’d both vanished from sight among the trees to the south. Immediately, he swung back to face the direction where he guessed the German troops were massing. There was no sign of any activity there, but he knew that was where the danger lay. He checked his rifle again, then took one of the stick grenades from his belt. He unscrewed the end cap and laid the weapon on the ground in front of him, ready for immediate use.
The oak offered plenty of protection for him against a straight frontal assault, and he was fairly sure the German troops didn’t even know he was there – or not yet, anyway. But as soon as the shooting started, they’d try to out-flank him and hit him from two sides simultaneously, and he knew he’d have to get away from the tree before that happened, or he’d be dead.
There was a shallow depression beside the oak which offered a good view through the trees to the north and would keep him out of sight of the advancing troops. Dawson slid down into it, rested the rifle on the grassy soil in front of him, and just waited.
He didn’t have long to wait.
Chapter 46
16 September 1939
The first two German soldiers appeared in front of him, Mauser rifles in their hands, perhaps fifty yards away. Behind them, Dawson could see other shadowy figures moving, taking advantage of the cover provided by the trees, but still making fairly quick progress towards him.
He shifted the barrel of the rifle slightly, but ignored the leading two enemy troops. Instead, he picked a soldier some distance back in the forest, waited until the man was silhouetted between two trees and then squeezed the trigger. The rifle jumped against his shoulder. The soldier fell backwards, killed or at least badly wounded.
Then, while the German soldiers dived for whatever cover they could find, Dawson eased back behind the tree and picked up one of the stick grenades. In easy, fluid movements, he pulled down the priming cord and threw the weapon over-arm as far as he could towards the two leading troops.
To Do or Die Page 29