The Flyer

by Stuart Harrison

  Helene didn’t reply, but her silence confirmed that William was right. He felt for her hand in the darkness. ‘Don’t worry. I just want to have a look anyway. I’ll be back by tomorrow night.’

  ‘You promise me that you will come back?’

  He felt her eyes on him. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Alright. I will show you the way.’ She got up. ‘I should not stay tonight.’

  Reluctantly, he agreed. He said goodnight and listened to her climb down the ladder, then went to the hay doors and saw her cross the yard. Afterwards he watched the window of her room. The house was dark, but for a second he thought he saw her looking back at him.

  In the morning, he left an hour before dawn. During the night it had rained and the snow was gone, the ground turned to mud. He waited near the road for Helene, and when she arrived she gave him a map she’d drawn to show him how to find the aerodrome. For the first part of the way they went in the same direction. As the sun rose, the cloud began to break up, and in the distance they saw aeroplanes heading towards the lines. Helene was quiet, her mood seemed pensive. When they reached an intersection where their routes parted, she warned him that there were often German troops on the road and he must be very careful.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘I’m not intending to let myself be caught. I’ll see you tonight.’

  She stared at him fiercely, almost desperately. Suddenly she kissed him, pressing her mouth hard against his.

  ‘I will be waiting for you, William.’

  She turned on her heel, and walked quickly away from him before he could respond. And then he called out her name and she stopped and looked around.

  ‘I’ll be back, Helene. I promise.’

  She nodded once, a smile touched her lips and then they both went their different ways.

  He kept away from the roads, using the woods and hedgerows to keep out of sight. Quite soon he didn’t need Helene’s map because he saw a dozen Albatrosses returning from a patrol, no doubt to refuel and reload their guns, one of them trailing a thin stream of smoke. When he heard their engines he hid among some trees, and watched them until they vanished below a wooded rise no more than half a mile away.

  The aerodrome was in a large field beyond the rise. On one side it was bounded by trees and on the other were the hangers and tents where the mechanics and riggers lived. William found a place to conceal himself and settled down to watch. The single approach road was guarded and there were soldiers posted around the perimeter, though not in great numbers. Two sentries patrolled the wooded side of the field, and whenever they met they paused to talk for a minute or two. They looked bored, and carried their rifles over their shoulders with the air of men who don’t expect to have to use them. William timed them, and found that when they separated it took them about three and half minutes to reach the furthest extremes of their patrols before they turned to walk towards each other again. For that three and a half minutes on a dark night, William thought it would be possible to dash across the field to the hangars without much risk of being seen.

  He also counted six anti-aircraft positions, which reinforced his idea that the Germans expected any threat to come from the air. He could see mechanics working on machines in the hangers, while the Albatrosses he’d seen earlier were being refuelled and re-armed on the field. Several men who looked as if they might be pilots were standing chatting and smoking outside a wooden building, which he assumed was their mess. After about an hour, more men came outside, and one who appeared to be their leader began to walk back towards the waiting planes. The others followed, and dispersed to their various machines, and one by one their engine’s burst into life and the planes began to take to the air. As they passed overhead, William lay on his back to watch them. How many British planes would they send down in flames before the day was over, he wondered?

  He kept watch on the aerodrome for most of the day, and by the end of it he knew there were several two-seaters based there, as well as the Albatrosses. As the light began to fade he decided that he’d seen enough and he slipped away through the trees.

  On the way back to the Lisle’s farm, William kept to the fields and hedgerows until he reached the place where he’d left Helene that morning. After that he walked along the road, though he listened out for the sound of any approaching motor. Perhaps it was because he was distracted by thoughts of Helene that he didn’t see the soldiers sooner. He rounded a bend in the road and had already gone another ten yards before he saw a group of them, less than fifty yards away. His reaction was instinctive. He stopped dead and one hand went to the pistol in his pocket. By then he’d taken in the lorry jacked up at one corner, and the wheel lying in the grass. The soldiers were standing around smoking and talking, in no hurry to mend the broken wheel. Their rifles were propped against the side of the lorry. One of them saw William and for a few moments he seemed unconcerned. Even then, William might’ve got away with it if he’d brazened it out and walked on nonchalantly, but his behaviour made the soldier curious. He called out something and William decided to run.

  As he climbed through the hedgerow, William heard shouting. In front of him an open field stretched toward a distant wood, and he realised that for several hundred yards he would be completely exposed. By then, however, he had no choice and he began to run. His leg began to hurt immediately, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and ran as quickly as he could. He was afraid that the distance was too great. His heart was pounding, sweat dripped into his eyes and his breathing was ragged. He was out of condition from being cooped up in the barn for so long and it seemed to take an age to reach even a third of the way across the field. He heard a shot from behind, followed by a ragged volley, and as he felt bullets whiz by in the air he changed direction.

  The soldiers continued to shoot as he weaved and dodged towards the trees. He risked looking back and saw that all but one of them had stopped chasing him. He thought they had given up, but he was wrong. The next shot passed so close to his head it sounded like the whine of a mosquito. He dropped to a crouch and dodged to the left as two more shots were fired, both kicking up dirt within feet of him. He looked back again and saw that the soldiers who’d given up the chase were now taking their time, and aiming carefully as they tried to bring him down. Only one still pursued him and he was much closer.

  William dived to the ground and rolled, and as he came onto his knees he took out his revolver and aimed with both hands before squeezing off three shots. Taken by surprise, the soldier chasing him threw himself to the ground, and straight away William got to his feet and started running again. He did the same thing again twenty seconds later, though this time he only fired a single shot to conserve his ammunition. Each time, he managed to gain a little distance, and finally he managed to reach the trees, and gasping for breath, plunged into the undergrowth.

  As soon as he was out of sight William changed direction. Bullets thudded into the trees wide of their mark. Ahead of him was a long downward slope, the ground carpeted by drifts of rotting leaves, sparse winter limbs all around, the light clear and silvery. As he ran, the slope became steeper and he gathered speed. He skidded and stumbled, somehow managing to leap over fallen boughs as he wind-milled his arms to keep balance. He heard the sounds of pursuit somewhere behind him as the soldier crashed into the woods, then a muffled curse. He risked looking back and immediately fell.

  When he hit the ground the air was driven from William’s lungs. He slithered down the bank and something hard jabbed into his ribs. A shot rang out but the bullet passed harmlessly overhead, and then abruptly he came to rest in a hollow. For a second or two he was stunned, and then he heard the soldier plunging down the slope after him. He looked around and saw that the lip of the hollow would conceal him for a few seconds. Ahead of him another slope rose towards a ridge, but if he went that way he would be exposed. The only cover was a tangled thicket nearby, but even as he stumbled towards it, William changed his mind and threw himself flat on the ground behind
a tree, gambling that the soldier would expect him to have run for the thicket, and so that’s where his focus would be. A second later he heard the soldier skid to the top of the hollow and stop, and then there was silence.

  After what seemed like forever, the soldier worked the bolt on his rifle and climbed cautiously down into the hollow. William hardly dared to breathe. Sweat ran down the back of his neck. He heard the soldier take a step nearer. And then another. He imagined the soldier’s rifle trained on the thicket, his finger on the trigger ready to shoot. Very slowly, William raised his head a few inches. The soldier was no more than a few feet away. As he took another step, William moved, and at almost the same instant the soldier realised his mistake. He began to turn, swinging his rifle around at the same time, but William was quicker. He raised his revolver and fired, and the soldier staggered. One hand flew to his throat where blood spurted from a wound and he fell backwards, dying. His legs kicked, and then a gargling sound came from his throat before he lay still.

  William approached carefully. The dead soldier was young. No more than twenty. The sound of faint voices carried through the woods, and quickly William turned and began to climb the other side of the slope. He moved from tree to tree, and they didn’t see him until he was near the top. A few shots were fired, but by then he was lost to them. He ran on at a slower pace. The sounds of pursuit dwindled until they faded with the dying light, and William slowed to a walk through the comfort of deepening shadows, his hands trembling.

  *****

  By the time he reached the Lisle’s farm it was very late. A sliver of moon revealed the silhouette of the house in utter darkness, the yard outside thick with shadows. William waited for a little while, listening for any sound that shouldn’t be there. When he was sure that it was safe he made his way to the back of the barn and slipped quietly inside. He waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. The animals snuffled and moved in their stalls. A wary hen clucked. The ladder creaked as he climbed. All he wanted to do was lie down in the hay and sleep.

  The hayloft was empty. He’d hoped Helene might be there. From the hay doors he peered across the yard to the window of her room, but it was too dark to see anything. He heard a sound from nearby and glimpsed a movement in the darkness, but as he reached for his gun he heard Helene’s voice.

  ‘William?’

  She was sitting in the furthest corner, where the darkness was thickest. He went to her as she stood up.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming back.’

  ‘I ran into some soldiers.’ He told her what had happened. ‘After that I saw lights on the roads and I heard dogs. I think they were looking for me. I found a stream and walked in it for about a mile to put the dogs off my scent.’

  She felt his clothes, which were still wet. He was shivering with cold.

  ‘You have to get dry. Take these things off.’

  He didn’t argue with her. He was freezing. While he sat down and undid his boots she took off her coat and piled hay into the corner. When he undressed she turned away. She put his wet clothes in a pile.

  ‘I will bring you something else to wear in the morning.’

  Though he wrapped a blanket around himself the cold had entered William’s bones. He couldn’t stop shaking.

  ‘Are you hungry? I brought some food. It was hot when I came but it will be cold now.’

  ‘I’ll eat it later.’ His teeth were chattering.

  ‘Lie down,’ Helene told him.

  She lay beside him and covered them with her coat and some of the hay, and then wrapped her arms around him to keep him warm. Every now and then he would shiver violently and she would hold him tighter. Gradually, he absorbed the warmth from her body and his breathing grew more even and regular, and eventually he slept.

  When William woke, he felt Helene’s arms around him, her breath on his face. Her eyes were open, watching him.

  ‘I thought I had lost you,’ she murmured.

  He kissed her. She helped him undo the buttons and clasps of her clothes. In the darkness her body was shadowed and mysterious. He placed his hand on her hip and felt the curve of her waist, the flat plane of her belly. Her skin was smooth, her beasts soft. Men are built for pragmatism, he thought, for work and hardship and strength, all straight lines and angles, while a woman’s form promises succour and comfort. Refuge from a hostile world. He lowered his lips to her throat and she put her arms around him and shifted her position to let him lie between her thighs. He entered her and they moved together slowly as they kissed. Heat burst on her skin as if the blood in her veins had turned to fire. He continued to move, kissed her eyes and her mouth and her neck. She breathed in rhythm with their movements and then she stiffened against him and her hands gripped his shoulders tightly. Slowly, the intensity of the moment passed and he felt her body soften and grow languid. She murmured his name and then exchanged places, making him lie on his back. She put him inside her again and moved her hips. He looked up at her and she bent forward to kiss him, her hair soft against his chest, and after he came she lay beside him and for a little while they slept.

  Helene stayed until it was almost dawn. When they woke she asked him about the aerodrome and he told her what he’d seen.

  ‘I think it would be possible to steal a plane at night. The best time would be an hour before dawn. I’d cross the lines while it was still dark and land as soon as there was enough light.’

  ‘Will you take me with you?’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Edith ladled stew into two bowls and carried them to the table. She set one down in front of her husband, who peered at it with sullen resentment.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘It’s your supper, what do you think it is?’

  He stirred the thin gravy, pushing aside the vegetables. ‘There is no meat.’

  ‘We cannot eat meat every day. Have you forgotten there is a war going on.’ She threw him a warning look, but the old fool didn’t notice.

  ‘Why didn’t you put that pigeon I shot today in here?’

  ‘Phah!’ Edith made a dismissive gesture. ‘That thing was nothing but feathers and bones. I have seen bigger sparrows than that sorry excuse for a pigeon.’

  Albert would have protested again, but as Edith sat down she kicked him hard in his shin, and he looked at her with pained surprise. Finally he saw the look in her eyes and comprehension flooded his expression. Guiltily, he glanced at Helene, and seeing her watching them curiously he lowered his face to his bowl and began spooning stew into his mouth.

  Idiot! Edith thought. Barely an hour ago, she’d told him that they would eat the pigeon later after they went to their bedroom. These days he could not remember anything. His head was like a rusty bucket full of holes.

  Edith did not see why they should give precious meat to Helene, when it was clear she would only take it to the man she was hiding in the barn. Look at her sitting there! Whore! There was no way of telling how long the bitch had been deceiving them. The thought of her waiting for them to go to sleep every night so that she could sneak to the barn made Edith so furious she did not dare lift her eyes from the table. If Helene saw her face, she would know instantly that her secret had been discovered.

  It was all Edith could do to keep her mouth shut. To think the harlot has been rutting like a sow in heat, while her poor Jean lies cold and dead without even a proper grave. How could she do this to them after they had taken her into their home and given her food to eat, and a warm bed in which to sleep, while their son, their poor son, lay dead?

  ‘I saw Monsieur Roussel at the market today.’

  Edith looked up in surprise, her furious thoughts momentarily dispelled by Helene’s comment. ‘Roussel the builder?’ she said, wondering why Helene should mention such a thing when it could be of no possible interest.

  ‘Yes. He told me he has very little work. They are finding it difficult to feed their family.’

  ‘Then perhap
s he should not have had so many children,’ Edith said scornfully. ‘That wife of his seemed to have a different brat in her belly every year, as I recall.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Helene said. ‘But his eldest boy was with him. He is fourteen I think. He looked like a very strong boy, and Monsieur Roussel said he is a very hard worker. I think if somebody were to give the boy his keep in return for work, they would do very well from the arrangement.’

  ‘I have seen that boy,’ Edith said. ‘He is a runt. I do not think anybody would get much work out of him.’

  ‘He didn’t look like such a runt to me,’ Helene murmured.

  Why was she going on about this boy, Edith wondered? It was no concern of theirs what problems the Roussels’ may have. Who did not have problems these days?

  ‘Is there more?’ Albert demanded suddenly, having finished his stew.

  Edith got up and fetched the pot from the range. She put the remaining spoonful into Albert’s bowl.

  ‘Is that all there is?’ Helene asked when she saw the pot was empty.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Edith said. ‘You haven’t even finished what is in your bowl yet.’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘You always make too much,’ Edith said flatly. ‘From now on I will cook the meals.’

  She smiled maliciously to herself. There, she added silently, what will he eat now, eh? Perhaps he will not be so keen to fuck you on an empty belly!

  After supper, Edith and Albert went up to bed as usual. Edith brought out the bread and the still warm pigeon from the cupboard where she had hidden it and divided it between them. Albert ate greedily, fat running down his chin while he sat up in bed. Edith placed a chair beside the window where she could see the yard.

  ‘I went to the stream in the woods today,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’ Albert said, his mouth full of food.

  ‘Somebody has been going there,’ she said, ignoring his question. She had found signs of regular visits. Broken bushes, footprints. ‘He has been here for weeks. Perhaps longer. Why would he hide in our barn for so long?’