Alfie Lewis Box Set

by Thomas Wood

  All we had to do now was wait, until the prearranged hour where Jameson would need to muster up every possible courageous fibre in his body, to make it towards the abandoned cottage.

  I occupied myself by taking notes on the area and the building itself, trying to work out where Joseph’s contact would approach from when the time came, and where Jameson could run in order to try and save his life.

  From where we sat, there was a steep decline that ran all the way down towards the road that led to the building. The building itself was situated on a road that ran from east to west, and we had approached from the south. I knew that a little further down the track to the east there was another road that intersected at a cross roads, that ran south and back into the village of Chautillion, where we would hopefully retreat to once all of this was over. The plan once there, was to rest up at Louis’ house, its safety guaranteed once again once Joseph had been dispatched of, and wait until we were able to try and extract ourselves from France once again.

  The cottage sat on the far side of the road, its rear covered by a forest that sprang up about two hundred yards from the house itself. I assumed that the various fields and patches of land that populated this part of the landscape belonged to whoever had owned the cottage, as there were no other buildings for miles around that were habitable, and thus no one else around to claim the land.

  As I stared at the building through the lenses of my binoculars, a headache already raring away like a fireplace in a bitter winter, I took note of the poor condition that it was in. The windows were all still intact, but they looked fragile, even from here, as if a peashooter could take out an entire pane of glass.

  The roof too looked a bit patchy, with various tiles having slid from it completely, while others had only made it about halfway down before becoming wedged on something in its path. Even from up here, it made me think that inside it would be cold and damp, the floorboards not so much creaking anymore, but sighing as they gave way to the heavy boots that thumped over its surface.

  It felt good to be able to get a good look at the building before Robert was due to go in, as somehow, it relaxed me. I couldn’t say the same for Robert who continually shifted around beside me, fidgeting so much that I began to look forward to the time when he left.

  I liked being able to watch someone else enter a building such as this, just so that we knew that someone was in there, but also so that we both could see that Jameson wasn’t suddenly going to be lit up by a machine gun that they had placed in the hallway. Doing things this way meant that we would be able to minimise the chances of that happening anyway.

  I looked at my watch. Twelve-thirty. As I did so I wondered how many others had been sat exactly where I was, simply waiting for the hour when they charged towards the building, dreaming of freedom. I began to ponder how many of them had actually made it home, and how many had found that betrayal and death were two things very much linked in this game that we involuntarily played.

  I wondered how many men Joseph himself had instructed to come here, with the full knowledge that those men would either end up behind bars, or dead.

  “How you doing, Robert?” I asked to the darkness, hoping that I would get a reply other than a sobbing wreck that I was half-expecting.

  I felt sorry for him, this wasn’t what he really should be doing. I should have had someone who knew what war was like, the way that you might have to switch sides for half a second while you deal with a threat, before switching back again without even thinking about it. I needed someone who I knew could handle the pressures of what was about to happen, and not just deal with the stress of what time the next coffee break would be.

  I knew that this wasn’t the place for him, but he had been the only man that I could trust. He was the only one who knew just as much about Geranium as I did, and the only one who seemed like he wanted to get to the bottom of it all.

  “I’m a little bit scared, to tell you the truth Alf.”

  “I know, I know. Once we get going though, you’ll be fine I promise. I’ll be watching you all the way in, if there’s any sign of trouble, you’ll know I’ll be in there as quick as I can.”

  “Thank you, Alfie.”

  He had made no attempt to tell me how scared he truly was when we were preparing for the night ahead, making it plain that he had wanted to see the war out from behind a desk, a position that, as it turned out, he had managed to accomplish a great deal from. He had told me that every minute that he had spent in the offices and corridors of Whitehall, planning and coordinating operations, he had yearned to be out in the field, alongside the men that he was in charge of, to make them know that he was with them in some way.

  But, deep down, he knew he didn’t have the courage, and it was only after my desperate plea to him to join me in France, saying that his grasp on the native tongue would be absolutely fundamental to the success of the operation.

  “Alf,” he suddenly croaked, “how do you deal with it all? You know, the thinking that you could die at any moment. I didn’t have that back in London, even during the air raids I was tucked up safe and sound.”

  I began to wrack my brain to try and find the slightest nugget of information that might sound comforting to him, just to let him know that the more you did it, the more you got used to facing up to the fear of death. The truth was, it never went away, I could still sense it in the pit of my stomach as we perched in the trees. The only thing that you got used to was being able to put the mission objectives first, using them to distract yourself from all the lethargy and thoughts that lurked within.

  I wanted to sound as profound as possible but could only muster a few syllables before I got tongue tied and lost direction over what I said.

  “Erm…I guess you don’t in a way. Deal with it, I mean. You just kind of get used to it, you tell yourself that you’re doing it for a reason. I like to try and picture the looks on the family’s faces when they hear that their son is alive and well. That’s what you need to do. This will let hundreds of boys make it home. Think of them.”

  “Okay…” he muttered, slowly lowering his binoculars to look over at me, but presumably also to stop the headache that was plaguing him also.

  I knew that it wasn’t the comprehensive, step-by-step method that he would liked to have heard, being the kind of person who loved to be able to work things through systematically. I watched him as the cogs began to whir as he slowly came to the realisation that war was anything but a systematic process, and that anything could change within half a second that could throw you off completely.

  He was trying to rewire his brain totally, to retrain his thought processes into something more practical for the situation. But a man like Jameson found that sort of thing difficult, especially when he had become so used to the warmth and comfort of an office.

  I knew that he was trying his best, but it would also probably be the last time that he stepped foot out of the office, this little trip acting as the only confirmation he needed to accept that he wasn’t cut out for this sort of life.

  “So, how much time did you spend in this country before the war?”

  He seemed delighted that I had spoken to him, without being prompted, although the tone in his voice seemed slightly disappointed that I refused to lower my binoculars.

  “Well, most summers really. I would spend the time out here with my cousins, learning the language, trying the food, all that sort of thing really.”

  “Ever go to Paris?”

  “No, we never quite made it that far, we were hoping to go just before I joined the army. But it wasn’t to be.”

  The silence ate away at him more than it did at me, so I endeavoured to continue talking to him as much as I possibly could, running the clock down until the point where he had nothing else to think about apart from running to the building.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Yes…” he said, chuckling, with a genuine happiness that I had not seen him express before. There was something about hi
m, something that he kept hidden about his past that made me think that the happiness that he experienced in his life had been in short supply at some point, and I desperately wanted to know what it was.

  “Her name’s Kitty. We’ve been together for a while now. I want to get married after the war.”

  “That’s nice,” I said, scanning the westerly approach, willing anyone to move from its direction just so that I didn’t have to do the small talk for too much longer.

  “Why wait until after the war?”

  “Well, there’s loads of reasons really. Like not being—”

  We both suddenly spun round, dropping our binoculars with a clatter and bringing our pistols up to our faces. I was glad that I hadn’t been the only one to hear it, somewhere from behind the row of trees that was meant to be keeping watch over us.

  I crouched stock still for a moment, before finally running the risk of scanning the trees behind us for any sign of life, or movement. Jameson did the same.

  “My friend,” called a hushed voice from somewhere within the undergrowth, “it’s me. It is Louis.”

  I liked Louis, he had helped me out greatly in the short time that I had known him, but he had the innate ability to do things wrong, even though he had the greatest of intentions. Just then, as he had snuck up on us through the trees, he had come incredibly close to getting his own brains splattered all over the floor, especially with Jameson, who was becoming increasingly nervous and jumpy as the clock ticked round.

  “Louis…” I sighed, relieved that we had just been given yet another stay of execution. Jameson on the other hand, was not quite as receptive to Louis’ arrival.

  “What on earth did you do that for! I could have killed you!”

  “I am sorry,” Louis said dejectedly, “I was trying to make little noise.”

  “It’s okay, Louis.” I said as he waddled his way over to me. “That’s where I want you to go, just down there, where the forest begins to cover you. You’ll know what the signal is. Have you brought enough men?”

  “Oh yes, Alfie. Yes, I have. I have even brought my son. He is looking forward to it.”

  I nearly launched into a salvo of abuse over the morality of bringing a child into this war, in the way that he was so proud of, but I refrained as we would soon be needing every man, or boy, that we could get our hands on.

  “He wants to come,” he whispered, seeming to sense my disappointment, “plus, he needs the training. He will need to grow up soon enough.”

  I stayed silent, which he seemed to take as an acceptance of his argument, before he began shuffling backwards to take up his position.

  Jameson had already retrieved his binoculars to continue scoping out the building, now with a slight tremble in his hand.

  “Anything?” I queried, picking up my own pair and pulling them up to my eyes.

  “Nothing, yet.”

  I swept my gaze right the way along the length of the road that was within the range of my binoculars, hoping to watch Louis taking up his position, but something else caught my eye.

  It was dark, and so it took me a few seconds of staring before I realised that it was the silhouette of a man, slowly making his way along the farmer’s track. I waited a few seconds more, just to make absolutely sure that this was the man that we were waiting for, and not some random drunk local who was trying to find his way home.

  Without removing the binoculars from my face, I began to relay the information to Jameson, hoping that he would pick up his set and tune them in to the area that I was focused on.

  “I have a possible, Robert. Coming in from the east. Just passing where the field track meets the road, now. Have you got him?”

  I had to wait two or three seconds before I finally got a response.

  “Yep. Got him, Alf.”

  We sat there in silence for a minute or two, just watching the figure as he nervously approached the building, frequently twisting his body round to check who or what was following him. I tried to make out if it was Joseph or not, but I couldn’t quite tell, the shadows that he created throwing me off just enough that his identity remained hidden.

  After about two minutes of just watching the man, he reached the ruined cottage, making his way through the wall, where a gate should have been, before barging into the front door and disappearing inside, throwing the door back into its hole as he did so.

  That was that then. There was no more need for the binoculars for now, at least not for Robert.

  “Right then,” he said, suddenly filled with confidence, “these are for you.” He handed the binoculars to me ceremonially, before rummaging around in his pocket for the pistol and the spare magazines that had been supplied courtesy of our sneaking Frenchman, Louis.

  He couldn’t risk going into the building armed, as he was meant to be a hapless officer on the run, with no contacts to get him out other than Joseph. He needed to go in unarmed, something that would actually more likely keep him alive than end up with him being killed.

  “You sure you’re ready, Robert? After this there is no going back, you know that, don’t you?”

  He stared at me dead in the eye for a few seconds before his face erupted into a smile.

  “I know, Alf. Don’t worry, you’ve taught me a lot already.”

  “See you in a minute, then.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  With that, he turned on his heel, and began to skirt down the valley towards the house. I pulled my binoculars up to my eyes once again, trying my very best to ignore the headache that now threatened to scream down the hill to the figure in the cottage.

  I watched him as he seemed to dance through the shrubbery, avoiding all the rabbit holes that populated this particular bit of the country. As he got closer to the end of the shrubbery, within spitting distance of the road, he disappeared, doing exactly as he was told and lying down on his stomach, until he saw the light flick on in the window.

  As we all waited for the light to flick on, I suddenly felt very alone. Louis was down there somewhere in the darkness, so was Jameson, but I couldn’t help but feel, on the top of that hill, that I was exposed, I was vulnerable, I was, in fact, lonely.

  I realised that over the last few weeks, particularly the prior twenty-four hours, Jameson and I had become incredibly close, so much so that I felt like I had lost a part of myself when he wasn’t next to me anymore.

  I had grown so used to his company that now, in spite of myself and everything that I was telling myself about the mission, I didn’t want him to die.

  14

  We all waited for a few more seconds, each one of us panicking a little more as the seconds ticked by.

  I had packed away the few belongings that I had. The binoculars were now buried in a shallow grave at my feet, the two pistols tucked away in the waistband of my trousers, the spare magazines loosely in my pockets.

  Now all I was waiting for was the signal.

  As soon as I thought for the hundredth time that we had been set up, and the figure must have been the farmer who still lives there somehow, the light in the upstairs window flicked on, and glowed for a second or two.

  No one moved in the time immediately after the lamp coming on, but after a while, something stirred within me, telling me to get down there as quickly as possible.

  Pulling one of the pistols from the leather belt around my waist, I clasped both my hands around it, letting it swing gently around my knees as I half-crouched, half-stumbled down the slope and towards the building.

  I kept my head down as much as possible, trying to spot the roots that would trip me over and the rabbit holes that would gobble me up and send the whole operation into a tailspin. Every now and then, I risked looking up, just double checking to make sure that there wasn’t a platoon from the Wehrmacht waiting at the bottom of the hill, all rifles waving and menacing fingers around triggers.

  As I weaved my way down the hill, I hoped that Jameson was doing what he was meant to be doing, running towards the buil
ding to meet up with the figure. I had sudden and very realistic hallucinations that he had somehow knocked himself out on the way down the hill and had missed the signal, or that he had simply fallen asleep out of all the unfamiliar exhaustion that he was putting his body through.

  I tried to put it all from my mind, deciding that there was no way that I would know until I made it to the bottom of the hill myself, whereupon I would sort out the situation as best as I could if it came to it. It never did anyone any harm by running through every single eventuality of a scenario, shortly before becoming engaged in it oneself.

  However, as it was slowing me up somewhat, distracting me from picking out the rabbit warrens and brambles, I decided it was for the best to forget about it for now. The only thing that I could focus on was staying on my feet.

  I wondered if Louis had been able to see the two of us, dancing our way down the hill, arms flailing and waving in an attempt to keep our balance. If he could see me, then I assumed he was having a jolly good laugh at me, as I looked like a new born calf that was struggling to find its feet.

  I looked up and to my left, hoping that I would catch a glimpse of him beaming in the woodland, but I could see nothing, which, in some ways was good, I just longed to have some way of confirming that he was in the right position.

  Feeling very pleased with myself and what I had accomplished, I threw myself down into the ground, hard, landing nicely into a thicket of brambles and weeds. The brambles began to pinch at my skin, and hook itself onto my clothes, which I would simply have to ignore if I was to succeed. There was no point in wriggling around trying to pull out one bramble from your arm, only for one to pierce your buttock, especially because the amount of noise you could generate would be enough to alert the whole village to your whereabouts.

  This was all about remaining unseen until the vital moment, which meant taking a little bit of a scratch from the brambles in order to make sure I stayed under cover.