by Terry Deary
‘What if he gets lost?’ Aimee asked.
‘There’s a map in the backpack.’
‘The roads are full of troops and tanks. He’d be better off going along the drovers’ road,’ Colette said. ‘We walk it every year when we take the cattle to Peronne.’
Aimee shook her head. ‘I went that way the other day. The road is ruined with the war. If I didn’t know the route I’d never have been able to follow the old trail.’
‘But you could still find your way to Peronne along it, could you, Aimee?’ Captain Ellis asked.
‘Of course,’ Aimee said.
The officer turned to Colette. ‘Would you mind if Aimee went with the boy? To guide him? Only as far as Peronne?’
Mrs Fletcher took a deep breath and blew out her cheeks. ‘Of course I would mind... but it sounds like it’s the only way he’ll get back. Marius has helped us. We owe it to him. And it’ll keep Aimee out of the way of Silver Hand’s revenge for a while.’
Captain Ellis gave a weary smile. That was one less thing for him to worry about. ‘I have everything you need here,’ he said patting the backpack. ‘Maps, compass, good waterproof capes for the rain, a sheet to make a tent at night, matches and a water bottle... and the letter, of course.’ He put the bag on the floor by his left foot.
‘How will you get back, Aimee?’ Marius asked when the girl told him the plan.
Aimee smiled. ‘The White Lady members will look after me,’ she told him.
Colette nodded. ‘That’s how I know you’ll be safe.’ She pointed at a spot on the map. ‘There is the village of Cléry. The priest there, Father Gaulle, is one of us. He will see you safely home.’
Aimee smiled. ‘It will be an adventure, Marius,’ she said.
He gave a feeble nod.
Captain Ellis stood up and said, ‘I have to go now. I may not see you again, Marius. Good luck.’ They shook hands and the captain made for the door. ‘You have two backpacks,’ Aimee reminded him and picked up the one that had been by his left foot. She handed it to him.
‘Thanks, Aimee. This one is a little trap for your friend Silver Hand. It’s plans and a report on the weakness of the Whippet tank – exactly what he wants. I’m going to ask him to deliver it to Amiens.’
‘Why?’ Aimee gasped.
‘He won’t go to Amiens. He’ll take it to his friend Benedict and they will give it to some contact on the German side. Once he’s handed it over, and been paid, we’ll arrest them both.’
‘It’s still a risk,’ Colette said.
The officer shrugged. ‘I’ve got a good man following him secretly, don’t worry. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing.’
26 August 1918: The school, Bray
General Bruce stroked his moustache furiously. ‘I’d like to shoot Sergeant Grimm myself,’ he growled.
Captain Ellis stood calmly by the desk in the general’s office. ‘If we arrest Grimm then Benedict will just find someone else to steal our secrets. We need Grimm to lead us to Benedict.’
The general sighed. ‘Very well, send Silver Hand in.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The captain walked across the floor of the old school hall. He called through the door to the man with the silver hand. ‘The general wants to see you in his office at once, Sergeant Grimm.’
‘Yes, sir. Why, sir?’
‘Important job.’
They marched in step to the general’s office and found him sitting behind a desk. On the desk was the backpack that Captain Ellis had brought from the farm. Sergeant Grimm saluted smartly and stood stiffly with his eyes fixed on a map of the world on the wall, left over from when it had been a school.
‘Stand easy, Grimm,’ the general said. The sergeant’s shoulders drooped but he was still rigid and his eyes narrow with fear. ‘Now, I have an important task for you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In this backpack you have a top-secret document,’ he said jabbing a finger at the front pocket. ‘It’s so secret we can’t risk sending it in the usual mail. It has to be taken by hand to Amiens so we can send it back to Britain. There, it will go to the prime minister.’
‘May I ask what the secret is, sir?’
‘Then it wouldn’t be a secret any longer,’ the general barked.
Captain Ellis said softly, ‘Excuse me, General, but we agreed Sergeant Grimm is the man we trust more than anyone in the British army. If we can’t rely on him to deliver a secret to the right place then who can we rely on?’
The general glared at the captain under his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘Very well, Captain. I agree Grimm is our top man.’ He looked at the sergeant. ‘It’s about our Whippet tanks. They have a weakness. If the Germans find out before the factories back home put it right... well, the war would grind to a halt. We have to get this message to them as soon as possible. We can’t risk a phone or radio call.’
Silver Hand’s throat went tight as a turkey’s and his voice came out as a strange croaking squawk. ‘The Whippet tank, sir. Wonderful machines. They’re winning the war for the British.’
‘For who?’
‘The Brit— I mean, for us, sir.’
‘There are supplies in the backpack for your journey – food and a rain cape. Go to the mayor’s old house in Amiens. Major Green there will give you all the travel documents you need to take the report back to London.’
‘You want me to go back to London?’ Grimm whispered.
‘Of course. Is that a problem?’
‘No, sir. My work here...’
‘We have another sergeant ready to take over. This is urgent, man.’
‘Have I time to make a phone call before I go?’
There was a glint like a steel bayonet in the eye of the general. ‘Use my phone.’
‘The number I need is in my office,’ Silver Hand said.
‘Go on, then. Be quick. Take this backpack. Never let it out of your sight. There is a train leaving the railhead heading west to Amiens at noon. Be on it.’
‘Sir,’ Grimm said. He snapped a salute then reached for the backpack. He picked it up as if it were as delicate as an egg. A golden egg.
When he’d gone Captain Ellis said, ‘He’s gone to phone his friend Benedict with the good news.’
‘What are the chances of his worthless package reaching Amiens?’ the general asked.
‘About the same as my chances of stopping a Whippet tank with my left foot, sir. He’ll be off east and to Benedict as soon as he leaves this office. We have a man ready to follow him.’
General Bruce patted the pistol on his belt. ‘I’d still like to shoot him,’ he sighed.
26 August 1918: The school, Bray
The phone bell jangled and was answered. Sergeant Grimm spoke quickly in German in a low voice. ‘Benedict? I have it. Secret information about the Whippet tank.’
‘How?’
Silver Hand explained how they had been given to him by the general and he’d been told to deliver them to London.
‘Fool,’ Benedict said.
‘Yes, the general is a fool.’
‘Not the general. You.’
‘But...’
‘They have set you up. It’s all too neat. Who knew you were looking for the Whippet plans?’
‘Only the German soldier boy and he’s dead. I saw him shot.’
‘Then he must have told someone before he died.’
‘Probably the farm girl. I wish I’d killed her when I had the chance.’
‘It doesn’t matter how they found out. The British knew you were looking for Whippet plans and so they handed them to you. They want you to run like a fox so they can set the hounds to catch us both.’
‘I have the plans here...’ Sergeant Grimm said. He patted the backpack as if his friend could see it.
‘They will be phony plans. You still have that key to the general’s safe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then use it to get the real plans. You’ll see they’re different. The ones in your hand are fak
e.’
‘I’ll call you back.’
Sergeant Grimm tiptoed into the school hall as quietly as army boots would allow. The other clerks were busy with messages and calls. The general had left to meet a French commander. Grimm slipped into the office, opened the safe and flicked through files till he came to ‘Tanks’ and ‘Whippet’. ‘Now who’s the fool?’ Grimm muttered to himself. ‘You didn’t think I’d check, did you, General?’
He slid the papers inside his tunic jacket then hurried back to his own office and picked up the phone. ‘I have them. Plans for the Whippet from the safe. And a note on its weakness.’
‘Compare them to the ones they gave you.’
Grimm put his hand inside the bag. ‘There are no plans here. Just maps and food. Ellis must have given me the wrong backpack.’ He reached into the front pocket and read the paper inside it. His mouth went dry. ‘Wait a moment, Benedict.’ He read through the letter a second time, just to be sure. He whistled.
‘Do you have the real plans, Grimm?’ Benedict asked.
‘I do. And I have something even better. It’s a pass signed by the general. It says that no one may stop or question the person carrying it. Do you know what this means?’
‘Yes. You have the real plans... and no one can stop you bringing them to me. Leave now before they know you’re gone. You’ll be with me in a couple of days.’
‘I want to deal with the girl before I leave,’ Grimm growled.
‘You don’t have time,’ Benedict shouted. ‘If they tried to feed you fake secrets they must know you’re a traitor. You need to get away fast. Remember, you may still be followed.’
‘Calm down. I have this pass. I can go where no one can follow me. And I can get there as quick as the wind. I may even see you later today.’
Chapter Five
‘Life is nothing without friendship’
26 August 1918: The Fletcher farmhouse, Bray
Aimee and Marius had eaten well. Their breakfast had been mounds of scrambled eggs from the farm’s own hens on fresh bread, all made by Colette Fletcher.
Aimee’s mother added more bread and cheese to the backpack that Captain Ellis had left them. ‘Let me see this pass he’s given you,’ she said and pulled an envelope from the front pocket.
Aimee and Marius looked on as she pulled sheets of paper from a large brown envelope. She shook her head. ‘Plans for a Whippet tank... and a note about how it can be stopped by the enemy... using flame-throwers.’
‘And the pass?’
‘There isn’t one,’ Mrs Fletcher said with a shrug. ‘He must have forgotten to put it in... or he’s given you the wrong pack.’
‘Should we ask for another?’ Aimee said.
‘There’s no time. You’ll have to travel slowly till Marius gets his strength. The sooner you set off the sooner he’ll be home. The pass may have helped... but no one is going to stop and question two French peasants. You look harmless.’
Marius smiled weakly. ‘I feel harmless.’
‘I’ve put some some money in the pack, and Captain Ellis’s map. But you’ll not need that. Aimee knows the way. Just stay off the main roads.’
Colette found her eyes filling with tears. She turned away and shook her head. ‘Now go. Go quickly.’
Aimee picked up the backpack and walked to the door. Mrs Fletcher turned back. ‘And Marius...’
‘Yes?’
‘When you get home promise me you won’t join the army. The first enemy you shoot at could be Aimee’s father.’
The boy nodded. ‘I won’t fight again. When they know my true age they won’t let me fight. The war will be over next year, everyone says.’
‘Good luck.’
Marius stood as straight as his aching body would allow and gave a sharp bow of the head. Then he followed Aimee into the cloudy day where slate clouds promised rain.
They reached the edge of the woods to the east of Bray and looked back. Mrs Fletcher waved and went back inside the farmhouse.
‘We’re on our own,’ Aimee said. ‘Let’s get you home.’
Their pace was slow that afternoon. The rutted path was hard to walk on and Marius needed to rest every kilometre. By noon, as he grew more tired, it was every few hundred metres.
The track through the woods was full of shell-holes; the woodsmen’s cottages had been destroyed. At every turn they met with sorry ruins, nothing but ruins.
The River Somme sat like a muddy, abandoned ribbon in the valley below them to their right. The roads along its banks were filled with motor-lorries and carts pulled by weary horses. They all struggled across the potholes left by years of battles. Men tried to keep the ruts repaired with gravel but the traffic soon gouged great grooves again.
The woods were little more than splintered trees. An orchard had escaped the shells but the enemy had flattened it as they fled east so the British could not enjoy the late summer fruits.
The young travellers rested and looked from their high ridge across the broken land. The fields were littered with cemeteries and old trenches, shattered villages and deserted concrete shelters that the Germans had left a week before.
A raging storm of fire and steel had passed over the land and left a grey-green-brown patchwork desert.
All the farm animals had gone and rats made the trenches their homes. The girl and boy hadn’t spoken much but now the light was fading. ‘I’d thought we could shelter in one of the dugouts... but they don’t look very healthy,’ Aimee said.
They’d reached the line where the British had been a few months ago, before the Germans drove them west. Aimee climbed down a rotting wooden ladder to the floor of a trench. Mouldering boards covered the dark green stinking slime of the mud at the bottom. A light rain began to fall and turned the planks slippery.
Aimee helped Marius down the ladder and a rung snapped. He fell backwards and lay numb for a minute. He was breathing heavily. Then he struggled to his feet, where he swayed, giddy and sick.
‘We can’t go on much more today,’ said Aimee. ‘Let’s see if there’s a dry dugout we can rest in.’
The dugouts were cut into the sides of the trenches and smelled even worse than the trenches. They were overgrown with purple weeds. Aimee pulled a gas-curtain aside and ducked into the darkness. ‘Pass me the matches,’ she said to Marius. He found them in the pack and lit a candle inside a lantern.
The amber light showed a rough table with papers still scattered over it. The British had left in a hurry.
The earth floor was damp but there were bunk beds made of solid timber and steel plate raised up and dry. They had once had blankets but the rats had chewed them to shreds. A soldier had left a magazine and Aimee read a scrap of a poem. It was one of the comical newspapers that the British wrote themselves.
Aimee frowned as she read it. ‘What is it?’ Marius asked.
It’s a poem,’ she said. ‘A poem called “The Little Soldiers of the Night”.’
‘Soldiers of the night?’
‘It’s not about soldiers... it’s about the lice that crawl over their bodies... you see?’
‘No.’
‘I think it’s meant to be funny...’
She read it and tried to explain to Marius what it said.
‘The Little Soldiers of the Night
Though some hundreds you may kill,
You’ll find there’s hundreds still,
For they hide beneath each other
And are smart at taking cover;
Then you have an awful bite,
They’ve a shocking appetite.
There are families in dozens,
Uncles, mothers, sisters, cousins,
And they have their married quarters
Where they rear their sons and daughters;
And they take a lot of catching,
Cause an awful lot of scratching.’
‘I’ll take the top bunk,’ Aimee said. ‘I’m not sure you have the strength to climb up.’
Marius smiled a pale
smile and agreed. He placed the oiled rain cape from the pack on top of the damp mattress. The stale air was warm enough so he needed none of the ragged blankets. The dugout smelled of tobacco and rats. He fell asleep moments later.
Aimee lay awake longer, listening to the squeakings and scurryings of creatures that were invisible in the shadows. Marius snored softly. Outside an owl hooted, so she knew that night had fallen. ‘Best of luck catching the mice tonight,’ she whispered to the owl.
Minutes later she was asleep too.
At the edge of the woods a watcher stood and looked down the hill to the trench where Aimee and Marius had settled for the night. His long black cloak reached below his knees. He took an oilskin from his pack and spread it over some branches to make a simple tent. He lowered himself carefully to the ground. He wrapped his cloak around him and lay there, listening to the rain beating against the roof of his tent.
26 August 1918: The Fletcher farm
Hours before Aimee fell asleep Sergeant Grimm had marched up the path to the Fletcher farm to seek her out. He glanced over his shoulder as if he expected to be followed. He knocked on the farmhouse door and entered before Mrs Fletcher said, ‘Come in.’ She was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes. The schoolmaster, Master DuPont, sat opposite her. He watched Silver Hand with wary eyes and a forced smile.
‘Where’s the girl? Little Aimee, isn’t it?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Gone to Amiens,’ the teacher said quietly. ‘She should have gone back in March when the Germans arrived. Now our town is ruined it’s not safe. The Germans could be back at any minute... or they could send bomber planes to hit the railhead.’
Grimm nodded. ‘Yes, they’ll be back,’ he said. ‘Sorry to have missed her.’
‘Why did you want to see her?’
‘Ah... to see if she wanted another ride in the balloon... she seemed to enjoy it last time.’
Master DuPont coughed gently. ‘Ahem. An enemy plane nearly blew her out of the sky,’ the teacher reminded him.
‘Yes... yes... and that spoiled it for her. But the Royal Air Force is stronger now. Since they killed the great Red Baron we hardly see any German planes over the Somme.’