Hetty's Secret War

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’ she whispered as the motorbikes went whizzing by without seeming to notice the ordure on the road. He shook his head, giving her a grin of bravado. ‘Remember, the first three cars to go through, then detonate when the first lorry is going over the explosives.’

  Ben nodded but didn’t answer, his tongue moving over his bottom lip in a nervous gesture.

  Hetty counted the cars: one, two, three, and then the first of the lorries, which was the one carrying the ammunition, according to Stefan. She made a gesture to Ben as the lorry approached. He had the handle raised, poised to plunge it, but she could see his hand was shaking. The lorry was in exactly the right spot.

  ‘Now,’ she hissed, but looking at Ben she saw that he had frozen. He couldn’t bring himself to press the plunger down. She acted swiftly; rolling over the ground between them, Hetty placed her hands over his and forced them down. The explosion went off but caught only the tail end of the lorry, which was enough to send it skewing off the road to end drunkenly in a ditch, and to ignite a fire in the rear compartment, but it didn’t explode. ‘Damn! Come on, we attack now!’ she yelled at the others waiting in the darkness behind her.

  Soldiers were jumping out of the back of the lorry. It had been carrying men not ammunition. Stefan had got that part of his information wrong! Hetty registered the fact as she started firing at the soldiers below. Some of them in the truck they’d hit were staggering about as if blinded by smoke or shock, but some of them were already firing in their direction. She aimed her fire at a group of them and saw one of them stagger away with a wound in his chest. She kept on firing until she had to stop and reload her rifle.

  The other trucks had screeched to a halt and more men were pouring out, rushing to the defence of their colleagues. It looked as if there was a whole division of them!

  In the midst of the fierce gun battle that ensued, Hetty knew that they had no chance of winning this fight. All they could do was to hold the Germans back for a while and hope it gave Stefan time to get his quarry away. She could hear firing coming from the front end of the convoy and the German soldiers had heard it too. There was shouting, running and she saw that some of them were diverting to the front of the convoy.

  Most of the soldiers had begun to recover from their first blind panic and were trying to trace the source of the gunfire. They were settling down now, shouting orders instead of running around like headless chickens. One of them had brought up a small truck, and doing a neat turn in the centre of the road, he swung the back round to face in their direction and then someone opened up with a rapid-fire machine gun.

  ‘We’d better get out of here,’ Hetty said to Louis. ‘Tell the men to fire and run, and disperse into the woods. Split up because they’re not going to leave that convoy for long in case it’s a trick. Get going, one or two at a time.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll follow in a minute,’ Hetty told him. She was waiting for a signal, and seeing the flare burst over the heads of the startled soldiers below, she smiled. It meant that Stefan had got what he wanted – and had the added bonus of making the Germans wonder if they were about to be attacked from the air. She saw several of them looking up and knew that this was her moment. ‘Come on, Ben, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Not sure I can,’ Ben’s muffled voice answered her. ‘You’d better go. Give me your gun and I’ll cover you.’

  ‘What’s wrong? You’ve got to move, Ben. In a moment they’ll come looking for us.’

  ‘I’ve been hit,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’ she demanded, moving towards him anxiously. He looked very pale and there was blood on his sleeve. ‘It’s just a flesh wound. You’ll be all right. Come on, I’ll help you.’

  He was kneeling on the ground and when she went to haul him to his feet, she saw that there was more blood oozing from a wound to his side. He groaned as she put his arm around her shoulder, lifting him so that she was taking his weight.

  ‘You’ve got to try,’ she muttered fiercely. ‘I can’t manage you unless you try. I know it’s bloody painful, but if I leave you here you’re dead.’

  Ben muttered something, but she knew he was putting effort into helping her, and they began to walk as quickly as he could manage into the trees. They were moving so slowly that Hetty knew they were vulnerable.

  ‘Leave me and go on,’ Ben gasped. ‘I’m holding you back, Hetty. I don’t want you to die for me – for my foolishness. I let you down…’

  ‘It wasn’t just you,’ Hetty muttered furiously. He was right, of course, but he was her brother and she couldn’t abandon him, couldn’t let him take all the blame himself. ‘Stefan is always so bloody sure he’s right and he got it wrong. There was no ammunition in that truck, just men. If it had blown as it ought – even with the timing being late – we would have had them at our mercy.’

  ‘Maybe I got it wrong,’ Ben muttered and stifled a groan. ‘I gave him the information. It came through HQ. It wasn’t Stefan’s fault. You mustn’t blame him for this.’

  Hetty cursed but made no further comment. It was taking all her strength to support Ben. She didn’t know these woods as well as those surrounding the chateau, but if they could just evade the Germans they might find somewhere to hide for a while.

  The sounds of firing were easing behind them. She knew that she and Ben had been the last to leave the scene of the attack. The Germans must be taking stock, deciding whether or not to come after them. She heard shouting, as if someone had taken charge and was ordering the men to regroup. If they had realised their precious General was missing, they might decide to go looking for him rather than scour the woods for her and her men.

  They must realise by now that it had been a two-pronged attack, and they would be wondering what to do next. Hetty thought about what she would do in their shoes, and decided she would probably split her forces. Some of them would go in pursuit of the captured General, others stay with the convoy, and a small party would be sent out to look for her and her men.

  A small party wouldn’t be able to search woods like these thoroughly at night, which meant she might be safe for a few hours. In the morning they would probably come back with more men to look for her – or simply to take revenge on anyone they could find who might know something.

  That was the bit that always played havoc with Hetty’s conscience. She had brushed it aside when Ben challenged her on it, but of course she felt it when innocent women, children and old men were taken out and shot as a reprisal. She knew Stefan felt it too, but it didn’t stop him doing what he had to do, and it wouldn’t stop her either.

  Ben was getting heavier all the time, the effort required to nurse him along becoming more of a strain. She felt him stumble and knew she wasn’t going to get him much further; he was nearly out on his feet. He hadn’t complained much, but she knew how he must be suffering. She’d seen others with wounds like his and she knew they would be lucky to pull him through this thing, but she was determined not to abandon him.

  ‘Don’t give up on me, Ben,’ she pleaded. ‘We’ll stop soon, I promise.’

  ‘Can’t…’ Ben muttered and suddenly sagged. She couldn’t hold him as he fell and had to let him go. ‘Sorry…’

  Hetty looked about her. A light drizzle had just started to fall. She didn’t fancy being out all night in this, especially if it got worse, and it wouldn’t do Ben any good. Oh, damn! What was she going to do now? She’d told Louis and the others to disperse and go home. They wouldn’t start to worry about her for some hours – and by then it might be too late.

  She decided to leave Ben where he was for the moment and have a look a bit further on, see what was beyond the clearing. She bent over him, giving him a little shake to make him aware of her. ‘I’m leaving you but only for a few minutes. I want to see if there’s anywhere that we can shelter.’

  ‘Leave me here – go home.’

  ‘Don’t be a damned fool, Ben. I’m not leaving you. But we need somewh
ere to shelter or someone to fetch help.’

  He didn’t answer and she left him lying there. She could see something half hidden in a clump of overgrown bushes just beyond the clearing. If it was what she hoped, she might have found somewhere to rest for a while at least.

  *

  It was better in the hut. She’d been lucky to find it, but she knew there were a lot of huts like this one in the woods: used by charcoal burners and woodsmen, they were deserted for much of the time, many left to rot when their purpose was done.

  This one looked as if it might still be in use at times. There was evidence that it was kept in reasonable repair and a pile of sacking in one corner, which had made a bit of a bed for Ben.

  She’d had a terrible time getting him in here. He’d been barely conscious and she’d decided to tie him round the waist with a bit of rope she’d found in the hut and fasten the other end about her own waist. And then she’d dragged him, bit by bit over the damp ground. By the time she got him there, she was thankful that he’d passed out.

  He was moaning now, though, seeming to be in a fever. She wished she had something to give him, if only a little water, but she didn’t even have a cup or tin can to catch some of the rain, which was sheeting down now. She thought it might help them. The Germans would probably decide to abandon the search and return in the morning. And that was Hetty’s dilemma. Did she leave Ben here and go to get help or wait and hope that someone came looking? The trouble was that someone might just be the Germans.

  ‘Georgie… sorry…’ Ben was mumbling something now. Hetty knelt down on the earthen floor, bending over him to stroke his forehead. ‘I wanted you… loved you… but it was no good… no good…’

  ‘It’s all right, Ben dearest,’ Hetty whispered, her throat tight with emotion. She and Ben hadn’t seen each other much for years until recently, but she’d always cared about him and it was tearing her apart to know there was so little she could do. ‘I’m going to get help.’

  ‘No…’ His fingers curled about her wrist and his eyes were open, staring at her. ‘You have to tell her – tell her I loved her. I always loved her. I’m sorry I let her down again. I meant us to be together this time. I was going to tell Helen…’

  ‘Yes, I’ll tell her,’ Hetty whispered, the tears burning behind her eyes as she struggled to stop them falling. This was tearing her apart because she felt so helpless. ‘Who do you mean, Ben?’

  ‘Georgie…’

  ‘Georgie Bridges?’ Hetty was surprised. She’d never suspected anything between them. Perhaps Annabel knew more, but she’d never mentioned it. ‘But you’ll get better. You’ll tell her yourself.’ Ben’s eyes were closed. His colour wasn’t good. Hetty knew the rough bandage she’d made was leaking; he was still bleeding. ‘I’m going to get help…’

  She got to her feet and then froze as she heard the sounds outside the hut. Someone was there! It must be a part of the German patrol looking for them. She snatched up her gun and turned to face the door as it opened. She would take a few of them with her before she died!

  ‘You can put that damned thing down, Hetty,’ Stefan’s voice said and she felt faint with relief. ‘What the hell did you think you were up to? You left a trail a mile wide to this place.’

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ she said too weary and anxious to argue. ‘Ben couldn’t walk. I had to drag him the last part. He’s unconscious and failing. I was about to go for help.’

  ‘Just as well I came looking for you then, isn’t it?’ Stefan said. He handed her his gun as he went to kneel at Ben’s side. After a brief examination he looked up at her. ‘I’m not hopeful, but we’ll take him to my place and see what we can do. I’ll take him over my shoulder, Hetty. It isn’t that far to the farm. You were heading in the right direction. Another twenty minutes and you might have found it.’

  ‘I couldn’t have got him that far.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you could,’ he said. ‘You messed up this time, Hetty. We got our target away but too many of our people were killed.’

  ‘And you blame me for that?’ She glared at him. ‘You said that bloody truck was carrying explosives. Besides…’ She glanced at Ben and decided to keep her denial to herself. ‘It isn’t important now. I’m sorry if some of your people got killed, mine did too.’

  Stefan raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, merely bending to take Ben up in his arms and lift him onto his shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of here before they come looking. If I could find you so can they.’

  *

  Hetty was sitting by her brother’s bed watching his tortured breathing when Stefan entered the low-ceilinged room. It was typical of a French farmhouse in that the furniture was old, heavy and rather ugly, but the bedding was pristine white and smelled of lavender. Fires and the dirt of centuries had blackened the beams, but the white-painted walls were immaculate.

  She turned to look at Stefan as he lounged against the door arch, his eyes intent on her.

  ‘Any change?’ he asked.

  ‘Not since the doctor gave him something to make him sleep. He hasn’t made a murmur.’ She caught back a sob as she saw how pale Ben was, his breathing shallow and uneven. ‘The doctor didn’t hold out much hope, did he?’

  ‘He might stand a chance if he was in hospital in England, but if he was taken in here the Germans would whisk him off before you could blink and he wouldn’t survive more than a few hours.’

  ‘He doesn’t stand much chance now, does he?’ She heard the bitterness in her own voice, felt the pain deep inside her. It was such a stupid waste. Ben had never been meant for this kind of thing. He was gentle, generous and sweet, but he had baulked at spilling blood and now he was paying the price for his hesitation.

  ‘No – but at least he can die in peace here. He won’t be tortured for the names of his companions.’

  ‘You selfish pig,’ Hetty said, eyes stinging with tears. There was a tearing pain inside her, a burning need to lash out at someone – and he had broad shoulders. He could take it. ‘That’s all you care about really, isn’t it? Your precious resistance, protecting your men and your work. You don’t give a damn that my brother is dying. They threw him in at the deep end before he could swim and now he’s paying the price.’

  ‘He brought valuable information with him.’ Stefan’s expression was unreadable as he looked at her. ‘You blame me for that? Don’t you think he was old enough to know what he was doing? If he wasn’t up to it, Hetty, he should have stayed behind at the chateau and waited. I offered him that choice, but he turned me down, said there was a first time for everyone.’

  Ben had said more or less the same thing to her, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

  ‘I hate you,’ she said. ‘You’re made of ice – no feelings at all.’

  ‘Is that so? Perhaps one day I’ll show you how wrong you are, Hetty.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Stefan raised his eyebrows and then smiled oddly but went out without enlarging on his comment.

  Hetty grabbed a spare pillow from beside the bed and threw it at him as he closed the door. He was too damned sure of himself and she wanted to hit him, she wanted to hit him so hard that he would know how it felt to hurt as she did. And yet even in her distress she knew that she was being unfair. This farm had belonged to his grandmother, coming to her through her own father, and she had left it to Stefan. Nothing had been changed as far as she could see. The old people’s clothes were still in the closets. It was true there was a war on and Stefan hadn’t had much time to make changes, but she thought he’d kept it the way it was for a reason.

  Not that many changes were necessary in her opinion. The plumbing could do with being brought into the twentieth century, of course, and perhaps some of the furniture was a bit too ugly, but otherwise it was a beautiful house. The kind of house she had dreamed of living in when she was a girl – a house with roses growing up the walls, a husband, and several children playing in the garden.
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  She’d imagined her house in England in those days, but her dreams had changed when she fell in love with a charming Frenchman. These days she had no dreams left, only a hope that France would soon be free of the invader.

  ‘Hetty…’ the faint whisper caught her attention. She got up and went closer to the bed, bending over her brother. ‘Water…’

  ‘Yes, of course, just a little at a time.’ She fetched water from the pitcher on the old-fashioned washstand, slipping her arm beneath his shoulders to lift him so that he could drink. He took two sips and then fell back, his eyes closing. ‘You should sleep. You will be better soon.’

  ‘Don’t lie, Hetty. You were never very good at it.’

  ‘Don’t talk, rest.’

  ‘Not much time left,’ he said, his breath rasping harshly. ‘Mother and Helen are all right, and the children. Don’t need to worry about them, but there’s something for you and for her… but it’s secret. Helen shouldn’t know… might try to stop it. You’ll find it… key in my desk at the apartment… something I want her to have…’

  ‘You mean Georgie?’ Hetty looked down at him, seeing the exhaustion, how much it was costing him to talk. His brow was beaded with sweat and he was finding it difficult to breathe. As she watched, a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. ‘Should have married her… loved her all the time.’

  ‘Yes, you told me you’d made a mistake, but you didn’t say…’

  Ben made a horrible gurgling sound, his eyes rolled upwards and then his breath just seemed to run out. One minute he was looking at her, trying to tell her something and then he was gone. Just like that. It was so sudden, so final, she could hardly believe it and she gave a little sob of despair, flinging herself on his body as the sobs broke from her.

  ‘No, Ben… Oh, Ben, don’t go… don’t leave me. I need you, Ben. You always cared about me even when you thought I was wrong.’

  ‘Don’t cry, chérie,’ Stefan’s voice offered comfort in the midst of her grief. She felt his strong arms surround her, his body hard against hers, holding her as she sobbed. And then she was turning in his arms, clasped to him in an embrace of passion that had sprung from nowhere. ‘Yes, that’s what he would want. Ben would want you to live and love, my darling. He was a man of passion himself, though perhaps he was afraid of giving it rein – but you’re not like that; you’ve never held back, have you, Hetty?’