Audley, as though the lieutenant's newly found fluency surprised him more than what he'd actually said.
Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
'Hey?'
'Here he comes!' cried Grafenberg.
Butler saw a black dot framed between the trees on the skyline—a dot which grew and sprouted wings as he watched it.
Winston and Audley both simultaneously grabbed at the steering wheel, the American from behind and Audley from the right. The car lurched to the right, tyres screaming. A tree flashed in front of them and then the car left the road with a tremendous grinding crash. Butler was thrown upwards and sideways—
he bounced off the canvas roof and came down partly on top of the German, who cried out in pain. The car crashed down again. The door beside Butler burst open and the side-screen fell away just as he was bracing himself for the next neck-breaking bounce—this time he hit the canvas less hard but descended agonisingly onto his Sten. Sound and pain were indistinguishable for a second, and then both were overtaken by a terrifying vision of corn- stubble rushing up and past his face. But just as it was about to hit him his webbing straps tightened against his shoulders and he was jerked backwards into the car again. The door bounced back and hammered him into the car, filling his head with exploding stars and deafening noise.
Suddenly he was conscious that the sound had been outside him—it was receding—
He clawed himself upright.
Winston and Audley and the Frenchman Pierrot were still fighting for the wheel, all shouting at each other at the same time.
They were in the cornfield alongside the road, bright sunlight all around them. And they were also still moving, although there was now something desperately wrong with the car—a juddering, grinding underneath them.
'Back under the trees!' shouted Grafenberg gutturally, his English accent breaking down. 'Under zerr trrees!'
This time there seemed to be a measure of agreement among the contestants, and the car swung back towards the line of trees beside the road. But the flash of comfort this brought to Butler's confused mind was instantly blotted out by the sound of the reason for it—the same sound he had heard as the German had screamed
Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
He saw the RSM's face:
The hornet sound of the approaching Mustang dissolved the RSM's face. It wasn't fair, he decided angrily. It wasn't fair that it should have been him. And it wasn't fair that they should be here. And it wasn't fair that their own planes should attack them.
There was a bright orange flash ahead of them—
The car was moving so slowly—
The flash blossomed, and to his horror he saw the Kubel lying on its side in the road, burning fiercely.
'Turn the goddamn wheel!' shouted Winston. 'She won't take the ditch again—'
The staff car swung sharply to the right again, parallel to the road, but still in the field and just under the canopy of branches. As it did so there was a sharp, hammering noise and the road burst into dust and sparks alongside them. The Frenchman wrenched the wheel instinctively away from the road.
'Stop the car!' commanded Grafenberg.
'There's a copse up ahead.' Audley pointed.
'We would not get to it in time,' snapped Grafenberg. 'If we stop he may think he has hit us—if we go on then he knows we are still alive. So we go behind the trees on the other side of the road, then there is a chance. Believe me—I
'Right—everyone out—on the double!' said Audley.
Butler threw himself out of the car. He was halfway across the road before he realised he had left his Sten behind and that he didn't give a damn. Anything—any humiliation—was better than being a helpless target.
'Do not move—and do not look up,' Grafenberg shouted. 'Whatever you do—do not look up!'
Butler hugged the ground in the shadow under his tree, listening to the high drone of engines above him.
The earth was dry and powdery between the patches of dead grass below his face; as he stared at it a droplet of moisture fell from him into the powder. He didn't know whether it was blood or sweat, or maybe even a tear of fright. His eyes felt wet, so it probably was a tear, he decided. He couldn't remember when he'd last cried, but it had been a long time ago, and it would certainly have been with pain, not fear as it was now. He hadn't cried with fear since he'd had nightmares as a kid.
Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage
He lowered his face slowly down until he was able to wipe it on his battle-dress cuff. The cuff was greasy with sweat at the edge, and there was a darker stain on it which was probably blood from his ear.
Now it had tears as well, then—but that was no more than Mr. Churchill had promised everyone years ago: blood, sweat, and tears. And that was rather clever, remembering those words, even though he'd never be able to bring himself to tell anyone how he'd remembered them just after his own side had tried to kill him. And that was the third time in one day—Was it really only one day?
'Okay, Butler?' said Audley.
Butler rose to his feet quickly to prove to Audley that he wasn't in the least frightened. 'Sir!'
Audley was standing in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips. Butler had the very distinct
