The '44 Vintage

with any of your buddies? The Fuhrer's word—or our word, hey?' He stopped rubbing his thigh and pointed his finger at Audley. 'Right, Lieutenant?'

'Yes . . . well, broadly speaking . . .' Audley watched the German, '. . . right.'

For a moment the young German said nothing. Then he squared his shoulders defiantly. 'If that is what you think, Lieutenant—' he began reproachfully.

'No.' Audley cut him off. 'It isn't as simple as that. I was quite prepared—damn it, perfectly prepared—

to take your word for us. But if we go on now to ... where we're going . . . then other people could be involved. And I don't have the right to risk them—not on your word, or my word, or anyone's word.'

Chateau Le Chais d'Auray, thought Butler quickly. Audley had let slip that name when the sergeant had pressed him for their destination. And he had let it slip in the German's presence, that was what had been distracting him.

So now they couldn't leave him, they had to either shoot him or take him with them. And if they took him with them they needed to trust him.

Butler stared at the young German with a curious sense of detachment. This, he told himself, was a genuine, one-hundred-per-cent German soldier, one of the species he'd been trained and primed to kill on sight without a second thought. The boy even looked like a German —even in his rumpled, sweat-stained uniform and without his officer's hat he still looked a lot more like a German than the fat soldier with the loaves in Sermigny.

So now, although we just don't kill prisoners and a few hours ago they would have fought for that Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

principle, what would he do if Audley was to say shoot him?

He would do it, of course.

The German was staring at him.

'I was on the Eastern Front, with my battalion ... in the 4th Army, near Vitebsk. An anti-tank battalion ...

in April I was promoted and sent on a special course at home, at—at home—on the use of the new Jagdpanzers ... I saw my father, who was on the staff of Admiral Canaris. And my brother, my elder brother, who worked for General Olbricht, also in Berlin . . .

'Halfway through the course I was posted to the staff of General von Stulpnagel in Paris . . . which I did not understand—killing tanks I understand, not paper-work. So I asked for a combat posting—if not to the Jagdpanzers, at least to one of the 8.8-centimetre gun battalions on the West Wall. They sent me to Nantes, to report on the state of the landward defences—the landward defences! 'Landward defences—

none.' Then I am in command of ... of transport despatch. I count horses into trains—the Amis bomb the trains, the French steal the horses. I am trained to destroy Josef Stalins, and I count horses—'

('Tough shit,' murmurs Sergeant Winston. 'I'm trained to blow up blockhouses.')

'Then there is the attentat of the second July—we heard the Fuhrer's voice on the radio that night—I am in Nantes, counting horses . . .'

('Safest place to be,' murmurs Sergeant Winston.)

('Shut up,' says Second Lieutenant Audley.)

'Then General Olbricht is executed . . . and I am afraid for my brother, that he will be unjustly suspected. And also Admiral Canaris is arrested ... I am afraid for my father too. Even more afraid, for I have heard him speak criticisms, even before the war.

'Then General von Stulpnagel is executed. And he has been a friend of my father, also from before the war.'

('Wow-ee,' murmurs Sergeant Winston. 'Now it's really getting close to home . . . except that you're just still counting horses' legs and dividing by four, huh?')

'And ... at last I get a letter from my father. It was delivered to me by a man I do not know, but he is an Ahwehr officer I think . . . This is ... maybe two weeks ago. But it is written, the letter, on nineteenth July

—'

Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

(Hauptmann Grafenberg is speaking so softly now, almost whispering, that Butler has to move closer to hear his words. The German does not notice this at first, he is speaking to the ground in front of him now; when he finally does he clears his throat and speaks up; but not for long, and soon he is whispering again.)

'He says that if I receive this letter—when I receive it—he will be dead. And my brother too.

'But to tell me that is not the reason for which he writes, it is to tell me that I must go north to Normandy with the next convoy—that I can do that easily because I am the transportation officer, and I have the necessary documentation. And when I am in Normandy I must pass through the lines and surrender myself to the first Americans I meet—'

And after that they had gone, with Audley setting the pace as though he was determined to outmarch them all.

And then the endurance test became a nightmare.

The side of Butler's head had started to ache again and his toes began to itch inside his boot. He could also feel with every other step the impression which his Sten had punched into his buttock, where he had fallen on it in the staff car.

All of which was compounded by the confusion of his feelings over the German—

(Bayonet practice: What the fucking hell are you doing, son—yoking that sandbag like you were sorry for it? That's not a sandbag, son— that only looks like a sandbag. THAT'S A BLOODY GERMAN, THAT

IS! He'll rape your mother, he'll rape your sister, AND BY GOD IF YOU DONT WATCH OUT HE'LL