The '44 Vintage

'How d'you know we're not too late?' said Audley.

'Because the Gestapo are not due to leave the chateau until midday today, that is how I know.'

'But the major won't know that. Or even if he does he may not choose to wait—he's got some tough men with him, Doctor, and he won't like hanging around.'

'Perhaps not. But they also have some tough men with them, the Gestapo: they have a Waffen-SS

motorised company to escort them. Also they have made it very plain that they are leaving, and that if there is the least attempt to hinder them they will turn Civray St. Michel into another Oradour-sur-Glane.' De Courcy gave Audley a hard look. 'You know what happened at Oradour, David?'

'There was a massacre of some sort there, wasn't there?'

'A massacre of some sort?' De Courcy's voice harshened. 'The SS herded all the men into a barn, and the women and children into the church, and then they burnt the barn and the church and the whole village . . . yes, David—there was a massacre of some sort at Oradour-sur-Glane. And that is why you can depend on the people of Civray St. Michel to make very sure that your major knows that the Gestapo are leaving the chateau. And that if he wants to attack the Germans he will have to fight Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

Frenchmen first.'

Sergeant Winston looked at the doctor suspiciously. 'Seems to me you know one hell of a lot, what's going on round here, Doc—for a simple country doctor. Like even what the krauts are doing.'

De Courcy shrugged. 'I told you—they have made no secret of it.' Then suddenly he straightened up.

'You do not believe me, Sergeant?'

'You're damn right, I don't believe you!' Winston traded one hard look for another. 'Like Jack here said, we're the goddamn pig in the middle. But that was when you were playing hard to get, and now you're saying 'Come on down, boys—Pont-Civray here we come!' So now I'm saying . . . you know so much, you just prove we're not the pig that's being taken to market, huh?'

Butler looked at De Courcy and thought on that instant that the sergeant was right: he didn't look like a country doctor any more. On him the neat black suit and the Homburg hat and the gold watch and chain seemed as much a disguise as Second Lieutenant Audley's battle dress and pistol.

'Very well, Sergeant—if you wish for frankness, then I will be frank.' The corner of De Courcy's mouth lifted. 'I will be francais too.'

'That's okay by me. like the lieutenant said—be my guest'

'No. You are my guest—all of you.' De Courcy swept a hand to include them all. 'You are here in France with your guns and your tanks —American, British, and German. But you are here en tourists.

You are merely passing through France ... I know so much, Sergeant, because it is my business to know

—because it is my country, not yours.' He stared proudly at Audley. 'And this thing you British want so badly— it is better that it stays hidden until we can decide to whom it belongs, I think.'

'But—' Audley began, 'but it belongs to us.'

'No, David. You say it belongs to you. But you do not even know what it is. And the Communists—

they intend that it shall belong to them. And your major ... he plans that it shall belong to him. But I say it came out of Paris in 1940, and I do not trust any of you.'

Sergeant Winston chuckled suddenly. 'Yeah—well, I go along with you there, Doc.' He grinned at Audley. 'Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant—I think you're on the level. And Jack here . . . But your top brass could be as crooked as a three-dollar bill.' He nodded encouragingly at De Courcy. 'You can count me in so far, Doc—we give the loot to its owner, that's dealing from the top of the deck. But just how do you plan on doing that?'

'Very simply, Sergeant. I have established that you do not know where it is hidden—you have said as much, and I believe you. Your colonel . . . Clinton knows, but he is in no condition to tell anyone, even Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

if he lives—not for the time being en tout cas. Which only leaves your major—yes?' De Courcy lifted an eyebrow at Audley. “Whom you intend to ... execute as a traitor?'

'You're damn right!' exclaimed Sergeant Winston. Except that he was damn wrong, thought Butler.

Because there was also the colonel's driver—had Winston forgotten him? Or had he mentioned the driver?

He couldn't remember. They had been driving down off the embankment—he had been telling them what had happened. . . . He must have told them about the driver—He's the key to the treasure house, sergeant-major. He's our walking map!

He must have told them!

But he couldn't remember—and Audley's face was as innocent as a baby's—

Too innocent?

Then Audley nodded abruptly. 'All right, sir. If those are your terms, then we accept them. You want Major O'Conor dead—'

Too innocent!

'You'll take us to Pont-Civray.' Audley's jaw tightened. 'We'll kill him.'

'How are you going to get us there, Doc?' asked Winston.

De Courcy smiled. 'How should a doctor move his patients in an emergency?'

They followed him down the path.

Once again, it wasn't how he had ever imagined going to war: a Frenchman taking two Englishmen and an