'It's bloody well coming right for us!' said Sykes, clutching his helmet to his head. Moments later, the Junkers thundered directly over them, the black crosses and pale blue underside startlingly close. They watched as the aircraft flew on, then banked again, arcing lazily across the valley before turning for another run above them.
'Here, Dan!' Tanner called out to Lance Corporal Erwood. 'Have a crack with the Bren, will you?'
'And give away our position?' called Chevannes. 'Are you mad, Sergeant?'
'Sir, he's seen us. The only way we're going to stop him bleating is by shooting the bastard down.'
'No, Sergeant, and that is an order!'
The Junkers was approaching once more, no more than a hundred feet above them. Again it roared overhead, oil streaks from the two radial engines staining the pale underside of the wings. Tanner cursed, then watched as it swung out over the valley and began to bank yet again. 'Sir, he's bloody well seen us!' he shouted. 'Let's have a pop at it. What have we got to lose?' Chevannes said nothing. Tanner smiled, aware that the French lieutenant's silence was the authority he needed. 'Aim off, Dan,' he called to Erwood once more. 'Give yourself plenty of lead.' Erwood glanced at Chevannes, then back at the sergeant. 'Do it, Dan,' said Tanner. He had his own rifle to his shoulder now and saw that the rest of his men had followed his example. He knew a .303 round would probably make little impression on an eight-ton monster such as a Junkers 88, but it was flying so low he reckoned it had to be worth a shot. It was rather like aiming at a high bird, he thought to himself. Admittedly it was travelling at probably a hundred and fifty miles per hour, rather than fifty like a pheasant with a good wind behind it but, he told himself, a Junkers was far bigger.
He watched it straighten and its wings level. At that distance it looked as though it was travelling slower than a pheasant, but all too soon that illusion was dispelled. Tanner pointed his rifle vertically in the air. 'Ready, Dan?' he called. 'Two seconds now One, two - fire!' he yelled, and as bullets pumped into the sky the aircraft swept over them.
Then a miracle happened. The starboard engine spluttered and, as the aircraft banked over the valley, flames appeared, followed by a long trail of smoke. As one, the men on the ground stood up and watched, open- mouthed. The pilot tried to climb and they followed the plane as it headed north up the valley, rose over the mountains, then plunged earthwards. A ball of flame erupted briefly on the far side of the mountains followed by the dull rumble of destruction a few seconds later. For a moment the men were dumbstruck, then raised their rifles and cheered.
It was Dan Erwood who received the most slaps on the back but Tanner knew it could have been any of them, and that in firing together, they had claimed victory together.
'Good shooting, men,' said Chevannes, adjusting his beret on his head. 'Very good shooting.'
'And a very good decision to let us fire, if I might say so, sir,' said Tanner.
'Be careful, Tanner,' said Chevannes. 'My patience is wearing thin.'
'Come on, lads,' said Tanner, ignoring the Frenchman. 'Iggery, all right?'
They walked on quickly, past anxious, startled farmers who had emerged from their houses to see what the commotion was about. Two young boys stood on a gate to watch them pass and several of Tanner's men cheered at them as they did so, the boys grinning back.
'That's enough!' Tanner warned.
'They are like schoolboys,' said Anna, walking beside him. 'It is amazing to see everyone's spirits lift like this.'
'Mine will be even higher if this truck works out,' Tanner replied. He turned and barked at his men: 'Come on, you lot! You can stop congratulating yourselves now and get a bloody move on!'
'We were just saying, Sarge,' said Erwood, hurrying to his side, 'what a shame it is that Mitch isn't with us, him being on my Bren crew an' that. He'd have loved to have seen that Jerry plane come down. I wish I knew he was all right.'
'I'm sure he is.'
'Only I feel bad. One minute he was with us and the next he wasn't. It's not knowing what happened . . .'
'He probably just tripped and fell,' said Tanner. 'Easy to do when it's dark like that. You'll probably find he was picked up by the Jerries.'
'I'm telling you,' mumbled Mitch Moran, 'I don't know anything. We were just trying to get back to our lines.'
Sturmbannfuhrer Kurz sat on the edge of his desk and looked at the pitiful figure in front of him. A swollen and cut eye, so puffed and blackened it had closed, a darkening cheek, cracked and bloodied lips, a line of congealed blood and mucus from nose to mouth. Moran's shirt was torn, but hid the bruising round his cracked ribs, while his feet were bare and also bloody and blackened. With his arms tied behind the back of the chair, his head hung down as though it were too heavy for him now that it had been so badly pummelled.
Kurz sighed. He had been taught torture techniques, but beating someone to within an inch of their life always struck him as crude. And this fellow - well, he was just a simple boy. A few cigarettes, a bit of friendly chat and the Englishman would have been eating out of his hand ages ago. Now it was probably too late. Ah, well, worth a try. He ordered the guard at the door to untie Moran's hands, then lit a cigarette.
'A smoke?' he said, and without waiting for an answer, placed the cigarette between Moran's lips. 'Listen, I'm sorry you've been so roughly treated. Hauptmann Zellner was - well, he was a bit frustrated, to put it mildly. I'm sorry he took it out on you.' He saw Moran lift his head a fraction, then shakily raise a hand to the cigarette. Kurz smiled. 'I certainly wouldn't want you thinking we're all like that.' Standing up, he walked towards the window. 'War . .. what a waste of time it is. Killing people, uprooting people from their homes - it is all so futile. You know, I was a teacher before the war. I used to teach English in a small town in the Thuringen. I loved England - I travelled all over when I was still a student. You are from Yorkshire, I believe?'
Moran nodded.
Kurz stood up again and walked to the cabinet behind Moran where he now kept his Baedekers. He picked up the England edition. 'Which part?'
'Knaresborough,' mumbled Moran.
'Knaresborough,' said Kurz, flicking through the pages. 'Near Harrogate, is it not?' He paused, as though lost in the depths of a happy memory. 'Yes, I remember a wonderful English tea at Betty's in Harrogate.' He smiled. 'Do you know it?'
'It's only for nobs and that, really,' Moran mumbled, 'but my grandma took me there for my tenth birthday.'
'I remember it being quite charming,' said Kurz, 'as was all of Yorkshire. One day, when this is all over, I should like to go back.' He sighed, then said, 'And here I am, a soldier of sorts, fighting against a people for whom I have a very great affection. It is damnable, it really is.' He leant closer towards Moran. 'Look, I want to help you. You are just a boy and, I am sure, would much rather be at home in Knaresborough with your family, just as I would rather be at home with my wife and baby daughter in Ludwigsstadt, but there is a war on and that is all there is to it. I cannot get you home tomorrow, but I can get you cleaned up and properly looked after, and I can promise you there will be no more beatings.' He paused, looked at Moran and said, 'Can I get you anything? Some water perhaps?'Thank you.'
Kurz went to a cabinet in the corner and poured a glass, then handed it to the Tommy. 'There,' he said, taking the cigarette butt from Moran's lips and handing him the glass. 'I was wondering why you were crossing the river last night. It seems rather a risk.'
'Because you lot were going down the main valley. We thought there'd be less of you about.'
'But difficult to walk through those mountains. There's still plenty of snow up there.'
'Not in the valley beyond.'
Kurz smiled. Really, he thought, this was almost too easy. 'No, I suppose not. So your plan was to head north
