dine there again. Now let me find a telephone and make that call.”
I stayed and had another pint. I watched the darts match, which the locals won. Their Negro opponents were from Greenham Common air base, and four of the biggest fellows in the bar walked them out to their vehicle in case of trouble. It wasn’t in the cards tonight, but I wondered how much longer before this powder keg blew. I found myself hoping for the invasion to come around soon, just so we’d have a common enemy close at hand.
CHAPTER THIRTY — TWO
The morning was crisp and bright, sunlight lifting the heavy dew off grasses and leaves, filling the air with the scents of springtime, a ripe dampness that carried the promise of life. It was invasion weather too, the season for returning young life to the soil, a morbid twist for our times. Kaz had made his telephone call to MI5 about Crowley the night before, and we stopped at the police station to see if a message had been left. The place was locked up tight. The street was deserted and quiet, except for the sound of a bicycle on cobblestones. I wondered where Diana was right now. On a train to Scotland? Or sitting in an SOE office in London, receiving an official reprimand.
“Everyone’s over at the Common,” Doc Brisbane said, slowing his bicycle to a halt. “It’s the maneuvers. The army said people could watch from the roadside. I’d guess there’s a crowd by now, and the constables will have their hands full. Thought it best to be there myself in case I’m needed. Plus I wouldn’t mind seeing those Tank Destroyers tearing about.”
“We may as well go watch ourselves,” Kaz said as the doctor pedaled off.
“Sure,” I said, starting the jeep. “We can swing by the Avington girls’ school. Ever since Laurianne Ross told us about Margaret Hibberd showing up there, I’ve been curious about where she disappeared to.”
“Right,” Kaz said. “Diana told us none of the girls observed her bicycling away out the main drive.”
“I’d like to know if there’s another route away from the school, and where it leads. Maybe we’ll bump into Constable Cook. We can ask him about Alan Wycks and let him know we’re expecting a call.”
“I also telephoned Big Mike last night,” Kaz said as we headed out of Hungerford and into the countryside toward the Common, a large stretch of open land between Kintbury and Hungerford. “I asked him to try and find Diana. He said he would get Colonel Harding to ask some questions.”
“Thanks, Kaz. But I doubt MI5 will admit to any Yank where they’ve sent her. But it’s worth a shot.” We had to take a few detours where roads were closed for the maneuvers, due to the large number of units involved in addition to the 617th Tank Destroyer Battalion. We finally got on the road to the Avington School, and as we came to the drive, Miss Ross was leading her charges out.
“We’re going to watch the maneuvers, Captain,” she said, the girls letting loose with a chorus of excited giggles. “Do you need to speak with me?”
“No, I just wanted to check around the back of the school, if that’s all right. Seems like everyone is headed to watch the maneuvers today.”
“It’s like a parade,” one of the girls said. “We hope it will be awfully loud!”
“Go ahead, Captain Boyle, look around all you wish,” Laurianne said, busily organizing the girls into a single file. Walkers and bicyclists were flowing into the roadway, like people headed to a parade or a county fair.
“Guess there’s not much entertainment in the wartime countryside,” I said to Kaz, as we drove slowly up the drive to the school.
“Perhaps the locals like the Negro soldiers and want to see them in action. I am sure many of them have been told by your countrymen that Negroes are incapable of fighting. Seeing Tree and his unit driving their armored vehicles will make quite a statement.”
“Could be,” I said, still trying to get used to the idea of white people cheering on well-armed Negroes. I parked the jeep on the side of the school and we walked around back. There was a neatly laid-out vegetable garden, taking up much of what had once been a lawn. Chickens squawked in their coops and rabbits stared at us blankly from within the confines of their hutches.
“Here,” Kaz said. A well-worn path led between rows of gooseberry bushes, flowers beginning to show between thorns. The path continued through a meadow, and along a fence marking a boundary between plowed fields.
“A shortcut to Kintbury,” I said. From a slight rise, we could see the path descending through the fields, to the low-lying ground along the river. It petered out as it met with houses and shops along the main road. “It probably ends at High Street, down there.” I pointed to a bright yellow and red sign. I couldn’t make it out, but I remembered there had been a sign like that over Hedley’s Sweet Shop.
“Should we continue?” Kaz asked.
“No. We can check it from the High Street end later. I doubt there will be any clues left after all this time.”
“It is a well-used route,” Kaz said. “The girls must use it as well as others from the village. It probably cuts through the school property. There are many such right-of-way paths in these English towns.” He was right about that. The grass was trampled and the ground was hard-packed. Margaret could have met up with any number of people on this route. This was another thing to ask Inspector Payne or Constable Cook. The local police would certainly know about this pathway and have checked it out. We decided to head to the maneuvers, like all the other gawkers.
It looked like every constable for miles around was on duty, forming a cordon along the stretch of roadway open to the public. A switchback wound its way up a slope above the Common, which was on the lower ground along the canal. In the grassy area between the switchback, townspeople had laid out blankets and were sharing thermoses of tea and sandwiches from their picnic baskets. The scene reminded me of pictures from a book I’d read about the Civil War, all the civilians coming out in their carriages to watch the Battle of Bull Run. I hoped these maneuvers wouldn’t end as badly.
We had no trouble driving the jeep onto the Common; the constables weren’t there to keep US Army personnel out. We had a clear view across the canal and up the opposite slope. Pinpoints of smoke blossomed and were followed by the rolling sounds of the explosions from smoke rounds traveling across the valley. We sat in the jeep, watching swarms of GIs heading down to the canal, accompanied by Sherman tanks; the opposing force. From a wooded glen to our right came a roar of twin diesel engines, the unmistakable sound of the M-10 Tank Destroyer.
Four of them came out of the woods, trees cracking and snapping beneath their treads. As they cleared the foliage they accelerated, probably hitting thirty as they raced parallel to the road. In unison, they turned hard right, treads chewing at the ground and spitting it out until their gun barrels faced the opposite slope. The crowd cheered like they were the home team at a football game. It was a well-planned move, probably put on to impress the locals. Looking around I spotted Ernest Bone with his pony cart, set up to sell his sweets. Children gathered around the pony while parents took their precious ration coupons and handed them over for a rare treat on this festive occasion. Laurianne Ross led some of her charges to the cart as well, and I saw Bone wave off the offer of coupons. The girls squealed with joy. Was the candy bag found at the pillbox on the house as well? People say “it was like stealing candy from a baby,” but giving candy to a child can be just as sinister. I decided to look into Ernest Bone’s background a little deeper. He claimed to have served in the last war. What had he been doing since them? He’d only purchased the sweet shop in town recently.
I pointed out Angus Crowley to Kaz. He loitered at the edge of the gathering, watching the maneuvers closely, but moving a step or two away whenever someone came close. His eyes flitted about the crowd as if he were looking for someone, or perhaps avoiding them. Michael Flowers and Nigel Morris sauntered along the lane, chatting idly like old friends. I figured their appearance meant the Miller family was in attendance as well, but I couldn’t find them in the sea of faces.
Further down the Common, other platoons of TDs took up position, opposing the force crossing the canal. One group fired smoke shells in their direction. Grey smoke wreathed the low-lying ground, cover for the other TDs, which crept closer, taking advantage of the terrain to keep their silhouettes low. A distant whistling heralded the overhead trajectory of artillery shells, causing the civilians to draw back, children clutching their mothers’
