‘Jugend,’ was all that she would tell us. Then in accented English, ‘Like boys. Boy Scouts.’
Les smiled, and nodded a thank you at her, but what he actually said, still smiling, was, ‘Boy Scouts my arse! She’s talking about the Hitler Youth I think.’
It didn’t stop us sleeping.
Until about six, I suppose.
Twenty-Two
I was sleeping nearest the large hole in the floor through which the steps climbed, so I was the first that the big woman stumbled over. As she fell on me – which was like being knelt on by a horse – my arms went naturally to her waist: but this was no romantic assignation. She cursed, which I failed to understand, and pushing me away whispered hoarsely, ‘Schnell, schnell,’ a couple of times. Then, summoning up most of her English vocabulary, blurted, ‘The Boche are coming. Schnell!’
Part of me was thinking, This is ridiculous, you are the Boche! Another part was scrambling out from under her as quickly as I could manage it. That wasn’t so easy. Les and the Major were quicker. They crowded the room’s one small window that looked to the east. I joined them. The sky was dark grey, and shot with paler grey, and pale yellow streaks. There was just enough light to see the dark shapes, maybe about a mile away, moving in the fields – and a couple of small lights on the road. I learned quickly that there was no chance of beating Les and the Major when they were in running-away mode. No contest. James actually managed to pause as he passed the woman, to plant a peck on her cheek. His turn of speed impressed me. She was still smiling as I tumbled past her.
I’ve explained that Kate was more or less at the foot of the stairs? For once we operated more or less as a practised team. James went straight into the back of Kate, Les behind the wheel, whilst I got to the front and swung the handle. The engine caught about one and a half turns on, and I scrambled in alongside Les as she moved out of the barn.
I suppose that there was always the temptation to race off west as fast as we bloody well could, but Les had done this before remember? He kept his head. Damned good job: I was gibbering by then. Kate had a fairly quiet motor: Les put this down to a big silencer, which he called a muffler. He nosed us slowly back up the alley alongside the inn, and did a forty-five-degree turn to port – that meant we were moving away from the men in grey who wanted their country back. He left the lights off, and moved us as fast as he dared without revving the old dear. That just left the lights on the road to worry about, and he reckoned that we could outrun them if the push came to a shove.
There’s that Blake poem, isn’t there? ‘Tyger, tyger burning bright, in the forests of the night’? It was the wrong bloody day to forget it. As we came gently up to the section of housing into which we had seen the Tiger tank backed the day before, two small lights came on; narrow yellow bars across the road. From somewhere behind them came the ghastly clattering sound of a big diesel trying to fire up, and the gun barrel we had seen before almost stooped to the road began jerkily to lift itself. It was like watching a dead dinosaur come back to life. I began to dribble with fear as the bastard started to lurch spasmodically out of the front living room in which it had been parked.
James hissed, ‘Right.’
Between two houses on the right was another alleyway. The question was, could we get into it before the bastard spotted us? The answer turned out to be not quite. The Tiger was turning to face us as we turned off the main road away from it. I reached for Les’s Sten, which was on the floor between us. He had time to put his hand over it, and snarl, ‘Don’t be so wet!’
All James said was, ‘Quickly. Forget the rest of them.’
I thought that we’d made it in time. The beast was three-quarters on to us as we turned into the black alley. Les knew differently. He growled, ‘Fuck it!’ and put his foot down.
This was an unmade road, and we were on a deeply rutted surface between house and garden walls. Kate bounced. I hit my head on her ceiling. If the big T was after us, and got into the alley before we could get out of the other end, then it was all over: even I was educated enough in the ways of artillery to work that one out. Les had to slow down for a turn at the end of it. We were at a T junction facing open fields, with a rough road running around the village stretching to the west and east. East was no good to us; it was full of unfriendly Jerries with guns. Les turned left and west. As he did that I looked over my shoulder and back up the alley. It was lit up with a bright flash that illuminated the house walls, and instantaneously the field beside us erupted. Then we were round. Les screamed; it was noises, not words. My teeth were chattering. I could hear James heavy-breathing like a man having sex. Les said, ‘Fuck it!’ again.
That was because the problem was the same. If the Tiger emerged from the alley and caught us on the open road, or in the fields less than half a mile from him, then we’d had it. It all depended on us being able to turn left again, back up into the village, before the
