Eleven Eleven (17 page)

‘And what do you suggest we do now?’

‘I think we need to retire a safe distance immediately, sir,’ said Rhodes. ‘The charge was set around nine hours ago. I wouldn’t recommend removing it.’

‘Very well, Lieutenant,’ said the colonel, and both of them walked in silence, at a deliberately leisurely pace, towards the men on the other side of the square. The colonel, especially, was not going to hurry.

Axel’s instincts told him to run though. Some of the men gathered on the far side of the square laughed at him, but some of them cheered too and clapped him on the back when he passed through them.

He sought out Will and Eddie, who were where he had left them at the corner and away from the other soldiers. Will greeted him with a great beaming smile, a handshake and a heartfelt ‘Thank you!’

The colonel was composing a speech in his head, one that would save face, telling his men he would overlook their disobedience on this great historical occasion. Inside the chimney the acid finally ate through the thin steel wire in the filling cap. A strong spring immediately drove a striker bolt into the detonator, which ignited six sticks of high explosives.

The blast shook the entire town, shattering windowpanes and blowing open doors all around the square. The roof of the station collapsed in a great cloud and brought down the top two storeys with it. When the smoke cleared, Lieutenant Rhodes was still standing, although he looked dazed. The colonel was lying on the cobbled square.

Some of the men rushed over to help. Rhodes was filthy with brick dust, but he was all right. The colonel was coughing and trying to stand unaided, his dignity in tatters.

Chapter 20

1.00 p.m.

Rhodes limped over to Axel, who was standing with Will, staring at the great cloud of smoke and dust rising from the railway station.

‘Top hole,' he said to him, speaking incomprehensible English. ‘Rotten luck if we'd copped it, eh!' Then he held out his hand to shake. ‘Lieutenant Rhodes. No hard feelings,' he said with a smile.

He turned to Will. ‘I think we ought to let this fellow go.'

Speaking to Axel in German he said, ‘We're supposed to consider you a prisoner of war, but I think it would be better if you headed off east to the German lines – catch up with your unit. They can't be far. If we hold on to you, you'll probably have to go to a prison camp in England and it'll be months before you get home. If you go now, you might be back with your family before the week's out.'

‘Thank you,' said Axel. ‘I would like to do that. But I'm worried about the townspeople here. They tried to kill me before you arrived.'

‘You wait here a second,' said Rhodes. ‘I'll sort that out. Oh, and you'll need something to eat and drink.'

He walked down the street to a British supply trailer and spoke to the soldier who was guarding it. Then he returned with a ration pack and a water bottle. ‘That'll keep you going, lad. You can go now.'

Axel was moved almost to tears. ‘And hang on,' said Rhodes, ‘I'm coming with you. I'll take you to the edge of town in case anyone else thinks it's a bright idea to detain you.'

Axel turned to Will and Eddie and gave them a stiff salute. ‘
Danke, dass Sie mir das Leben gerettet haben,
' he said. ‘
Ich wünsche Ihnen Glück!
' Thank you for saving my life. I wish you well.

Axel could see Will wasn't sure he wanted to salute a German, so he put out his hand again. ‘Thank you for what you did,' Will said. ‘I wish we could have been friends.' Axel didn't understand the words, but he saw a tear in his eye.

The town was small, and Axel was soon on the outskirts. He liked having Rhodes with him, although neither could think of anything to say to the other. The events of the day had been too momentous for pleasantries.

Rhodes looked around. There was no one about. The road ahead was deserted.

‘Can't see any of the locals. I think you'll be safe. Go quickly. And here, have a bar of chocolate too,' he said, and bid Axel farewell.

Axel saluted again and Rhodes returned his salute with a smile. Then he turned and hurried back to his unit.

 

Axel continued down the road out of town. The further he got, the safer he felt. The chocolate bar Rhodes had given him felt like a bar of gold in his hand. This bar was not army issue, its packaging was too gaudy – five paintings of the face of a young boy with five different expressions – from worried to delighted. It seemed odd, after such horror and deprivation – to see something so jaunty, so frivolous.

Axel tore off the paper and the silver foil and broke a chunk off. He savoured the moment, the bittersweet aroma, the lovely crumbly feel of the stuff, melting slightly in his filthy hand. He had stopped worrying about washing his hands a week into basic training. He popped it into his mouth and as it dissolved on his tongue he was transported home to Wansdorf and the last time he had eaten chocolate. He had been twelve then – still singing in the church choir. His mother had given him the chocolate as a reward. Axel had sung his first solo at the Sunday Eucharist, the Bach cantata
Ich Habe Genug
, and the whole family had come to listen. He had never felt more proud in his life. Even poor Otto, his older brother, had come.

He imagined his sister's face as he returned to the village. He could picture how pleased Gretl would be to see him. Now the war was over, maybe he could find work playing the piano in the halls and taverns in Berlin. And maybe, when Gretl was a little older, she could sing alongside him.

His pace picked up. He felt a vigour he had not felt for weeks – he was going home.

The sun poked out for a brief moment, and Axel felt its warmth on his face. He swallowed the smooth chocolate, thinking he had never tasted anything quite so delicious. He broke another piece and let it melt on his tongue, stopping to savour the moment. He decided then and there he was going to eat the whole bar. When he got back to the German lines, he certainly wasn't going to share this with strangers!

 

On the top floor of his house on the edge of the town, Georges de Winne squinted through the sights of his rifle. When the Germans went last night, he had finally plucked up the courage to steal a few rounds of ammunition from a pack they had left in the square. The German boy was at the edge of his range, he reckoned, but the sudden burst of sunlight made it easier to draw a bead on him. And, for the moment, he was standing still. Perfect. He wasn't going to let that Boche go; he didn't care what age he was. Four years they'd lived in his house and eaten his food. He felt a mounting rage – one that he had nursed and nurtured over the long years of occupation. De Winne held his breath and his finger tightened around the trigger.

 

When Axel vanished from sight, Will turned his attention again to Eddie. He was asleep or unconscious. Where was the ambulance? Will tried to shake him awake. Failing to rouse him, he ran off to look for medical orderlies. It had been over half an hour since the first orderly had seen them.

Will couldn't find anyone from the Medical Corps so he decided to look for an ambulance himself, searching each side street for a dirty brown vehicle with a red cross on the side. After three minutes, he saw one in the distance, close to the road that led past the railway station, and ran over to talk to the driver. There were orderlies inside, and he could even see the white headscarf of a nurse. ‘We have a pilot, badly injured, on the far side of the square,' he said, trying not to sound too upset. ‘He needs attention. I can't rouse him.'

The driver patted a hand on his and told him to return to the injured man. The road ahead was blocked with fallen debris, he explained. They would find another route and come to attend to this man as soon as possible. Will was to wave and identify his position as soon as the ambulance found a way into the square.

Will rushed back, desperately hoping he might find Jim on the way. Eddie was still unconscious but his breathing was regular. And his colour looked better than it had been. Maybe he was just exhausted. Will put a hand on his shoulder. ‘They're coming, Eddie,' he said. ‘You hold on a little longer.'

A minute or two later he heard the judder of an internal combustion engine and saw the nose of the ambulance peep from a nearby side street. Will cheered with relief and stood up to wave them over.

At that moment a loud blast ripped through the square close to where he was standing. In an instant Will felt the heat of the explosion burn his face, then a sharp stab – like the blade of a knife at the top of his forehead – then nothing.

 

Over on the far side of town, Georges de Winne is startled by the sudden blast. The bullet he releases merely grazes the side of Axel's head.

Axel falls to the ground. There is a sharp pain just above his ear, but he quickly realises he has not been seriously injured. Gathering his thoughts, he runs as fast as he can. Bullets punch the ground around him, but de Winne has run out of ammunition by the time Axel finds shelter in a nearby copse. Blood is pouring down the side of his head. But it is only a flesh wound. In the distance he can see the smoking chimney of a
Gulaschkanone
. He runs forward, breathlessly calling out to the soldiers as he approaches.

 

Back in the square the ambulance crew tumble from their vehicle, thinking an artillery barrage is falling on the town. They crouch close to the wall, awaiting further destruction.

‘Which bloody idiot is still firing shells?' asks the driver. ‘The war's supposed to be over.'

‘Maybe it was one of ours with a delayed-action fuse?' says a stretcher-bearer. ‘There was an assault planned here for this morning.' He sighs. ‘Maybe they sent it over the night before.'

There are no more explosions so they peer around the corner. Close by, they see the facade of one of the buildings overlooking the square has fallen in on itself. The blast has overturned a hay cart and two bodies are lying lifeless on the ground.

The nurse quickly gathers her medical kit. Most of the time she works in the field hospitals, but sometimes she goes out behind the front line, acting as a translator for the British.

‘I'll go,' she volunteers. ‘You see who else might have been caught in the blast.'

She walks towards the two prone bodies with her usual detachment. She heard the morning's news, of course, but like so many others she feels indifference, perhaps a mild relief that it is over. It is too late for her fiancé, Auguste, and her brother Julien. But as she approaches she feels a small stab of pity for these two before her. Caught on the last morning. The fortunes of war.

Both of them are still. There is blood, but nothing missing or torn open. Nothing too grotesque. One wears a leather flying helmet, the other is the British boy they spoke to a few minutes ago.

She goes to the airman first. As she kneels down, she can see he is breathing, just, but she instinctively knows he isn't long for the world. He is ‘expectant' – the field-hospital triage category for beyond help.

The British boy lies motionless and is covered with mud and dried blood. He is as limp as a rag doll and there is no pulse. There is a fresh wound on his forehead but otherwise he seems unmarked by the blast. She has seen it many times. Artillery shells and bombs have unpredictable effects on their victims. Some would be turned almost inside out with the force of an explosion. Others would seem asleep, with slight or no visible wounds – only the terrible stillness of the dead.

She turns again to look at the pale, bloodied face of the airman and recognition dawns. With a start she sees the edge of her scarf poking just above the neckline of his leather jacket. It is that pilot she often sees at the American airbase. She likes him, he is sweet, although he does remind her of a frisky puppy, always buying her drinks and trying to talk to her. All that joie de vivre snuffed out like a candle. What a terrible waste. He had such an appetite for life. What was his name? Eddie. She had seen him just last night. It had been a wild evening, with too much wine, and everyone singing songs around the piano. When he'd asked for her scarf as a good-luck charm, she didn't want to hurt his feelings. After all, it had only cost her fifty centimes in a little junk shop in Paris.

She touches his face with her hand and leans closer to talk to him. ‘Hello, Eddie. It's me, Céline. Can you hear me?'

The sound seeps through to Eddie's fading consciousness, and something in his dying mind stirs. They are sitting on the grass at the Tuileries Garden, close to the Louvre. She is resting her head on his shoulder and caressing his face. The sunlight is brighter than he could ever imagine and he is so happy he feels like he is floating in the air.

 

Two other men from the ambulance crew come over carrying a stretcher apiece. They place them on the ground and lift Will Franklin and Eddie Hertz on to them. One of the stretcher men goes over to the ambulance to fetch a couple of blankets.

‘I'll stay with this one for a moment, if you don't mind,' says Céline, still crouching by the airman. And she stays with him until she is sure his breathing has ceased. She pulls the blanket over his head. The young British soldier lying close by with blood all over his face hasn't moved a jot. She shakes her head and looks around for other injured men who might need her attention.