Scorched Earth - Robert Muchamore Page 0,34
a row of peasant cottages, with a small farm-supply store at the far end.
PT slowed as they passed a flattened hedge, and while there wasn’t much light, they could see several sets of huge Tiger tank tracks veering off-road towards the cottages. A 60-tonne Tiger will demolish any wall it hits, and it seemed that a line of tanks had gouged through three homes, knocking down the front walls and making roofs cave.
As with the old man splattered by the mobile gun, there was no reason for this carnage beyond enhancing the 108th’s reputation for meanness. Marc recognised most of the distraught people standing beside wrecked homes and glimpsed two bodies laid out, either dead or close to it.
‘Bastards,’ Marc said.
The locals near the road didn’t recognise Marc. They just saw a German truck and German uniforms. PT accelerated because if his home had been demolished, he reckoned he might just be angry enough to shoot at the next bunch of Germans who drove by.
‘There was an old girl who lived in the end house,’ Marc said sadly, taking a last glance back as they sped on. ‘One time a storm broke on our way home from school. I was about six and it was thick mud, so she took four of us boys in and gave us hot milk. I can remember sitting on her floor, with my hair dripping and mud caked up my legs.’
‘Was she still around?’
‘Haven’t seen her in years,’ Marc said. ‘I know one of her sons worked for Morel.’
As this memory faded, Marc realised the burning smell hadn’t. They’d seen no obvious fire at the cottages and the smoke was starting to cloud PT’s view down the road.
‘It’s the orphanage,’ Marc blurted anxiously. ‘It’s over the next hill.’
As his old orphanage came into view, Marc saw its outline lit by orange flames. The main building where the kids slept seemed OK, but the nuns’ accommodation and adjoining chapel were ablaze. PT slowed the truck to a crawl, because tanks had smashed through the orphanage’s boundary wall, leaving the road strewn with chunks of rubble big enough to rip a tyre off its rim.
‘Let me get out,’ Marc said urgently. ‘We need to know how many tanks we’re chasing, and how long since they left.’
Edith and Luc’s heads had popped through the canvas flaps to get a view. The nuns had organised a chain of boys passing buckets and bowls of water from a nearby stream. The fire was out of control, so they were dousing the dry grass between the chapel and the orphanage in the hope that it would stop fire spreading to the orphanage proper.
‘Don’t hang about,’ PT told Marc, as he turned through the orphanage gate. ‘Two or three minutes.’
Marc barely listened, and as he jumped out of the cab a bullet whizzed past, forcing him to his knees.
‘It’s me, Marc Kilgour!’ he shouted, as he raised his hands to the unseen gunman. ‘Don’t shoot!’
The arrival of a German truck had made the nuns send the line of boys scrambling into the surrounding countryside. But a young sister named Mary raced downhill, recognising Marc despite his uniform. Jae’s father was close behind, and sober for once.
‘What happened?’ Marc asked.
‘They were short of rations and must have known that we preserve a lot of food for the boys,’ the sister explained. ‘They arrived twenty-five minutes ago, with six tanks and a line of trucks. They threatened to level the orphanage if we didn’t hand over every scrap of food, then they made some of the older boys help load their trucks. When that was done, they forced five boys into a truck. Things turned nasty when we tried grabbing the boys back. They beat up Sister Fidelis and threw grenades into the chapel.’
Marc was sickened. ‘How old were the boys they took?’
‘Lucien’s the youngest, he’s twelve but big for his age. The others were thirteen or fourteen.’
‘Did the Germans say what they wanted them for?’
This time Farmer Morel answered. ‘They didn’t say anything. But I’ve read that this tactic has been used in the east. There’s a lot of manual labour in the army: latrines, trenches, graves. And why dig yourself when you can force a civilian?’
‘What about Jae?’ Marc asked.
‘They drove across our land tearing through fencing and hedges,’ Morel explained. ‘Jae is safe. She and some of the labourers are out now, fixing holes and rounding up loose animals.’
‘We have to go, Marc,’ PT shouted from the truck. ‘Are you