one of the Allies,’ Henderson said. ‘And for someone who despises Americans, you seem very willing to drink their coffee, and make your bread with US Department of Agriculture flour.’
Gaspard looked upset that Henderson had caught his lie, but his tone didn’t change.
‘What they send has already been stolen from impoverished American workers,’ he said.
Communists always pissed Henderson off. He’d visited Soviet ports when working for Royal Navy intelligence before the war. The poverty and brutality of the Soviet system bore no resemblance to the teams of happy workers portrayed in France’s underground communist newspapers.
‘I’m not asking for men,’ Henderson said, deciding on one last try for help. ‘I need civilian ID, some ammunition and a small quantity of explosives. Your group has clearly received plenty of equipment in US parachute drops.’
One of Gaspard’s goons leaned forward and jabbed his pointing finger against Henderson’s shirt.
‘What will happen to our supplies if this Englishman reports that we didn’t cooperate?’ the goon asked.
Henderson didn’t like where this was going. Communist resistance groups were notoriously ruthless, and now they’d floated the idea that he might stop their supplies, they’d surely conclude that the best option was to kill him.
It was three against one, so Henderson had to make the first move. He sprang from his seat, unholstered his silenced pistol and clinically shot the two young men in the foreheads. It was a calculated risk, because he had no idea where the nearest German station guards were, or if the communists had back-up ready to storm out of an adjoining room.
Gaspard was so shocked that he tilted backwards off his chair and started crawling towards the bar. Henderson swung one of his German boots at Gaspard’s stomach and yanked the groaning driver to his feet.
‘You’re only alive because I need your equipment,’ Henderson sneered. ‘Where is it stored?’
Gaspard hesitated.
‘Mess with me, and I’ll make sure your death is slower and nastier than it was for your two friends.’
‘I can get what you need,’ Gaspard croaked.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With the sun up, Daniel’s big concern was getting spotted in the tree. He’d tucked himself in the thickest leaves close to the trunk and a caterpillar dangled off a branch in front of his face as he pushed Luc’s binoculars through rustling leaves.
There was a decent view down two of the roads leading to the bridge, but he was picking up sound from a third route which was shielded by trees. He spoke down to Edith.
‘I can’t see, but there’s a lot of dust and exhaust smoke.’
‘Shall I go and tell the others?’ Edith asked.
As Edith said this, a small command tank bristling with radio aerials passed a gap between trees. It was followed closely by something much bigger.
‘Tiger!’ Daniel said happily.
‘You’re sure?’
Daniel nodded. ‘Get running!’
As Edith scrambled off to Marc at the detonation point, Daniel watched fourteen vehicles passing the gap, including four Tigers, a gunless command tank and several support trucks. By the time he’d counted this lot and made it back to the ground, Edith had alerted Marc and now ran towards PT and Michel in their hidden artillery position.
Marc smiled uneasily at Luc, who’d stripped off his pissy shirt and sat poised with a sniper rifle. The German convoy was led by a truck, with three men manning a 20-mm anti-aircraft cannon on its open rear platform. This crew was on full alert, and things would be hotter than PT’s team had anticipated if the men got a chance to swing around and shoot the rapid-firing cannon along the embankment.
‘Deal with them,’ Marc told Luc.
Luc understood Marc’s logic, but was irritated because he was keen to shoot the guy who’d pissed on him. As Luc crawled forward to a better sniping position, the gun truck and command tank reached the bridge.
After that came two of the much prized Tigers. Marc had seen them hidden in the fields around Morel’s farm, but these exhaust-belching slabs of armour were far more impressive in motion. When the first set of tracks reached the bridge, its iron structure creaked. Vibration threw up dust and, to Marc’s alarm, sent a couple of the plastic-explosive balls sploshing into the water.
As the first Tiger reached the bridge’s midpoint the front tracks of a second began the crossing. Marc touched two bare wires together to complete the explosive circuit. He buried his face as the section of road directly beneath the mining pan exploded upwards. The blast was deafening and its heat turned water beneath the bridge into clouds of steam.
The