a tank, or even a car, across the bridge. But it’s not completely broken. They can send men after us, so we need to get back to the truck and ship out.’
The six members of Team A set off at a jog, as smoke from the explosions billowed into the sky at their backs.
‘Can’t be certain we killed every German that made it across the bridge,’ Luc warned. ‘One of them might be waiting in the bushes with a surprise.’
They were back at the truck within a minute. PT’s 108th uniform was a muddy disaster, so Marc got behind the wheel. As the others packed up all the equipment, Luc stayed on the road and kept lookout until the last second.
‘They just sent a couple of men across,’ Luc said, as he hopped into the clattering truck beside Marc. ‘But they don’t seem in any rush to come and see what’s over here.’
As Marc turned on to the road, Luc pointed up at the sky. ‘Does that look like a Mustang to you?’
Marc nodded as the American plane made a tight arc around the spirals of smoke. ‘I’d bet it’s a spotter,’ he said. ‘It’s broad daylight. If they can get the Tempests out here before the 108th doubles back, they’ll blow the shit out of them.’
The lightly armed spotter plane had four 7.7-mm machine guns. These would be useless against tanks and there was no hope of taking on a convoy protected by anti-aircraft guns. But as the American pilot radioed a squadron of rocket-firing Tempests 30 kilometres north, he saw a single, canvas-covered German army truck travelling west towards Gournay-en-Bray.
The truck would get away before the Tempests arrived, so the pilot swooped low and decided to hunt it down.
‘Marc,’ PT screamed, as he looked out the back of the truck at the silver plane coming in low towards them. ‘Pull off the road. The bloody Mustang’s coming right for us!’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘How far are we walking?’ Henderson asked, as he glanced around warily.
Gaspard had led him out of the Gare de Rouen and now they were on a cobbled street. Areas close to stations usually had checkpoints, or at least a German presence, but the local garrison was busy dealing with the aftermath of the bombings and securing the route for the 108th.
‘Twenty minutes, maybe.’
Henderson wondered if Gaspard was giving him the run-around, knowing that his resistance colleagues would soon find the two bodies in the station café. But on the other hand, it was natural for a resistance group to keep their supplies somewhere remote.
‘If you’re messing with me …’ Henderson said.
Gaspard cracked a sly smile. ‘You’ll kill me in a horrible way, blah, blah, blah … I’ve heard your spiel already, Englishman.’
The walk took them out of the city centre, passing main roads closed down for the 108th. They saw no military vehicles, because most had arrived before daylight, while the Tigers and their escort vehicles were unlikely to hit town for another couple of hours.
‘We have to cross the river,’ Gaspard said.
Three of Rouen’s road bridges had been shut off for the 108th. The fourth was a melee of locals, queued back a kilometre with bicycles and handcarts. But trains crossed the river too. A pair of railway policemen nodded reverentially to Gaspard as he led Henderson across the Seine via a metal gangway alongside train tracks.
‘It’s still not too late,’ Gaspard said, as he held a hand over his cap to stop a warm river breeze from blowing it away. ‘I’ll put you on the next train to Paris. My people wouldn’t dare follow you into Ghost’s territory, although it would be wise not to return to Rouen after what you’ve done.’
Henderson laughed. ‘But I’d report back to my superiors and tell them to stop supplying your group with equipment. Give me some equipment. With luck I’ll get myself killed, and you’ll have no more bother.’
Gaspard had lost two men, but still laughed at Henderson’s logic. At the end of the bridge the two tracks split, with some heading east to Paris and others hugging the side of the river. An express steamed past as Gaspard clambered over a patch of weeds and kicked away gravel to expose a rectangular metal cover.
He strained as he pulled it up. Henderson thought Gaspard was opening a drain, but a metal ladder led down to a narrow concrete chamber with a puddled floor.
‘You first,’ Henderson said. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom below ground, ‘What is