Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,39
as Holly scowled at her.think
‘He keeps weeing himself!’ Holly said, stamping her heel on the metal floor. ‘He stinks.’
‘I stink,’ Lucien stormed.don’t
‘Both of you, calm down,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s not long now. We should reach the farm before dinnertime.’
Marc sat up near the rear of the truck and called Lucien over. ‘Come sit with me, mate.’
Lucien was tired and grumpy. He cuddled up and closed his eyes as Marc looked out the back of the truck, awed by the carnage on all sides.
The countryside north of Abbeville had seen some of the heaviest clashes between French and German troops during the first phase of the invasion. The road had been patched up and cleared of debris, but the surrounding countryside was littered with mangled weapons. Many dead horses and humans had been piled up and cremated before they putrefied, but the blackened pyres remained and you didn’t have to look too hard to spot rat-gnawed flesh rotting in ditches or between bushes.
The bombing here had a more intense focus than in the south and anything left standing had been crushed by tanks or artillery as the Germans raced westwards in their successful attempt to split France in two and cut the most powerful battalions of the French Army from their supply lines.
Marc tried to imagine what kind of hell the local people must have experienced, hiding out in fields or sheltering in basements as bombs and machines ripped their world apart.
The truck and the Jaguar drove on six more kilometres. The late afternoon sky threatened rain and they had little company, except for German military vehicles coming in the opposite direction. They eventually reached a tiny settlement that had escaped the worst of the fighting. The row of five peasant cottages appeared unoccupied, but German vehicles were parked out front and a security post manned by two armed guards stretched across the road.
The barrier marked the divide between the Somme and the Pas-de-Calais regions. The Germans wanted France back to normality and were encouraging people who’d fled south to go home and resume normal life, but the Pas-de-Calais, at the northernmost tip of the country, was an exception.
This area had been designated as a special military zone. A dozen Luftwaffe
6 bases had been constructed from which regular attacks were being launched on Britain and a huge number of soldiers had been sent in to the area for training exercises.
The Pas-de-Calais was exactly where you wanted to be if you planned to spy on German invasion plans, which is precisely why the Germans were being cautious about who got in or out.
‘Out, out, out and line ,’ a German roared, making a fair stab at the French language. ‘Hands in the air. No sudden moves.’up
Maxine and PT stepped out of the Jaguar, Paul and Henderson from the cab of the truck, while Marc and Rosie jumped off the back before helping the little ones.
Henderson had spent a week bribing and cajoling, first obtaining forged identification papers for everyone except Lucien and Holly and then taking on the much more complex business of securing paperwork required to enter the military zone.
‘Monsieur Boyle,’ a German grenadier7 said, as he stood in front of Henderson inspecting his driver’s licence. ‘Aged thirty-two. Why are you not in military service?’
‘My back was injured in a farm accident some years ago,’ Henderson lied. ‘My military exemption certificate is in your hand.’
‘You look healthy enough to me,’ the German sneered as he looked at it.
‘I have good days and bad days.’
‘And a very friendly doctor, no doubt,’ he snorted. ‘Are these all your relatives?’
Henderson nodded. ‘My wife, Maxine. Paul, Rosemarie and Marc are my children. Philippe Tomas and the two little ones are my brother’s children.’
‘Where is your brother?’
‘We’ve not heard – but he’s a German prisoner, most likely. His wife died in a bomb blast during the invasion.’
Hearts thumped in the line-up in front of the truck as the officer snatched more documents from Henderson and asked him to step across to a wooden table set in the dirt alongside the barrier.
Their documentation was all filled out on stolen forms, carefully crumpled and indistinguishable from the real thing, but anyone who interrogated Henderson’s ‘family’ for any length of time would realise that they had widely differing accents. A thorough search of the truck would reveal the radio transmitter, several guns and a variety of espionage equipment, hidden in a compartment beneath a false floor.
‘You are a farmer?’ the German said suspiciously, waving to attract his superior as