Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,45

understatement,’ the officer laughed. ‘They’re a mountain battalion. Half of them can’t swim and most have never seen the sea before.’

Paul couldn’t think what to say in reply and there was a brief silence before the officer bent over and took Paul’s pad. He burst into laughter as he saw the sketches of men struggling in the water and doing their exercises.

‘These are really good,’ the officer said. ‘You really capture their … I don’t know the French word. The in their body.’sense

Paul enjoyed the compliment. ‘Their emotions,’ he smiled.

‘Yes,’ the officer said, nodding as he began flicking through the pad. ‘Emotions. It’s clever how you convey so much with just a few lines. And I see that you work well in other styles too.’very

Paul cringed as the German turned the spiral-bound pages. He hated people looking at his drawings because he sometimes liked to draw really dark stuff like dead bodies or people being eaten by giant bugs. But the German held the pad open at a pastel drawing of Rosie, depicted with a hammer in her hand as she helped PT to repair the cottage roof.

‘Is that your girlfriend?’ the officer asked teasingly.

Paul shook his head. ‘My sister.’

‘You draw beautifully,’ the officer said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bar of chocolate. ‘Here. I have plenty.’

Paul had a sweet tooth and was a huge fan of chocolate. This was the first he’d seen since leaving Paris a month earlier, so he snatched it keenly. ‘Thank you much, sir.’so

‘I’ve seen you up here several times,’ the officer said, as he passed back the pad and took his wallet from inside his coat, ‘but I had no idea that I was in the presence of such a talent. Have you ever tried drawing from a photograph?’

Paul nodded. ‘It’s not as good as real life, but I used to do it all the time. When I was little I used to draw cars and aeroplanes from pictures in magazines, but I mostly draw people and animals now. They’re more interesting for some reason.’

The German took a photograph from his wallet. ‘My wife, daughter and I. If I gave you this could you make a small drawing of it?’

Paul liked being free to draw whatever he fancied, but he was intimidated by the tall officer and grateful for the chocolate.

‘You don’t look sure,’ the officer said. ‘But you do like chocolate, yes?’

‘The only thing better than chocolate is bread and jam.’

‘OK,’ the officer said, laughing. ‘In our storeroom we have boxes of good Belgian chocolate. Twenty-four bars in each box. If I gave you one of those would you draw my family from this photograph?’

‘We’re almost out of jam,’ Paul said. ‘Do you have jars of jam?’

The officer held his hands about thirty centimetres apart. ‘The army gets it in cans about this size. Mixed berry or apricot.’

‘I’ll draw your picture for a can of mixed berry,’ Paul said, smiling.

‘Deal,’ the German said, as he passed over the photograph. ‘It’s my only picture of them, so be sure you don’t lose it.’

*

Henderson was in decent shape but the Germans seldom let him off work much before seven and the thirteen-kilometre ride home along the coast road was no fun when he was tired. Waves crashed and occasional gusts sent his bike wavering dangerously close to military vehicles. The German drivers ignored speed limits and knew they’d face little more than a rebuke if they squished a French cyclist.

Halfway between Calais and home, the Germans had set up a snap checkpoint. These cropped up at random locations throughout the region and comprised two cars or two trucks parked on opposite sides of the road and anywhere between three and six soldiers.

This was the third checkpoint Henderson had encountered in the six days since they’d arrived in the north. French traffic queued, while Germans were waved through. The wait varied, depending upon the level of traffic and how methodical the soldiers were, but even a ten-minute delay was irritating at the end of a ten-hour shift.

The Germans had forbidden the sale of petrol to Frenchmen, effectively banning private vehicles in the process. The queue comprised a single farm tractor, eight bicycles and a similar number on foot. The soldier inspecting documents spoke less than a dozen words of French, but took great pains over each piece of paper and held it up to the sun, presumably to check for some mysterious sign that it was a forgery.

Although the Germans