Eagle Day - Robert Muchamore Page 0,62

looked at a crusted pool of blood on the floor. Death had never felt closer.

He tried not to think, but it was too important not to. Whose blood was it? Men or women’s, kids as young as him? What had they done? Had they begged for mercy? Was it a bullet through the head or something slower or more painful? And how idiotic was it to earn yourself a spot in this hell hole because of Dumont’s stupid idea?

‘Pass the bucket,’ Dumont said.

Marc got to his feet. The bucket had been emptied but not cleaned out properly and there were bugs and streaks of shit stuck all over the outside, so he used his boot to sweep it across the floor. He couldn’t bear to watch or smell Dumont throwing up again and the furthest away he could get was to stand up near the door and peek out through the spyhole.

The corridor outside hadn’t changed from when it was a hotel, with moody lighting and carpeted floor.

‘What can I know? What can I know?’ a man screamed. ‘Just kill me now.’

As Marc shuddered, Dumont groaned. A second later the door burst open, knocking Marc into the room. It was Major Ghunsonn, accompanied by the bespectacled brute who’d worked Dumont over in the lane.

‘So,’ the major smiled, speaking in German as he loomed over Dumont. ‘This is the little cockroach that pissed in my car?’ Then he switched to French so Dumont would understand. ‘I think he’s a spy. Don’t you, grenadier?’

‘Absolutely, sir.’ The grenadier nodded.

‘You know what we do to spies, cockroach?’ the major said, as he made the shape of a gun with his fingers. ‘Bang.’

‘Please,’ Dumont sobbed, ‘I’m sorry.’

The major ignored Dumont’s plea and resumed talking in German. ‘Grenadier, I want that fat bag of shit on the firing-squad list for tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the grenadier said enthusiastically. ‘What about the other two?’

‘Tell the police to take them down to the holding cells for a couple of days. Make sure they get a few lumps knocked out of them and then send them home. We need to give these French peasants a clear message about what happens to people who mess with our equipment.’

Marc spoke in German, ‘Major, sir,’ he said meekly.

The twelve year old trembled as the two Germans swivelled towards him. ‘Something to say?’ the major asked.

‘Dumont’s parents are wealthy,’ Marc explained. ‘Perhaps they could pay for the damages or something.’

There was a sharp crack as the major knocked Marc to the floor with a hard slap.

‘What about you?’ the major growled. ‘Are parents wealthy? Maybe you could take Dumont’s place. I’m a sworn officer of the Reich. How your dare you suggest that I’d take a bribe.’

*

Three floors below, Vivien Boyle sat in an interview room, bawling, as a female translator explained that her son had confessed to urinating in a German officer’s car and that Major Ghunsonn had ordered him to be put before a firing squad at noon the following day.

‘He’s a simple boy,’ Vivien wailed. ‘He wouldn’t have known what he was doing.’

Maxine stood behind. ‘What about my two?’

The translator patiently explained that Marc and PT would be released in a few days. As Luc Boyle hugged his desperate wife, Henderson backed out of the room and searched for a telephone.

‘Aren’t they entitled to a trial?’ Luc asked.

‘Criminal offences are dealt with by French police,’ the translator explained. ‘Offences against the German forces are dealt with in summary fashion. No lawyers, no courts.’

Henderson walked down a long hallway and found a public telephone near the reception desk in what had previously been the hotel lobby. He picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him to the army headquarters where he worked.

Army HQ was permanently manned, but there was only a skeleton staff at night. It took several minutes to get one of the operations staff to pick up the telephone and some smooth talking to get the switchboard operator to hand over the number of Oberst Ohlsen’s quarters. Luckily the Oberst was in his hotel suite across town.

‘Sir, I know this is a terrible liberty,’ Henderson explained meekly, ‘but my oldest son and two of my nephews got themselves involved in something rather stupid and have landed themselves in a cell at military police headquarters.’

‘I see,’ Ohlsen said suspiciously. ‘What is something stupid?’exactly

‘Something to do with urinating in a Kübelwagen. It’s wrong, I know, but boys often do such things.’

Ohlsen’s tone became more jovial. ‘Was that Major Ghunsonn’s Kübelwagen,