Eleven Eleven - By Paul Dowswell Page 0,44

yelp. They dragged him by the scruff of his flying jacket halfway up the crater.

The relief on the pilot’s face was heartening but Will could see how badly wounded he was. Blood mingled with mud all along his lower legs. Will carried a small first-aid kit in a pouch on his belt, but there was no point trying to patch up this Yank until they had the chance to wash those wounds.

Lost in the moment, neither Will nor the American thought to keep an eye on the German boy, and now they were out Will half expected to find himself staring down the barrel of a Mauser. But instead, the boy grabbed him by the sleeve and said something Will did not understand. But he knew it was urgent.

The pilot looked alarmed. ‘Oh yeah. There’s a shell here, landed about half an hour ago. We don’t know whether it’s a dud or whether it’s on a timed fuse,’ he said rapidly. ‘I’d quite forgotten about it.’

Will and the other boy grabbed the flyer and hauled him up. As they reached the lip of the crater, they could hear distant cheering. ‘What’s happening?’ Will blurted out.

The flyer turned to the German boy and smiled broadly, his pearly teeth flashing against the mud and oil on his face. ‘I told you the war was about to end,’ he said in German. Then he turned to Will and said, ‘It’s all over. Look. Eleven o’clock.’ He held out his wristwatch. It was covered in mud, but he wiped it so Will could see the time. ‘We’re done. It’s all over.’

Will was dumbfounded. He thought he’d be fighting all the way to Berlin – if he lived that long. Then he felt a sudden burst of anger. Why had they sent them in to the wood if they knew the war was about to end? He thought of the men who had been killed on the last morning of the war. What about those snipers? Did they know? He had to know if the Germans knew too. ‘Ask him – ask Fritz here if he knew the war was about to end.’

‘Hey, steady!’ said the pilot angrily. ‘He didn’t know either. I only found out about nine o’clock this morning.’

With sudden horror Will thought of Jim. He wondered if his brother had been caught by the sniper.

The American interrupted his train of thought by leaning forward and offering Will a hand to shake. ‘I’m Pilot Officer Eddie Hertz, American Air Service First Pursuit Group. How do you do?’ he said in an affectionate parody of a formal Englishman.

‘I’m Will, how do you do?’

‘And this here is Axel,’ said Eddie. The two boys shook hands stiffly. Will thought it was bizarre, these drawing-room manners, but the whole situation was like a strange dream.

Axel eyed Will warily. He had not forgotten that the British made a habit of dropping grenades in prisoners’ pockets.

‘We can all be friends again now,’ said Eddie airily. ‘The war is over, so play nicely.’ Then he collapsed on the ground. ‘Can you boys get me to a first-aid post,’ he said, first in English and then in German. ‘There’s a town over that way.’

The ground they were on was slightly raised above the rest of the terrain. They could see a small town a mile or so over to the east.

Axel spoke rapidly to Eddie who nodded weakly. He turned to Will and said, ‘Axel thinks it would take an hour to carry me to the town. He doesn’t reckon that would do these holes in my leg much good. I guess he has a point. He says there’s a German position by the church right behind us. I can get these wounds cleaned up there at least and wait for help.’

Axel didn’t know what his soldiers were likely to do to a pilot who had just bombed them, but the war was over. They would have to take that risk.

Will was wary too. Was this a ruse? Could they trust this German boy? They had no choice. The American was deathly white now. Will tried to put Jim out of his thoughts and felt a renewed determination to save this pilot. They would make sure he was comfortable, then Will would try to find his unit and hope to God his brother had managed to rejoin them too. He wondered why he didn’t feel pleased that he was still alive. He had assumed every day would be his last. Perhaps