Horizon (16 page)

He looked out over the grass—fine, thin grass, like the kind he used to see in a seedmonger’s window-display. There were small blue flowers close to the earth. A large flying beetle snapped its hard green wings at his feet. The small oaks, with their curiously gnarled trunks, were putting out their uneven leaves. The larch and spruce were tall and straight. They gave a blue cast to the depths of green in the woods. Soon the mountainside would be a stretch of bright colour. The last snows on the tall grey mountain teeth would melt, and there would be peaches and vines, ripening in the valleys under the high blue skies. “A poor country,” Mahlknecht had said yesterday, but he had said it proudly. Now Lennox understood the simplicity of the people who lived here: they were content with little because they had so much.

He saw Mahlknecht leave Schroffenegger at the path into the wood, and start slowly towards the hut. He walked as a man who is worried and thoughtful.

Lennox turned quickly back into the hut. “There’s still the problem of these two Jerries,” he said quickly, “I had almost forgotten them.”

Thomson and Shaw stopped their discussion.

“We can’t get rid of them the easy way,” Thomson said. “We can’t have men with bullet- or knife-wounds lying about.” Then thoughtfully: “We buried our parachutes according to the book. They might have heard our plane, might even—from
some distance—have seen us drop. There’s always that chance. But how did they connect all that with the Schichtl house?”

“They didn’t connect it,” Lennox suggested. “I don’t believe they know you are here. You just timed your arrival for a rather delicate moment, that’s all. They are looking for the men who guide Allied flyers out of these mountains. Johann disappears at certain periods and returns, exhausted but weather-beaten. Someone who knows Johann well enough to note his disappearance and reappearance has given them that information. They have found that these disappearances take place after the remains of an Allied plane have been discovered. They are just checking up on Johann. That’s all.”

“But who could give that information about Johann?”

Lennox said, “He has been seeing a girl. Last thing on leaving, first thing on return, no doubt. She’s the niece of a collaborationist. Mussner is the name.”

“Johann’s a bloody fool,” Shaw said. He was angry. Thomson didn’t seem any too pleased either. They both looked as if they had begun to wonder how many fools they might find on this job.

“No,” Lennox said. “He isn’t a fool. He’s just young. He thinks that if a girl kisses you she really means it.” Lennox was silent for a moment. He was too busy remembering the past to notice the American’s uplifted eyebrow. “Perhaps he
was
a bloody fool,” he concluded with a bitter smile, forcing himself away from the memories which he had thought were long buried.

Mahlknecht entered the room. He looked quickly at the two officers. “Well?”

“Everything is all right,” Shaw answered. His Tyrolese
accent wasn’t too bad, Lennox noted. It would be perfect in a week or two. He couldn’t resist feeling pleased that his own accent was better.

“Good.” Mahlknecht was relieved. His whole face smoothed out. But his eyes were still thoughtful. “There is an immediate problem,” he said.

The three younger men exchanged glances and smiled. “We know,” Thomson agreed. “We were just discussing at this moment how to silence the two Germans and the Mussner girl.”

“That can be managed.” Mahlknecht’s voice was quiet and capable. He was doing his best to keep the two newcomers’ confidence in his people. It had been bad luck that the Germans’ sudden interest in the Schichtl house had happened just at this time. Mahlknecht’s pride was hurt: he had worked carefully, and now there was this incident which a stranger might think was a proof of incompetence. It showed Lennox somehow how sincerely Mahlknecht wanted the help of the Allies. He wanted these men to stay, to trust him and his people.

Mahlknecht was biting the corner of his lip again. When he spoke there was a certain dignity in his words. There was no minimising of his worry.

“We can take care of the Mussner girl in a civilised manner,” he said. “We shall send Johann away, with one of the missions into the North Tyrol. She will not see him again, so she will have no more guesses to pass over to her German friends. We shall watch her closely, from now onward.”

“And the two Jerries in the barn?” Shaw spoke crisply. He wasn’t the man to make excuses, and he didn’t expect any. He was a hard case, Lennox thought. That was the kind of man Mahlknecht had wanted; he had certainly got it.

“It would be easy to lead them up a mountain. There’s many a way of getting rid of a man on a mountainside. But even if these Germans seemed to die accidentally on a mountain the question of why they should have been climbing is still unanswered. And other Germans, with stronger suspicions, would come and take their place. So the problem is this: we must lead them away from the Schichtl house back to where their friends can see them. And either we must put an end to their suspicions, or—if necessary—kill them. But on no account must their death confirm the German suspicion.”

Shaw and Thomson nodded. They were pleased with Mahlknecht’s quiet analysis. They were relieved that they weren’t dealing with a hot-head, filled with heroic plans which would only lead to disaster.

“You were right,” Shaw said to Lennox. “Our friend Mahlknecht is a very careful fellow.” Then he turned to Mahlknecht. “What is your explanation of these waiting Germans?”

“First, they had some suspicion about the Schichtl house giving help to Allied airmen who had crashed. We believe that their suspicion came from vague information supplied by Eva Mussner. It must have been vague, or else we in the Schichtl house should all have been arrested yesterday... Secondly, they must have learned that two men dropped from a plane near here last flight. But they can have no idea whether these two men were parachuting as agents, or simply bailing out of a plane which might later have crashed in the high mountains. Certainly they have no idea who you are, for today, in the village, you were accepted by them as men of the Schlern. And that makes me believe, although we cannot be sure, that they are looking for two airmen rather than agents... Thirdly they went back to the
Schichtl house, to see if the parachutists had gone there for help. The two Germans who are now dressed as civilians came along with the SS men because these civilians had seen us yesterday and so could identify any newcomers today.”

“And that,” Thomson said, “sounds as near the truth as we shall ever know. We’ll have to work, as we’ve often done, by guess and by God. But the first problem is they are still waiting.”

Lennox said, “Yes. And why? They must have some real suspicion now about the Schichtl house.” He kept worrying about the sure way in which the two Germans had walked to the Kasal barn. They had been settling down to watch and to wait. Of that he felt sure. “They found no strangers in the house. Why should they wait?”

“Perhaps,” Mahlknecht said slowly, “perhaps they are waiting for you.”

Lennox was silent. It was true: he hadn’t been seen in the village, and so he should have been at the house. The Germans would think it interesting if he were to be found neither near the house nor in the village. He realised suddenly that this was the thought at the back of his mind which had been worrying him all afternoon. He realised that now as he listened to Mahlknecht’s words. He knew what he had to do, what they expected him to do.

He moved over to the door so that he could see the grass and the trees and the mountains. He was wondering how you fought Germans with bare hands and quick wits. This was the civilian way of resisting; this was something new for a soldier to learn. A tommy-gun would have seemed very comforting at this moment.

“I suppose I ought to move back to the house, then,” he
said. “The longer I stay away, the more questions they will begin to ask.”

The others didn’t answer. They were thinking of their other problems, balancing them against this one. They probably had a dozen worries to solve at this moment.

His voice became more assured. “Look, you have other things to think about. I’ll shut up those two Jerries somehow. Johann will help me. Anyway, this looks like our particular headache.”

The others accepted this solution.

“I’m glad you volunteered,” Shaw said. “You’ll manage it all right.”

“If there’s any questioning then act dumb,” Thomson advised.

Lennox smiled grimly. “I shall be dumb, all right,” he said. He was still wondering how to fight Germans with bare hands. And then it didn’t seem so difficult: anyone who had been a prisoner-of-war had learned to fight with his wits.

Mahlknecht said, “Use your own judgment.” And as Lennox looked at him sharply, he added, “—whether they stay alive or not.”

Lennox nodded. He moved slowly over the clearing, and then as he saw Johann standing talking to old Schroffenegger at the path his pace quickened. Johann had won his bet. Katharina had been warned. Lennox was smiling as he said to the boy, “We have a little job to do.”

* * *

The three men in the hut returned to the table.

Thomson straightened the map thoughtfully and picked up his pencil. “Pity we hadn’t time to give them a helping hand.”

The Englishman’s silence showed he agreed.

Mahlknecht said slowly, “I am sorry, gentlemen, that this incident had to happen at this time.” He was embarrassed as if he blamed himself for this complication.

The American laughed. “Don’t let that worry you. Something always happens at the wrong time. Doesn’t it, Roy?”

The Englishman nodded, absentmindedly. “You know,” he said, “that man Lennox might not be a bad chap to have around. Useful, perhaps.”

“Yes.” Thomson was thoughtful too. “Remember the colonel’s report on him? Intelligent man, but undisciplined. Either Lennox has learned the hard way or the colonel was making a snap decision. I don’t know of any greater discipline than being able to take your own orders.”

“He’s learned.” Shaw paused, pretending to examine the map. “Now we had better get on with our own job. We’ll have to trust Lennox to do his.”

Mahlknecht sat astride a wooden bench, and began to advise. His own worry about Johann and Lennox began to recede: he began to believe, even as these two foreigners had assumed, that the Germans would have their problems too.

The journey to the Schichtl house was swift. Johann’s pace was steady and unbroken. He moved over the more difficult ground quickly, without slackening speed, as if he expected Lennox to follow easily. And because it was expected of him, Lennox managed it. Either the brief rest at Schönau, or the stimulus of the two Allied officers’ arrival, or the sense of necessity which surrounded him had chased away the fatigue of his muscles. Or perhaps they had never really forgotten the long months of training in the desert. They were obeying him, anyway. His mind was clear. He had a feeling of growing confidence. He was sure now that the job which he and Johann had to do could be done, if only they were quick enough at improvising. Improvise, he told himself—that’s your best chance.

As he followed Johann’s easy stride, imitating its changes in rhythm, matching footholds down difficult terrain, he could let his mind think about the simplest plan on which improvisation
could be worked. He kept remembering Mahlknecht’s implication. The Germans were first to be satisfied that he was alone at the house, that he didn’t expect anyone. Then they were to be led away from the house. They were to be led away. And after that he was to use his own judgment.

The sunlight was deepening in colour. A cool breeze was blowing up from the meadows. From the direction of the village he could hear the gay, distant music of a band, ebbing and flowing like a tide as the wind dropped or strengthened. The late afternoon had brought high clouds, tight and withdrawn into the soft blue of the sky. The rock of the mountain precipices had lost its hard grey look: the yellow sun was drawing out the warmth from its veins. The dark fir-trees grew more secret with the coming of evening; the thick stretches of woods, like twisting bands of rich green velvet, separated the bright new grass in the meadows from the giant teeth of rock. Lennox thought of the men and women gathered together in the village, of their gay costumes and bright music and friendly laughter disguising nagging worries. He thought of the Germans in the village, and the hidden trucks, quietly waiting. He thought of the two Germans in the Kasal barn, impatient, speculating. He thought of the three men in the foresters’ hut on the Schönau; of old Schroffenegger guarding the south path while his two sons kept watch on the northern road to the lumber camp. He thought of Johann and himself moving on their grim errand across the wide mountainside. The background of space and height gave the feeling of peace. It was a most noble illusion, he decided bitterly.

At the wood behind the Schichtl house they avoided the path, and made their way carefully and indirectly down between
the thicker trees. Half-way Lennox stopped to give his quiet instructions. Johann nodded; he was listening intently. His young face was strangely blank. But the plan seemed to please him, for he nodded again and clapped Lennox’s shoulder as much as to say, “We’ll give the blighters a run for their money.” Then he cut swiftly off to his left to reach the edge of the wood where Katharina and Lennox had watched the German car on the road. Lennox walked on to the house.

The untouched breakfast-table reminded him that he was hungry. The fire in the stove was almost out. The house was forlorn and cheerless, as if it remembered the disordered bedroom upstairs, the neglect downstairs, and resented such unusual treatment.

He decided to attend to the fire first. It was something of a job to get it lit if he once let it die out completely. He raked the ashes gently, threw on some small dried twigs, and then decided to go out for more wood. The logs were piled outside under the windows. Here was the chance for anyone watching this house to see him being thoroughly domestic. He felt self-conscious about the way he wouldn’t let himself look at the Kasal barn. And then he wondered suddenly whether the Germans were still there. He’d feel a fool if they weren’t, pretending so hard to be so damned natural. He brought back two logs into the house, carrying them in his left arm. He hoped his right arm would look weak to any observer. He made a second journey, and a third, using only his left arm for the carrying.