Stile Maus (33 page)

‘Who
knows, a tip off maybe?’

‘No,’ Hugo snapped, ‘we can make this work, follow my lead.’

They grumbled down though the cobbled enclosure and came to a halt at the curb beside the old furniture shop.

‘
Til,I need you to get rid of the truck up ahead, if there’s anyone in it, take them out, whatever the cost.  We need this truck in that space.  Let’s just pray they haven’t captured any of the others.’

Til
approved and climbed down from the wheel and Hugo clipped at the door before striding gingerly towards the shop, his hand held firmly over the curve of his belt.  A bustle of passing locals had started to hover around the grumbling trucks, knowing there was commotion to be seen.  Til clambered into the truck that sat directly outside the shop and was relieved to see no one inside.  With a snappy press on the pedal he gently veered the truck away from the entrance and set off down the road.  Hugo noticed and nodded anxiously.  Suddenly the doors of Mr Morel’s shop swung open, so violently in fact that they nearly dislodged from their hinges.  A stocky soldier led an unconscious boy and the two soldiers that held him out onto the road.  His legs dangled and the toes of his boots scraped along the floor.  The leading soldier stepped away for a moment and began an attempt to disperse the gathering crowds, his carefully pointed machine gun doing most of the persuading.  A screech of tires sounded from down the street and a truck mounted the curb with a grunt.  Hugo looked on, expecting it to be a familiar face sitting behind the windscreen.  It wasn’t.  Two men leaped out from the cabin, rifles clasped between their gloved clutches.  They headed into a cafe, barging and flipping tables and chairs as they scrambled through the forecourt.  Meanwhile the De Lorme boy was receiving a beating, blow after blow.  His hair twanged across his face as one of his captors thrust a fist into his already bloody nose. 

‘STEFAN!’

A gentle voice, filled with fear.  Hugo saw the fluster of her hair as she was yanked towards the truck. The girl would be part of the agreement.  He couldn’t let her come to harm.  Her frightened words were lost as he slipped across the road and began to push through the nattering hordes.  His gun slipped away from its sheath. 

Private Blankenburg withdrew his clenched fist, satisfied as the boy lay against the cobblestone, motionless.  He glanced around and became befuddled almost instantly. 

‘Kern,’ he said, ‘Kern, where is the truck?’

‘Truck, what truck?’

‘The truck we pulled up in twenty minutes ago, where is it?’

Kern looked around, equally confused. 

‘Never mind, just get him in that truck,
let’s move.’

Kern dragged the boy along the floor and hauled him onto the tailgate before nudging him inside with the heel of his boot.  He swiped away his helmet and chuckled.

‘Drive.’

‘What?’
Blankenburg said as his colleague climbed back into the cabin and strapped himself with a seat belt.

‘Drive, quickly.’

Blankenburg obliged, almost unwillingly and sped off, leaving the crowds of spectators to distend into the narrow streets.  They came to a standstill at a junction on the border of the city and Kern continued his laughter. 

‘Take a look at this,’ he said, signalling for his companion to join him and trudge along the dusty path towards the wagon’s back end.  With a deep huff
Blankenburg leapt down and kicked at the dirt until he reached the shoulder rocking chortle of his colleague.

‘I’ll be damned,’ he grinned.

‘Looks like we’ve bagged ourselves the most wanted men in Paris. 

‘How did they get here?’

‘Listen, I’m not going to argue with someone if they drove off with our truck and left this.’

‘Here, what’s under this tarpaulin?’

The sheet came away under Blankenburg’s sharp pinch and the two soldiers looked at one another. 

‘
Wunderbar.’

Gerard swigged at the sampled whiskey and clenched his lips as it soured the back of his throat.  A cigarette burned slowly within his fingers and he set it over the ashtray before pouring himself another drink. 

‘Let me get this straight,’ he whispered, ‘you expect me to just hand over the whereabouts of my friends?’

Klaus nodded.

‘It’s as simple as that.’

‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Believe it or not, in a little under an hour that front door will come crashing through and the men that enter will take you and your family and send them off to concentration camps.  Now, if you chose to collaborate I can guarantee your safety, along with the remaining four members.’

Gerard breathed deeply and felt the fire of whiskey rise from his stomach. 

‘Say I do trust you, what’s the next move.’

‘We gather the others and begin the next phase.  But we
need
him.’

Gerard laughed.

‘You have no idea do you?’

Klaus looked on, mystified. 

‘The German military see us as ghouls who move only by night, sabotaging vehicles and plotting attacks and planting bombs.  It’s all lies.  We attack in dark alleyways and cut tyres of cars parked in the midst of a packed lot.  We’re no professionals.’

Klaus leaned forwards.

‘We’re not looking for a saboteur.  We’re looking for a carpenter.’

Gerard crept upstairs and pulled a jacket and trousers away from his wardrobe.  A pistol and blunting knife sat at the bottom beside a row of tatty shoes and he tucked both into either side of his socks.  He could hear the German’s circling footsteps downstairs.  The pistol threatened to jiggle out from his trouser leg as he stepped down each step.

‘There’s one more thing. 
Ludivine, we have to get her too.  She works a morning shift in a cafe just up the road from Stefan’s store.’

Klaus nodded.

‘Funny you should mention that, we’re heading that way.  We just have to make a few stops beforehand.’

Michel hit the ground and found his feet.  His face was hot and his wet hair fell at his brow.  A pistol slipped into his palm and he began to edge along the lightless passage.  He could barely see the spouts of cloudy air that seethed through his panting lips.  A bright gleam blasted at the back of his eyes, causing him to stumble and then carelessly aim the gun up at the approaching engine. 

They’ve found me, he thought.  The truck screeched to a halt and then sat there, like a bull taunting the fighter that carried the red flag.  He contemplated emptying the chamber into the windshield but turned instead, sprinting away towards the blurry gloom.

‘Michel wait,’ snapped a familiar voice.  He spun into the beam once more and covered his eyes, trying to visualise the shadow standing over the cabin doors.

‘Gerard?’

‘Yes, come quickly.’

Michel went to climb into the front but stopped as soon as he caught sight of Klaus.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Just get in,’ hurried Gerard, ‘I’ll explain on the way.’

Snatching at his friends offered hand Michel swung himself into the cabin and shut the door.

‘T-The Germans,’ he looked across the seat, ‘I saw them pull up on the drive, I was able to get out over the back gate.’

‘Are your family inside?’

Michel glanced at Gerard, questioning if it was alright to answer.

‘Are they?’ Gerard repeated.

‘No, they’re staying with friends in Lyon, Callie too.’

‘Good,’ Klaus said.

‘Good?’ Gerard spat, ‘I thought you said they wouldn’t start rounding up for another hour?’

‘They must have had a tip off,’ Klaus said, concerned, ‘Who’s the closest from here?’

Gerard shook his head and looked at Michel.

‘Quickly,’ Klaus yelled.’

‘Jacques then Patrice, Stefan will be setting up at the store.’

‘Show the way,’ Klaus said hastily, ‘we haven’t got much time.’ 

After the other
stallers had joined them (rather defiantly) Klaus sped towards Mr Morel’s furniture store in search of the final and most important member. 

Klaus wrenched up the handbrake and stopped at the edge of the street, his eyes wide and quick to flick around the crowded road. 

‘What’s going on?’ Gerard said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Head round the back,’ Michel said, ‘there’s a loading bay, we can get into the store from there.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.’

A figure was thrown into the back of a halting truck.  Klaus cranked the gears and headed up the street, following the red brake lights as they sped off into the distance.  The brick and stone of the city lasted for another ten minutes until it was replaced by a stretch of tall pine trees.  They had entered the countryside with great speed, chasing the blur of trailing red.  There was a carpet of silver mist that hovered at bumper level and left the road barely visible.  A voice came from the back cabin.

‘What’s happening out there?’

‘Calm down,’ Michel said.

‘You see the shelf of machine guns back there?’ Klaus called.

‘Yes,’ replied the voice.

‘Grab
them, you might need them in a moment.’

A deer sprang into the middle of the road and Klaus swerved to one side, bumping up a grassy bank and stalling at the foot of an ageing sign post. 

‘Merde!’ Michel cried, shaking off the shuddering aftershock of the bumpy stop, ‘hurry get after them.’

Scowling, Klaus thumped at the pedals and the wheels span out with no movement.  He tried again and the cabin lunged forwards, whirling back onto the road. 

‘Where are they?’  Michel growled.

‘Quiet,’ Gerard hissed, ‘turn down the lights.’ 

The fog lamps twitched and they continued blindly through the mist.  Klaus lowered his window and Michel did the same.  Small, deceiving junctions lined the road and the trio glanced down each murky path. 

‘There!’

Behind a rise of tall trees there were two smudges of luminous red.  Klaus switched off the lights entirely and veered onto the dirt path.  The truck was parked not twenty feet away.  The wind pinched at their cheeks.  Five short blasts filled the air and each man looked at one another, measuring each other’s fear by the widening white of their eyes.  Michel began to scramble at the door.

‘Wait.’

From the back of the cabin up ahead a figure leapt down onto the muddy track and jogged off into the darkness.  Klaus frowned and released his grip on Michel’s arm, pedalling forwards with gentle care.  They came to a steep knoll and he flicked at the lights, revealing two dazed Nazi’s and five motionless bodies.  

‘Stay here.’

Klaus unclipped the button on his holster and closed the cab door. 

‘Who’s there?’

They watched Klaus approach as if he were a ghostly apparition, their eyes wide with confusing revulsion. 

‘I’ll ask you to lower your weapon, private.’ 

Klaus didn’t recognise either of them but it came abundantly clear that they knew him.

‘Forgive me, Sir,’ stuttered the pistol bearer, ‘I-I did not realise it was you.’ 

‘That’s absolutely fine.  Would either you like to tell me what’s going on here?’

Blankenburg seemed to abandon his distrust and he tucked the Luger back into this belt before turning to the scatter of fallen bodies, a wide grin perched across his lips. 

‘It’s those
stallers
Sir, we were ordered by Colonel Hermann...’  He was interrupted.   

‘And what have become of these
stallers
, private?’

The tension became as thick as the travelling fog.  The two soldiers standing at the foot of the knoll glanced at one another. 
Blankenburg snatched at his belt and Klaus riddled his chest with a quick draw of sharp blasts and turned to the other soldier.  The point of his Luger found the man on his back, his ribs smoking.  Klaus looked behind him.  A band of silhouettes stood atop the truck, their machine guns sizzling with the aftermath of hot gunfire.  He strode towards Blankenburg who lay against the bloodied grass.  A whimper began to slip through his blood choked lips but Klaus fired a final shot, silencing him instantly.  He turned to the beams of warm yellow light.

‘Get looking, we don’t have long.’

Michel, Gerard, Jacques and Patrice snatched the hood away from each limp body leaving Klaus to stand alone, scratching his forehead with the tip of his Luger. 

‘We’re missing one.’

‘He’s not here.’

Michel flung a hood down onto the grass, studying the Aryan faces of the fallen with intense befuddlement.  Klaus moved from body to body and finally shook his head.  The dense shadowed form of a forest lingered in the remoteness up above.