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When Harvey Preston was in repertory he'd once played a gallant young British officer in the trenches of the First World War in that great play Journey's End. A brave, war-weary young veteran, old beyond his years, able to meet death with a wry smile on his face and a glass raised, at least symbolically, in his right hand. When the roof of the dug-out finally collapsed and the curtain fell, you simply picked yourself up and went back to the dressing room to wash the blood off.
But not now. This was actually happening, terrifying in its implication and quite suddenly he was sick with fear. It was not that he had lost any faith in Germany's ability to win the war. He believed in that totally. It was simply that he preferred to be alive to see the glorious day for himself.
It was cold in the garden and he paced nervously up and down, smoking a cigarette and waiting impatiently for some sign of life from the farmhouse. His nerves were jagged. Steiner appeared at the kitchen door 'Preston!' he called in English 'Get in here.'
He turned without another word. When Preston went into the living-room, he found Steiner, Radl and Ritter Neumann grouped around the map table.
'Herr Oberst,' he began.
'Shut up!' Steiner told him coldly. He nodded to Radl. 'Give him his orders.'
Radl said formally, 'Untersturmfuhrer Harvey Preston of the British Free Corps, from this moment you are to consider yourself under the total and absolute command of Lieutenant-Colonel Steiner of the Parachute Regiment. This by direct order of Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler himself. You understand?'
As far as Preston was concerned Radl might as well have worn a black cap, for his words were like a death sentence. There was sweat on his forehead as he turned to Steiner and stammered, 'But Herr Oberst, I've never made a parachute jump.'
'The least of your deficiencies,' Steiner told him grimly 'But we'll take care of all of them, believe me.'
'Herr Oberst, I must protest,' Preston began and Steiner cut in on him like an axe falling.
'Shut your mouth and get your feet together. In future you speak when you're spoken to and not before.' He walked round behind Preston who was by now standing rigidly to attention 'All you are at the moment is excess baggage. You're not even a soldier, just a pretty uniform. We'll have to see if we can change that, won't we?' There was silence and he repeated the question quite softly into Preston's left ear 'Won't we?'
He managed to convey an infinite menace, and Preston said hurriedly, 'Yes. Herr Oberst.'
'Good. So now we understand each other.' Steiner walked round to the front of him again, 'Point number one - at the moment the only people at Landsvoort who know the purpose for which this whole affair had been put together are the four of us present in this room. If anyone else finds out before. I'm ready to tell them because of a careless word from you, I'll shoot you myself Understand?'
'Yes, Herr Oberst.'
'As regards rank, you cease to hold any for the time being Lieutenant Neumann will see that you're provided with parachutists' overalls and a jump smock. You'll therefore be indistinguishable from the rest of your comrades with whom you will be training. Naturally there will be certain additional work necessary in uour case, but we'll come to that later. Any questions?'
Preston's eyes burned, he could hardly breathe so great was his rage. Radl said gently, 'Of course Herr Untersturmfuhrer, you could always return to Berlin with me if dissatisfied and take up the matter personally with the Reichsfuhrer.'
In a choked whisper, Preston said 'No questions.'
'Good,' Steiner turned to Ritter Neumann 'Get him kitted out, then hand him over to Brandt I'll speak to you about his training schedule later.' He nodded to Preston 'All right, you're dismissed.'
Preston didn't give the Nazi party salute because it suddenly occurred to him that it would very possibly not be appreciated Instead he saluted, turned and stumbled out Ritter Neumann grinned and went after him.
As the door closed. Steiner said, 'After that I really do need a drink,' and he moved across to the sideboard and poured a cognac
'Will it work out, Kurt?' Radl asked.
'Who knows?' Steiner smiled wolfish. 'With luck he might break a leg in training.' He swallowed some of his brandy 'Anyway, to more important matters. How's Devlin doing at the moment?. Any more news?'
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In her small bedroom in the old farmhouse above the marsh at Hobs End, Molly Prior was trying to make herself presentable for Devlin, due to arrive for his dinner as promised at any moment. She undressed quickly and stood in front of the mirror in the old mahogany wardrobe for a moment in pants and bra and examined herself critically. The underwear was neat and clean, but showed signs of numerous repairs. Well that was all right and the same for everybody. There were never enough clothing coupons to go round. It was what was underneath that mattered and that wasn't too bad. Nice, firm breasts, round hips, good thighs.
She placed a hand on her belly and thought of Devlin touching her like that and her stomach churned. She opened the top drawer of the dresser, took out her only pair of pre-war silk stockings, each one darned many times and rolled them on carefully. Then she got the cotton dress that she had worn on Saturday from the wardrobe.
As she pulled it over her head, there was the sound of a car horn. She peered out of the window in time to see an old Morris drive into the farmyard. Father Vereker was at the wheel. Molly cursed softly, eased the dress over her head, splitting a seam under one arm and pulled on her Sunday shoes with the two-inch heels.
As she went downstairs she ran a comb through her hair, wincing as it snagged on the tangles. Vereker was in the kitchen with her mother and he turned and greeted her with what for him was a surprisingly warm smile.
'Hello, Molly, how are you?'
'Hard pressed and hard worked. Father.' She tied an apron about her waist and said to her mother. That meat and tatie pie. Ready is it? He'll be here any minute.'
'Ah, you're expecting company.' Vereker stood up, leaning on his stick. 'I'm in the way. A bad time.'
'Not at all, Father,' Mrs. Prior said. 'Only Mr Devlin, the new warden at Hobs End. He's having his dinner here, then giving us an afternoon's work. Was there anything special?'
Vereker turned to look at Molly, speculatively, noting the dress, the shoes and there was a frown on his face as if he disapproved of what he saw. Molly flared angrily. She put her left hand on her hip and faced him belligerently.
'Was it me you wanted. Father?' she asked, her voice dangerously calm.
'No, it was Arthur I wanted a word with. Arthur Seymour. He helps you up here Tuesdays and Wednesdays, doesn't he?'
He was lying, she knew that instantly. 'Arthur Seymour doesn't work here any more, Father. I'd have thought you'd have known that. Or didn't he tell you I sacked him?'
Vereker was very pale. He would not admit it, yet he was not prepared to lie to her face. Instead he said. 'Why was that, Molly?'
'Because I didn't want him round here any more.'
He turned to Mrs. Prior enquiringly. She looked uncomfortable, but shrugged. 'He's not fit company for man nor beast.'
He made a bad mistake then and said to Molly, 'The feeling in the village is that he's been hard done to. That you should have a better reason than preference for an outsider. Hard on a man who's bided his time and helped where he could. Molly.'
'Man,' she said. 'Is that what he is, Father? I never realized. You could tell 'em he was always sticking his hand up my skirt and trying to feel me.' Vereker's face was very white now, but she carried on remorselessly. 'Of course, people in the village might think that all right, him having acted no different round females since he was twelve years old and no one ever did a thing about it. And you don't seem to be shaping no better.'
'Molly!' her mother cried, aghast.
'I see,' Molly said. 'One mustn't offend a priest by telling him the truth, is that what you're trying to say?' There was contempt on her face when she looked at Vereker. 'Don't tell me you don't know what he's like, Father. He never misses Mass Sundays so you must confess him often enough.'
She turned from the furious anger in his eyes as there was a knock at the door, smoothing her dress over her hips as she hurried to answer. But when she opened the door it wasn't Devlin, but Laker Armsby who stood there rolling a cigarette beside the tractor with which he'd just towed in a trailer loaded with turnips.
He grinned. 'Where you want this lot then, Molly?'
'Damn you. Laker, you choose your times, don't you? In the barn. Here, I'd better show you myself or you're bound to get it wrong.'
She started across the yard, picking her way through the mud in her good shoes and Laker trailed after her. 'Dressed up like a dog's dinner today. Now I wonder why that should be, Molly?'
'You mind your business. Laker Armsby.' she told him. 'and get this door open.'
Laker tipped the holding bar and started to open one of the great barn doors. Arthur Seymour was standing on the other side, his cap pulled low over the mad eyes, the massive shoulders straining the seams of the old reefer coat. 'Now then. Arthur.' Laker said warily.
Seymour shoved him to one side and grabbbed Molly by the right wrist, pulling her towards him. 'You get in here, you bitch. I want words with you.'
Laker pawed at his arm ineffectually, 'Now look here, Arthur,' he said. 'No way to behave.'
Seymour slapped him back-handed, bringing blood from his nose in a sudden gush. 'Get out of it!' he said and shoved Laker backwards into the mud.
Molly kicked out furiously. 'You let me go!'
'Oh, no,' he said. He pushed the door closed behind him and shot the bolt. 'Never again, Molly.' He grabbed for her hair with his left hand. 'Now you be a good girl and I won't hurt you. Not so long as you give me what you've been giving that Irish bastard.'
His fingers were groping for the hem of her skirt.
'You stink,' she said. 'You know that? Like an old sow that's had a good wallow.'
She leaned down and bit his wrist savagely. He cried out in pain, releasing his grip, but clutched at her with his other hand as she turned, dress tearing, and ran for the ladder to the loft.
.
Devlin, on his way across the fields from Hobs End, reached the crest of the meadow above the farm in time to see Molly and Laker Armsby crossing the farmyard to the barn. A moment later Laker was propelled from the barn to fall flat on his back in the mud and the great door slammed. Devlin tossed his cigarette to one side and went down the hill on the run.
By the time he was vaulting the fence into the farmyard, Father Vereker and Mrs. Prior were at the barn. The priest hammered on the door with his stick. 'Arthur?' he shouted. 'Open the door - stop this foolishness.'
The only reply was a scream from Molly. "What's going on?' Devlin demanded.
'It's Seymour." Laker told him. holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose. 'Got Molly in there, he has, and he's bolted the door.'
Devlin tried a shoulder and realized at once that he was wasting his time. He glanced about him desperately as Molly cried out again and his eyes lit on the tractor where Laker had left it. engine ticking-over. Devlin was across the yard in a moment, scrambled up into the high seat behind the wheel and rammed the stick into gear, accelerating so savage that the tractor shot forward, trailer swaying, turnips scattering across the yard like cannon balls. Vereker, Mrs. Prior and Laker got out of the way just in time as the tractor collided with the doors, bursting them inwards and rolling irresistibly forward.
Devlin braked to a halt. Molly was up in the loft, Seymour down below trying to reposition the ladder which she had obviously thrown down. Devlin switched off the engine and Seymour turned and looked at him, a strange, dazed look in his eyes.
'Now then, you bastard,' Devlin said.
Vereker limped in. 'No, Devlin, leave this to me!' he called and turned to Seymour. 'Arthur, this won't do, will it?'
Seymour paid not the slightest heed to either of them. It was as if they didn't exist and he turned and started to climb the ladder. Devlin jumped down from the tractor and kicked the ladder from under him. Seymour fell heavily to the ground. He lay there for a moment or so, shaking his head. Then his eyes cleared.
As Seymour got to his feet, Father Vereker lurched forward, 'Now, Arthur, I've told you...'
It was as far as he got for Seymour hurled him so violently to one side that he fell down. 'I'll kill you, Devlin!'
He gave a cry of rage and rushed in, great hands outstretched to destroy. Devlin dodged to one side and the weight of Seymour's progress carried him into the tractor. Devlin gave him a left and right to the kidneys and danced away as Seymour cried out in agony.
