26
SAM
11th June
‘You sure you’re gonna be OK?’ I asked Stanley Novak, who was lying next to me in a pile of straw, a blanket rolled up under his head. He nodded, sucking in his breath sharply.
‘You want some water before we go?’
‘That would be good, yeah.’
‘I’ll go find you some.’
I got to my feet, rubbing my eyes, which were gritty from lack of sleep. Then I realised we were alone. Dammit, where had Gardner got to now? We’d made the decision last night to try and get back to the beach today, find out where our unit had gotten to and send help for Stanley. Freddie wasn’t too happy about it; he’d gotten comfortable here, even though he was the only one out of the three of us who was in decent shape. He’d looked at me incredulously and said, ‘Why the fuck would I want to go out there? I’ll get shot to pieces by the Germans.’
‘We leave it any longer, we’ll get court-martialled for desertion,’ I’d told him, and he’d gone quiet. Clearly, even he wasn’t dumb enough to think his daddy could save him from that.
Now, I went to the stable door. It felt as if years had passed since Omaha, even though it was only a few days. As I’d scrambled up the bluff that afternoon, another two fellows had been picked off by the sniper; I hadn’t known who either of them were, but I’d never forget the look on the face of the guy beside me when a bullet smacked into his shoulder, or the sound of him screaming for his mother as he tumbled backwards onto the shingle. As I made it to the top, I’d taken one last look over my shoulder at the beach.
Bodies had been strewn across the sand and floating in the sea, where crippled landing craft and tanks stuck out at jagged angles from the water. The sky had been thick with smoke from burning fuel and the damaged ships. How the fuck are we even still alive? I’d thought. For a moment, I’d been frozen, my fingers dug into the crumbling, sandy rock. Then Stanley had reached down and pulled me over, and I’d sprawled on my stomach on the ground at the top of the bluff.
The officer who’d joined us at the sea wall had been barking orders. Soon our little group was up and running in formation towards the road above the cliffs. We’d pushed our way through tangled hedgerows and across fields, keeping low, trying to move as fast as we could. As night fell we’d come across a German platoon and there was a fierce firefight; two more of our guys had bought it, cutting our number down to seven, but the rest of us got away.
By nightfall we’d reached a little village. None of us had a map, so I still didn’t know what it was called. We’d thought we might be able to find food, somewhere to rest up, but the place was in ruins. We’d searched anyway, and found a bottle of wine, the label too dusty to read, which we’d shared between us – it was vinegary and thin – then we’d snatched a few hours’ sleep amongst the rubble of someone’s basement, taking turns to keep watch.
I’d been sure only minutes had passed when I was shaken awake again. Our CO wanted us to keep moving inland, try and join up with other units if we could find them. My heart had sunk. I was so goddamned tired, and I couldn’t get the things I’d seen that day out of my head. Even when I’d been asleep they’d haunted me – I’d had nightmares about being back in the water, drowning, choking on blood and oil, all mixed up with desperate dreams of Ruby who was standing with Ma and Meggie on the beach, all of them shouting something at me that I couldn’t hear.
This time we’d stuck to the roads. We’d been walking for quarter of an hour or so when we reached a castle – an actual, goddamn castle, looking like something out of a fairy tale. That had been the only fairy-tale-like thing about it, though; the place had been crawling with Germans dug down in trenches. We’d opened fire, tossing grenades, but we were hopelessly outnumbered. In the end, only Stanley, Freddie and I had managed to get away. We’d run like hell, scrambling across more fields and hedgerows, and it wasn’t until we’d reached the farm where we were now that I’d realised Stanley was shot in the thigh, his pants soaked with blood.
‘Shit, man, why didn’t you say something?’ I’d hissed at him as we entered the yard, guns raised and ready.
‘Didn’t – want – to – slow – you – down,’ he’d jerked out from between gritted teeth. Even though it was dark I’d been able to see he was at the end of his strength.
‘Gardner, help me, Goddammit,’ I’d hissed. ‘Stanley’s hurt.’
Grudgingly, Freddie had come around the other side of me, and we’d helped Stanley into a stable where there was a solitary horse dozing in a stall near the door. It snorted when we came in but I was able to soothe it, stroking its nose and talking softly to it until it calmed down again. We’d put Stanley in the stall at the other end of the stables and then I’d torn a strip off my shirt and tied it around his thigh to try and stem the bleeding. To my relief, it had worked. I’d collapsed beside him in a heap of dirty straw, too exhausted to carry on. I’d fallen asleep again almost immediately and, despite the nightmares, I’d slept until the morning when I woke up to find the farmer’s daughter, a girl about mine and Ruby’s age, staring down at us with her mouth open. I’d tried to reassure her, although I didn’t speak a word of French, and I’d started coughing. I’d got a raging fever; I guess those hours on the beach, soaked to the skin and freezing cold, had taken their toll.
That had been five days ago; we’d been here ever since. The farmer and his family were part of the resistance; they’d been looking after us, and tried to get a radio message through to the British to let them know we were here, although they hadn’t managed it so far. I was starting to feel a little better now, although I was weak and couldn’t shift this damn cough. Stanley was still real sick. His wound had gotten infected even though we’d used our supply of sulphanilamide bandages on it and tried to keep it clean, and he couldn’t put any weight on his leg at all.
I looked out of the stable door. The yard was empty save for a few hens pecking around in the dirt. After checking again that the coast was clear I went over to the house and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Perhaps the farmer and his family were out in the fields. I pushed the door and it creaked open.
I was about to step inside when, from the nearby barn, I heard a woman’s voice. Although I couldn’t make out the words, I recognised the tone: pleading, slightly panicked, but low, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear. Shit. Had the Germans found us?
As quietly as I could, I went over there. The door was closed but there was a window in one side without any glass in it. I crouched down, and peered over the sill.
It was the farmer’s daughter, Isabelle, and there was a guy in there with her. Freddie. He’d got her backed up against an old horse cart with a broken wheel.
‘Non, non, monsieur. S’il vous plaît,’ Isabelle was saying. She was struggling to push him away, her face streaked with tears. Freddie shoved her back again, pinning her in place with his legs. ‘No you don’t.’
He yanked her skirt up roughly, exposing her thighs. ‘I got needs, sweetheart. Shut up and do your bit for the goddamn war effort.’ With his other hand, he was fumbling with his belt. Isabelle was sobbing loudly now. Anger flooded through me, making black spots dance in front of my eyes as I remembered all those times I’d listened to Ma begging Kirk not to hurt her through my bedroom wall. Grabbing my pistol from my belt, I burst in there.
‘You bastard! Leave her the fuck alone!’ Freddie sprang away from her, his pants half undone, his face a picture of surprise. His expression quickly changed to an angry sneer. ‘Sammy boy. I might’ve known. Come to take your turn, have you?’
‘You piece of shit,’ I said as Isabelle yanked her skirts down and fled, pushing past me and out of the barn. ‘You’re no better than the goddamn Krauts.’
Freddie did his pants up again, his face flushed and furious. ‘That’s goddamn rich, coming from you.’ He didn’t seem to have noticed or even care that I was pointing a gun at him.
‘Fuck you, Freddie.’ I spat in the dirt at his feet.
His face flushed a dull purple, and he launched himself at me. We grappled on the barn floor, months of mutual hatred finally boiling over. I was still holding my pistol, trying to keep it out of his reach as he attempted to wrestle it away from me. He punched me in the side of my head, making me see stars; with my free hand, I landed a blow right on his mouth, mashing his lips against his teeth. I wasn’t seeing his face. I was fighting Kirk, and every blow I landed was one for Ma, and for Meggie.
Freddie grabbed my wrist and my gun flew out of my hand, hit the floor and went off, the bullet ricocheting up into the rafters above us and sending a flock of doves roosting up there fluttering out through the half-open door in panic.
We both scrambled to our feet. I stared at Freddie, panting and coughing, noting the blood coming out of his mouth and nose with satisfaction, even though one of my eyes was swelling shut and it felt as if my lungs were tearing themselves apart.
‘What’s the matter?’ I said when I could speak again, and he still hadn’t moved. ‘You scared, you goddamn bullying piece of shit?’
He didn’t answer. He was staring past me at the door. I saw my gun lying nearby, and stepped forward to pick it up.
‘Halt!’ a voice barked. I froze, my fingers just inches from the gun.
‘Put your hands up and turn around,’ the voice said in precise, heavily accented English. A dog began to bark. Slowly, I turned, and saw a German soldier standing in the doorway, pointing his Luger straight at our heads.