Two more nights passed without word from the BBC. But on the third evening after Logan’s visit with Nat, the message finally came through:
“On ne fait pas d’omelette sans casser des oeufs.”
They could expect the Lysander sometime tonight between ten p.m. and three a.m.
Logan ate dinner at the hotel with Claude and Lise, and somehow the three managed to pass the time until the hour when they would at last embark upon this long-awaited mission. Since the Carrel farm lay in the opposite direction from the airfield, they decided that Claude and Lise should go directly to the field, just in case the plane was early. Logan would retrieve Nat from the farm and take him with him to rendezvous with the others, in hopes that he could get him on the plane and safely on his way back to England.
It was nine o’ clock when Logan arrived at the farm.
“Are you ready to go, Nat?”
“It’s tonight, then?”
Logan nodded, and Nat flashed a grin through his pale features. Pulling himself painfully up from the chair, with Logan’s assistance he hobbled to the corner where his pack lay ready and waiting.
“It is still amazin’ to me,” he said, “hoo my arrival in Vouziers could hae been timed so perfectly—jist in time to catch a plane ride back home.”
He attempted a soft laugh, but it only ended in a painful cough. The festering wound was clearly taking its toll on his body’s strength.
As they stepped out of the house, Carrel’s son René volunteered to go along, and Logan gladly accepted the offer. An extra pair of hands might come in handy with Nat if they ran into any problems.
They climbed into the van and set out for the airfield, a seven mile jaunt from the farm. A full moon shone on a clear summer’s night, perfectly conducive for a Lysander landing. Logan was glad they had the boy along, for without the luxury of the van’s headlamps, due to the blackout, he would have been hard put to find his way on the unfamiliar roads, even in the moonlight.
After ten minutes Logan said, “I thought it was only about seven kilometers from your place to the airfield,” worried that he had not yet seen any familiar landmarks indicating they were approaching their destination.
“Perhaps as the crow flies,” said the lad. “But the road veers quite a bit to the north before it meets the airport road that you probably took out of town.”
“I must have misread my map,” said Logan. “We don’t have time for delays!” It was not quite nine-thirty, but Logan was worried that he was cutting it too close. Though the plane could be several hours later, he didn’t want to take any chances of Nat’s not getting on board. “Is there a shorter way?” he asked after a moment’s thought.
“There is an old dirt road up ahead,” replied René, “not much more than a path, actually. It cuts through the woods and is very rough. But before the war it was not unknown for a young man to take his sweetheart down it in whatever vehicle he could get.”
“Is it wide enough for the van?”
“Oh, oui! You should have seen some of the trucks that got through!”
“How much will it save us?”
“I don’t know exactly—three or four kilometers perhaps. It’s maybe three kilometers through the woods, and the airfield can’t be but another kilometer or two beyond that. But the road, I would guess, is eight or nine kilometers still to go.”
“We’ll chance it! Where is the turnoff?”
“It should be coming up . . . there it is!”
His hand shot out the open window. Logan braked, and swung the van hard to the right and into the densely wooded area.
The road was exactly as René had described it—perhaps worse. It was soon obvious to Logan that they would probably save no time at all. But by the time the realization came they had gone too far to turn back. He therefore continued to push hard, determined to save every minute possible. He knew he had no one to blame for his poor decision other than himself.
The old van bumped and rattled along, now in nearly pitch darkness on account of the forest. Occasionally Logan heard muffled gasps from Nat. Still he drove on, squinting to see the road in the scant rays of moonlight that reached the ground.
Suddenly the sound he dreaded most to hear, next to the report of a Gestapo pistol, came unmistakably through to his ear—the sickening hiss of a tire breathing its last. He slammed on the brakes with disgust. He would now have to pay twenty minutes for the ten he had hoped to save! He climbed out of the van and walked around to the back to get the spare. With incredulity a moment later he opened the tool compartment to see nothing but emptiness!
With tires as old and threadbare as the van’s, it seemed incredible that anyone would have driven it without a spare, even despite rubber rationing. But what was most disturbing of all was that he had not checked out this detail in advance. How stupid of me! he thought.
Sulkily, he informed his companions of their plight.
“It can’t be more than two or three kilometers to go,” offered René hopefully.
Logan climbed back in, seemed to debate with himself for a moment, then started the engine.
“There’s no sense worrying about this wheel now,” he muttered. “We may as well just see if we can push it through!”
He shifted down into first and lurched forward.
Now the ruts and potholes and deeply worn tracks of the road were next to impossible to negotiate, steering a tire with no rubber. In less than two hundred yards Logan was sweating freely with the effort of trying to control the wheel, which behaved as if it had a mind of its own. In the darkness he could not even see the rock, much less try to avoid it. Suddenly Logan’s arms were wrenched from the steering wheel and the van careened into the ditch at the side of the road.
“It’s my fault,” groaned Logan. “I’m sorry, mates.” Glancing at his watch, he saw they would never make it by ten. At least they had not yet heard the sounds of approaching aircraft.
Slowly Logan opened the door and got out. The night was still and quiet. Had there not been a war on, René’s observation was probably most apt—this would be a romantic place. But what was he to do now?
“Let’s strike oot on foot,” said Nat cheerfully.
“How could you possibly make it?” asked Logan.
“I got this far, didna I? Dinna forget, that plane’s my ticket home. I’ll make it, I tell ye!”
“If you’re up to it.”
“’Tisna but a wee bit o’ a walk,” said Nat encouragingly. “Wi’ the two o’ ye to help me, we’ll get there.”
“Let’s just pray that the plane doesn’t set down at ten and want to be back in the sky by five after.”
“Aye!”
The going was painfully slow, but they moved doggedly ahead. In eleven or twelve minutes they had covered about a kilometer and the forest had begun to thin somewhat, offering more light for their path as they advanced. Nat was braced between Logan and René, and Logan was heartened with their progress when suddenly he stopped and signalled them both to be quiet.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered.
The others shook their heads. They were, however, not inclined to argue when Logan silently led them off the path into the deeper cover of the pine wood. Crouching down behind an old tree stump, with held breath they waited to see what would come of whatever sound Logan had heard.
“Monsieur,” breathed René.
Logan kept his eyes toward the road, but indicated silence by raising his finger to his mouth.
“Monsieur,” repeated René in a scarcely audible whisper, handing something to Logan.
“What’s this?” said Logan as he took the object. As soon as his hands closed around it, he knew the answer to his own question.
“My father saw that you carried no weapon,” explained René, “so he gave this to me. But I do not know how to use it.”
“Well, I doubt we’ll have need of it,” replied Logan, reluctantly jamming the Webley revolver into his belt. “Let’s go . . . I think my imagination is too active tonight.”
They arose from their hiding place, inched their way forward back to the widened path, and continued on their way. In another ten minutes they had cleared the woods. The ground appeared to level out before them and the road widened perceptibly. The going had been rough for poor Nat, but now Logan hoisted him a little more strongly upon his shoulder and whispered whatever encouragement he could think of to keep his spirits up. In the distance he was sure he could make out the vague shapes of buildings.
The airfield!
“Come on, Nat!” he said, “we’re almost there!”
Suddenly the disaster every agent fears struck without warning.
As if springing up from the earth itself, two German soldiers loomed up before them, blocking their way. The next instant a flash of brilliant light blinded Logan’s eyes, accompanied by the sharp commands of German voices. Instantly Logan knew that all the wit in the world would not avail him this time, for he could never explain away the weapon in his belt, much less his limping, red-headed companion who carried no papers, making for a deserted airport in the middle of the night.