Chapter Three

SOPHIA DROVE WITH self-assurance, negotiating the gear changes firmly as the family chauffeur had taught her. Captain Marsh watched the winding road and the vistas of rural France. He was quiet but alert. His silence suited her, for she had no wish to converse with him. He had taken off his flying helmet and buttoned his thick jacket to hide his khaki uniform. His dark brown hair, whipped by the wind, lost its brushed look. His bruised left hand lay in his lap. With his right hand, he used his handkerchief to wipe the flyer’s telltale oil marks from his face, revealing a skin tanned by exposure to the elements.

He was relaxing, she thought. He was less edgy. His brush with Richtofen and his near escape from death had shaken him, but he was obviously recovering. And the fact that these rural lanes and byways were so quiet and empty must be a relief to him. She still hoped, however, that he would not attempt conversation. She had no qualms about letting him think she was French or about what she really intended to do when she reached Douai, for he was at war with her country. All the same, she did not want to be asked questions she could not truthfully answer. She would lie if she had to, but she preferred silence to further deception.

They passed through a little village called La Calle. It was obviously too small to be considered suitable as a refuge for him, and too close to the scene of his crash-landing. How odd. Fritz had crash-landed last week. They were both fighter pilots, Fritz and her unwelcome companion. But Fritz, she thought, would have laughed at his narrow escape. This man had been short-tempered and edgy.

A small girl, playing outside a house at the end of the one street in La Calle, stared in awe at the big black Bugatti and its occupants. Strutting chickens, feathers threadbare from a long winter of meal scarcity, flew squawking from the path of the automobile.

Beyond the village the land lay rolling and open. Farmhouses dotted the countryside, and here and there Captain Marsh sighted elderly peasants and young women working in the fields. The French had mobilized their young men by the million, and farmers called upon their daughters or aged labourers to help them, although much of their produce was destined for German stomachs.

Captain Marsh broke his silence.

‘You said Douai, mademoiselle?’ He sounded slightly sceptical.

‘Yes,’ said Sophia, sensing he was somewhat suspicious of her.

‘But you seem to be heading north. From where Richtofen brought me down, Douai lies west. Slightly north-west. Shouldn’t you have turned left before you reached that little village, La Calle?’

He was a pilot. He had been operating, no doubt, in the skies above Douai, Arras and Lille, and the whole area probably existed as a permanent map in his mind. A new shock hit her. She was lost. She had thought herself to be driving in a predominantly western direction since giving Captain Vorster the slip. She had made guesses, yes, but confident guesses. The winding rural byways had deceived her. She was definitely lost, and definitely suspect if, as a Frenchwoman from Valenciennes, she could not find her way to Douai, about forty kilometres only by road. Here was another challenge, but she met it. She looked at Captain Marsh and gave him a little smile and a shrug.

‘I must confess, mon Capitaine, that in attempting to reach Douai by all these country lanes it’s quite possible, yes, that I’m failing myself. I usually take the main road. But on the main road one is always being stopped by the military police of Germany. One needs to have German permission to travel by car.’ Sophia slowed to take a tight bend. She gave Captain Marsh another smile, simulating ruefulness. ‘One can get permission, if one’s father is the mayor of Valenciennes, yes –’

‘Your father’s the mayor?’ said Captain Marsh.

‘Although Valenciennes is full of Germans,’ said Sophia, ‘the mayor is still of some importance. Mon Capitaine,’ she went on, the bit between her teeth, ‘I must tell you that the reason I was a little reluctant to involve myself with your misfortune was because I’m in an emotional crisis.’

‘I’ve a little crisis of my own,’ he said, ‘and although it’s not an emotional one, it could mean we’re on some common ground. Mademoiselle, we’re heading for the Belgian border and, if I’m not mistaken, into the arms of German reserve divisions. I think it might be a good idea to take a left turn as soon as we reach one. Meanwhile, if you wish, you can tell me what your own crisis is all about.’

‘I’m happy to be guided by you,’ said Sophia, ‘and just as happy to explain why I’m avoiding main roads.’ Distinctly on her mettle now, she embarked on an impromptu story. She was, she said, in constant argument with her parents concerning a French flying officer who had been shot down and seriously injured. His injuries had caused his discharge, otherwise he might have been made a prisoner of war. As it was, he had made a gradual recovery and was now working in the Hotel Avignon in Douai. He was very much in love with her, but because of her parents’ opposition she was being forced to consider the only alternative, an elopement. She had decided today to drive to Douai, to see him and to discuss this with him. She had no permission to travel. Therefore she had chosen the quietest possible route. She had never used these byways before, and she was quite prepared to believe that Captain Marsh was right that her navigation was faulty. ‘It is most emotional, my crisis, do you see, and that hasn’t helped me in finding my way.’

‘Elopements, I believe, are very emotional,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘and I hope to avoid any such thing myself.’

‘You are not a romantic, mon Capitaine?’ she said lightly.

‘At the moment, mademoiselle, I’m concentrating entirely on survival. That isn’t at all romantic. Nor is the prospect of a prisoner-of-war camp. That I mean to avoid like the plague. May I ask your name?’

Sophia hesitated. Then she said, ‘It would be better, don’t you think, if—’

‘Pull up!’ Captain Marsh interrupted her in English. Sophia, who knew only a few words of English, kept going, but shot him a startled glance. ‘Stop,’ he said in French, and added, ‘Look there.’

Sophia slowed to a halt, and followed his pointing finger. Two hundred metres ahead the lane was intersected by a minor but well-surfaced road. One side of the road was lined by fir trees, planted many years ago to provide the adjacent farmlands with a windbreak stretching many miles. Marching steadily along the verge, beneath the cover of the trees, were German troops in long endless columns. At intervals were officers on horseback.

It was a movement of troops that surprised Captain Marsh. Among the Allies, the feeling was that at last Germany was a drained force, and that the advent of the Americans into the war meant the Kaiser’s cause was hopeless. But even from this distance, the pilot could see that the marching troops gave no indication that defeat was only a matter of time. Their heads were up, their march was strong and steady, and they were well equipped. And they were heading west, towards the front.

There were no vehicles, only men. Infantrymen. They were moving up under the very effective cover of the evergreens. Sopwith two-seaters, the British reconnaissance planes, flew the skies frequently in spotting missions, but their observers were unlikely to spot these German columns with the men marching in single file.

Sophia felt she knew what this troop movement meant. One of her father’s divisions was sending infantry battalions up to the front in daylight, such was the pressure General Ludendorff was putting on his Corps commanders in respect of zero-hour dispositions. Daylight meant the exercise of care and caution. That, of course, was why there were no vehicles. They would move at night, with the guns.

She sat quietly in the car, one hand on the gear lever. A quick thrust into starting gear and a surging drive up to the crossroads would mean an early end to the escape bid of this British pilot. But she doubted if he would let her get far.

‘Shall we go on?’ she asked. ‘I’ll proceed slowly.’

‘To proceed at all would be very foolish, mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘Those troops are moving up. There’ll be no vehicles of any kind allowed on that road, nor any kind of observers. We’re uncomfortably close to them as it is. Kindly turn back.’

‘I can’t turn in this road,’ said Sophia, and thought again about slipping into forward gear and making a charge for the crossroads and her marching compatriots.

‘Reverse, then.’ Captain Marsh was peremptory once more, and Sophia recognized him as a man of dangerous determination. ‘Reverse back to that farm opening and turn there. We can find another road.’

‘Mon Capitaine,’ said Sophia in very clear French, ‘I am willing to help, I am not willing to take orders.’

Captain Marsh, eyes on the scene at the distant crossroads, said drily, ‘Oh, yes, your emotional crisis – it’s of a kind that makes one highly sensitive, of course. You must forgive my impatience, but I’m not at my best this morning. Richtofen has made a monkey of me. Mademoiselle, would you please be kind enough to get us out of here? I’m a bag of nerves at the moment, for I feel like a sitting duck.’

Sophia’s smile was genuine as she began to reverse.

‘To be made a monkey of and then to feel like a sitting duck must be an extraordinary experience,’ she said.

‘Uncomfortable,’ said Captain Marsh, still watching the crossroads.

Sophia, reversing competently around a bend, took the scene from his sight and sensed him relaxing again. In profile, she noted, he looked very resolute, and she wondered if there would be any unpleasantness before she reached the outskirts of Douai and parted company with him. Since she was a patriotic German and he was an enemy fighter pilot, it was impossible to dissociate some unpleasantness from their temporary relationship, even though he thought her French.

She backed the car into the farm opening, then began to drive back the way they had come. After a little while, she pointed.

‘There’s a fork ahead,’ she said, ‘a right-hand one.’

‘Take it,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘and let’s hope it will point us at Douai. I’m still unsafe in this area. When the Germans find what’s left of my plane, they’ll discover nothing of me. So they’ll search every farm and village around. Accordingly, I’ll be grateful if you’ll drive fast.’

‘Just as fast as these inferior roads permit, mon Capitaine,’ said Sophia, taking the right-hand fork. It was another dirt road, another winding way, and her speed was governed by its hazards.

Captain Marsh, turning his eyes on her, said, ‘I must say you’re extremely blonde for a Frenchwoman. I’ve met none as blonde as you.’

‘My grandmother was a Scandinavian,’ said Sophia in a moment of inspiration. ‘That is why my name is Sophia. Sophia Descantes.’

‘I’m delighted to meet you, Sophia Descantes,’ said Captain Marsh, and his smile lightened his ruggedness. ‘You’re a welcome gift on a day like this. God, this is a foul road.’

The lane widened then, and provided Sophia with better conditions. She drove very steadily, the moving car encompassed by the ubiquitous fields of agricultural France. They motored through a tiny village of half a dozen houses. Captain Marsh, stationed at Estree-Blanche Farm, searched his memory maps in an attempt to get a fix on his present location. His aerodrome was twenty miles west of the front line, and Douai lay a little over fifty miles south-east. He knew Richtofen had chased him far beyond the front line and brought him down somewhere between Douai and Valenciennes, well inside German-held territory. He reckoned now that he and this French girl were some twelve to fifteen miles east of Douai, perhaps slightly north-east. There were few villages of any size in the area, and certainly none large enough to offer a secure refuge. It would have to be Douai. He needed shelter, he needed civilian clothes, and he needed the help of some brave French people in order to get back to Estree-Blanche Farm or to England. He needed this girl to find such people for him. But she had problems of her own, it seemed. An emotional affair of the heart. An elopement. Elopement? In wartime and at this exhausted stage of the conflict? Well, that was the way some girls were. They could conjure up mirages of romance in the middle of a desert.

She looked very aristocratic, he thought, and much more the daughter of a French count than of a town mayor.

An elopement?

He smiled to himself.

Sophia stiffened, glimpsing movement ahead. Captain Marsh, spotting it too, put his injured left hand on her arm in warning, wincing a little at the pain that resulted. A hundred yards away, two German soldiers walked through an open farm gate, wheeling bicycles. They looked up as they heard the approaching Bugatti.

‘This could be tricky,’ murmured Captain Marsh in English, his right hand moving.

‘I speak very little English,’ said Sophia, her heart beating rather fast. The two soldiers were armed, their rifles slung. She could deliver this British airman into their embrace.

‘If they stop us, mademoiselle, leave things to me,’ he said calmly. ‘I shall make out a case for you.’

Sophia decided to simply let events take their course.

The two Germans stood in the middle of the road as she drove towards them. One man held up a hand. She slowed down and came to a stop. The man lowered his hand and said in fairly good French, ‘Your papers, your travelling permit – show them.’

‘Show nothing, mademoiselle,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘they can look at this.’

The two Germans did look. They stared at the revolver that was pointing at them.

Sophia, who had forgotten his mention of his service revolver, was momentarily at a loss and could only gasp, ‘Don’t fire – don’t.’

‘Be quiet, mademoiselle, do only as I tell you to,’ said Captain Marsh, thus establishing, he hoped, that the daughter of the mayor of Valenciennes was as much under threat as the two Germans. ‘Get out and relieve these gentlemen of their rifles.’

‘No, I can’t do that,’ said Sophia, while the soldiers, supporting their bicycles, eyed the hatless man in the thick, buttoned-up jacket, with anger tightening their mouths.

‘Do as I say,’ said Captain Marsh, his revolver very steady.

‘You are asking, Frenchman, to be shot,’ said the first German.

‘So will you be, if either of you move,’ said Captain Marsh. ‘Mademoiselle, get their rifles.’

His expression was one of fixed determination, but Sophia said firmly, ‘No.’ It surprised her to see a little smile flicker.

‘You’re a trial to me, mademoiselle.’ To the first German, he said, ‘Throw your rifle down, my friend.’

‘I am not a friend to you,’ said the soldier. His bicycle fell across the road as he used his hands to unsling his rifle. He dropped it next to his bicycle. It clattered. Captain Marsh gestured at the second German, who gave him a look of fury, but followed the example of his comrade. The pointing revolver was very steady indeed, and very deadly.

‘Walk,’ said Captain Marsh, gesturing at the road behind him.

‘You are a French swine,’ said the first German.

‘Walk,’ repeated Captain Marsh, and the man said something to the other.

Silently the two began to walk, passing the car. Captain Marsh turned his head to watch them. Sophia sat furious with herself and with him. When the soldiers had walked a distance of fifty yards, they stopped and turned, fully aware that the revolver was now much less of a menace.

‘Go,’ said Captain Marsh to Sophia.

‘But the bicycles, the rifles,’ said Sophia, tight-lipped.

‘Drive over them.’

‘Over them?’

‘Yes, I think so, don’t you? It will put the bicycles out of action.’

‘Is that the cleverest thing to do?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s the best we can manage. Put your foot down and go.’

Sophia stared at him. The revolver, plain to see, was pointing at her.

‘You’re mad,’ she gasped.

‘They’re watching us,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘and what they can see is for your benefit, mademoiselle. So open the throttle.’

‘You are very considerate,’ said Sophia bitterly. She slipped into gear, put her foot down and the Bugatti roared forward over the rifles and the bicycles. Mangled metal shuddered in protest, and the rifles clattered.

The German soldiers shouted in fury. The Bugatti surged on, Sophia driving with her mouth compressed. She had put herself in a stupidly awkward situation by not correcting Captain Marsh in his assumption that she was French.

Aware that she was angry about things, he said, ‘Don’t be disturbed, young lady, it was all done to give the impression you’re a reluctant accomplice and, of course, to immobilize them. It will take them some time now to get back to their unit and report.’

‘It was absurd,’ she said, driving fast because she was angry.

‘I thought it necessary. Could you have shown them a travelling permit? I could certainly not have shown them the right kind of papers.’

‘I must be frank,’ said Sophia, ‘I really did not want to become involved in such an alarming way.’

‘Oh, it need not be too alarming,’ said Captain Marsh. ‘I’m sure your father, as Mayor of Valenciennes, could speak up for you. The Germans have a natural respect for a mayor – he has chief responsibility for a town’s orderliness, and the Germans are addicted to orderliness.’

‘Really? You are acquainted with Germans and their addictions?’

‘I’m acquainted with their martial ardour. This is the second time they’ve knocked me out of the sky. To return to the risk you’re taking in being such an invaluable help to me – the thing to do, I feel, is to declare you were coerced. As a combatant on the run from Germans, I’m allowed by the rules of war to exercise reasonable coercion. So on to Douai, Sophia.’

At this familiarity, this unwelcome use of her name, Sophia shot him a look of disdain.

‘I’m not sure we’ll ever get to Douai,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m quite lost on these silly little roads.’

‘Never mind, keep going,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘and we may find a signpost. If not, we’ll ask at the next village we come to.’

‘I really think it would be better if I stopped to let you get out.’

‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’

‘Very well,’ said Sophia coldly.

It was clear to him that she resented his presence. But he was determined not to spend the rest of the war in a prison camp. It might be only a month or two before the Allies, strengthened by the newly formed American divisions, brought the Germans to their knees, but he was still disinclined to give himself up.

The index finger of his left hand throbbed, and the middle finger was painfully sensitive. Both fingers were badly swollen, but the discomfort was nothing compared with the fact that he’d survived.

It was coming up to eleven in the morning when Major Kirsten re-entered General von Feldermann’s office. The general looked up. He was quite alone. Few generals operated without some staff members around them, even at a desk. General von Feldermann called for them only when he needed them. At the moment, with a pile of papers in front of him, he wanted no other mind but his own to concentrate on the problems they posed.

‘Well, Josef?’ he said.

‘First, the quartermaster’s estimates, Herr General,’ said Major Kirsten, offering more papers. ‘They’re the final figures, fully summarized and quite complete.’

The general took the papers, though he smiled a little tiredly. Everyone at Headquarters was under strain. Ludendorff was a hard and demanding warlord.

‘Thank you, Josef,’ he said, ‘particularly for the fact that they’re complete. That’s your work finished at least. Myself, I’ve still to consider the ifs and buts. Ludendorff has confirmed he’ll be here tomorrow. Have you been up all night?’

‘I’ve burned a little midnight oil,’ said Major Kirsten, looking as if he had missed out on sleep lately.

‘I’m sure you have,’ said the general, who knew Major Kirsten gave a great deal of himself when faced with staff work of unusual importance. It probably eased his frustrations, for he was more at home in the field than behind a desk. The major, actually, had come to terms with his loss of an arm and the slightly impaired vision of his right eye. He hoped now for a quick end to the war and for early retirement to his little estate in Saxony.

‘There’s no word from Captain Vorster yet,’ he said.

‘He’s a man of method, not inspiration,’ said the general, scanning his quartermaster’s estimates. ‘It will take him time—God in heaven, where are all these extra guns to come from?’

‘I thought General Ludendorff said every divisional requirement will be met.’

‘So he did,’ said the general, ‘but I’d still like to ask him exactly when they’ll be met. Josef, take a rest – go off duty for two days. I shan’t need you tomorrow.’

‘Herr General –’

‘That’s an order.’

Major Kirsten returned to his office. Two days off duty while Ludendorff was masterminding the coming offensive had little appeal for him.

The telephone rang when he was drinking a welcome cup of coffee. He answered it. Colonel Hoffner was on the line from Douai.

‘Yes, my friend?’ said Major Kirsten. He and Kurt Hoffner had been cadets together.

‘I’ve news of the young lady you spoke to me about.’

‘What news?’

‘From reports I’ve received, she appears to have been abducted, and by a man who may be a British flying officer.’

‘I think I’d like you to repeat that,’ said Major Kirsten.

Colonel Hoffner repeated it and enlarged on it. Earlier that morning, a report had mentioned a British fighter plane being shot down east of Douai by Richtofen, whose squadron was stationed near the town. The crashed plane, burned out, had been investigated. The pilot, apparently, had scrambled free, for there was no trace of him, nor any semblance of a charred corpse. A search was going on for him. As to the other matter, the colonel said that two of his men on a routine country patrol had stopped a car containing a young lady and a man they took to be a Frenchman. The young lady answered to the given description. When questioned about the man, the soldiers had described him and the leather jacket he was wearing. One of them had said it was like an airman’s jacket. The man had produced a revolver and threatened to shoot the soldiers unless they dropped their rifles and retreated. He had then compelled the young lady to drive her car over the men’s bicycles, ruining them. She and the man, who was almost certainly the pilot of the destroyed Sopwith Camel plane, had disappeared, together with the car. The incident had taken place not far from La Calle, a tiny village slightly northeast of Douai.

At this point in his narrative Colonel Hoffner said, ‘You’re taking this in?’

‘I am,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘but not without shock and disbelief.’

‘I think we must both accept it’s true. My two men were questioned separately, and each told an identical story. Each said the man was very determined, the young lady angry, and that she refused his order to relieve them of their rifles.’

‘I’m to believe she has managed to get herself mixed up with a man as desperate as this?’

‘I imagine she couldn’t help herself,’ said Colonel Hoffner. ‘I’ve detailed a number of men to conduct a search, and they’ll work in conjunction with the search party from Jagdstaffel II. Is all this interesting to you, Josef?’

‘Beyond expectation,’ said Major Kirsten. ‘It’s also damned serious.’

‘Who is this young woman?’

‘That’s an awkward question, Kurt, and I can’t answer it at the moment. I’d very much like your men to find her.’

‘I’ll let you know as soon as they do, but you understand, of course, that in the changed circumstances my men can’t merely follow her. They’ll have to pick up the desperate gentleman and separate her from him. Are we to hold her here in Douai or let her go?’

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d give her some coffee while you report to me,’ said Major Kirsten.

‘I’m at your service, naturally,’ said Colonel Hoffner drily.

Major Kirsten put the phone down and sat thinking for a while. His office had the same lofty grandeur as all other rooms in the chateau, and one could not complain of lack of space. He felt pressurized, all the same. Desk work could be more debilitating than field activities.

There was a light knock on the communicating door, and Lieutenant Elissa Landsberg entered. Lieutenant Landsberg was his immediate assistant, and a very efficient one. An officer of the Women’s Army Corps, she was a first-rate typist, a genius at figures and a paragon of willing endeavour. Twenty-five years old, her slim but shapely figure was uniformed with tailored precision, and permitted the eye a pleasurable view of her silk-clad calves. Her crown of brown hair was neatly braided, her elegant feet neatly shod. A woman of excellent character and unswerving loyalties, she had worked with Major Kirsten for six months. Five weeks ago, with a tact that prevented anyone taking offence, she had declined an offer of a position on the quartermaster’s staff and the promotion to Captain that went with the job. She told Major Kirsten she did not feel up to it; that its demands would be too much for her. Major Kirsten did not argue.

‘Major,’ she said, ‘the draft of Directive Number Four has been typed. May I have the distributive list to check on how many copies will be required?’

‘You’ve reached that point on top of everything else?’ The major gave her an appreciative smile. ‘Lieutenant, although my every nerve twitched at the thought of receiving women into the army, I’m now at peace with the High Command’s fateful decision. You’re a model of efficiency, and so is your office. If there are other young ladies of your quality sitting at home and knitting socks for soldiers, kindly go and recruit them.’

‘I’m a little busy at the moment,’ said Elissa. ‘Do you have the distributive list?’

‘Yes. There. Take it.’ Three separate lists lay on the right-hand side of his desk. He indicated the first one. Picking it up, she looked at it. It embraced a whole spectrum of recipients down to company commanders.

‘It’s a long list,’ she said.

‘Is it?’ Major Kirsten seemed abstracted. ‘Are you tired?’

‘Not yet, Herr Major,’ she said. Her voice was always pleasant and even.

‘Well, I am.’

‘Yes,’ she said, regarding his drawn look with concern. His sound left eye showed the light of amusement at her little frown. ‘You’ve been working all hours, Herr Major.’

‘So has everyone else.’ He leaned back in his chair. He felt mentally fatigued. The war and its problems were draining his mind of its vitality. He felt old. He also felt he looked old. He thought about his little estate in Saxony. He was not much good for anything except walking around it, nor did it hold the completeness it had when his wife was alive. All the same, it was a peaceful place. It would provide him with all the interest and pleasure necessary to enjoy his years of retirement. ‘Elissa,’ he said, again a little far away, ‘this is our last chance.’

Elissa’s delicate flush at this, his first use of her Christian name, went unseen by the reflective major, for which she was grateful. Because she was regarded as cool and efficient, few people knew how shy she was and how much effort it had cost her to volunteer for the Women’s Army Corps. The daughter of a Munich civil servant, she had been a bookshop assistant for several years when a totally foreign impulse to join the Corps took hold of her. She wrestled with it for days before finally making her nervous way to the recruiting centre. But she was glad now she had made the effort. She was gradually being cured of the worst of her shyness, while serving the war effort in the most direct way she could.

‘Major, you’re thinking of General Ludendorff’s offensive,’ she said.

‘Is there anyone here who isn’t?’ said the major. ‘You’ve seen as many figures as I have, you know the manpower and armament required. This could be our last offensive of any importance. If we fail, we’re kaput. The Americans will be in the field by then. Millions of them, all healthy, fresh and eager. War to them will be what it was to us in 1914, a great patriotic adventure.’

‘Was it that, Major – an adventure?’ Elissa knew she ought to return to her work, but she was always prepared to listen to Major Kirsten. He could be ironic about some things, and withering in the face of stupidity, but she thought him a fair and just man. ‘Could war ever be considered an adventure?’

‘It was a rousing, roaring, exhilarating adventure for our armies in 1914, a mighty blow struck for the Fatherland.’ Major Kirsten smiled and extracted a cigarette from his chased silver case, using his one hand dexterously. He fumbled just a little in his striking of a match. Elissa, watching him, did not attempt to strike it for him. ‘That adventure, Lieutenant, fell to pieces after only a few weeks. It turned into a conflict crucifying for Germany. We’re close to exhausting our manpower. We can’t replace losses. If General Ludendorff’s offensive fails to make the breakthrough, I think that will signal the beginning of the end. Clemenceau of France, their tiger, will then tear off what little meat is left on Germany’s bones. I hope, however, he’ll leave my bones alone. I’ve a little country house in Saxony, with some land, that will suit me very well to grow old in.’

‘General Ludendorff doesn’t like losing battles,’ said Elissa.

‘Who does?’

‘I mean, he’s reputed to have a very positive approach, and to regard setbacks as a challenge, not a prelude to defeat.’ Elissa made the comment like a citizen who still had faith and belief. ‘Herr Major, are you being pessimistic?’

‘I thought I was merely being candid. But candour, I suppose, can sound like pessimism.’ Major Kirsten sat up. ‘Lieutenant, a matter unconnected with the offensive requires my attention. I’m taking a car and driving to the Douai area. I may be away a couple of days.’

‘Yes, Major,’ said Elissa in her unquestioning way. ‘Shall I ask Corporal Hirsch to report to you?’

‘Corporal Hirsch?’ The major, deep in new thought, sounded as if she had tossed in an irrelevance.

‘He’s your usual driver, Herr Major.’

‘Corporal Hirsch?’ said Major Kirsten again. ‘No, I shall drive myself.’

‘Major?’ said Elissa gently.

He came to.

‘Heavens,’ he said, ‘what an idiot I am. Would you think I could forget the Somme was my Trafalgar?’

‘Major,’ smiled Elissa, ‘the English Admiral Nelson did not lose his arm at Trafalgar.’

‘Quite right, he didn’t. He lost his life. End of Admiral Nelson.’ Major Kirsten reconsidered things. ‘Very well, I can’t drive the car myself, but I don’t think I’ll call on Corporal Hirsch.’ He regarded Elissa with an interest that aroused her sensitivity. ‘Tell me, can you drive a car?’

‘Of course, Herr Major. I was among several recruits who took driving instruction. I have my certificate.’

‘Good.’ Major Kirsten became brisk, his tired look vanishing. ‘Lieutenant, you and I are going on a little hunting expedition. You shall drive and I’ll explain as we go along. Pass that distributive list to your sergeant. She’s quite capable. Be ready to leave in five minutes.’

‘Five minutes?’ Elissa’s manufactured calm was slipping away. ‘But I’ve so much work –’

‘Hand it over to your staff. I’ve General von Feldermann’s authority to take two days off. You’ve my authority to accompany me.’

‘Two days? We are to drive about on an unscheduled exercise for two days?’ Elissa was distinctly flushed. ‘But –’

‘But?’ said Major Kirsten.

Her colour deepened. She was not sure if he knew precisely what he was about after weeks of overwork. And there were WAC regulations to be considered. They did not permit her to spend two days alone in the company of a male officer unless the circumstances were of a kind that made the situation unavoidable. And two days could not pass without two nights intervening.

‘Major, the irregularity of such a thing – I really don’t know – that is, I’m not sure –’

‘Good heavens.’ Major Kirsten looked at her flushed face in mild surprise. ‘Action of a very confidential nature is what you and I are about to undertake, Lieutenant, and it will clear away our cobwebs.’

‘But the regulations –’

‘Regulations are sometimes unimportant,’ said Major Kirsten cheerfully. ‘Whatever our own opinions are of our worthiness, against the present background of the war we are both figures of monumental insignificance. At least, I am. I need you to drive the car for me, and I need your intelligence. Five minutes, Lieutenant. Bring what you feel you must, although with any luck we’ll be back here perhaps by tonight, or tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you outside.’ He smiled. ‘Jump to it, Elissa.’

Excitement flooded her. Her hazel eyes grew bright.

‘Yes, Major.’ She almost flew from his office.

Captain Vorster was in Douai. Douai offered him nothing, for all his searching and questioning. But then, it did not occur to him to call on Colonel Hoffner, the commandant of the town. Captain Vorster was methodical, but not brilliant. He felt he would have to drive back to Valenciennes and begin his questioning search all over again. He was not enjoying his role. He had failure on his mind. He also felt that chasing after a runaway girl in wartime was not the kind of thing any staff officer should have to engage in, even if she was his general’s daughter.