Chapter Six

IT APPEARED IN the middle of the afternoon, sailing serenely through the lower reaches of the sunlit sky. Caressed by the touch of a light wind, a playful child of the prevailing westerly, its basket swung gently at a height of eight hundred feet. Its gas-filled cylindrical bag trailed the long anchoring cable that was attached to the slow-moving open lorry foraging its way into the countryside. Through the cable, telegraph wires enabled two-way communication to be conducted between air and ground. The dipping sun was behind it, blinding the eye. But Captain Marsh, heading east with Sophia, saw it clearly, hanging in the sky, and knew precisely what it was – a Drachen observation balloon, a German make known as a ‘Sausage’. It was far distant, but moving slowly towards them.

The RFC man knew where he was now. His constant references to his map had eventually keyed him in on his location, and he had made up his mind to cross the main road when darkness fell and head for Douai by night. He could disappear more easily in Douai than in the countryside. He meant to get back to England. His aerial action today, although a disaster, had brought him closer to the end of his tour of combat flying. Two more missions and he could expect to take command of a training squadron back home. He had lost his plane to Richtofen because he had been careless in his feeling that the gods who had brought him through so many dogfights would see him safely through to the end. The gods did not like being taken for granted, and had laid their perverse hands on his plane. His determination to get back was edgily fierce.

That observation balloon was not on course for the front. It had come from its depot not to do some artillery-spotting for the Germans, but to look for a Bugatti car and its occupants. Captain Marsh could not assume otherwise. His eyes darted around. A haystack, big even though only half its original size, stood bulky and massive in a field ahead, its eastern side dark with shadow.

‘Sophia, do me the favour of parking the car alongside that haystack,’ he said.

‘Why?’ Sophia, after hours with him, was as edgy as he was. Her nerves and emotions were ragged

‘Please just do it. Turn into the field and drive the car up against the open side of the stack. Quickly, now.’

Sophia saw the observation balloon then, well west of them, and she too guessed why it was sailing slowly in the sky. She decreased speed. She fumbled the gear change and the cogs tangled and grated. She lifted her left foot, the clutch pedal came up and the engine stalled.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hiding the satisfaction she felt at the convincing way she had achieved the stall.

‘Are you playing games, Sophia?’ Captain Marsh knew it was not a genuine blunder. ‘Don’t fool around. Get this car off the road.’

The longer she took to do as he wanted, the better was the chance she gave the balloon observer to spot them. It was still far off and needed time, she thought. She restarted the engine, slipped into first gear and headed slowly for the gate that led into the field. She stopped as she turned the car to face it. Captain Marsh jumped out and ran to the gate. On an impulse, her fierce dislike of the man prompting her, Sophia pressed the accelerator. The engine roared and the car leapt forward. Captain Marsh, flinging the gate open, jumped sideways and backwards. Sophia, turning white at what she was doing, rammed the brake pedal with a frantic foot. The car shuddered, the chassis vibrated, and the bonnet came to a stop within a few inches of Captain Marsh’s chest. He looked up at her. Through the windscreen he saw her face, tense and pale. Her eyes were huge. The balloon dallied in the distance. Sophia, seeing the grim, tight mouth of the man she was beginning to hate, said quietly but clearly, ‘You are English, I am German, and that is all that needs to be said.’

‘Drive the car in and park it alongside the stack.’ He spoke quietly too.

She drove over the field to the haystack. The car bounced. She spun the wheel and planted the Bugatti so close against the open side of the stack that the dark hay smothered the offside fenders. Captain Marsh came running.

‘Why are we doing this?’ she asked.

‘Sophia, sweet innocence sits on you with its wings showing,’ he said. ‘Get out.’

‘I prefer to stay where I am.’

‘Get out.’ His flickering eyes, watching the balloon, now moving again, turned to her. Apprehension again darted at her. He looked very cold and very dangerous. She got out. He told her to sit up against the stack. She did so. The hay-littered ground, in shadow, was cold. A tarpaulin cover, folded back along the top of the stack, had its ropes hanging. One touched her shoulder. Captain Marsh sat down beside her. The balloon was now hidden from them.

Sophia, aware of a shoulder close to hers, shifted her position, her nerves taut.

‘Why are we sitting here?’ she asked.

‘Waiting for that balloon to disappear.’

‘Balloon?’

His laugh was deep and unexpected.

‘Oh, descend you shades of darkness and make the eyes of woman invisible to mine, for by day they show deceitfully bright and man is a child before them.’

‘Is that a quotation from a French cynic?’ she asked.

‘No, it’s one of my uncle’s sayings. He’s convinced that all women, except his wife and mother, are born of the Devil, their penchant for deviousness inherent and incurable. He’s quite harmless, however, and confines himself to wandering monologues on their abominations. When he’s actually in the company of women, he’s charm itself.’

‘You share his opinions without inheriting his charm?’ said Sophia.

‘Not at all. I find most women very likeable. You saw that balloon, didn’t you?’

‘Was that a balloon, that thing in the sky? I really had no idea.’

He laughed again. He seemed very cheerful about the way they had masked themselves from the hovering spotter. The worst of Sophia’s apprehension eased away. He rose to his feet and peered around the haystack for a quick, furtive search of the sky. The balloon was sailing away, back the way it had come.

‘Damn,’ he said, for there was only one conclusion to reach. The observer, equipped with field glasses, had spotted them. He would not otherwise have ended his search so quickly. Sophia von Feldermann had kept the Bugatti in sight just long enough for it to have been seen. Her lashes lifted as he looked down at her. ‘They saw us,’ he said.

‘Really?’ she said coolly. ‘They are waving to you?’

‘They’re on their way back,’ he said, ‘and that towing vehicle will rendezvous with a waiting platoon of ground searchers any moment.’

‘Your situation has always been hopeless,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I advise you to run if you’re to have any chance. I’ll stay here with the car. I’ll give you a good start. No one could arrive here immediately. I’ll say nothing about your more unpleasant behaviour –’

‘Or about your attempt to murder me by running me down?’

Sophia compressed her lips.

‘You are complaining about that after having threatened to shoot me?’ she said. ‘We are even, I think. I should like there to be an end to this situation now, so please go. I promise to tell the authorities that you did not treat me badly, that you only—’ She broke off, hearing the sound of motor engines.

Captain Marsh was all quick nerves again. The vehicles were some distance away, the noise of their engines distinct but faint.

‘Take hold of that rope,’ he said, ‘we’ll pull the tarpaulin down over the car.’

‘You are ridiculous!’

‘Sophia, do as I say, please.’

She gave him an angry, bitter look, but because she was not sure exactly what he might be capable of, she took hold of the rope. He took hold of another and they brought both ropes round over the car. Standing on the far side of the car, they pulled. He pulled hard with his right hand, his left hand of little help. Sophia pulled lightly with both hands, determined not to be too cooperative. The heavy, folded tarpaulin cover scarcely moved. He turned, hoisting the rope over his shoulder and told her to do the same. His fierce determination had a compulsive effect on her, and although she could have wished him dead, she did what he wanted. With their backs to the car and the stack, they pulled. Sophia, quite strong and supple, did her part. The tarpaulin moved, slithering down, heavy and damp. It landed with a soughing plop on the car. Captain Marsh turned and began tugging, using both hands, although he winced a little. Sophia resignedly lent her own hands to the task of dragging the tarpaulin right over the car. They heard the oncoming vehicles moving steadily. The tarpaulin, in place, reached from the top of the haystack to cover the Bugatti completely. Captain Marsh took Sophia by the arm and pulled her under the tented tarpaulin out of sight. He stood with her against the bonnet of the car.

They heard the approach of the searching vehicles.

‘They’ll stop,’ said Sophia quietly. ‘They’ll see this stack and they’ll investigate. They are bound to be searching every likely hiding place. Give yourself up. You must know it’s only a matter of time.’

‘I’ll give up only when there’s no alternative,’ he said, ‘and I don’t think you’re too keen to be escorted to Valenciennes, are you? Now stay quiet, please.’

The Germans were close, travelling at a speed which gave them time to observe and speculate. Captain Marsh was perceptibly tense at the sounds of the vehicles slowing a little. It was all too easy to read what he could not see, the turning of heads and the questioning look of eyes taking in a haystack covered by its winter tarpaulin. They would be looking for the car, as well as its occupants. He felt Sophia quiver and sensed she was tempted to shout. She was no frightened creature, she was a young lady of spirit. At the sound of the car and lorry close to the gate of the field, he clapped an involuntary hand over her mouth. He felt her lips and teeth move in a fury of outraged resistance. His hand tightened. Her own hands came up to wrench at his wrist. The Germans drove on, slightly increasing speed, and Sophia was writhing in fierce anger. She kicked, and the toe of her boot struck the front of a fender. A dull metallic clang echoed under the tarpaulin, but the noise of the lorry’s engine prevented the sound reaching the ears of the Germans, and they continued on. Captain Marsh waited a little longer, then took his hand from Sophia’s mouth. She turned on him and struck him, stinging his jaw with the flat of her hand.

‘Never touch me again!’ she stormed, her eyes glittering, and then she was away, darting out from under the tarpaulin and running over the field towards the gate. He was quick and fast in his pursuit. She heard him behind her. An arm swept around her waist. She at once stood still. Stiff and proud in her refusal to engage in the humiliation of a struggle, she said, ‘Let me go.’ He released her and she walked back with him, her face flushed, her teeth clenched.

‘We’ll leave,’ he said. She made no comment. She helped him uncover the car. ‘I apologize,’ he said, when they had the tarpaulin clear. She did not respond. Instinct made her turn her head. A man was walking towards them. Captain Marsh slid his hand inside his jacket. The man, mud caking his boots and a flat cap on his head, his clothes dark with age and daily wear, advanced with plodding deliberation. He regarded the car from beneath bushy brows. His chin was bristly, his eyes enquiring.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘This man –’ Sophia stopped. There was little to be gained in complaining to a French farmer that she was a hostage in the hands of a British airman. On the other hand, it would do a Frenchman no good to help any Allied airman if a German citizen was witness to it. Unless between them they killed her and buried her.

‘The fact is,’ said Captain Marsh pleasantly, ‘we’re parked in your field only because the engine has been overheating, not to give you offence, m’sieur.’

His French was excellent, but while it had no fault in Sophia’s German ears, it had an accent in the ears of the French farmer.

‘My friend,’ said the farmer, ‘go on your way. Birds fly and swallows call. It’s all over the Douai arrondissement, the news that the German Army and Air Force are looking for a British flying officer. Take your car and your helpful mademoiselle and go.’

Sophia wanted to laugh. So that was the news. A British flying officer on the run with a helpful French girl. Was that because those two German soldiers had heard her speaking only in French? Had no one realized, because of the Bugatti, that she was the daughter of General von Feldermann?

‘The birds gave you the news, m’sieur?’ said Captain Marsh.

‘And the Boche,’ said the farmer. ‘They have called too. I’ve just had a visit from some.’ His expression wooden as he looked at Captain Marsh’s flying jacket and khaki breeches, he added, ‘If you’ll wait here, I’ll bring you a German greatcoat and helmet.’

‘I can’t wait, m’sieur, I must get out of here quickly.’

‘Then take me down the road in your car, stop at the house and I’ll bring the items out to you,’ said the farmer.

Captain Marsh glanced at Sophia. She was German, and it would be her patriotic duty to remember this Frenchman.

‘Thank you, m’sieur,’ he said, ‘but it doesn’t matter.’

Sophia drew him aside and whispered, ‘If it will help you get away, then accept what he’s offering.’ Which meant, he knew, that she would remain silent about anything which would hasten their parting.

They arrived at the farmhouse five minutes later. The farmer got out, walked sturdily into the house and returned fairly soon. He handed a German greatcoat and helmet to Captain Marsh.

‘They were left by a German deserter,’ he said, ‘who took a hat and coat of mine. It’s all I can do for you.’ He hesitated a moment, then whispered, ‘Go to Lutargne, to the auberge there. Pierre Gascoigne, the proprietor, will give you food and drink. And perhaps a little advice. His mother is English.’

‘Thank you, my friend. Is Lutargne on the way to Douai?’

‘It’s not too far out of your way. Good luck.’ The farmer went back into his house.

‘We’re going to Lutargne,’ said Captain Marsh, struggling into the greatcoat and putting on the helmet. Sophia looked at him. He was quite ridiculous, posing now as a German soldier. Her dislike for him intensified.

‘Where is Lutargne?’ she asked.

‘On the way to Douai – and Fritz,’ he said, taking out his map. He found the village of Lutargne, some way south-east of Douai, but not very far from this farm. The point was, how long would it be before a mass of Germans descended on him following the report made by the balloon observer? He decided to risk a quick drive to Lutargne. He was starving. The wandering drive around the countryside had baffled the searchers so far. A run to Lutargne was no less risky than all that had gone before. The car had been a godsend. At Lutargne he could wait for nightfall, a matter of a couple of hours now. ‘Would you oblige me by going on, Sophia?’

‘Only if it will bring us to a parting of our ways,’ said Sophia.

‘Of course,’ said Captain Marsh pleasantly.

Sophia started the car and listened to his directions. Captain Marsh, after a while, assured her they would reach Douai, where she could join her gentleman flying officer and he could go to ground. Sophia said nothing. She drove, he thought, with the fierce silence of a young woman obviously disgusted by the role he had forced on her. But he could not drive the car himself. His damned finger hurt and the bruised hand was as stiff as the devil. Her Bugatti was a liability in one way. It was very recognizable. But it was still a godsend. It gave him great mobility.

‘Turn right at the next fork,’ he said.

Sophia, nerves on the edge of an emotional precipice, said nothing.

At Jagdstaffel II Headquarters, Baron von Richtofen washed his hands of the matter of the missing British pilot. He had placed his finger squarely on the map at the spot where the Camel had crash-landed, but the men who had been searching most of the day for the pilot had had no success, and the army commandant of Douai had advised that he too had so far drawn a blank.

Richtofen, informed that the observation balloon had spotted the quarry, and that a new detail was being rushed to the area in question, only said, ‘What does it matter? It’s an absurdity, using scores of men to find one airman. Finish with it, and he’ll walk into our arms sooner or later.’

‘But the young woman mentioned by Colonel Hoffner –’

‘Even more absurd,’ said Richtofen. ‘No flying officer of any nation would harm a woman. I want to hear no more about it.’