Eleven Eleven (15 page)

Will ran back to Eddie, beckoning Axel to hurry, and after another twenty minutes of slow, exhausting walking, they reached the outskirts of the town. It too seemed deserted. Palls of smoke rose from several points. The acrid smell of burning buildings mingled with the low stench of sewage and leaking gas from pipes ruptured in the recent bombardment.

‘There’s bound to be water here, supplies,’ whispered Eddie. ‘Even if the locals have fled.’

They reached a large square, overlooked by a medieval church at one end and a railway station at the other. There were shops here – windows boarded up – and still no people. The square was full of debris – masses of equipment left behind by a fleeing army – backpacks, field guns, even a wagon full of hay for horses that had also fled.

Will called out, ‘Is anyone here? Help! We have an injured man!’ His voice echoed around the square.

They looked around. In the distance they could hear two dogs barking at one another. Will hoped they didn’t come any closer. Dogs, driven into a frenzy by artillery fire or hunger, were terrifying to deal with. Will had had to shoot one once.

‘I need water,’ said Eddie weakly.

Will knew those wounds needed washing as soon as possible. The American was heading for a nasty dose of gangrene if he couldn’t clean him up.

‘Let’s put you down on that hay wagon,’ said Will. ‘Then I’ll look for some water.’ They carried him across the square and gently laid him down in the hay.

‘Tell Fritz here to help me find some water,’ said Will to Eddie.

Axel gave him a dirty look. He spoke very little English, but he knew the English called the Germans ‘Fritz’ or ‘the Hun’, after the savage barbarian foes of the Romans. Both words were meant as an insult. He cursed himself for leaving his rifle in the shell crater.

Eddie picked up Axel’s hostility. He needed these boys to look after him, not start fighting. ‘Easy fella,’ he said to Will. ‘War’s over. Why not call him Axel?’ The effort exhausted him.

Eddie spoke to Axel and the German boy nodded. He went over to the pile of backpacks abandoned in the square, searching for water bottles. Will looked around, hoping to find a water pump. He was lucky. Close to an empty fountain by the church there was a stirrup pump. Will shouted over, asking Axel to bring a container. Eddie translated for him, although his voice faltered as he tried to speak loud enough for the German boy to hear him.

Axel hurried over with an abandoned bucket and held it under the pump as Will worked the handle. Water dribbled out in a trickle and the bucket took an age to fill. When Axel looked down, his feet were soaking. The bucket was leaking. Will put a hand under the bottom, and they hurried back to Eddie. He seemed to be asleep. He was still breathing at least.

Axel carefully undid the zips on Eddie’s flying boots, but the pilot screamed himself conscious when they tried to take them off. Blood had hardened over the shrapnel perforations. Will could see an army blanket among the debris in the square so he ran over to pick it up. He still had his bayonet on his webbing and used it to cut a strip off. The blanket was pretty filthy, but he needed something to use as a sponge. Will dampened the outside of the boots and carefully wet the inside too, slowly pulling them open as the blood inside dissolved on contact with water. Eddie winced – it smarted – but it was not as painful as just pulling at the boots and breaking the scabs.

Once they had loosened them enough to remove them, Will began to cut away at Eddie’s lower trouser leg, using the scissors that came with his first-aid kit. Axel stood close by, collecting strips of bloody fabric as Will handed them to him.

Will felt very grown-up all of a sudden. Like one of the Medical Officers in a field hospital. When both Eddie’s legs were free of bloody fabric, he bathed the exposed flesh with water from the bucket until they were almost cleaned of mud and blood. Eddie’s calves were pockmarked with little wounds. But Will was sure they wouldn’t be fatal. There was a small patch of blood around his thigh as well – which Will would need to look at next.

Will’s mother was a nurse and she had taught him well. He felt confident treating other wounded soldiers when the stretcher-bearers and medical orderlies weren’t available. Will was proud of his first-aid skills. He’d like to work in a hospital when he got home but he knew he’d never be able to afford the schooling to become a doctor, even if he had the brains, and nursing was a job for lasses.

He used another piece of blanket to dry Eddie’s legs off, and then reached for the antiseptic ointment in his kit. ‘This will sting a bit,’ he told him, but he had passed out again. Will quickly applied the ointment, and used another roll of bandages to dress the wounds.

Axel tapped Will on his arm, causing him to look up. A small circle of middle-aged men stood around them, armed with a motley collection of weapons – pitchfork, various knives, a spade, a single rifle fitted with a bayonet. Will started in fright. He pointed to his uniform. ‘English,
Ong-layz, ami
,’ . . . He tried to dredge up some more words in his pigeon French, then began to wonder what language these people spoke. They were in Belgium, after all. Was it Flemish? Walloon?

Will looked at their sallow faces. These were men who had spent four years on meagre rations. All of them had cold, hard eyes. The one with the rifle seemed a bit better fed. He had a bowler hat and great black moustache and stood slightly in front of the others. Will supposed he was the leader.

‘Allo,’ said the man in English. ‘We know you are
anglais
. And him –’ he pointed with his bayonet. ‘What is he?’

‘He’s American,’ said Will. ‘His plane was shot down over there.’ He pointed to the south-west.

‘And he is Boche.’ The man pointed his bayonet at Axel. Will said nothing.

At once there was something frightening about these men. ‘We need to get help for the flyer,’ said Will. ‘He’s been badly injured.’

The older man would not be deflected. ‘Him. What will you do with him?’ He pointed again at Axel, who had stayed silent. All of a sudden he looked white with fear.

‘He is my prisoner and he is helping me with my wounded ally,’ Will announced, trying to sound older and braver than he was.

The man with the black moustache spoke to the others. It was obvious to Will that he was translating, not least because he was mimicking Will’s frightened tone. They all laughed when he finished speaking.

‘You, Boche,’ said the man in German. ‘Come here.’

Axel stayed where he was, gripping the side of the wagon as if it would protect him.

‘No,’ said Will. ‘He’s been helping us.’

One of them grabbed Axel by the arm and wrenched him away from Will and Eddie. The men began to throw punches and kick him. Will launched himself between Axel and the angry men, trying to push them apart.

He was quickly pulled away, and although they did not hit him, two of the men held him tight enough to prevent him from wriggling free. ‘You look after your American friend,’ the older man said. ‘You leave the Boche to us.’

‘No, leave him alone,’ shouted Will, realising as the words left his mouth how frightened he sounded.

The man gave him a scornful look. ‘We lived with the Boche for four years. Four years we have our crops taken with no recompense, our houses occupy, our wine steal, and they have take hostages and shoot them.’

‘But he hasn’t had anything to do with that,’ shouted Will desperately.

‘He is Boche,’ said the man plainly.

One of the civilians had come back with a rope, which he was beginning to fashion into a noose. Axel was bloodied and bruised, pinned tightly between two of the burliest men. He was protesting loudly but no one was listening. They were all looking around, wondering where was the best place to rig up a rope and hang him.

At the side of the square was an art-nouveau lamp post with a graceful curving arc close to the top of its metal stand. One of the men pointed and the two holding Axel started to drag him over to this makeshift gallows.

Chapter 18

11.50 a.m.

Will opened his mouth to shout. Before he could speak, a shot rang out. Everyone turned to see Eddie Hertz sitting up in the hay wagon, his pistol pointing to the sky.

‘That one went into the air,’ he announced. ‘The next one goes into any one of you who thinks it’s a good idea to hang this boy!’

Although few of them actually understood him, his meaning was clear. The two men holding on to Axel let him go and pushed him towards the American.

Will watched tensely, wondering what was going to happen next. The reaction of the crowd seemed mixed. In some there was a resentful defiance, in others there seemed to be shame. Perhaps the American had brought them to their senses. Whatever, they weren’t about to kill one of their liberators.

Eddie called to Axel in German. ‘Come and stand over here with me. I’m not going to let them kill you.’

The crowd’s hostility was rekindled. Pitchforks and shovels were raised again. Eddie realised his mistake. ‘Hey,
amis
. . .’ he spoke in hesitant French. ‘
Je suis Americaine. Je parle un peu de alemaine, comprene?
’

Enough of them understood that. There was rapid chatter among them and they backed off again. The atmosphere grew more relaxed. Within a couple of minutes, to Will’s complete amazement, some of the men returned with bread and some sort of coffee, which they gave to Eddie and Will – pointedly ignoring Axel.

‘Can’t say I blame them,’ said Eddie to Will in English, as he handed Axel a hunk of bread and offered him his coffee to sip. ‘They’ve been occupied for the last four years. They’re bound to be feeling hostile.’ His breathing was laboured and his pale face was covered with a thin film of sweat.

‘We need to get you some proper medical attention,’ Will said to Eddie.

‘I think we should sit tight here, until someone from our own side arrives,’ said Eddie. The food and drink had lifted his spirits. ‘I’m going to be all right, although I’m not sure I’m up to moving right now. I don’t think the Germans will be coming back for this . . .’ He gestured to the equipment that littered the square. ‘I’d say we should tell Axel here to get back to his unit, if he can.’

‘But as soon as he’s out of our sight the lynch mob will get him,’ said Will.

Eddie spoke again in German. ‘You stay here,
Kamerad
. You’re safe with us.’

Axel showed no sign of wanting to do anything else. Will could see his hands were shaking as he ate the bread Eddie had given him. ‘
Danke
,’ he said.

They waited, anxiously, as a few more people emerged from buildings and gathered in the square. The town was coming back to life. Mostly the civilians kept their distance, but a few eyed Axel with hostility.

‘What will happen to me now?’ he asked Eddie.

‘Wait till our soldiers arrive,’ said Eddie. ‘I guess you’ll be marched to the rear as a prisoner. Sent to a camp, I suppose.’

Axel didn’t like the sound of that. If the war really was over, he wanted to get back to his family. But he knew he couldn’t risk heading off on his own.

A few minutes later they noticed a khaki-clad figure peering carefully around a building at the edge of the square. The helmet he wore was instantly recognisable. Will shouted loudly, waving his arms. ‘Will Franklin, King’s Own!’

The man grinned and waved back. Several other soldiers appeared. ‘You’re safe now,’ said Will to Axel, as Eddie translated. ‘I’ll make sure our lads treat you right.’ He ran off to talk to the new arrivals.

A minute later he returned with a British soldier. He was dressed the same as any other only he had a white armband with a red cross on it and carried a hefty bag full of medical equipment. ‘This one’s got bad shrapnel wounds in the legs,’ said Will, as he pointed to Eddie.

The man wiped his eyes with exhaustion and ran a hand along the side of his face, as if trying to keep himself awake. He did not acknowledge Axel at all. ‘You don’t look too good yourself?,?’ he said to Will. ‘Do you want me to look at that head wound?’

Will knew how awful he must look. He was covered in mud and blood, especially around his face. But he also knew it was not serious. ‘It’s just a bit of bleeding. Looks worse than it is.’

The man examined Eddie, then took Will to one side. ‘Find another blanket to keep him warm. And get something to raise his legs up. We need to get him in an ambulance as soon as possible. He’s got a bullet in the thigh as well as all those shrapnel wounds. We’ll get him cleaned up. Get some blood back into him. So keep him talking. It’s important that he stays conscious.’

Will dashed off at once, and soon returned with two backpacks and another blanket from the pile left by the retreating German troops. The medical orderly had gone.

As Will wrapped the blanket around Eddie, Axel saw another bunch of soldiers arrive in the square. These ones, he quickly noticed, wore the same shoulder badges as Will. The one with a lion under the words ‘The King’s Own’. He said something and Eddie translated. ‘Your comrades have arrived.’

Will looked up to see familiar faces. All at once he felt a surge of excitement and ran over to ask if his brother was with them.

‘Haven’t seen the sergeant since early this morning,’ said one man.