Shoes for Anthony (38 page)

More cries of panic echoed through the room.

‘Everyone remain calm,' shouted Captain Willis. ‘I don't think he's bluffing. A trapped rat will do whatever it takes to escape.' He held the key out in his open palm. ‘There,' he said, turning to Gerhard. ‘Take it.'

‘I'm afraid I can't take it,' said Gerhard, his voice almost light. ‘To do so would mean releasing either the boy or the gun. I am prepared to do neither. You will do as I have asked. Unscrew the red socket and insert the key. Do it now.'

Captain Willis's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. If he was thinking how to get us all out of this, then he had to think fast. ‘All right,' he said. ‘The red socket, you say?'

‘Stop stalling,' said Gerhard, gesturing with the gun towards the radio. ‘You know what I asked.'

Gerhard pulled me backwards and my leg hit the side of a table with a dull thud. The radio was lying on the floor of the raised dais to our left, the lid smashed off it. Captain Willis had to walk past us to get to it. I caught his eye. ‘You'll be fine, Anthony,' he said, passing me. ‘Just do as he says.'

Stepping up on to the dais, Captain Willis stared down into the lid of the radio and tried to unscrew what appeared to be a cable socket. ‘It's stiff,' he said, frowning. ‘I'm not sure if I can …'

‘Keep trying,' said Gerhard.

Captain Willis tried again, his face straining as he gripped the socket. ‘It's moving,' said Captain Willis, with some relief. He unscrewed it and lifted it out. ‘There a hole underneath it.'

‘Insert the key into it, please,' said Gerhard.

Captain Willis took the metal tube and lowered the flattened corrugated end into the hole. With a twist to the left, there was a click and a section in the side of the radio slid out. ‘It's some sort of metal tray,' said Captain Willis, looking up.

‘Pull it out,' said Gerhard.

His jaw tensing, Captain Willis lifted the small, rectangular drawer out from inside the radio and opened it. ‘Papers,' he said, his teeth gritted as he picked them out from the tray. ‘False papers, passport, flight order! Damn you, man! What the hell are you planning?'

‘No need to trouble yourself with what my orders are,' said Gerhard. ‘I wouldn't want to worry you.'

‘This is a flight order for a Mosquito bomber!' yelled Captain Willis, staring into his hands. ‘God help us. Of course. No German bomber could get anywhere near a sensitive target. They'd be blown out of the sky. But a Mosquito? One of ours? It can fly over anything it wants! That's why he crashed the plane, having filled it with POWs. So he had a brilliant cover story.'

‘What's he going to bomb?' called out Bopa. ‘Why would he need to crash a plane here and pretend to be a POW? Why didn't he do it in London? Or Cardiff?'

‘Because this is where the Allied Chiefs of Staff are secretly meeting,' said Captain Willis, his face etched with fury. ‘God damn you, man! He means to bomb Allied Command!'

‘Take the papers out and place them at the end of the table,' said Gerhard, unmoved. ‘Then move away and take off your uniform.'

‘What?' protested Captain Willis. ‘I'm not removing my clothes!'

‘I'm afraid you have to. It was the one thing I hadn't yet managed to acquire. But no matter. I'll simply take yours. Take them off, Captain Willis, and place them on the floor in front of the boy.'

I watched as Captain Willis reluctantly began to remove his trousers. Alf had moved into my eye-line and was staring at me intensely. My mind was racing, a jumble of pained confusion, fear and betrayal. I understood nothing. Was he taking me in a plane with him? Was I ever going to see my family again? I took a great, gulping gasp of air. I was forgetting to breathe.

‘Please,' said Alf, his voice low and pleading, ‘take me instead. I won't do anything to try and stop you. Take me instead of Anthony. He's just a boy. He looked up to you. Don't do this to him, please.'

‘Always trying to be the hero, Alf,' replied Gerhard, ‘for which you have my respect. But the boy comes with me. Shirt and jacket as well, please, Captain Willis. There's a good fellow.'

Captain Willis was now standing in his vest, pants and socks, his uniform in a heap at my feet. It was a humiliating spectacle not lost on the villagers behind him.

‘May God forgive you,' shouted out Jones the Bible. ‘One day, you shall be judged by a higher power than me. Shame on you. Shame on you.'

The villagers, realising that this drama was reaching its conclusion, began to hurl insults. It was all they could do.

‘I hope you rot in hell, you bastard!' yelled Old Morris.

‘Coward!' cried out Hughes. ‘Stinking coward!'

‘Pick up the papers, Anthony,' said Gerhard, ignoring the taunts that were coming thick and fast.

I reached over to the table where Captain Willis had left the small pile of documents and picked them up.

‘Put them in the inside pocket of the jacket on the floor,' he added, his grip on my neck still tight and unforgiving.

I cast a glance up towards Captain Willis, who was wrapping himself in a blanket that had been passed to him by Miss Evans. Everyone else in the room was paralysed, sheep caught unawares by the wolf. With Gerhard's grip on my neck a little less unforgiving, I was able to scan the room again for a sight of my mother. I could see a huddle of women, bent over, a pair of shoes slightly splayed. She had collapsed.

‘Inside the jacket, please, Anthony,' said Gerhard, his voice insistent. ‘Then pick up the clothes.'

‘We've got to stop him!' yelled Bopa. ‘We can't let him take Anthony. Arthur! Do something!'

There was the beginning of an angry surge, and Gerhard shot again, this time into the air.

‘No!' shouted Alf, holding his arms up. ‘Don't do anything. Please! Everyone, stay calm. For Christ's sake.'

‘Listen to your friend,' warned Gerhard, as I bundled Captain Willis's uniform into my arms. ‘Now, if you please, all of you, back out in front of us. Slowly. Do it now. Leave Emrys on the floor, Bethan. You can come back for him later.'

The hand on the back of my neck was starting to sweat, the barrel of the pistol tight against my forehead once more. I wondered if his other hand was sweating, whether the wrong twitch of a finger would send a bullet into my brain.

The uniform felt heavy in my arms, a lead weight of treachery. Fleeting moments came back to me: the moment I had first seen him; laughing with him as we sat reading
The Dandy
; showing me how to shave: the ice cream, the photos, sewing up my shorts, the moon … How could I ever look at the moon again?

How was it possible that somebody who just ten minutes ago was my dearest friend was now my deadliest enemy? And yet, somehow, I believed if I could look into his eyes, we would see each other. We would see each other properly, and he would remember who I was. He wasn't going to kill me. He couldn't.

‘A little faster, Anthony,' he said to me, pushing me forwards as the villagers backed out from the room.

Everyone had done as he asked, and the villagers were now standing in the street, tense and wretched. Behind them sat Captain Willis's jeep. Gerhard bundled me towards it.

‘Step away from the jeep,' Gerhard shouted, ‘right back.'

‘You're a bastard!' shouted Old Morris, as Captain Willis encouraged them all backwards. ‘A yellow-bellied custard-spined shit! I hope your cock drops off!'

Similar taunts filled the air. Captain Willis was trying to hold people back, but the yelling was sharpening mettle. It was as if people were coming to their senses. In the saloon, they'd been dazed, bludgeoned into submission by a sharp, swift shock, but now, with the fresh mountain air coursing through their lungs, they were waking up. One of their own was in danger, and it was time to fight back.

‘Open the door,' Gerhard shouted. ‘Get in!'

I reached for the handle and pressed down. The door swung open and Gerhard shoved me hard into the jeep, leaping up behind me. Still holding me at the neck, he momentarily lowered his gun in order to turn the key in the ignition. It was my only chance. I shoved him sideways as hard as I could, and the gun clattered down into the footwell.

‘He's dropped it!' I yelled. The villagers surged forwards.

‘Get out, Anthony!' yelled Alf, running towards me.

I reached for the door handle but a fist came crashing across from my right. My face smacked into a metal strut to my left, snapping my head backwards. I cried out.

I lifted a hand to my forehead; blood was trickling down into my eye. I could hear yelling, the sound of a gearstick grinding, Alf shouting my name followed by a gunshot, more screams, and then the jeep lurched away at speed. I winced and looked down into my hand. It was covered in blood. I turned and looked back towards the people I loved, but, run as hard as they might, there was nothing I could do to stop them fading into the distance. I looked towards Gerhard. I only had one thing to say.

‘I hate you.'

I didn't want to cry in front of him but the tears came hot and fast, my hands clenched into fists buried against the back of my eyelids. The deception was so callous, so calculated, I was engulfed by it. I felt crushed, devastated that I could have been so stupid. I let out a long, guttural wail, my face upturned towards the sky. I hated him. It terrified me how much I hated him. He was a soul made from tar, a malevolent cancer. How could I ever have believed him, this foul and wicked man?

He was driving fast, his face set like stone. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to kill him. Enraged, I raised my fists and with a livid yowl, I turned on him, pummelling at him as best I could. He held me off, pushing me back against the jeep door. ‘Anthony!' he shouted. ‘Stop this! Stop!'

‘I hate you!' I yelled, my fists flying at him. ‘I hate you! I hate you!'

He slammed his foot on the brake and we both jerked forwards then snapped backwards, slamming into our seats. I felt both his hands on me, pinning me down. He pressed on top of me, a large forearm coming down across my chest as he reached behind the seat to pull out a length of rope.

‘No!' I shouted, as he grabbed my wrist. I spat at him.

Roughly, he yanked at my other wrist and, pulling them both together, wrapped the rope tightly about them. I tried to scramble upwards, pushing with my feet against the bottom of the windscreen. There was a sharp burn in my wrists and I let out a pained yelp. My arms were jerked downwards and I felt his hand snatch at my ankle. I was still kicking, frantic to escape. With my free leg, I shoved my boot into his face. His head snapped to the left and, sensing I was keeping him off me, I pushed again, harder. He let out an angry bellow and a fist came down into my jaw.

Everything went black.

Something hurt. Everything hurt. I could taste blood, and my tongue found its way to a loose tooth. I was tied down, my ankles roped to my wrists, and I was lying in the deep shallow of the jeep. We were still moving. I rolled onto my back and looked up. Blue skies, a few faraway clouds; it was a lovely day. We must be up the mountain pass, I thought. I could smell the heather.

I felt dazed. The punch had been quite something. I'd been hit before, of course, but by people my own size. Being lamped by a grown man was quite a different matter. I tried to raise my hand to my mouth, but the rope stopped me. I let my head drop back onto the floor of the jeep, a dull ache sweeping through my body. I could feel dampness around my groin. I looked down. I'd wet myself. I was going to die.

The jeep was slowing and I felt it swing to the left. There was a jolt, a series of jerks and then the sound changed. We were on grass. He'd left the road. I heard the crunch of the handbrake and the coarse juddering of the engine falling silent. I rolled against the backboard so I could better see him. Was this it? Was this the moment he was going to kill me?

I could see the back of his head. He looked down to his right, opened the door and got out. He shot me a glance, a cursory, almost irritated look, as if I was a terrible inconvenience. I blinked and winced. The right side of my face felt swollen, my upper lip puffy. I tried to wriggle free of the rope, but it was no good.

‘Get on with it, then!' I yelled at him. ‘If you're going to kill me, do it!'

‘I'm not going to kill you, Anthony,' he replied, not looking at me. ‘I'm sorry I had to hurt you.' He reached down into the footwell on the passenger's side and pulled out Captain Willis's uniform. ‘I don't expect you to understand what is going on. I don't expect you to be anything other than angry. I am doing what I must.'

‘How could you do it?' I cried, the tears coming again. ‘How could you do that to me? To Bethan? To my brothers? Mam? Father? You're a bloody German. A bloody German!'

‘Yes,' he said, pulling off his tank top and shirt. ‘I am a German. I love my country, Anthony, just as you love yours. We are enemies, and yet, we are not. Not really. And I want you to try and remember that, when this is done. I must do things for my country that I have been asked to do. You believe in duty and honour. My duty means that I must betray people I have grown fond of. I do this for my country. That is my honour. Can you understand that?' He slipped off his trousers and tossed them to one side.

‘No,' I yelled, ‘I can't understand it. All I know is you've been a viper, a sneak. You've lied to us. You're the worst person I've ever met.'

He bent down and pulled on the uniform trousers. They were a little loose at the waist. He zipped up the fly and, before fastening the button, pulled on the light-blue shirt. Tucking the bottom of the shirt into the trousers, he looked at me again. ‘One day, when you are older,' he began, his voice a little softer, ‘I hope you can forgive me. War makes monsters of the most mild-mannered of men. Please, Anthony, I mean you no harm.'