Faked Passports (4 page)

“So did I.” Charlton grabbed Gregory's good arm to support his failing strength and they dashed forward together.

The ground beneath their flying feet was still grassland so they were making good going, but as they glanced over their shoulders from time to time they saw from the flashing torches in their rear that the soldiers had spread out into a long line. It was a case of fox and hounds where, although the fox may be the faster, hounds always win in the long run unless the fox can go to earth. If they could not find cover fairly soon the fastest among their pursuers would wear them down and inevitably come up with them.

Two hundred yards further on Charlton stumbled and fell, pitching into a deep ditch. Gregory's wound was paining him again, badly now, and his breath was rasping in his lungs, but he still had all his wits about him. Pulling up just in time he prevented himself from plunging after the airman.

With curses and groans Charlton regained his feet. Gulping for breath they clambered up the further bank of the ditch together to find themselves on a road. It was very dark but ahead of them lay a deeper blackness and on the far side of the road they both stumbled into tree-trunks. They had reached the wood.

Under the branches the blackness was absolutely pitch-dark and, as they blundered on, they were constantly running into trees or bramble bushes. The next few moments were a positive nightmare. Behind them they could hear the staccato orders of the officer who was urging his men after them and the guttural cries of the Germans keeping in touch with one another. Their pursuers were already crossing the ditch and coming up on to the
road, yet owing to the density of the wood and their inability to see even a few inches ahead of them the fugitives seemed to have made practically no progress. They were barely twenty yards inside the wood, still panting from their long run, bruised by collisions with trees unseen in the darkness and their hands torn by strands of bramble which clutched at them from every side, when the torches of the soldiers began to flicker upon the trees that lined the roadside.

As they struggled on, sweating and panting, the twigs under their feet seemed to snap with reports like the crackle of musketry and they both felt convinced that the noise would give away their position. One of the soldiers started to shoot again and bullets whined away to their left but on a sharp order from the officer the firing ceased. He did not want his men endangered by their own bullets, which might ricochet off the tree-trunks.

Gasping, bleeding, bruised, almost exhausted, Gregory and Charlton blundered desperately forward, keeping in touch with each other by the noise they were compelled to make in forcing their way through the unseen undergrowth. Gradually the sounds of the pursuit faded in the distance and at last they could hear only the noise of their feet thrashing against the brambles. Instinctively they halted.

“What did I tell you?” chuckled Gregory, after he had had a chance to get his breath. “You were so certain that they'd catch us but we're still free.”

“For how long, though?” Charlton muttered gloomily. “I expect they're on their way back to their comfortable beds by now but they'll be out here again first thing in the morning. What's the sense in spending a night in this filthy wood only to be captured tomorrow?”

“We're better off here than we should be in the cells of the local Gestapo. As for tomorrow, we'll see. If only I were fit we'd put a dozen miles between ourselves and this wood before morning. The devil of it is that this wound of mine makes it impossible for me to go much further.”

“Is it hurting much?”

“Yes; like hell!” Gregory was leaning against a tree and he drew a hand wearily over his eyes. “If we'd had to run another half-mile I should have fainted again, I think. As it is, I'm about all-in.”

“We'd better shake down here for the night, then.”

“I suppose we must, although I'm damned if I like it. We're still much too near that road for comfort. I'm good for a last
effort but I don't think we'd better risk trying to get deeper into this wood in the darkness, otherwise we may move round in a circle and walk right out of it again. Let's look about for a spot that's clear of these accursed blackberry bushes.”

Charlton got out his lighter and flicked it on. The tiny flame only lit the surrounding gloom sufficiently to show his face caked with sweat and congealed blood where low branches had scratched it.

“I can improve on that,” said Gregory, taking a box of matches from his pocket. “It's the first time I've had cause to be thankful that owing to their tax on matches the Nazis don't allow lighters in their country.”

As the match flared they could see that the wood about them was very dense and the ground almost entirely covered with undergrowth. Proceeding cautiously they made their way towards a place where the trees were not quite so thick and found that the break was caused by a shallow gully.

“This'll do,” said Gregory; “in fact it'll have to, as the longer we show a light the greater our danger.”

Side by side they sat down in the ditch. It was quite dry and soft from the accumulation of leaf-mould and leaves which had covered it through the years. Gregory eased his tired limbs, propped his back against the bank and produced his cigarettes. They shielded Charlton's lighter and lit up. As the flame was flicked out the surrounding darkness closed in about them once more, seeming blacker than ever. After smoking in silence for a little they recovered somewhat from their exertions and began to feel the cold. Charlton remarked upon it bitterly.

Gregory grunted. “Well, it's November, remember, and we're darned lucky that there's no snow. They had snow in the war zone over a fortnight ago, and that's hundreds of miles further south than this place. On my last trip into Germany I came through the Maginot and Siegfried Lines disguised as a German private, and my God the cold was fierce! This is nothing to it.”

Charlton turned his head towards the spot where Gregory's cigarette glowed in the darkness. “You're the hell of a tiger, aren't you, making your way through war zones and starting revolutions and one thing and another!”

“I suppose I am,” Gregory grinned. He was feeling better again now that he could sit still and rest his wounded shoulder. “It's not that I'm particularly brave—certainly no braver than an airman like yourself who takes a hellish risk every time he flies over enemy territory; it's just that I get a lot of kick out of
pitting my wits against those of other people. But, to be quite honest, I never take a chance of getting hurt, unless I absolutely have to.”

“Nonsense!” Charlton laughed. “What about tonight when you had the bright idea of lamming me over the head with the heel of your shoe in order that you could crash the plane and get back to that girl of yours?”

“Oh well, that was rather different. You were quite right when you said that I was in love with her; and anyone who's in love is crazy.”

“That's a good excuse but I've a feeling that you're the sort of chap who would have acted just as crazily if it had been some job of work which you felt you had to get on with, instead of a woman, that made you so anxious to get back to Berlin.”

“Perhaps. Just all depends how important the job was; but you can take my word for it in the normal way I'm an extraordinarily cautious person. ‘He who fights and runs away'—that's my motto. By sticking to it I've managed to live through the hell of a lot of trouble to the ripe old age of thirty-nine.”

“Well done, Methuselah! Then you're fourteen years ahead of me. But I bet I'll never live to make up the leeway—not with this filthy war on.”

“Since you feel like that tonight's little affair may yet prove the best thing that could have happened to you. If we
are
caught you'll be interned, and safe for the duration.”

“Thanks. But the idea doesn't appeal. I'd rather continue to lend a hand against little old ‘Itler. Besides, if we're caught, what about you?”

“Oh, I'll be shot; because I'm not a member of one of the fighting Services but a secret agent.”

“Aren't you a bit scared? I mean—our chances don't seem up to much, do they?”

“Frankly, no. We're faced with two major liabilities which are going to make it extremely difficult for us to get clean away. Firstly, my wound, which prevents our travelling swiftly. I'm afraid it's very inflamed and there's no doubt that I ought really to lie up for at least two or three days without moving at all. Then there's the fact that you can't speak German.”

“Our clothes are a bit of a give-away, too.”

“Yes. At a push I could pass in a crowd, since this is a German officer's greatcoat that I'm wearing; but your leather kit won't be easy to laugh off, as they're certain to be looking for two English airmen. Fortunately, though, they didn't see us at all
clearly so they can't issue our descriptions and, of course, they haven't got the faintest idea of the identity of the people in the plane that they shot down.”

“Perhaps tomorrow we may run across some farm-labourer whose things I could buy or, if necessary, take off him by force,” Charlton suggested.

“Yes; or we may be able to beg, borrow or steal a change of clothing.”

“The devil of it is that first thing in the morning those damned soldiers and the police will be beating these woods with bloodhounds.”

Gregory shook his head. “No, I don't think so. They'll beat the woods all right, but not with bloodhounds. For a bloodhound to be any help you've got to give it some article of clothing that's been worn by the person you're hunting, so that it can get the scent, and they've got nothing of that kind in their possession. Anyhow, time enough to face tomorrow's troubles when tomorrow comes. Let's try to get some sleep.”

They stretched out in the ditch side by side, pillowing their heads on their handkerchiefs spread out over scraped-up piles of leaves. The silence of the wood was broken only by the occasional scurrying of small animals in the undergrowth as they went about their nightly business. Once Gregory spotted a pair of tiny bright eyes gleaming at him out of the blackness but at his first movement the little animal scampered away in quick alarm. The cold was intense and they would have suffered from it severely if both of them had not been very warmly clad. As it was, it kept them from sleep for some time although they buried their hands in their arm-pits and their faces deep in the turned-up collars of their coats; but at last they dropped off from sheer exhaustion.

When they awoke the pale light of the chill November dawn was just filtering through the naked branches of the trees. Cold, cramped and stiff, they sat up to peer about them. From the gully in which they lay they could not see more than a dozen yards in any direction or any sign of a break in the wood.

Charlton shivered and said miserably: “Oh God! Then it
wasn't
a nightmare! We really
were
shot down and are on the run.”

Gregory gave an “Ouch!” of pain as he moved. His wound had set stiff during the night and as he lifted his left arm a violent pain ran through his shoulder.

“You've said it!” he replied through gritted teeth. “It's no dream you're having, but a lovely, real-life adventure.”

“Adventure be damned! What wouldn't I give for a cup of tea, breakfast and a hot bath!”

“Why not wish for caviare, a suite at the Ritz and Cleopatra smiling at you from a large double-bed, while you're about it?” said Gregory. “You're just as likely to get one as the other.”

Standing up, Freddie Charlton stretched himself. His fair, boyish face now showed little of the strain that he had been through the previous night, youth and vitality having quickly restored him to his normal physical well-being, but his grey eyes were anxious as he stared down at Gregory.

“Well? You're the
Fuehrer
in this little show; so you'd better think of something. We can't stay here for ever without food or drink. What d'you suggest that we should do?”

Gregory wriggled a large flask out of his hip-pocket. “He who drinks, dines,” he misquoted gravely, “and this is very good brandy-and-water. Take a pull to warm yourself up. It's much too early to expect me to do any thinking yet, though. My brain doesn't start to tick over until after ten and, unless my watch has stopped, it's only about six-thirty; which is a revolting hour for any civilised being to be awake at all.”

Freddie looked at Gregory curiously. He was often up at six himself and would long since have broken his neck flying if he had not had his wits about him just as much at that hour as later in the day. He was not certain if Gregory was seeking to impress him, by an apparently casual contempt for the danger they were in, or if he was a lazy, cynical devil who refused to be hurried into action—as was in fact the case—but he refrained from comment.

Having taken a couple of big gulps from the flask he exclaimed: “Ah, that's better!” and, handing it back, went on: “Well, last night we decided that our first job must be to get some other sort of kit by robbing a labourer or a cottage or something, so the sooner we start moving the better.”

“That's the idea; but I'm not doing any moving for the time being,” Gregory replied. “As you're feeling so energetic, by all means go and have a look round, but for God's sake don't get yourself lost so that you can't find your way back to me! Otherwise, as you can't speak any German, you'll be completely sunk. Incidentally, you might keep a look-out for a pond or a stream where I can bathe-this wretched wound of mine before it starts to go gangrenous.”

“Right,” Freddie nodded, and he set off through the trees.

He was away for nearly an hour and when he got back he found that Gregory was sound asleep again. On being woken Gregory explained that he considered that his time was best occupied in getting as much rest as possible. He then inquired the result of Charlton's expedition.