My Friend the Enemy (11 page)

RECONNAISSANCE

A
t the top of the hill, we got down on our tummies like commandos watching an enemy base. We stayed low behind the bushes and kept out of sight. The sheep that were grazing there took no notice of us, hardly even looking up.

By the wreck, three soldiers had their backs to us. They weren't Home Guard, like they'd been when we went into the plane last night. These were real soldiers. Young and fit and well armed. They were sitting facing the broken plane and, as we watched, one of them stood up and went to the fuselage, looking in. I could hear him saying something, but couldn't make out the words.

‘What they doin'?' I said. ‘You think they found somethin'?'

‘Just guarding, that's all. Stopping people from taking souvenirs.'

‘People like us?'

Kim smiled. ‘Yeah. And maybe they're waiting to see if the German'll come back.'

I could smell her again, just like yesterday. Cheap soap. But it smelt so much better on her than it did on me and Mam.

‘He's not going to, though, is he?' I said.

Kim shook her head, and I thought about what we'd seen inside the plane last night. ‘Maybe they're guardin' it so nobody goes inside and sees what we saw,' I suggested. ‘Imagine if one of the bairns climbed in there and saw the dead man. And it's prob'ly dangerous too.' A thought struck me. ‘Hey, I wonder if there's any unexploded bombs in there, like. Maybe
that's
why they're guardin' it.'

‘It's probably all of those things,' Kim said, standing up. ‘I'm going to find out.'

‘What?' I looked up at her with alarm. ‘No.'

She was taking off her satchel, pulling the strap over her head.

‘What if
he
comes?' I said. ‘That sergeant?' I felt sure he'd know what we had done if he looked into our eyes.

‘He won't,' she said. ‘He's out searching. But even if he does, I can handle him. You stay here and look after this.' She dropped her satchel on the ground next to me. ‘I'll be back in a minute.'

I tried calling to her, not sure whether to go after her
or do as she'd said, but she was already trotting down the hill towards the soldiers, so I laid low and watched.

The three soldiers didn't notice Kim until she was close to the bottom of the hill. It was the one who'd been looking into the fuselage who spotted her. He came forward, his voice loud, but I couldn't make out the words. He whipped his rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at her while the other two jumped to their feet, dropping cigarettes and pointing guns.

Kim put her hands up and stopped as they approached her. She looked small, all the way down there at the bottom of the hill, beside those soldiers. When I was with her, it always felt like she was tall, but from where I was now, she looked like a little boy in her shorts and shirt. She wasn't scared of the soldiers, though, and I could hear her talking to them. I felt myself puff up my chest in pride that she was my friend.

I saw Kim pull something out of her pocket, her identity card, and hold it out to the soldier who'd first spotted her. He took it, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and looked it over for a moment before passing it back. After that, the other two lowered their rifles and lit cigarettes. I could see them offer one to Kim and I was sure I saw her reach out and take it. They talked for a while, the soldiers smoking, and then Kim came back up the hill. The soldiers watched her until she was at the top before they sat down again, this time facing in different directions.

Kim passed over the crest of the hill, then crouched down and crawled back to where I was lying by the bushes.

‘What did you do that for?' I asked

‘Recce.'

‘Recky?'

‘Reconnaissance,' she said. ‘Find out what's what. See what's happening.'

‘And
did
you find out?'

‘We were right. They've already had a few little 'uns down there this morning, some big 'uns too, so they're guarding it to stop people from taking souvenirs. The bodies aren't there any more, though. They took 'em away first thing this morning. Also, they're waiting in case the German comes back.'

‘He's really got them runnin' around, hasn't he?'

‘
We've
got them running around,' she said with a smile.

Once again, I felt a pang of guilt and fear. ‘He needs help, though. There must be someone we can tell. How about Mam?'

‘He's got
us
,' Kim said. ‘He doesn't need anyone else. We agreed on that. Anyway, she'd just tell Lieutenant Whatshisname, and then they'd shoot him.'

I wasn't entirely sure that was exactly what the lieutenant had said, but even so, I thought Kim was right. If I told Mam about the German, she would definitely tell the army and, if the sergeant was anything to go by, there were a few of them just itching to kill someone.

‘Maybe he'll die anyway,' I said.

‘Maybe he will.' Kim looked at me. Then I noticed she had a cigarette behind her ear.

‘What's that for?' I asked.

‘It's for him,' she said. ‘All soldiers smoke, don't they? My brother does and I bet your dad does too.'

I shrugged and, for a moment, it wasn't a German out there in the woods any more; it was my dad lying there, waiting for us to bring him a blanket and a cigarette and something to eat.

‘Right, then.' She took her satchel from my hands and shuffled back, away from the crest of the hill. ‘Come on. Let's go and have a look at our souvenir.'

*

We couldn't go into the woods through the hole in the fence because the soldiers might have seen us, so we went in further along. The wire was tight enough for us to climb, and I draped the blanket over the top rung to cover the barbs before we clambered over. There were one or two fluffs of wool snagged where the sheep had wandered too close.

‘D'you think he'll still be there?' Kim said as we made our way among the trees.

‘Don't know.'

‘You all right?' she asked.

‘Aye.'

‘Scared?'

I looked at her. ‘A bit.'

Kim tightened her lips and nodded. ‘Me too.'

I stopped and took a deep breath. ‘It's not too late to go back,' I said. ‘We could get someone . . .'

Kim stood beside me and glanced back the way we'd come, then stared forward into the woods as if she were having second thoughts. She bit at the inside of her cheek,
then shook her head. ‘No. That could be Josh. Or your Dad. We should help him.'

‘I dunno. Maybe we—'

‘Come on,' she said. ‘He's our souvenir. We found him. And it's up to us to look after him.'

‘All right.' But I wasn't really doing it for him – I was doing it for all those reasons that had been spinning in my head this morning. Most of all, though, I was doing it for my new friend Kim.

We walked side by side where we could, but there were times when I had to take the lead. My legs were still scratched and stinging from our rush through the woods last night, so I was careful to avoid those things now it was daylight. I felt important leading Kim. She was older than me by nearly a month; she was taller than me and she was braver than I was, so it felt good to be in the lead, showing her where to go. She probably never would have found her way back to my hiding place if I hadn't been there.

Further in, we jumped across the burn using the stones that jutted from the surface. I looked down at the clear water and thought about how I used to build dams when Dad was tending to the pheasants on the other side. It always used to start out with me following him around, watching what he did to look after the birds. There were small cages with boxed-in sections for hens that were laying, and there were open pens for the older chicks, and I'd help put out feed but then I'd get bored and come down to the burn.

‘Maybe we should build a dam sometime,' I said. ‘You
ever built a dam?'

‘No.'

‘You need to get loads of stones and twigs and make a wall. Then clog it all up with mud to stop the water getting through.'

‘Sounds fun.'

‘I used to do it when me da' was working. Sometimes it would get really big, and once I even made the water into a deep pool that lasted for days and days, until there was a hard rain and it overflowed and washed away.'

‘So where
is
your dad?' Kim asked. ‘Do you know?'

We were on the other side of the burn now and I picked up a long stick, swinging it at the tall nettles. ‘Africa.'

‘Hey, that's where my brother is, too. At least, when we last heard from him. He came home for a few days after Dunkirk, but then he went away again.'

I suddenly felt a pang of jealousy because my dad hadn't come home. ‘
My
da' was in Dunkirk too,' I said. ‘He wasn't in no plane, though. He was right there on the ground.'

‘So?'

‘Well, I mean, it was more dangerous for the soldiers, wasn't it? Bein' on the ground and everythin'.'

‘Planes can get shot down, you know.'

‘Aye, but—'

‘Like yesterday, remember. It's just as bad.'

I sighed. ‘I know. I didn't mean . . .' I shrugged.

‘It's all right.'

‘We heard about it on the wireless, like, about Dunkirk. All them men coming back from France. Mam said maybe
me da' would come home after that. He didn't, though. Went straight to Africa. We had a letter from him sayin' he was there for . . .' I tried to remember the words he'd used. I could picture them, in my dad's handwriting. ‘For the
duration of the emergency
. That means until the war's over.'

‘He didn't even come back for a few days?' Kim said. ‘That's not fair.'

I swung at the nettles again, swiping the tops off a whole clump of them, sending pieces of leaves fluttering through the air, then I stopped and looked at the green sap left on the end of my stick.

‘They'll be all right.' Kim punched my arm. ‘Giving Hitler a run for his money, eh?'

‘Aye. Winnin' the war.' But I knew we were both thinking the same thing. My dad and Kim's brother were out fighting the Germans, and we had one right here in the woods. And we were looking after him.

‘It's different,' Kim said, as if she'd read my mind.

‘Aye.' And although I couldn't explain it, this
was
different. All those Germans we heard about on the wireless were different. They were not men, they were faceless, helmeted and armed, marching across places I knew the names of but had never seen. France, Norway, Africa. They were aeroplanes dogfighting over the English channel; they were bombers casting a shadow over our cities. They were the
enemy
.

Our German was different. He was a real person. He was here, he had a face and he was in trouble.

NOT MUCH OF A GERMAN

C
oming closer to my secret place, I slipped a hand into my satchel to take out the gun.

‘Oh, no.' I stopped.

‘What's wrong?' Kim asked.

I held up the pistol for her to see. ‘It broke.' There was slimy egg yolk all over the pistol, adding to the dirt that was stuck in the gaps in the metal.

‘You brought an egg?'

I nodded, feeling awful. I'd stolen food from Mam and now it was ruined. It was no use at all.

‘And you put it in your satchel with the gun? What
did you expect?'

I shrugged and shook my head. All the effort I'd gone to this morning was wasted.

‘Well . . .' She looked at me and stopped. She could see I was upset and annoyed with myself. ‘Oh, never mind. You got a blanket and that's brilliant. Just wipe the gun on the grass over there.'

I went to the trunk of a hazel tree, where the grass grew in tufts as high as my wellies, and I squatted down to wipe the pistol clean. Kim crouched beside me.

‘It's all right,' she said. ‘It doesn't matter.'

‘Of course it matters,' I said. ‘I took it from
Mam
. I thought it was all right because I was going to use it to help someone, but now I've broken it and . . .' I sighed and picked up a twig to flick some dirt from a crevice on the gun. ‘We've got nowt to spare as it is.'

‘You think it's bad
here
?' Kim said. ‘It's even harder in the city. There's gardens here and loads of vegetables, but in Newcastle most of the gardens are blown up and—'

‘We've still got hardly anythin' and we can't afford to go breaking stuff, or giving it away. Maybe we shouldn't be helping 'im.'

‘He's our souvenir.'

‘Aye, but he's not, though, is he? He's a person and, well . . . maybe we
should
tell someone. Let someone else look after 'im.'

‘Look after him?' she said. ‘They'd just shoot him. You said so yourself.'

‘Did I?'

‘Yes, you did.'

‘Aye. I s'pose so.' It all felt like such a mess.

‘Come on.' She stood up and put out a hand to pull me up.

I reached out and took it. It was warm and soft. And when I was standing, she let me hold it for a moment longer before I let go and we continued on through the woods, going straight to my secret place; the place where we had hidden our souvenir.

*

At the end of the main street in the village, there was a noticeboard that used to show drab flyers about dances, or church services or about the village fair. Now, though, there were colourful posters telling people to ‘Dig for Victory' or ‘Make Do and Mend'. There were even posters telling people not to talk about the war because German spies lurked round every corner and hid behind every bush.

When the posters first went up, there were too many people crowding round the noticeboard to see them, but then they were everywhere. They were in the village hall, in the grocer's, and even on the wall inside the butcher's instead of pictures of lamb chops and mince.

One of the posters was put up so we'd know how to spot the enemy if they invaded – as if we wouldn't be able to tell by the fact they'd be shooting at us. There was a picture of a German sailor standing next to an airman wearing a blue-grey jacket with gold on the collar and matching trousers tucked into long black boots. He also had a hat with an eagle on it, pulled tight over his golden hair. I'd felt ashamed when I first saw the picture because
I thought the uniform was really smart, and because my hair was a similar colour.

But the man we'd captured didn't look anything at all like the drawing pinned up behind Mr Shaw's counter. Our German was completely different.

It was dim inside the tangle of shrubs, but some light cut through the gaps, and it was clearer than it had been in the torchlight. I could see that he was sitting in the same position, with his back against the sycamore, his arms loose by his sides and his legs outstretched.

He was wearing an all-in-one suit, more like overalls, grey except for the torn left sleeve which had a good deal of dark-brown dried blood caked on it. There were pockets on his thighs and he wasn't wearing a hat of any sort. I was also surprised to see he didn't have golden hair. His hair wasn't even as blond as mine; his was a sort of brown colour. What Mam would have called ‘mousey'. His skin was pale, but much of his face was dirty, and there were streaks of mud and scratches, too. One long cut ran from the top of his head, right along the side of his face, and curved around to his chin. It didn't look deep but it had bled a lot. Both of his eyes were closed, and his chin was resting on his chest.

The other thing I noticed was the smell.

‘Stinks in here,' I whispered, noticing a dark stain around the front of the airman's overalls. When I realised what it was, I felt a great surge of embarrassment for him and glanced away. ‘You think he's wet 'imself?'

‘Maybe. Probably. He's been here all night.'

I'd never heard of a grown up doing that before and it
made me feel even more sorry for him. I thought about how terrible Dad would feel if it had happened to him and, somehow, it seemed even worse than being shot down. ‘He must really be in a bad way.'

‘Looks like he hasn't even moved.

' ‘He looks
dead
,' I said, putting the gun on the ground beside me. ‘D'you think—'

‘No, I can see him breathing.'

I looked closely, watching his chest, and saw that Kim was right.

She knelt facing the airman and opened her satchel, removing a paper napkin which she laid out. Onto it she placed a handful of broken biscuits and a raw carrot. She also took out a cloth, a clean rag and a bottle of Dettol antiseptic.

‘It's all I could get,' she said.

I opened my satchel and looked inside. The egg had soaked into the leather and begun to stiffen. I'd have to wash it later, otherwise it would start to smell. I took out the small package of paper and unwrapped it to show my piece of tripe. ‘That's it,' I said. ‘Apart from the egg.'

‘Tripe? Can you eat it raw?'

I stared at the pitiful thing and shrugged. ‘Don't know.'

‘Can't risk having a fire to cook it.'

I crumpled it back into the paper and sighed. ‘It's no good then, is it? Wasted.' A stab of guilt poked at my insides. Wasting food was the worst crime.

‘No, it's good,' Kim said. ‘He'll just have to eat it raw.'

‘You reckon?' I wondered if she was just trying to make me feel better.

‘Of course. Put it with the rest.'

So I put it beside her offerings and we stared at the bits and pieces. It didn't look like much.

‘We'll have to get more than this,' Kim said with a sigh. ‘It's not enough.'

‘How?'

She thought for a moment. ‘I might be able to get a few more things. A slice of bread, a small piece of meat. I'll try to get something that's cooked. Maybe sneak out a bit of my lunch or tea.'

‘I can try that.'

‘You ever get the rations from the shops?'

‘Sometimes.'

‘Well, next time see if you can keep a bit; bring it here.'

I nodded, feeling a tinge of shame that I was sitting here, in front of a German airman, discussing how I was going to steal food to feed him. But underneath it all, I felt as if I was saving his life.

‘And we'll need something for him to wee in,' Kim said.

‘What?'

‘Well, you're right about it stinking in here, and what if he needs to go for a you-know-what? He needs a chamber pot.'

‘A gazunder? Can he not just go outside, like?'

‘Not sure he's in any state to. He can hardly walk. Haven't you got a spare one?'

I shook my head. ‘Just the one under me bed.'

I tried to think what we could bring for him. If I ever needed a pee when I was in the woods, I just found a
good tree. Anything more serious and I ran home to the netty at the bottom of the garden – a small wooden outhouse that was painted a faded and cracked green. There was a gap under the door that the winter wind blew right through and I sometimes begged to use the commode in Mam's bedroom if I needed a sit down, but she always said no. That was only for use at night.

‘We used to have an old coal scuttle,' I said, ‘but that went to the scrap collection. Don't think we've got anything else. Nothing Mam wouldn't miss, anyways.'

‘Well, see if there's anything you can find. I'll have a look too.'

We waited a while longer, saying nothing, but still he didn't wake up, so Kim edged forward and put her hand out. She touched his shoulder, a quick poke, and drew her hand away.

Still he didn't move.

This time she put her hand on his shoulder and shook him, making his whole body wobble. For a moment, I thought he was going to slide sideways and fall over but, instead, he moaned, and opened his eyes. Just a crack.

Kim jumped back to sit next to me and I put my hand down to touch the pistol.

The German looked at us as if he was trying to remember where he was. He blinked hard and shook his head, a tiny movement as he looked about. And then he remembered.

He opened his eyes wide, panicking as he tried to push himself up. Immediately he gasped in pain, lifting his right hand to his left arm, putting his legs up to shuffle
away from us. He turned his head from side to side like a cornered animal searching for an escape route, but there was nowhere for him to go, so he just cowered there. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the cocoon of foliage.

‘Don't think we're going to be a pushover,' Kim said to him. ‘We might be children, but we're English and we're tough.' She knelt up very straight and puffed out her chest. ‘Show him the gun, Peter.'

‘Hm?'

‘Show him the gun.'

‘Oh. Aye,' I said, gripping the pistol and holding it up. The German cringed and put up his good hand, holding it out in front of his face. He said something in German, but all I heard was a lot of sounds, and the only one I could pick out was the one he had said last night. ‘
Bitte
.'

‘Don't
point
it at him,' Kim told me.

‘But you said to—'

‘I said
show
it to him, not point it at him.'

‘All right.' I lowered it and put it down.

‘Are you thirsty?' Kim asked him. She picked up the bottle she'd left last night and shook it. ‘There's not much in it.'

‘We can always get more,' I told her. ‘From the burn.'

‘Thirsty?' she asked him again, shaking the bottle. ‘You want a drink?'

‘
Wasser
,' he answered. ‘Wa-ter.'

She unscrewed the cap and gave it to him. He put it to his lips and I watched to see if he did anything strange, but I couldn't see anything that made him different. On
some of the posters, the Germans looked like they had no faces, just half-closed eyes looking at us from the shadow beneath their helmets. Or they were dark monsters, sighting along the barrels of their rifles. On one of them, the enemy was a moustached cross between Hitler and the devil – his red face topped with horns that stuck out from his side-parted black hair. But as I watched him drink, I realised the man we'd brought into my secret place wouldn't have stood out if he'd been waiting in the queue at the grocer's. A change of clothes and he would have looked just like everyone else. He wasn't very frightening at all.

When he'd drained the water bottle, I took it back and replaced the cap. Kim handed him the broken biscuits and the carrot, putting the paper napkin on his lap.

The German eyed them with suspicion.

‘We'll get some more water,' Kim said, holding up the bottle and nudging me. ‘Come on.'

We left him to his food and crawled out.

When we were at the burn, Kim squatted beside the clear water and submerged the bottle. I jumped up onto the tyre swing that hung by a thick rope from the bough of an old tree, and watched the bubbles rising in the burn.

‘I like your swing,' Kim said.

‘Me da' put it up for us,' I said, swaying gently, legs dangling, the tyre twisting slowly so that one moment I was looking at Kim and the next I wasn't.

‘That should do it,' she said, taking the bottle from the water and screwing the top back on.

‘He's not much of a German, is he?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You've seen the posters. They always look different. Like they're monsters or somethin'.'

Kim looked confused at first, then she smiled and laughed through her nose. ‘You don't really think they all look like devils, do you?' She came over and put a hand on the tyre to stop it from revolving.

‘Well, no, but . . . I dunno . . . That's what they're like on posters. Or they're blond or they're angry or . . .
something
. But he's not scary at all. He's sort of . . . well, sort of sad, and you can't help feelin' sorry for him.'