Shoes for Anthony (37 page)

‘How long till that takes effect?' asked Captain Willis, looking at his watch.

‘About a minute,' answered Dr Mitchell. ‘There's no point administering the salts until he's not feeling that leg. You'll get no sense out of him.'

Captain Willis leant forwards and put his hand on the German's shoulder. ‘Can you hear me?' he asked, his voice a little louder. ‘My name is Captain Willis. I am an officer with the RAF. You are in my custody. Do you understand?'

‘He may not even speak English,' Dr Mitchell muttered, dropping the syringe back into his bag.

All eyes were on the German, his left hand twitching, his head rolling on his shoulders.

‘Do you understand me?' said Captain Willis, again, staring down at him.

The German's lips moved and a barely imperceptible ‘Yes' squeezed itself out.

A cloud of low mumbles rolled through the room. Captain Willis held his hand up. ‘Please, everyone,' he began, ‘I must ask for silence. It's imperative that I hear everything this man has to say.'

Everyone fell silent.

‘Can you understand everything I am saying to you?' said Captain Willis.

I took a step sideways so I could see the man's lips. Piotr was next to me, his eyes fixed on the same point. The German's mouth opened and closed; a sound like a short breath panted out. Captain Willis gave a curt nod and straightened up.

‘Good,' he said, turning to Dr Mitchell. ‘When you think the morphine has taken effect, let him have the salts.'

The atmosphere couldn't have been more tense. People behind me were straining to see and hear, all eyes blazing towards the German lying on the wooden table.

Dr Mitchell glanced at his watch. ‘I can try with the salts now,' he said, his hand reaching once again into his bag. ‘You may want to sit him up.'

Captain Willis nodded and put an arm under the man's shoulder. ‘Can you help?' he said, turning towards Alf. ‘Take the other side.'

Alf stepped forward and, together, they heaved the man upwards. He gave another groan, his head flopping downwards onto his chest.

Dr Mitchell moved closer and unscrewed the top of the small, dark-blue bottle in his hand. ‘Turn your heads away, gentlemen,' he said to Alf and Captain Willis, ‘so you don't get the fumes.' Then, taking the bottle, he wafted it quickly under the man's nose, back and forth, back and forth.

A greater groan went up, a protest at being roused from his torpor, and as he flinched away from the sharp, acrid smell, Alf and Captain Willis took his weight to support him. His head fell back to an upright position, resting against Alf's upper arm, and slowly, painfully, his eyes began to open.

‘Can you hear me?' said Captain Willis, his face leaning in towards the German's.

The man blinked and gave the tiniest of nods.

‘Do you know where you are?'

The German's eyes flitted around the room. He reminded me of a landed trout, the way their eyes seem to blaze with confusion on finding themselves out of water. He shook his head and a weak ‘No' fell from his lips. ‘Water,' he said, gripping Captain Willis's forearm. ‘Please, water.'

‘Can someone pass me some?' called out Captain Willis.

Mutters rippled through the crowd and a glass of water was passed forward from the bar. Emrys took hold of it and handed it to Captain Willis. He lifted the glass to the man's cracked lips and gently tipped it, trickling the water into his mouth. The German closed his eyes, as if the sensation of something cold and wet was a relief greater than any he had ever known. He nodded and Captain Willis set the glass to one side.

‘What were you doing?' Captain Willis spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Why did you come here?'

‘German,' the man whispered.

‘Yes, but why were you sent here?'

‘German … in … radio.'

‘What's in the radio?' said Captain Willis.

‘Mission. German,' he mumbled, his eyes closing again.

‘Doctor, more salts, please,' said Captain Willis. ‘Arthur! Is that radio still at the cop shop?'

‘It is!' called Arthur from the side of the room.

‘Run and fetch it, fast as you can.'

‘I'll go, Arthur,' said Emrys, pushing towards the door. ‘I can run faster than you. Where is it?'

‘Behind the counter,' shouted Arthur. ‘Next to the biscuits.'

Captain Willis reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the metal key. ‘Have you seen this before? Do you know what it does?'

‘Opens …'

Dr Mitchell wafted the bottle of salts under his nose.

‘Ahhh.' He let out another groan of complaint.

‘What does it open?'

‘German … in … radio … in … radio … He shot us.'

‘Sorry?' said Captain Willis, frowning. ‘Who shot you?'

‘German … shot us … before crashed.'

‘Shot who? The POWs on the plane? But you're not a POW. Are you saying another German shot you then crashed the plane deliberately?'

The man shook his head. ‘German …' he mumbled again.

‘I know you're German,' said Captain Willis, almost comfortingly.

‘No …' the man whispered, grabbing Captin Willis' arm. ‘Polish …'

Captain Willis shot a puzzled look towards the doctor.

‘Your name,' Captain Willis asked, looking back towards the man in his arms. ‘What is your name?'

The man swallowed, opened his eyes, and looked up towards Captain Willis. ‘Skarbowitz … Piotr.'

I frowned.

Captain Willis glanced over to where I was standing with Piotr. The doctor looked over his shoulder. ‘He must recognise him. It'll be the morphine. He's confused.'

‘No,' Captain Willis said again, ‘
your
name.'

‘Piotr Skarbowitz. Polish. I am Polish.'

Alf looked towards Piotr. ‘Why's he saying your name?'

‘He's delirious,' said Piotr, his hand digging deeper into his pocket.

Captain Willis lifted the man's head and pointed it towards Piotr. ‘Can you see that man?' he said, pointing towards him. ‘Who is that man?'

The man's eyes flitted erratically then settled on Piotr. He swallowed and, gripping Captain Willis, whispered, ‘German … Hartmann … German.'

I heard the shot, the screams, I saw the man's chest judder backwards, I saw Alf and Captain Willis splattered with blood, and then I felt the hand gripping me about the back of my neck.

‘Nobody move,' said Hartmann. ‘Or I kill the boy.'

Everyone was screaming. It happened fast. I was dragged, swiftly, towards the far end of the room, away from the villagers, a gun pressed to my temple. My head was pushed down into my chest. It hurt.

‘What are you doing?' I called out. The hand tightened its grip. I let out a pained yelp.

‘Be quiet now, Anthony,' said my captor. ‘There's a good boy.'

‘Who are you?' I yelled. ‘I don't understand!'

‘Let him go!' I could hear Bethan screaming. ‘Piotr! Please!'

‘Piotr is dead,' said the voice above me. ‘Everyone, please, remain calm and I promise that no harm will come to you.'

‘Calm?' I heard Alwyn shouting. ‘Are you bloody mad? What the hell are you doing? You've got a gun to a child's head! Christ, man! You've been living under my father's roof. We took you in. Who the fuck are you?'

‘I am a captain in the Waffen-SS. Gerhard Hartmann. You have been very kind. Don't take this personally, but I have a job to do. Now, please, I would like everybody to get well back. Oh, and Arthur, there is no point in running to your police station to call for help. I have cut the line. If you want to do something useful, get these people out of here. If I do not get what I need, I will kill the boy. Have no doubt on that matter.'

I blinked. He was going to kill me? What? My breathing was rapid and I felt a wave of nausea billow through me. I tried to look up but he was gripping me hard, forcing my eyes downwards.

‘Bethan!' I called out. ‘Help me!'

‘What the fuck is this?' It was Emrys. He must have returned with the radio.

‘He's bloody German SS, Emrys,' I heard Alwyn shouting. ‘He's called Hartmann. Gerhard Hartmann. The fella on the table's the real Piotr. He shot him,' he said, pointing at Gerhard. ‘He's got Ant. Says he's going to kill him.'

‘What the fuck?'

‘Please, whatever your name is,' said Bethan, her eyes watering. ‘Let him go. If we've meant anything to you, let him go.'

‘Put down the radio, Emrys,' replied Gerhard, his voice cold and clear. ‘And step away. Get back, please, or I will kill your brother.'

‘Like hell you will!' yelled Emrys, surging forward. I could just see his feet, running forwards. Gerhard dragged me sideways and the radio smashed against the wall behind us.

‘No!' I heard Bethan scream. ‘Emrys!'

I could just see him. He was about ten feet away. Panic surged through me. The grip on my neck tightened and the barrel of the gun, pressed roughly into my temple, lifted. I heard a shot. I flinched, my mouth gasping for breath. Emrys stopped in his tracks; his hand dropped to his abdomen. He stood, startled, his eyes rapidly blinking. ‘What you do that for?' he said, opening out his hand to reveal a patch of blood spreading across his shirt. He looked at me, looked back towards Bethan, and then his eyes rolled upwards and he fell to the floor.

‘No!' I cried out. ‘No!'

A wail rang out behind him. Gerhard twisted me again and I couldn't see what was happening. I felt pained, guttural sobs choking out from the back of my throat. How was this happening? Blind terror filled the room; I could feel it, taste it. I wanted to be sick. I raised a hand to my mouth and retched.

‘What sort of monster are you?' Bopa's voice rang above the din. ‘Let that boy go! What man takes a child? A child who trusted him?'

I could hear Bethan crying. She was mumbling Emrys' name. I strained to hear a response. Had he killed him?

‘He has only fainted,' said the voice above me. There wasn't a trace of anxiety. ‘I have shot him in his side above his hip. Apply pressure to the wound. Quickly, Dr Mitchell. You can save him if you're prompt.'

‘Bethan …' I heard a small, pained cry. It was Emrys.

‘Quickly!' Bethan called out. I could just see him. Emrys was on the floor, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow. Bethan hitched up her skirt and ripped at her petticoat. ‘Everyone,' she yelled. ‘Pass me anything you can to stop the bleeding!' She knelt, pressing the clean white cotton into his wound. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes filled with fury. ‘How could you?' she said, her voice trembling. ‘You're a bastard. A bastard!'

Stop the bleeding … I still had sphagnum moss in my pocket … ‘Please!' I called out, reaching into my pocket. ‘Please … give him this.' I waved the small amount I had in the air, my face still turned sharply down towards the floor.

‘Drop it, Anthony,' said Gerhard, his voice cold and firm.

‘Please!' I pleaded. ‘He's my brother!' The butt of the gun came down sharply on my wrist and, as I let out a cry of pain, the moss fell. I cradled my stricken hand, wincing from the blow.

I heard a boot scrape across the floor. ‘There,' said Gerhard, ‘pack that into the wound. Now, Captain Willis, I'm afraid I need your help.'

‘Never,' he replied, his voice steely and determined. ‘Let that boy go. What you're doing is monstrous. These people cared for you.'

‘There is no time for sentimentalities,' Gerhard retorted, sharply. ‘I'm afraid I'm rather up against it. The clock is ticking. I have no wish to kill anyone here but if I have to, I will. I have plenty of bullets. Now, Captain Willis, please. You will need the key that has puzzled you for so long.'

‘Don't do it!' yelled Alwyn. ‘Let him kill us all!'

‘I will if I need to,' interjected Gerhard. ‘Captain Willis, the key. Take it to the radio. It's a little bashed up but this is of no matter. Open it. Towards the back on the front panel, there is a small red socket. It looks as if you might push a cable into it. Unscrew it. Underneath it you will see an opening. Push the key into it and turn to the left. Do it now.'

He twisted me round again and allowed my head to lift a little. Captain Willis was standing directly in front of me, arms out as if ready to catch a falling object. Beside him, the dead Piotr Skarbowitz stared upwards, his mouth carved into an expression of anguish. On the floor, Bethan, Alwyn and the doctor were working on Emrys. Where was Mam? I wanted to see Mam.

Alf, his eyes darting, stepped out from behind Captain Willis. ‘Piotr, Hartmann, whatever your name is,' he began, ‘you can get away from here. There's a jeep right outside. We don't want any trouble with you. But, please, man, I'm begging you, leave the boy out of it.'

‘No,' said Gerhard, his grip tightening on my neck once more. ‘I'm afraid that won't be possible. I have much to do in the next hour and I'm going to need him. Now, Captain Willis, as I asked, please. I have many more bullets in this gun. Don't make me use them.'

Terrible, moaning cries filled the bar. Women, who had brought this man cakes, shaken his hand, welcomed him into their homes, stood clutching their faces in dismay. I caught sight of Bopa, the most indomitable woman I had ever met, standing stock still, frozen in horror. Where was Mam? I wanted Mam.

Captain Willis looked around the room.

‘You are vastly outnumbered,' he said, his voice low and purposeful. ‘Think very carefully before you make your next move.'

‘I have thought carefully, Captain Willis,' Gerhard replied, his voice haughty. ‘I have thought of little else for over a year. If you would like me to kill people in this room, then I will. But they are not professionals like you and I. Let's leave them out of it, shall we? Now, please, I won't ask you again. Open the radio. If you don't, I will shoot another person, and this time, I won't be so precise.'