The Pearl Locket (19 page)

Knee deep now, and his uniform weighed twice as much as it had done on the boat. Still clinging on to Mikey’s arm he struggled up the beach, pulling the boy after him. Sergeant Crane was already out of the water, waving his arms around and shouting orders. Jack emerged from the surf and let go of Mikey’s arm. ‘All right?’

‘Yeah.’ Mikey shrugged, and joined the chain of soldiers unloading boxes from the landing craft. Jack nodded. Mikey hadn’t liked the crossing, admitting he was not much of a sailor. Now his feet were on solid ground he’d be fine. He was a plucky lad, and Jack had liked him instantly. They’d teamed up in training and had made a pact to look after each other once they were on the Normandy battlefields. Jack had told Mikey about Joan, though he’d left out the details of their night together in the air-raid shelter. Mikey told Jack about his childhood sweetheart, Eileen, the girl next door who he’d grown up with and who he hoped would marry him once the war was over. Jack had wondered how many more couples there were, waiting for the war to finish so they could marry and get on with their lives.

The boxes of supplies were heavy and came thick and fast from the boat. Jack’s arms were aching long before they’d finished unloading. At last it was done, and the boxes were stacked in the dunes. The lads who’d arrived over the previous three days fell upon the new rations eagerly—chocolate and cigarettes being the most popular items. In the field behind the dunes, a makeshift camp had been set up. Here, wounded men lay waiting to be loaded onto the landing craft for the return journey to the hospital ship sitting out at anchor. Jack and Mikey’s next job was to help with the stretchers, carrying them across the beach and on to the boats. There were distant sounds of warfare—the occasional crump of shells exploding—thankfully they were out of range.

‘Good luck, mate,’ said one private, whose mangled leg was bound to a makeshift splint. ‘I’m glad to be getting out of here. Go and liberate France for us.’

‘We will,’ Jack replied, clapping the fellow on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done a great job, made it easy for us.’

‘Did our best,’ said the man, groaning with pain as Jack and Mikey hauled his stretcher onto the landing craft.

‘Did you see his leg?’ said Mikey, as they waded back to shore. ‘They won’t be able to mend that for him.’

‘He’ll be all right. Once he’s in an English hospital they’ll patch him up just fine.’ Jack suspected the man would have to lose his leg but didn’t want to think about it. This was what war was about. The myriad individual acts of bravery and sacrifice. What would he be called upon to do? Would there be a big moment, in which he would have to prove himself? He hoped he would be up to the job, whatever it would be.

It was a long and tough day, and they hadn’t even seen any battle action yet. Jack was impressed with the scale of the operation. So many men, so much material and supplies, all brought across the channel by boat or plane. The big push was well underway: forcing the Germans off the beaches, out of the fields, back towards the towns and cities; then they would fight to regain the towns, push towards Paris, give France back to the French. They must and
would
prevail. There was a feeling of confidence—news from the last three days had been positive, and with temporary harbours now being constructed to help with offloading supplies, it could only be a matter of weeks before the Allied forces reached Paris. For a moment Jack imagined himself marching into that great city, with French children cheering and waving flags. No, it wouldn’t be like that, he knew. It would be a long and bloody battle, with many losses on both sides. Who knew whether he would be a part of it or not? First, his unit had a more immediate battle—to take the little village of Sainte-Marie, which lay a couple of miles inland. There was a bridge over the river there, strategically placed, and the Allies needed to gain control of it. Which meant liberating the village first.

They worked till darkness fell, shipping out the injured men, organising the incoming supplies and equipment. Jack collapsed exhausted onto his bedding roll, in the makeshift encampment his battalion had set up in a captured German gun emplacement. He took out the locket of Joan’s hair, wrapped in her handkerchief, and breathed in its scent, as he lay staring up at the just-past-full moon. Perhaps Joan was looking up at the moon too—the same moon. Was she thinking of him? Was she wearing his locket? Not a moment went by when she was not forefront of his mind. He felt she was with him in spirit, always and for ever. The idea comforted him and kept him going. He was fighting this war for her, so that she could live her life in a free country, with him by her side. The harder he worked the sooner this war would be over and they could be together. He drifted off to sleep under the moonlight, dreaming of Joan.

The next day was cloudy with intermittent sunshine. At least it wasn’t raining, Jack thought. He awoke stiff and aching but well rested. The squad breakfasted off tinned pork and tea before being briefed by Sergeant Crane. The objective for the morning was to launch an attack on the village of Sainte-Marie from the north-east, with other units approaching it from different directions. The village lay in a shallow valley amongst farmland. Just short of the village there was a large barn, which the Germans had used as an ammunition dump. That needed to be destroyed, and most of the squad led by Sergeant Crane were to attack it first and go on to take the village. There was also a German machine gun emplacement on a slight rise to the east, and that needed to be taken out in a simultaneous attack. Jack and Mikey were assigned the task of setting up a mortar under cover of a hedgerow, to destroy the machine gun.

‘This is it, kid,’ said Jack. ‘The real thing. What we did all that training for.’

‘I’m ready for it.’ Mikey’s fists were clenched and his gaze, across the fields in the direction of the German emplacement, hidden from their view by the lay of the land, was steady.

‘Good lad. Keep low and quiet in the ditches and you won’t be seen. Get that mortar set up, and fire it once you see my signal. We’ll attack the barn at the same time. Good luck.’ Sergeant Crane nodded curtly and sent them on their way.

Jack led, carrying the mortar, crouching low beside the hedgerows. Mikey carried a bag of mortar shells. There was a drainage ditch running along the edge of the field, which meant they had good cover but their feet were wet. Halfway across the first field they disturbed a pheasant, which flew up vertically making a terrible clacking racket.

‘Might as well send up a flare to tell Jerry we’re here,’ muttered Jack. He flung himself face down in the muddy ditch and gestured to Mikey to follow suit. Any moment now there could be the rattle of machine gun fire, strafing the ditch. But none came. Cautiously he raised his head. They were still just out of range. The machine gun placement was over the next field, and couldn’t be seen from where they were. Which meant the Germans couldn’t see them either, though they would have seen the pheasant’s frantic flapping.

‘We’re all right,’ he whispered to Mikey. ‘Let’s get going.’ He resumed crawling along the ditch, the heavy mortar gun making progress difficult. At the corner of the field he pulled out a pair of wire cutters and used them to snip a way through the hedge at ground level. Using elbows and knees he wormed his way through, pulling the equipment after him. Mikey followed.

This field’s ditch was shallower than the last, and drier, not much more than an indentation. Jack grimaced. It wouldn’t give them much cover. And from here, the tops of the sandbags surrounding the German machine gun were just visible, over the next hedgerow.

‘On your belly. Right in close to the hedge. We can set up the mortar once we’re through to the next field.’ Jack moved forward, crawling commando-style and praying that the Germans’ attention was elsewhere. Was the machine gun post even manned? They had to assume so, but from here they couldn’t tell. Not without standing upright and advertising their presence, which Jack had no intention of doing.

The sudden rattle of machine gun fire provided an answer. It was definitely manned. And the Germans had seen something they didn’t like. Jack flattened himself completely and rolled into the hedge. He could see Mikey had done the same, and was lying there shaking with fear. But the firing had not been aimed at them. It was something else, further up the field. A flash of red, a movement in the hedge. Something was there. Something that shouldn’t be there.

‘I’m going to check out that movement. Wait here. Keep still,’ he said to Mikey. He offloaded the equipment he was dragging. It was easier going without it, and he’d be less noticeable. He made quick progress, until another burst of fire sent him rolling into the hedge again. Cursing the tangle of brambles he found himself ensnared in, he glanced up and down the field, trying to work out where the fire had been targeted. Up the field, again a flash of red, just a few yards away from him now. Down the field, a slight movement, back where he’d left Mikey. Another burst of gunfire. Dear God don’t let it be Mikey they’ve spotted. Keep still, kid. That red, it was clothing. It was moving, crawling through the hedge. He elbowed his way quickly over the remaining yards, and through the same gap in the hedge. On the other side, crouched in the next drainage ditch and sobbing, was a small child in a tattered scarlet dress. She flinched and hid her eyes when he followed her through the hedge.

‘It’s all right. I won’t hurt you,’ he said, quietly. She began to wail, but he caught her quickly and put his hand over her mouth. He racked his brain to remember the French he’d learnt at grammar school. ‘Shh, little one.
Tiens-toi tranquille
. We’re playing a game. We must be quiet as mice.
Fais comme une petite souris. Compris?
’ Thankfully the child nodded, and stopped crying. She was probably about four years old, he estimated. Jack held her tightly and looked around. This field was thigh deep with wheat and fell away sharply to his left. At the bottom was a farmhouse. Was that where the child had come from? Or was it occupied by the Germans? He should get back to Mikey, set up the rocket launcher, destroy the machine gun post. But in his arms the little girl whimpered and shook. He couldn’t leave her. An image flashed through his mind of Joan, sitting on the floor at the WVS, playing with the little children. She wouldn’t leave a vulnerable child. Neither would he.

‘
D’où viens-tu
? Where’ve you come from, pet?’

She pointed, down towards the farmhouse.

‘
Ta maman? Ton papa
?’

‘
Oui.
’ Tears streamed down her face, making pale tracks in the grime.

So she was from the farmhouse. He had to take her back. Perhaps her parents were there, safe, hiding from the battle. One thing was for certain, she wasn’t safe out in this field. Not until the machine gun post was destroyed and even then, not till the village was secured. There was no choice. He had to get across the field with her, find somewhere safe at the farmhouse for her, and only then could he get back to Mikey. The distant crump of shells told him the battle for the village had begun. He needed to complete his mission, to do his part so that Sainte-Marie could be liberated quickly and with minimal loss of life. But first, the child.

‘
Allons-y.
’ He scooped her up under one arm, and began running around the edge of the field, keeping close to the hedge. He couldn’t crawl while holding her. The sooner he got to the farmhouse the safer they would both be. He had to take a chance and run. At any moment he expected machine gun fire at his heels. He prayed there wasn’t also a sniper holed up somewhere. He ran faster, gasping for breath, the child screaming now. No point hushing her. He must have been spotted by now. But there was no rattle of machine gun fire. Perhaps Jerry could see he was saving the child, and perhaps Jerry was human too, not wanting to kill an innocent. He had to believe so. At least as he crossed the field he was moving out of their range.

The farmhouse was positioned on one side of a small yard, opposite a tumbledown, empty barn and deserted chicken coop. The door stood partly open.

‘Hello?
Quelqu’un?
Anyone there?’ God, please don’t let there be Germans here. The door opened into a kitchen, a large table in the centre of the room, debris from the last meal the family had eaten here strewn across it. A jug of milk, gone off in the June heat, sat beside the deep sink. Flies buzzed around a dish of jam.

‘
Maman
!’ the little girl wailed.

Where indeed was Maman? Jack hoped Maman or Papa were nearby, and more to the point, alive. What if the Germans had killed them, as they retreated from the first wave of the Allied invasion? He glanced around. Where would they have hidden?

A door in the corner of the room looked promising. It was tightly shut. He crossed over to it, and tried the handle. Locked. Was this the door to the cellar? The little girl pounded her tiny fists against it, shouting for her Maman.

There was a noise behind the door. Jack offered up a swift prayer that it was the child’s family, and not holed-up German soldiers. Some whispered speech, one person shushing another, steps, the sound of a scuffle.

‘
Maman
!’ squealed the child, growing frantic.

He should take no chances. He crouched behind the table, pushing the child behind him, and pulled out his Browning pistol. Aiming it at the cellar door he held his breath as he heard a key turn in the lock. The door opened slowly, and a man, wearing a rough shirt and trousers tied with a piece of rope, peered out. He was holding a poker as a weapon.

Jack sighed with relief. ‘
Je suis soldat anglais
,’ he said, and the man broke into a grin, talking quickly to someone behind him.

A woman, her face lined with worry, pushed past the man. ‘
Véronique, ma petite, où es-tu
?
Véronique!
’

Jack stood aside and pushed the little girl towards her. He watched as the woman scooped her up and covered her face with desperate kisses. He couldn’t imagine what they’d been through, wondering where their child was, with battles raging in their fields. Battles that weren’t over yet. He gestured for them to go back into the cellar, and lock the door. Until the village was secure, they would have to stay in hiding.