The Duke of St. Albans shook his head. “My place is here. Somebody will have to organize a resistance to That Man. The regular army wouldn’t take me and I won’t sit around on a pension in a foreign land. This is where the de Vere Beauclerk family lives and where we will stay. Charles has his part in all this and must stay. By the same logic, I must stay and do my part. Now run along Nell, and get our people to safety.
The trucks and the Humber staff car were waiting outside. Gusoyn and Achillea wore the black shirts and khaki pants of the Police Auxiliary. Both had Thompson submachine guns hanging over their shoulders and Webley revolvers in holsters on their Sam Browne belts. Eleanor had another Webley carefully hidden beneath her clothes. Her shackles, ragged clothes and bruised face would cause her to be ignored as a potential threat if the back of the lorry was searched. A little judicious weeping would add to the effect. The combination would cost the man taken in by it his life. Eleanor Gwynne wasn’t a fighter and did not hold the principle of a fair fight in any great regard. She had no compunction about shooting people in the back.
Four other members of the party, the youngest ones, were also dressed as Auxiliary Police carrying Thompsons. The rest were in the trucks, also appearing to be prisoners. They too sported bruises and ragged clothing. Of course the primary ‘prisoner’ was the stout figure of Winston Churchill. The instructions that had been passed via Igrat were quite clear. He was to escape even if it cost everybody else their lives.
Gusoyn took Eleanor by the elbow and helped her up into the back of the small lorry. She settled down on the wooden bench and checked that the shackles she was wearing would slide off without any delay. If she had to spring an ambush, split seconds would be vital. Her job was to shoot the man nearest to her and the most threatening man and then draw fire. If it went well, Achillea would cut the others down with her Thompson before they had the chance to kill anybody. Eleanor didn’t want to know what would happen if it didn’t go well.
“Everybody on board?” Gusoyn had taken over the leadership of this party. He and the other “Auxiliary Police” pulled down the canopy on the two lorries and tied off the rear panels, sealing the occupants in and also concealing them from view. Then, he got behind the wheel of the Humber staff car and put the vehicle in gear to lead his little convoy off. They had a two hundred and fifty mile drive in front of them. He’d allowed a whole day for the trip, plus a little spare. Twenty four hours has to be enough, he thought, but we have to be there when that plane comes in.
Standing on the gravel drive, Osbourne de Vere Beauclerk, Duke of St Albans, watched the convoy leave. Sadly, he shook his head. What kind of country has this become when to travel safely needs such deception? How low have we sunk? Another question pushed its way into his mind despite his efforts to prevent it from doing so. And how much lower will we sink before this is all over? As the tail-lights rounded a curve and vanished he asked himself another question. Just how does one start a resistance movement anyway? There has to be a book on it in the library somewhere.
“Damn, I wasn’t expecting a checkpoint this early.” Achillea was worried. They’d been driving for less than an hour and were only roughly 20 miles north of Nottingham.
“I was. Two main trunk roads coming together just short of a major town? It is a natural place for a checkpoint. There will be others. We will just have to bluff our way through each.”
The checkpoint was manned by two uniformed police officers. Bobbies, Gusoyn noted, not the already-hated Blackshirts. He stopped the Humber beside the line of old tires that had been placed on the road and got out. He saw the expression of dislike on the face of the policemen as they saw his uniform, but they also noted the revolver in its holster.
“Auxiliary Police Chief Inspector Rivers. Let us through.” Gusoyn flashed his badge. It had been made up by guesswork with some helpful advice on heraldry from the Duke. The gamble was that nobody else would know what an Auxiliary Police badge looked like either. The same applied to his orders. They had the same badge printed on the paper and the typing looked authentic. The Auxiliary Police were virtually unknown this far north.
“Not so fast, Sir.” The sir was grudging. Gusoyn had assumed that the Auxiliary Police would be over-ranked to give them the authority they needed. Also, the more the local police disliked them, the better. “What are you doing up here? We don’t see your kind around here.”
“Read my orders.” Gusoyn never liked being rude to people, but his assumed identity demanded it.
“Taking prisoners up north.” The police officer was hesitant. “Why? What’s going on?”
Gusoyn winked. “Take a look.”
He led the two police officers around to the tailgate on the first lorry and lifted the rear flap of the canvas. “See who we’ve got on board.”
“My God, it’s Winnie.” The policeman gasped. He shone his torch inside, showing the unmistakeable features of Winston Churchill. The other occupants, two men and a crying woman, hardly gained any notice.
“That is right. In protective custody.” Gusoyn laughed nastily. “And will be all the way up north. Down for disposal, this lot are. Subversives and saboteurs of the Armistice. All to be disposed of, if you get my drift. Quiet like.”
“Get out of here.” The police officer nearly snarled the release.
Gusoyn climbed back into the car and rolled past the checkpoint. The two lorries followed.
“Can we expect a checkpoint every twenty miles?” Achillea was concerned at how often their bluff would hold up. It only needed one checkpoint to smell a rat and the whole escape would fall apart.
“I do not think so. We must follow the A618 to Rotherham and then the A633 until we hit the A61 at Wakefield.” Gusoyn had spent most of the previous night studying maps. “I think the next checkpoint will be where the A61 and A64 meet north of Wakefield. That is another fifty miles or so.”
Behind them, the two police officers watched the trucks disappearing. The younger of the two men was angry. “Poor Winnie, he deserves better than this. Bloody Blackshirt bastards. Think we ought to tell somebody?”
“Poor bastards.” The older officer was less excited. “Too stupid to realize they’re on the chopping block as well. You think they’ll be allowed to live with what they know? And, Bert, we tell nobody. Everybody who’s seen that little procession and who’s in it are dead men. We say nothing. They never passed through here, we never saw them and we don’t know anything about them. As you value your life Bert, keep your blooming trap shut.”
“I wish I knew how Nell and the others are doing.” Igrat wore her mink coat, a pilot’s silk scarf wrapped around her neck. She was still shivering with the biting cold. “For all we know, they’ve been caught already and this is all for nothing. And why do you have to go?”
“We need to have somebody who recognizes our people when we get there. Iggie, this can all go badly wrong. We’ll just have to keep going and hope that it doesn’t.’
“You made that up to justify going on this flight, didn’t you? I know you. You’re bored and this is a little adventure. You could stay here.”
“I could, but there are good reasons for going. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be working pretty closely with our Captain LeMay for a long time and I want our relationship to start off on a sound footing. Going along with him will be a good way to do that. And yes, I am bored. So are we all; you know that.”