The other marksman said, "Listen."
Five kilometers from from Laroque, the village of L'Epine was asleep. Bright moonlight silvered the big church. Behind the church, Moulier's meat van was parked inconspicuously next to a barn. In the deep moon shadow thrown by a buttress, the surviving Jackdaws sat waiting.
"What are you looking forward to?" said Ruby.
Paul said, "A steak."
Flick said, "A soft bed with clean sheets. How about you?"
"Seeing Jim."
Flick recalled that Ruby had had a fling with the firearms instructor. "I thought…" She stopped.
"You thought it was just a casual shag?" Ruby said. Flick nodded, embarrassed.
"So did Jim," Ruby said. "But I've got other plans." Paul laughed softly. "I'll bet you get what you want." "What about you two?" Ruby asked.
They fell silent. A motor vehicle was approaching. They all knelt. Despite the moonlight, they would not be visible against the dark mass of the vines, provided they kept their heads down.
A van came along the road from the village with its lights off. It pulled up by the gate to the potato field. A female figure jumped out and swung the gate wide. The van pulled in and its engine was silenced. Two more people got out, another woman and a man.
"Quiet, now," Dieter whispered.
Suddenly the hush was shattered by the blare of a car horn, incredibly loud.
Dieter jumped and cursed. It came from immediately behind him. "Jesus!" he exploded. It was the Mercedes. He leaped to his feet and ran to the open window of the driver's door. He saw immediately what had happened.
Michel had sprung forward, leaning across the front seat, and before Hans could stop him he had pressed on the horn with his bound hands. Hans, in the front passenger seat, was now trying to aim his gun, but Gilberte had joined in, and she was lying half over Hans, hampering his movements so that he kept having to push her away.
Dieter reached in and shoved Michel, but Michel resisted, and Dieter's position, with his arms extended through the car window, was too awkward for him to exert much force. The horn continued to sound a deafening warning that the Resistance agents could not fail to hear.
Dieter fumbled for his gun.
Michel found the light switch, and the car's headlights came on. Dieter looked up. The riflemen were hideously exposed in the glare of the lights. They both got up off their knees, but before they could throw themselves out of the beam there was a rattle of machine-gun fire from the field. One rifleman cried out, dropped his gun, clutched his belly, and fell across the hood of the Mercedes; then the other was shot in the head. A sharp pain stung Dieter's left arm, and he let out a yell of shock.
Then there was a shot from within the car, and Michel cried out. Hans had at last flung Gilberte off himself and got his pistol out. He fired again, and Michel slumped, but Michel's hand was still on the horn, and his body now lay over his hand, pressing it down, so the horn continued to blare. Hans fired a third time, uselessly, for his bullet thudded into the body of a dead man. Gilberte screamed and threw herself at Hans again, grabbing at his gun arm with her manacled hands. Dieter had his gun out but could not shoot at Gilberte for fear of hitting Hans.
There was a fourth shot. It was Hans's gun again, but now it was somehow pointing upwards, and he shot himself, the bullet hitting him under the chin. He gave a horrid gurgle, blood came out of his mouth, and he slumped back against the door, his eyes staring lifelessly. Dieter took careful aim and shot Gilberte in the head.
He reached through the window with his right arm and shoved the corpse of Michel away from the steering wheel.
The horn was silenced.
He found the light switch and killed the headlights.
He looked across the field.
The van was still there, but the Jackdaws had disappeared.
He listened. Nothing moved.
He was alone.
Flick crawled through the vineyard on her hands and knees, heading for Dieter Franck's car. The moonlight, so necessary for clandestine flights across occupied territory, was now her enemy. She wished for a cloud to shade the moon, but for the moment the sky was clear. She kept close to the row of vines, but she threw a conspicuous moon shadow.
She had firmly instructed Paul and Ruby to stay behind, hiding at the edge of the field near the van. Three people made three times the noise, and she did not want a companion to betray her presence.
As she crawled, she listened for the incoming plane. She had to locate any remaining enemies and kill them before the plane arrived. The Jackdaws could not stand in the middle of the field with flashlights while there were armed troops aiming at them from the vineyard. And if they did not hold flashlights, the plane would return to England without touching down. The thought was unbearable.
She was deeper into the vineyard than Dieter Franck's car, which was parked at the edge. She was five rows of vines back. She would approach the enemy from behind. She kept the submachine gun in her right hand, ready to fire, as she crawled.
She drew level with the car. Franck had camouflaged it with vegetation, but when she peeped over the rows of vines she saw moonlight glint off the rear window.
The shoots of the vines were espaliered crosswise, but she was able to crawl beneath the lowest strand. She pushed her head through and looked up and down the next alley. It was clear. She crawled across the open space and repeated the exercise. She grew ultra cautious as she approached the car, but she saw no one.
When she was two rows away, she was able to see the wheels of the car and the ground around it. She thought she could make out two motionless bodies in uniform. How many were there in total? It was a long Mercedes limousine and could easily carry six.
She crept closer. Nothing moved. Were they all dead? Or had one or two survived, and concealed themselves nearby, waiting to pounce?
Eventually she crawled right up to the car.
The doors were wide open, and the interior seemed full of bodies. She looked in the front and recognized Michel. She choked back a sob. He was a bad husband, but he had been her choice, and now he was lifeless, with three red-ringed bullet holes in his blue chambray shirt. She guessed he had been the one to sound the horn. If so, he had died saving her life. There was no time to think of such things now: she would ponder them later, if she lived long enough.
Next to Michel lay a man she did not recognize who had been shot in the throat. He wore the uniform of a lieutenant. There were more bodies in the back. She looked through the open rear door. One was that of a woman. She leaned into the car for a better view. She gasped: the woman was Gilberte, and she seemed to be staring at Flick. A ghastly moment later, Flick realized that the eyes saw nothing, and Gilberte was dead, shot in the head.
She leaned over Gilberte to look at the fourth corpse. It rose up from the floor in a swift motion. Before she had time to scream, it grabbed her by the hair and thrust the barrel of a gun into the soft flesh of her throat.
It was Dieter Franck.
"Drop the gun," he said in French.
She was holding the submachine gun in her right hand, but it was pointing up and, before she could aim it, he would be able to shoot her. She had no choice: she dropped it. The safety catch was disengaged, and she half-hoped the impact of its fall would fire the gun, but it landed harmlessly on the earth.
"Back away."
As she stepped back, he followed her, getting out of the car, keeping the gun at her throat. He drew himself upright. "You're so small," he said, looking her up and down. 'And you've done so much damage."
She saw blood on the sleeve of his suit and guessed she had winged him with her Sten gun.
"Not just to me," he said. "That telephone exchange is every bit as important as you obviously believe."
She found her voice. "Good."
"Don't look pleased. Now you're going to damage the Resistance."
She wished she had not been so fierce in ordering Paul and Ruby to wait in hiding. There was now no chance they would come to her rescue.
Dieter shifted the gun from her throat to her shoulder. "I don't want to kill you, but I'd be happy to give you a crippling wound. I need you able to talk, of course. You're going to give me all the names and addresses in your head."
She thought of the suicide pill concealed in the hollow cap of her fountain pen. Would she have a chance to take it?
"It's a pity you've destroyed the interrogation facility at Sainte-Cecile," he went on. "I'll have to drive you to Paris. I've got all the same equipment there."
She thought with horror of the hospital operating table and the electric shock machine.
"I wonder what will break you?" he said. "Sheer pain breaks everyone eventually, of course, but I feel that you might bear pain for an inconveniently long time." He raised his left arm. The wound seemed to give him a twinge, and he winced, but he bore it. He touched her face. "The loss of your looks, perhaps. Imagine this pretty face disfigured: the nose broken, the lips slashed, one eye put out, the ears cut off."
Flick felt sick, but she maintained a stony expression. "No?" His hand moved down, stroking her neck; then he touched her breast. "Sexual humiliation, then. To be naked in front of many people, fondled by a group of drunk men, forced to perform acts of grossness with animals.."
"And which of us would be most humiliated by that?" she said defiantly. "Me, the helpless victim… or you, the real perpetrator of obscenity?"
He took his hand away. "Then again, we have tortures which destroy forever a woman's ability to bear children."
Flick thought of Paul and flinched involuntarily.
"Ah," he said with satisfaction. "I believe I have found the key to unlock you."
She realized she had been foolish to speak to him. Now she had given him information which he could use to break her will.
"We'll drive straight to Paris," he said. "We'll be there by dawn. By midday, you will be begging me to stop the torture and listen to you pour out all the secrets you know. Tomorrow night we will arrest every member of the Resistance in northern France."
Flick was cold with dread. Franck was not bragging. He could do it.
"I think you can travel in the trunk of the car," he said. "It's not airtight, you won't suffocate. But I'll put the corpses of your husband and his lover in with you. A few hours bumping around with dead people will put you in the right frame of mind, I think."
Flick shuddered with loathing. She could not help it.
Keeping the pistol pressed to her shoulder, he reached into his pocket with his other hand. He moved his arm cautiously: the bullet wound hurt but did not incapacitate him. He drew out a pair of handcuffs. "Give me your hands," he said.
She remained motionless.
"I can either handcuff you, or render your arms useless by shooting you in both shoulders."
Helpless, she raised her hands.
He closed one cuff over her left wrist. She moved her right toward him. Then she made her last desperate move.
She struck sideways with her handcuffed left hand, knocking his gun away from her shoulder. At the same time she used her right hand to draw the small knife from its hidden sheath behind the lapel of her jacket.
He flinched back, but not fast enough.
She lunged forward and thrust the knife directly into his left eye. He turned his head, but the knife was already in, and Flick moved farther forward, pressing her body up against his, ramming the knife home. Blood and fluid spurted from the wound. Franck screamed in agony and fired his gun, but the shots went into the air.
He staggered back, but she followed him, still pushing the knife with the heel of her hand. The weapon had no hilt, and she continued to shove until its entire three inches had sunk into his head. He fell backwards and hit the ground.
She fell on him, knees on his chest, and she felt ribs crack. He dropped his gun and clawed at his eye with both hands, trying to get at the knife, but it was sunk too deep. Flick grabbed the gun. It was a Walther P38. She stood upright, held it two-handed, and aimed it at Franck.
Then he fell still.
She heard pounding footsteps. Paul rushed up. "Flick! Are you all right?"
She nodded.
She was still pointing the Walther at Dieter Franck. "I don't think that will be necessary," Paul said softly. After a moment, he moved her hands, then gently took the gun from her and engaged the safety catch.
Ruby appeared. "Listen!" she cried. "Listen!"
Flick heard the drone of a Hudson.
"Let's get moving," Paul said.
They ran out into the field to signal the plane that would take them home.
They crossed the English Channel in strong winds and intermittent rain. During a quiet spell, the navigator came back into the passenger compartment and said, "You might want to take a look outside."
Flick, Ruby, and Paul were dozing. The floor was hard, but they were exhausted. Flick was wrapped in Paul's arms, and she did not want to move.
The navigator pressed them. "You'd better be quick, before it clouds over again. You'll never see anything like this again if you live to be a hundred."
Curiosity overcame Flick's tiredness. She got up and staggered to the small rectangular window. Ruby did the same. Obligingly, the pilot dipped a wing.
The English Channel was choppy, and a stiff wind blew, but the moon was full and she could see clearly. At first she could hardly believe her eyes. Immediately below the plane was a gray-painted warship bristling with guns. Alongside it was a small ocean liner, its paint-work gleaming white in the moonlight. Behind them, a rusty old steamer pitched into the swell. Beyond them and behind were cargo boats, troop transports, battered old tankers, and great shallow-draft landing ships. There were ships as far as Flick could see, hundreds of them.
The pilot dipped the other wing, and she looked out the other side. It was the same.
"Paul, look at this!" she cried.
He came and stood beside her. "Jeepers!" he said. "I've never seen so many ships in all my life!"
"It's the invasion!" she said.
"Take a look out the front," said the navigator.
Flick went forward and looked over the pilot's shoulder. The ships were spread out over the sea like a carpet, stretching for miles and miles, as far as she could see. She heard Paul's incredulous voice say, "I didn't know there were this many ships in the damn world!"
"How many do you think it is?" Ruby said.
The navigator said, "I heard five thousand."
"Amazing," Flick said.
The navigator said, "I'd give a lot to be part of that, wouldn't you?"
Flick looked at Paul and Ruby, and they all smiled. "Oh, we are," she said. "We're part of it, all right."