, ‘You said he was visiting an uncle here when the war started – you mean way back in September last year?’
‘No, I meant when the Germans attacked Belgium a fortnight ago. I still say Pierre could be useful. We both know a little French but if we’re going to get out of this we’ll need someone who can talk to the locals, and he’s as keen as mustard to come with us. How the hell will we know where we are if…’
‘Bring him in to me.’
Barnes picked up the machine-pistol, extracted the magazine again and began testing the mechanism.
‘Pierre brought that…’ began Penn. ’
‘I said send him in.’
Barnes went on riddling with the gun after Penn had brought in Pierre and he kept him waiting while he went on examining the weapon. He was looking down at the gun when he fired his question at Pierre.
‘Where did you get hold of this?’
‘I found it on the road outside Fontaine. I saw a car stop and the driver threw it into the ditch. Then he drove away very fast. It is in good order, Sergeant Barnes.’ He pronounced it ‘Burns’. ‘I tested it myself. After first taking out the magazine,’ he added proudly.
‘I see. Where did a lad of your age learn about things like this?’
‘My father works at the Belgian small-arms factory at Herstal. He can fire all the pistols and machine guns.’ Again the hint of pride. ‘Including your own Bren gun. They call it by that name because it was first made in the city of Brno in Czechoslovakia.’
‘You have an uncle living in Fontaine?’
Barnes looked directly into the lad’s blue eyes and his gaze was returned steadily. Pierre’s eyebrows were so fair that he almost appeared to have none., which gave him a curiously older appearance.
‘Not any more,’ he replied. ‘My uncle fled from the Germans three days since.’
‘I see. Why didn’t you go with him?’
‘Because I am not scared. I am going to fight the Germans.’ He went on talking quickly. ‘I shall be eighteen,years of age by July so I am quite old enough and my knowledge of weapons means that training is not necessary. Corporal Penn said that I could come with you.’
‘Steady on, laddie,’ Penn interjected. ‘I said you’d have to ask Sergeant Barnes and that isn’t the same thing at all.’
Barnes opened his mouth to say that he couldn’t come under any circumstances and then he changed his mind. There was no point in antagonizing the lad before they left Fontaine. Instead, he asked a question.
‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’
‘Thank you, Sergeant.’ Pierre glowed with pride% ‘My father sent me to spend six months with the British firm of Vickers in Birmingham so that I could learn about British weapons. They tell me that I have a Midland accent.’
‘You’d better go and talk to Trooper Reynolds, Pierre, while I have a look at -the tank with Corporal Penn.’
Barnes started to explain to Penn how the machine-pistol worked, handing the weapon to him to demonstrate a point while Pierre was leaving the building.
‘The temptation with this gun is to hold on to the magazine, but you’ve got to grasp it higher up just under the barrel… that doctor, Lepin, did you talk to him much while he was here looking after me?’
‘Hardly at all – he’s a very quiet type and I left Pierre to interpret for me.’
‘You’ve been into Fontaine yourself?’
‘No, I kept well clear of it except when I visited Lepin’s garden shed to hear the news. I thought the Germans might occupy the place at any moment and I wanted to lie low till you were better.’
‘Who owns these buildings – they belong to some farmer, I imagine?’
‘Yes, they do, but he’s cleared out with the refugees so we should be all right here for a while until the roads are quieter. The main one through Fontaine is still crammed with refugee traffic and the place itself is lousy with them. We may have to sit it out here for several days.’
‘Get the map for me, Penn. Staying in one spot behind the German lines for four days isn’t a healthy idea at all and I’d say our luck is due to run out at any moment. We must get moving.’
‘You’ve only just got up…’
‘And I intend to stay up. Warn Reynolds to make any last minute checks he thinks necessary so that we’re ready to move at a moment’s notice. And I could do with something to eat if there’s anything left.’
The atmosphere was changing already with every word Barnes said, and Penn could sense it. A feeling of urgency had begun to animate Barnes and that feeling communicated itself to Penn, but he made one last effort.
‘I still think you ought to rest up at least…’
‘I’m going into Fontaine with Pierre to see for myself. When I get back we must be ready to move. Make no mistake about it, Penn, we’ll be out of this place well before nightfall.’
The feeling that they ought to be on the move, away from this place, tugged insistently at Barnes as he marched steadily along the road to Fontaine with Pierre. The afternoon sun shone down brilliantly over the fields of France, beating down on their faces and warming their hands, a physical sensation of pure heat. Barnes had two reasons for his reconnaissance: he wanted to smell the atmosphere for himself and he wanted to test his own staying power. The blazing sunshine added to the discomfort of his wound, so that now as well as the throb-throb he could also feel a pricking sensation round the edges of his dressing, a sensation which made him wont to tear off the bandage. His head was aching and he walked rigidly, forcing himself to take long strides, each footfall thudding up into the sensitive shoulder like the impact of a small road-bumper. But he was still on his feet, so he was all right. In his holster he carried the Webley .455 revolver and the flap was unbuttoned.
‘There’s the village, Sergeant Barnes.’
‘What on earth is that lot on the road?’
‘They are the refugees. They go through Fontaine all day and all night. It is difficult to cross the main square.’
A grey slate church spire rose up from a huddle of stone walled buildings and from that distance they could see on both sides of the village a road which ran at right-angles to the road they were walking along. The main road was packed with an incredible congestion of traffic, a slow-moving column which travelled at such a snail’s pace that it hardly seemed to move at all. Barnes turned off the road and began to cut across the fields diagonally along a course which would take them to the eastern outskirts of the village.
‘Are we riot entering Fontaine?’ inquired Pierre.
‘I want to have a look at that column. Later, I want to go in to buy some food.’
‘You will not get any – the village store is empty and the storekeeper has left two days before. He was very frightened and said it was time to go.’
‘Frightened of the Germans?’
‘No, of the villagers. He said that soon they would take what they wanted without paying him a franc. One man did call him a robber – I saw it myself. Other people in the store were threatening him.’
The incident had an ugly ring and Barnes began to feel alarmed. The sooner they got out of this area the better, but he must check the state of the roads first. We’re in a jam, all right, he told himself. If all the main roads are like this we’ll have to move across country, and that will slow us down and double our fuel consumption. They were approaching the refugee line broadside on, a line which stretched as far as the eye could see. A dozen yards from the roadside they stopped in the field and watched the spectacle. The road was crammed" from verge to verge with a swollen river of fleeing humanity -several cars, a large number of horse-drawn carts piled high with bed linen, mattresses, and a jumble of household goods. On one cart he saw a brass-posted bed which threatened to lurch over the edge at any moment. But above all the road was congested with people on foot and Barnes had never seen more pathetic faces, the faces of men and women at the end of their tether, their expressions weary and despairing, their eyes fixed dully on the vehicle ahead as they trudged along under the merciless heat of the sun.