Weaver

'Thanks, Harry,' George said warmly.

'Just keep your pecker up. Now come on, let's get on with it.'

Inside the town hall the Germans were already hard at work. They were appropriating offices and setting up their own trestle tables in the hallway.

'Efficient, aren't they?' Burdon said.

'This year the Germans have had plenty of practice at the art of occupation.' It was Julia Fiveash, walking towards them. 'And they seem to have an instinct for paperwork. Of course these particular fellows know this is a cushy job compared to fighting on the front line, and they'll go at it the more enthusiastically for that…'

She was beautiful, you could never deny that, with that shock of blonde hair swept back from a fine face, and a smile like a film star. The crisp SS uniform on an athletic body only set off that beauty. She had an unhealthy appeal, George thought, a deadly allure. But, he reminded himself, she was English, an upper-crust over-privileged Englishwoman in that black Nazi uniform, here to lord it over her own people.

George said, 'If you'll excuse me, Mayor, Unterscharfuhrer, I should report to my station-'

'Oh, I think you should stay right where you are, Constable,' Julia said evenly. 'Standartenfuhrer Trojan specifically requested your presence. He liked you, I think.'

George growled, 'Why?'

'For the way you did your job – and for that very lower-class English surliness.' She laughed at him. 'He believes you are a man with whom he can do business. Although he thinks you deserve a decent rank – sergeant, perhaps. I'm sure we can fix that for you. Marvellous, isn't it, the way war opens up opportunities? Perhaps we should talk in your office, Mayor Burdon?'

Harry Burdon led the way. Julia and George followed.

Julia said, walking, 'I need to impress on you both the importance of the work you will be doing here. The military commanders are not interested in running Hastings. They prefer to manage the town through you, through the appropriate local authority. Do you see? There is a great deal to be done; I'm sure you are aware of that. The first priority is to restore the harbour, such as it is. And to requisition the fishing fleet.'

'For landing supplies,' Burdon guessed.

'That's it. The estimate is that nine thousand tons a day will have to be imported from the continent in the first days of the occupation. Much of it will come through the larger ports, but Hastings will play a part too.'

They had to be desperate if they were relying on a tiny port like Hastings. And as it happened George knew the fishermen along the Stade had already sabotaged the winches that hauled their boats up the sharply sloping beach.

'After that we must consider the needs of the civilian population. The restoration of food supplies for one thing, accompanied by an appropriate system of rationing. Water, power, gas. We're aware that many citizens who fled to the countryside will surely soon return. We must prepare for them. And so on.

'The first step in all this is to gather information. That is the German way: everything orderly, everything thoroughly legal. Now. You hold census records here? And of course there is the identity card system. We will need a record of every inhabitant currently in situ in the town.'

George glared at her. 'What for? Work gangs? Looking for Jews, are you?'

Harry snapped, 'George.'

Julia stopped and turned to George. 'Josef was right. You really are a feisty one, aren't you, Constable?'

And she stepped closer to him, breaking an intangible boundary of separation. The polished buttons on her uniform brushed his chest, and he could smell her fresh breath, a smell like apples about her hair. He was almost trembling. He was twenty years older; he could have been her father; she was everything he despised, about the English as well as the Germans. But, by Christ, she caused a heat in his loins he hadn't felt for a long time.

She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She laughed in his face. 'I think it's going to be a pleasure working with you, Constable – George, is it? – I really do.' She stepped back, mercifully. 'But for now your duty is to fetch me a coffee.'

There was a roar, and the building shook. George turned. An immense shadow passed the half-open door. Somewhere a German cheered. And then another shadow passed, another engine's roar, and another.

'It is the second wave,' Julia said. 'Landing all along the coast. Panzers, George! Panzers, on English soil. Now we will see some fun. Come, we have work to do. The first priority is to assemble work parties who will transport rubble from the town to fill craters in the airfield runways…' She stalked away.

'Never mind,'Harry murmured. 'Remember Churchill and the blooming Yanks. Let's go and fill in her forms, eh?'

XXVIII

A few miles north of Battle the bus was pulled over. They had just passed a fork in the road; Mary had no real idea where they were.

A group of people were waiting here by the side of the road, women with kids, some men, perhaps a dozen in all. One man was in a wheelchair. Mary glimpsed a WAAF uniform among the group. More passengers, evidently. Two German troopers stood with them, just kids, very bored.

The soldier riding shotgun climbed down and spoke to his counterparts outside. They argued; Mary saw that the soldiers outside had a heavy rucksack that must have contained a field radio unit. Then the shotgun rider called up to his driver, who stood and turned to face his passengers. 'Out,' he said, his English barely comprehensible. 'Off bus. Comprenez? Um, understand?'

One of the young men at the front spoke up. 'Why the bloody hell? We're supposed to be taken out of your zone altogether. By my reckoning we've come no further than Peter's Well. What's going on?'

The soldier fingered his revolver. 'Off bus. Military. Soldiers. Understand?'

Mary sighed and stood up. 'Come on, guys,' she said. 'I don't think we have a choice.'

The passengers followed her lead, and one by one clambered down to the road. The young man who had protested moved stiffly, helped by his companion. The WAAF girl hurried forward to take his other arm. 'Let me give you a hand.'

'Thank you, miss. My bloody kidneys packing up, that's what it is, you see, and I was stuck in hospital – careful, Bill. Funnily enough I used to drive a bus like this when I was a bit younger, before following my father into his accountancy firm…'

Mary stared at the WAAF, whose bright red hair, unruly, stuck out from under her cap. She couldn't believe her eyes. 'Hilda?'

Hilda's eyes widened. 'Mary? Oh, my word!' She rushed forward and they embraced. Hilda's hair was mussed, her eyes hollow, her uniform dusty and torn. 'We do keep running into each other, don't we?'

They stepped aside from the other passengers. 'Are you all right? I haven't seen you since-'

Hilda smiled, and lifted her left hand, waggling her ring finger. 'I know. Bit of a shock, wasn't it? Little did we know old Hitler was about to spring an even bigger surprise.'

'What happened to you? How do you come to be here?'

'Well, I made it to my station. I shared a ride with Ben Kamen-'

'I know, you were in my car.'

'Don't know what happened to him after that, poor chap. Or your car, actually, sorry about that! We were shutting the station down. Unfortunately we were a bit slow getting out of there before the Jerries arrived. Do move fast, these chaps.'