Читать книгу The Stolen Years - Fiona Hood-Stewart - Страница 12

Frieburg, Germany, 1917

“Es gibt einen der lebt noch.” From far away, Gavin heard voices but they faded again. The next time he gained consciousness he was being rattled painfully to and fro, amid the stench of blood and urine. But it was dark, he was moving and the pain in his thigh and hip were blinding. His eyes closed once more and he dreamed. Of Angus’s cold and expressionless face, waiting impassively for him to die. The dream kept repeating and repeating itself.

When he next woke, the pain was too agonizing for him to think, but he realized he was alive and being given an injection. There were more voices, a woman and a man speaking German, but he was too tired to care and drifted back into sleep.

This time he dreamed of Flora, of the rose garden at Strathaird, of a picnic in the Périgord, the delicious sensation of biting into a thick tartine, a sandwich made of pâté and spicy saucisson, smelled the sweet scent of freshly cut hay and heard the sound of laughter rippling on the breeze.

As the days went by and he regained consciousness, Gavin realized two things—that people spoke German, and that they addressed him as Angus or Kapitän. It was puzzling. But the pain was so sharp and the need to sleep so great he didn’t care. Then one day he woke up feeling hungry and, to everyone in the ward’s surprise, he sat up.

“Mein Gott, der Englander sitzt!” the matron exclaimed.

“Not Englander,” Gavin replied with a spark of his old self, “Shotten.”

“Hey, do you speak German?” a cultivated English voice coming from the next cot asked. He turned, wincing as a sharp pain shot up his leg and into his thigh.

“Only a couple of words. Did they get you, too?”

“Actually, no.” He blushed. “I’m German.”

“Oh.”

There was a moment’s silence while Gavin looked the other man over. His head was bandaged and his arm hung loosely in a sling. “How do you speak English so well?” he asked curiously, instinctively liking him, although he was the enemy.

“My mother’s English and my father is German. We’ve lived in London all my life. My father’s in banking—rather, was in banking—in the city. Then this mess came down and we had to leave. My parents and sister returned to Hanover. I got called up.”

“What a God-awful situation to be in,” Gavin replied sympathetically, feeling much more like talking than thinking.

“What happened to you?”

“A shell exploded in the trench. Lucky to be alive, I suppose. Where are we?”

“The army hospital in Frieburg.”

“Oh. That’s in the Black Forest, isn’t it?” he said, calculating approximately how far he must be from his unit. “Any news about what’s happening out there?” he asked casually, unsure how far he could trust the man. Perhaps they’d put him there on purpose, to see what they could find out.

“Not much—except the Americans have entered the war.”

“Thank God for that,” Gavin murmured, leaning back against the pillow, his eyes closing. “How did that happen? I thought Woodrow Wilson didn’t want to have much to do with us.”

“A U-boat sunk a merchant ship with two American passengers on board. I suppose it was getting too close to home.”

“Hmm. Probably. I’ll bet you lot weren’t counting on that,” he added, squinting at his neighbor, who looked pale and drawn.

“They didn’t. I think it may tip the balance,” he murmured softly.

“Damn right it will.” Gavin saw the other patients murmuring suspiciously, and turned painfully onto his other side. He looked into the cot on his left, where a ruddy blond face stared belligerently.

“Zigaretten?” he asked, keeping a wary eye on the others, trying to read their minds. The other man shook his head, eyes filled with resentment. Gavin shrugged and acted as though it was natural to be the only British officer lying among a ward of German soldiers.

“Oh well.” He smiled. “Danke, anyway. When I get some, I’ll give you one of mine.” He leaned back and took stock of the situation.

“Kapitän Angus, you must not speak so much.” A pretty, blond nurse came to his bed and patted his pillow briskly before whisking out a thermometer and popping it into his mouth, preventing him from asking why everyone thought he was Angus. Then he caught sight of the gold cross lying on the tiny nightstand, next to the bed, and everything flashed before him. Suddenly dizzy, Gavin put his head in his hands.

“Herr Kapitän? Sind sie schwach?”

“I’m all right,” he said, removing the thermometer. “But I don’t want this damn thing in my mouth.”

“Be thankful for small mercies. The other one sticks it somewhere else,” his English-speaking neighbor commented as the matron approached with a firm, brisk march.

“Is there a problem with the prisoner, Nurse?” she demanded, eyes glinting.

“No, Sister,” the nurse replied quickly, reading the thermometer and writing something on the chart.

The matron looked him over coldly. “I don’t want you causing problems in my ward,” she barked, her English guttural. “It is bad enough to have to treat you Saxon dogs. So behave yourself or I’ll have you sent to the prison camp, ill or not. It’ll be one less for our men to rid themselves of.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched off.

Gavin listened meekly, but as she marched off, he stuck his tongue out, causing the whole ward to break into laughter. She turned suspiciously, but found him lying down, eyes closed, the picture of innocence.

A minute later he opened one eye cautiously. A man wearing a dressing gown, who sat reading at the far end of the ward, came over.

“Zigarette?” he asked, offering him the pack.

“Danke.” Gavin took the cigarette warily, his eyes never leaving the German’s face. Then he heard his neighbor again.

“Jolly good show, old chap. We’re scared stiff of her. She’s the devil to deal with. That’s done more to break the ice than you’d believe.”

“Thanks.” He leaned forward and accepted a light. “Ask this chap what his name is, will you?”

“That’s Karl. I’m Franz, by the way, Lieutenant Franz von Ritter. Who are you?”

“I’m Gavin MacLeod.”

“That’s odd. For some reason, they’ve been referring to you as Angus. Something to do with a cross you had in your hand when you were brought in.”

“It belonged to my brother.” Gavin took a long drag of the cigarette, knowing he was going to have to face his memories of his twin eventually. What had Angus been thinking? God! A sudden thought crossed his brain. Could the shell have blinded him? Maybe that was it.

“Sorry to hear that.” The other man obviously assumed Angus was dead.

“That’s the way it goes,” he replied, wondering where Angus was now. Suddenly he felt ashamed of having doubted his twin. There must be some explanation for his behavior. Gavin immediately felt better, the tightness lifting from his chest. Now he must apply himself to getting out of here, he resolved. His family would be worried to death about him. He could imagine poor Flora, sick with worry at the hospital, and his mother and father back home.

By the end of the following week, he was recovering fast, and was in good enough spirits to charm the young, blond nurse, Annelise, into sneaking cigarettes and schnapps into the ward. These he distributed liberally among the men, making him the most popular patient there. The matron mumbled, disgusted about lack of loyalty in the present generation, but the men didn’t care. They were fed up with a war that never seemed to end, and Gavin had brought new life to a tedious situation. He always had a joke for Franz to translate, a word for someone who needed jollying up. Soon they were looking to him for direction.

Franz turned out to be a decent sort and they spent long hours talking about their lives in Britain before the war, and what their plans were for the future—whatever that might be. Gavin chafed at the hip, which kept him bedridden, but Franz told him not to complain. It was much better to be in the medical station than with the other prisoners. Gavin had to agree. Sitting out the rest of the war in an internment camp was not his idea of bliss.

Despite his newfound comforts and companions, every day he woke with Angus’s face as he’d last seen him—devoid of expression, cold. It haunted him and he prayed that his brother was all right. He thought of Flora and wished she’d stayed at home, where he would know she was safe. He wondered if she knew he was alive. They must know by now that he’d been taken prisoner, Gavin reasoned. After a moment, these thoughts depressed him and he got up and joined Franz and Karl, who were playing poker for cigarettes. Pulling up a chair, he prepared to join the game.

“Deal me in,” he said with an American twang that made them all laugh. He studied his cards carefully. Karl was easy to bluff. Franz played better, but Joachim, a lieutenant from Mannheim, was the best of the three. He lit a cigarette and the game progressed.

Half an hour later, the matron marched in. She pursed her lips, looked his way and announced with a triumphant smirk that a number of prisoners were to be brought in within the hour. Gavin pretended to concentrate on the game but he was excited. Perhaps he would finally learn some news. There was another fact to face, as well. Until now, he’d been comfortably letting time go by. But his duty as an officer taken prisoner was to immediately search for a route of escape. While he was healing, that hadn’t been possible. But although his thigh still ached and his hip hurt like hell when he walked, his arm was considerably better. If there were more British prisoners, then the situation might change.

He glanced at his cards, aware of the nurses hurrying through with fresh piles of blankets, followed shortly by stretchers carrying the wounded. He barely managed to control his impatience, ready to drop out of the game in his eagerness to question the newcomers. Watching as the wounded—more victims of the salient—were carried passed, Gavin realized guiltily that for the past couple of weeks he’d allowed himself to fall into the apathy of convalescence. The war seemed remote without the backdrop of artillery fire. He got up, unable to stay still, and went to the door. A particularly nasty case of gangrene reminded him of just how real the conflict still was. When a straggling group of wounded officers was directed into the ward under the matron’s vigilant eye, he moved next to them.

“Where did they get you?” he asked a pale lieutenant not much older than himself.

“In the shoulder, and a scratch on the head. It’s a bloody mess out there.”

“What regiment are you with?”

“Warwickshire. And you?”

“Fifty-first Highlanders.” Gavin smiled at Annelise, and got her to direct the lieutenant to the cot closest to his. The other man nodded and thanked him, sinking onto the bed in exhaustion.

“All hell’s broken loose. I hope this time it may get us somewhere.” He gave a tired shrug and closed his eyes.

“The Germans are as fed up as we are.”

“I’ll bet. When were you captured?”

“October.”

“You’ve heard about the French mutiny? They refuse to fight any longer, except to defend. Can’t blame them, poor chaps. Chemin des Dames was a bloodbath.”

“I don’t suppose you saw any of the Fifty-first, did you?”

“Only back at Etaples about three weeks ago. There were a couple of fellows wounded at Passchendaele—probably some of your chaps—waiting to be shipped home. The other poor buggers were waiting to die.”

“Does the name Angus MacLeod mean anything to you?” Gavin offered him a cigarette.

“Thanks.” The young man smiled his appreciation. “MacLeod. That rings a bell. Isn’t he Ghost MacLeod’s twin, the chap who braved the lines at Ypres and saved a whole battalion? That was either incredible courage or plain stupidity. He got the M.C. for it, you know. Apparently he was much younger than he made out, too. I think his twin was back at the field hospital waiting to be shipped home. He didn’t handle his brother’s death too well.”

“Death?” The lighter stopped in midair.

“I’m afraid so. There was no trace of him, poor devil. Did you know him?”

“They think I’m dead,” Gavin murmured, horrified. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he sat down on the bed with a bang.

“Are you all right? Was MacLeod a friend of yours?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just rather odd to know you’ve been given up for dead.”

“Oh God. What do you mean? You’re—”

“Yes. I’m Captain Gavin MacLeod. Angus is my brother.”

“Good Lord.” The man looked at him in sudden awe. “I’m Lieutenant Miles Conway, by the way,” he said, stretching out his hand and smiling from below the bandage. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ghost.”

“Thanks.” They shook hands and Gavin sensed an immediate bond.

Dead. They thought he was dead! Gavin assimilated this news, imagining Flora and his parents. How devastated they must all be. It was bad enough to picture them thinking him missing. But dead…The image of Angus’s impassive face flashed before him, but he refused to think of that right now. There were other priorities—such as escape—to be thought of, that took on new urgency.

“Any chance of us getting out of here?” Miles asked, voicing Gavin’s thoughts.

“I don’t know. Up until now I’ve been on my own,” he answered vaguely. “Difficult to believe one’s been given up for dead. Gives one a damn odd feeling, I must say.”

“They may know that you’re alive by now. Perhaps they’ve set the records straight.”

“I bloody well hope so,” Gavin replied, suddenly angry—at the army, at Angus for not helping him and at the damn Krauts for catching him. “Now that you’re here, perhaps we can get an escape plan going.” He rose and smiled at his new companion. “You’d better rest. By the way, my neighbor Franz is okay. Has a British mother, and lived in England all his life. He got called back here at the beginning of the war.”

Annelise approached, hustling Gavin away before attending to Lieutenant Conway. “You want to butter her up,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s a great girl.”

“Everything all right?” Franz asked him anxiously as Gavin flopped on his bed, cold sweat racking his body. He leaned back, his eyes closed, feeling nauseous. Was it possible his twin had left him to die? He squeezed his hands into tight fists, his knuckles white, seized by doubt.

That night he barely slept, tossing and turning, positive one minute that Angus had betrayed him, convinced the next that it wasn’t so. To distract himself, he set his mind on ways of escape. Glancing at Franz, peacefully asleep in the next bed with his face etched by the light of the full moon, Gavin wondered just how far the man could be trusted. He seemed to be on their side, but could he be sure?

At 3:00 a.m. in the pitch dark, he rose, stiff and restless, to smoke a cigarette.

“Wo gehen siehen?” the nurse asked peremptorily.

“Annelise?” he whispered, offering her a cigarette. She relaxed, smiled as his eyes lingered on her face and he ran his fingers though his hair. The patch that had been shaved was growing back, thick and black as ever, and she was obviously not oblivious to his Gaelic charm, whatever she might have heard about the British.

He motioned for her to go to the far end near the door, where they could sit, the flame from the match lighting her face. She was pretty enough, he considered. Full, round breasts, a trim waist, shapely hips that could only be imagined under the stiff uniform. He went suddenly hard, picturing her skin melding to his. As though reading his mind, she leaned closer. It was a risk, he realized, blood pounding. A big risk, yet an enticing one. If she so much as squeaked, they’d shoot him. But for the first time since arriving in the godforsaken hospital, he felt alive, back in the game, dodging danger.

He raised a hand to her cheek, his eyes mesmerizing. “Shön, beautiful,” he whispered, hearing the quick intake of breath and sensing no rejection when his hand dropped below the stiff edge of her collar toward her generous breast. He reached her nipple and she shuddered under the many layers of material that separated his fingers from her flesh.

It was exhilarating to peer through the shadows and know that this enemy nurse, decked out in her prim stiff uniform, was hot, wet and throbbing for him. A rush of power, followed by the primeval need to possess her, overwhelmed him, and he wondered where he could take her to satisfy the urgent, consuming need.

Pulling her close, he felt her breasts press against his chest. Then she led him by the hand, glancing about cautiously as they slipped from the ward, out into a muddied alley that separated the buildings. She pointed to a nearby hut some two hundred feet away.

Making sure the coast was clear, Gavin followed her across the alley and slipped inside the hut, closing the door hastily behind him before striking a match. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he recognized a bed and what appeared to be piles of clean laundry in the corner. He laid the matchbox on the table, fascinated by the shafts of moonlight lighting Annelise’s hair. In one swift movement he reached up, pulled the pins from the neat chignon she wore and watched the thick, silvery-blond mass fall about her shoulders. Then their bodies cleaved impatiently and they tumbled onto the tiny bed, the need for one another too acute.

He was about to undress her, but his hip brought him to a grinding halt. Swearing under his breath, he smiled apologetically, wondering what the hell to do. To his surprise, she turned her back to him and kneeled forward, leaning on the bed. Twisting her neck, she smiled invitingly. Gavin got behind her. Raising the stiff skirt above her waist, he gazed through the shadows at her pert, shapely bottom, encased in the ugly suspenders that held up thick regulation stockings.

Fumbling with excitement, he undid his pajamas, all danger forgotten as she raised her buttocks in a brazen demand for satisfaction, and slipped his fingers between her firm thighs, savoring her need, her stifled gasps, prolonging the moment for as long as he could before entering her with a swift, hard thrust. She moaned softly, writhing as he grasped her waist, and they fell into a frantic rhythm. When he came, he spewed all the pain, doubt and anger of the past months, and let out a sigh of satisfaction as he leaned against her, still feeling her throb. Then, as he opened his eyes, he heard Annelise mutter a strange name in a muffled whisper. All at once, he realized with a shock why she hadn’t wanted to look into his eyes. They were the wrong ones.

The sound of boots squelching in the mud had him extricating himself hastily. He pulled up his pajamas, while Annelise straightened her skirt and fumbled on the floor for her hairpins. Retrieving them, she gave her hair an expert twist, and he handed her the cap, laying a finger over his lips and listening carefully as the footsteps came closer. She trembled, and he slipped his arm around her as the sound grew louder. When the footsteps stopped outside the hut, she began to shake. A nurse who betrayed the fatherland would be shot, just as he would, if they were caught. Gavin felt suddenly ashamed for allowing instinct to overcome reason, annoyed that he’d put her in danger. After all, she was just a young girl, suffering the ravages of war.

All was silent now except for their heartbeats. He leaned forward against the rickety wall of the shanty, ears tuned, and peered through the darkness for another way out, reluctant to strike a match. As far as he could see, there was only the flimsy wooden door by which they had entered, and that opened onto the muddy path leading to the ward. He couldn’t risk letting her leave alone, he realized, squeezing her close. If she were caught she might scream rape to save her skin. Damn. He could tell by the sudden darkness and chill in the air that day was about to break. He was almost certain there was only one man out there. Probably the sentry, doing his last round, had stopped for a smoke. Gavin held his breath, feeling the girl’s heart beating wildly and her teeth chattering.

“Annelise, we must raus,” he whispered. “If they find us here, they will kill us.” He drew his hand across his throat, then pointed to her and at himself. She nodded tearfully and the trembling increased.

As a tiny sliver of gray light appeared, Gavin pressed his eye between the slats but could see nothing. Withdrawing, he turned again to Annelise. Then, as dawn broke, he distinguished clothing, hanging on hooks on the opposite wall and piled in a number of baskets. Looking closely, he saw they were freshly pressed German uniforms. He turned Annelise around by the shoulders and pointed silently to the baskets, indicating that he needed something to wear. She nodded, moving quickly, while Gavin picked up a heavy, unlit gas lamp from the shelf and stood with it raised behind the door, in case it opened.

Annelise rummaged through the piles, then turned, holding up a German uniform that looked about his size. He smiled and their eyes met as he laid down the lamp and took the uniform from her, putting it on over his pajamas.

“What about boots?” he whispered, pointing to his feet, clad in felt army slippers. Gavin watched in amazement as she opened a locker, where several pairs of immaculately polished boots stood in a symmetrical row. She went straight to the largest pair and handed them to him, along with some heavy, gray, knit socks. He pulled the boots on, ignoring the steady increase of pain in his hip and thigh. Finally, she handed him a cap. Gavin put it on, then grinned and raised an eyebrow. Annelise smiled despite herself, easing the tension as they tiptoed to the door. Gavin pointed to himself.

“Ich first. Count to ten minuten.” He held up all his fingers and she nodded. When she grabbed his sleeve, he saw the fear in her eyes and held her close, then dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. “It’ll be okay.” He used the universal American expression and raised a thumb. She nodded. Then he edged the door open and sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t creak.

Peeking through the crack, he saw the sentry’s back turned toward the telltale smoke rising above his shoulder. Gavin guessed that he was probably three-quarters of the way through his cigarette. The seconds dragged as they waited anxiously for him to finish. Other than the sentry, the coast seemed clear. All that lay between him and the field hospital was a muddied stretch of dirt.

Finally he saw the cigarette butt tip into the mud, and the sentry tramped off. With a sigh of relief, Gavin slipped outside and walked purposefully toward the ward, realizing he had no idea what rank he held. Two soldiers passed and saluted respectfully. He returned the salute, struck by the humor of it. This was easier than he’d thought. The other uniforms in the hut had set his mind working. As he walked quietly through the silent ward toward the curtain separating the officers from the men, he came to a sudden decision. Reaching Miles’s bed, he clamped a hand quickly over his mouth. Miles’s eyes darted open in horrified surprise.

“Don’t worry, it’s me,” Gavin whispered. “Just don’t squeal, that’s all.” He removed his hand and continued in an urgent whisper. “I think there may be a chance for us to escape, if we’re very quick.”

“How?” Miles asked, blinking sleepily at Gavin’s uniform. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“A couple of hundred yards to the left, outside the ward, there’s a laundry hut full of ’em. It may be our only chance. Annelise will help. She’s in there now,” he continued urgently, ignoring Miles’s raised eyebrow and amused admiration. “If anyone comes around, remember to address her as Schwester. Can you speak any German?”

“Not a bloody word.”

“Damn.” Gavin glanced over his shoulder and ducked when he saw Franz, lying in the next bed, move. He was too late, though. Franz pulled himself up.

“How the hell did you get that?” he asked, gazing at Gavin. Gavin turned quickly, gesturing for silence as Franz slipped from his bed.

Gavin and Miles eyed him warily. He could save them or sign their death warrants. As though sensing their doubt, he whispered urgently, “You can count me in. I’ve had enough of this bloody mess, too.”

“Okay. Then let’s get the hell out while we can. Franz, you’ve got your uniform. Better get it on.”

Franz returned to his bed and silently retrieved his belongings from beneath it, while Miles and Gavin made their way to the entrance of the ward, making sure no one was awake. “Make a run for it, Miles,” he said when they reached the door.

Franz joined them. “Wait. We’d better stick together. If anyone speaks to us I can talk to them and explain we’re taking Miles for questioning. Just look haughty, Gavin. You’re a high-ranking officer.”

“He’s right,” Gavin whispered. “Let’s go. First hut to your left across the stretch.”

The air was raw as they marched smartly toward the hut, the only sign of life a thin spiral of smoke from the kitchen chimney. Gavin breathed hard. There was still the risk that Annelise might have called someone. But his gut told him no, and silently they slipped inside the rickety wooden hut.

Annelise stood inside still, her eyes widening as she recognized Franz. “Was machen sie?” she whispered, horrified. “Why are you here? What is happening?” As her voice rose, Gavin clamped his hand over her mouth, then soothed her. “It’s all right. Franz, you explain.”

“We can’t.” His tone was cold and emphatic.

“Why the hell not?”

“We can’t risk it.”

“Okay, we’ll think about that in a minute.” Gavin pointed impatiently to the baskets. “You’d better change too, Franz. They’ll be on the lookout for you. As soon as the new nurse comes on, she’ll wonder where we all went.”

Miles was already climbing into a uniform, and Franz joined him, searching quickly through the piles.

“What about her?” Miles asked Gavin, looking doubtfully at Annelise as he buttoned his shirt.

“She’ll have to come with us. If they find her, they’ll kill her,” he replied, peering through the slats and missing the look the other two exchanged. “Do you know the layout of this place, Franz?” he asked.

“Not really. But Annelise probably does.” He turned and questioned her quickly in German. “Good. She knows where the Officers’ Mess is. We must get hold of a car. You’re a Haupt Kommandant, Gavin, so you can requisition whatever you like,” he added with a touch of humor.

“If we head toward the British lines we’ll be shot at,” Miles mused as he straightened his jacket.

“The Swiss border’s probably the best bet,” Gavin agreed, dropping a quick kiss on Annelise’s forehead.

“No. Too risky,” Franz countered. “But perhaps we can reach a place my parents own in the Black Forest, not far from here.”

“We can think of that later. For now, let’s just get out of here. Franz, explain to Annelise while I see if the coast is clear.” Gavin turned her around and kissed her again. “It’s okay,” he reassured her, pointing to Franz. “He will tell you what to do.” She nodded fearfully and he smiled at her. Then, going to the door, he edged it open just a fraction. It was raining and would get worse, if the dark gray clouds forming overhead were any indication. He glanced back. “This is it. Good luck!”

Gavin strode firmly ahead, the others following. Together they marched purposefully across the muddied road toward the main section of the barracks, Franz and Gavin in the lead and Miles and Annelise following slightly behind. They headed directly to where she had told them the cars were kept.

“Okay, this is it. It’s up to Franz now,” Gavin said, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as they approached the building, a large whitewashed farmhouse with a stable attached. “You stay here with Annelise, Miles. Franz and I’ll go inside. Look as if you’re flirting. Give her a cigarette.”

Miles nodded silently and took the cigarette from Gavin, offering one to Annelise. As he held her trembling fingers to light it, Miles exchanged a quick look with Franz before the two men left.

“Show authority, but don’t speak, even if they address you,” Franz whispered to Gavin as they marched up the stairs to the building.

It was barely light as they entered the office. A subordinate stood up from behind a desk, sleepily saluting. Franz took command, ordered a car—the best possible vehicle. It was to be handed over to the Haupt Kommandant immediately.

“But the orders, sir?” The young man hesitated.

“What orders, you idiot,” Franz barked. “Can’t you hear me, Dumkopf? These are your orders.”

Excusing himself profusely, the young corporal blushingly preceded them out of the house and ran to crank up the car. Gavin stood by nervously. Franz opened the back door ceremoniously for Gavin, then got in next to him. Tension was rife as two soldiers passed, eyeing them curiously, but they continued on their way after a prompt salute.

“Where the hell are Miles and Annelise?” Gavin hissed anxiously as the seconds ticked. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Miles climbed behind the wheel.

“Where’s Annelise?” Gavin asked, frowning and twisting his neck to see where she might be. Miles didn’t answer. Instead, he started the car and began to drive, picking up speed as they moved toward the entrance.

“Don’t look at the sentries. Just look straight ahead,” Franz murmured. But the guards merely saluted smartly and the car passed unimpeded. The three men breathed a little easier.

“Where is Annelise? Why didn’t she come?” Gavin shouted once they were on the road. “We can’t just leave her there, for Christ’s sake. What happened, Miles?”

“I killed her. I’m sorry, Gavin, but I had to. She was too much of a liability. She could have blown the whole operation.”

“You what?” The blood drained from his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“You bastard. How could you?” Helpless anger seethed through Gavin. Franz held him back as he lunged at Miles across the car seat.

“Control yourself, damn it. It’s awful, but he did the right thing.”

“How could you? She was my responsibility. I got her into this. Oh God.”

He sat trembling, horror and rage battling as he tried to reason, to remain in control. No liabilities. He could hear the sergeant at the training center repeating the same thing over and over. No feelings, no pity, no risk. But this was Annelise, a woman he’d made love to only a few hours before, a woman he’d brought this upon. It was his fault she was dead.

All at once he was tempted to look back, to jump out of the car, as though by doing so he could make her materialize through the rain, the trees speeding past.

Exercising every ounce of self-control, he stayed silent, dealing with the shock. The pain in his thigh increased, like sharp dagger thrusts.

“I’m sorry, Gavin,” Miles repeated, his voice icy, and for a second, as the car swerved onto a road that led to the forest, Gavin wanted to kill them both.

But a decision on their final destination had to be reached, and there was no time to grieve. Miles suggested the Swiss border again.

“It’s too obvious,” Franz replied, shaking his head. “We’ve only got a head start of a couple of hours before they’ll be on to us. I reckon we should go to Schloss Annenberg. It’s a small hunting lodge that belongs to my father’s family. At the beginning of the war we stocked it with provisions in case we needed to hide. My father was worried that my mother, being British, and my sister, might find themselves in danger. Nobody has lived there for years. It’s tucked away in the depths of the woods.”

“Where the hell are we, anyway?” Gavin asked, trying to escape the images of Annelise’s body sinking to the ground.

“Slightly south of Frieburg, I reckon.” Miles leaned across the dashboard and opened the glove box of the Daimler. Sure enough, a map lay neatly folded inside. He handed it to Franz, who opened it and began studying it. “We’ll have to head farther south. Now we’re going east. At the next crossroads, we’d better make a right.”

“How do you think your parents are going to take the news that you’ve deserted?” Gavin asked evenly, directing his anger at Franz.

“It will be a blight on the German half of the family, but I know my parents will understand. They know I feel more British than German and would rather be fighting for the other side.”

“Isn’t home the first place the Germans will look for you?” he asked scathingly.

“Perhaps they’ll go to the house in Hanover, but not to Annenburg. They will advise my family. The news will travel fast. But they’ll imagine we’re trying to reach the British lines or the border. And right now they’re too busy to spend much time looking for deserters. It’s my father I’m sorry about.” Franz looked away, his face bleak. “But I don’t believe in this war, and neither does he. I don’t believe in what Germany’s doing, in all the massacres that have taken place, and now this expansionist vision of Ludendorff’s. He thinks he can reinstate German culture in the Baltic states and Russia, and I don’t want to be a part of any of it. My sister and I were raised in London and I’ve always considered myself British. I can’t change that now.”

“Why didn’t you fight with us, then?” Gavin challenged, noticing that the forest had thickened and the road narrowed.

“The ironic part is that, if I’d offered my services to the British, they would merely have taken me for a spy, and I’d have spent the rest of the war rotting in a damn prison camp.” Franz sighed. “Of course, you chaps will want to get back as quickly as you can.” Turning, he glanced at Gavin as the car rattled over a particularly bumpy stretch of road. His eyes narrowed. “Your leg is hurting, isn’t it? You can’t go anywhere until you get well, or you’ll be caught immediately and expose the lot of us.”

“Maybe you should finish me off, like Annelise. After all, I’m a liability.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miles snapped savagely as they began climbing a small road that wound its way farther into the forest, now a dense mix of dark, heavy branches.

He peered through the windshield at the drizzling rain that was making progress increasingly difficult. Gavin tried to change positions as the pain in his thigh grew more excruciating.

Just as they reached the top of the hill, the car jolted to a sudden stop, the bonnet tipped forward and the front wheels sank deep into a rut.

“Bloody hell,” Miles swore. Trying to rev up the engine, he succeeded only in producing a screeching of tires as they rotated in the mud.

“What rotten luck,” Franz exclaimed. “We’re not far from Schloss Annenberg now, only about twelve kilometers.”

Miles tried again, then threw up his hands, irritated. “It’s no use. I’m just making matters worse.”

A few straggling houses, their pointed roofs peering out from above the trees, formed a hamlet bordering the roadside about a kilometer down the road. “Do you think we should try and get help?” he asked Franz uneasily. “God knows what will happen if we’re found here by the wrong people.”

“We have to be very careful,” Franz replied, jumping out and avoiding the worst of the sludge. “It’s just near enough to Schloss Annenberg for someone to remember me, although I haven’t been here in years, so it’s doubtful. But you never know, and people can be very treacherous in a war. We cannot trust anyone to protect us.” He glanced at the cottages. “We can’t risk them seeing you wounded, Gavin. We’re too far from the front and your rank is too high for anyone to believe that you would not have been immediately transported to a field hospital. We must hide you.” He glanced at the forest, frowning.

Miles gave the engine a last try, then admitted defeat. “I think the village is our only chance.”

“Franz, you’re right.” Gavin gritted his teeth. “The blood on my uniform will make them suspicious.” He was feeling faint and wondered how long he could hold out. “I’d better get away from the middle of the road.” He glanced at the forest on either side of them “I’ll get into the forest and you two go find help together.” He began heaving himself out of the vehicle while Franz steadied him.

“Think you can manage?”

“Of course.” Gavin tried his best to walk straight. “I’ll make it. It’s not far. Now get going. And if for some reason you can’t make it back…well, for God’s sake, just go.”

Miles handed him a knife. “Better have this—just in case.”

“You might need it yourself.” Gavin gazed at it in horror, his stomach lurching at the sight of the tiny red specks of blood, still fresh on the flashing blade. He thought of Annelise’s blue eyes and silver-blond hair, and anger returned in a rush. But he was too weak to do more than hope he’d make it to the trees.

Reluctantly, he took the knife and pocketed it. “Good luck.”

Franz slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a handkerchief, which he handed to Gavin. “I’ve had this since the beginning of the war. My mother embroidered it for me right before I came out, and it’s brought me luck. If, for some reason, we get separated, you can always try and reach my parents’ home in Hanover.” He quickly wrote down the address. “Give the hankie to my mother and tell her I said to hug Bubbles for me. She’ll understand. Don’t argue, we haven’t time. Just take it.” He thrust the address and the white linen handkerchief into Gavin’s hand. Their eyes met, then Franz turned and he and Miles trudged off, squelching through the ankle-deep mud toward the hamlet.

Gavin glanced at the initials exquisitely embroidered by a loving hand and pocketed the handkerchief, glancing at the backs of his two companions with mixed feelings. Dragging his leg he limped determinedly toward the trees, each agonizing step an effort. Taking deep breaths, he forced himself forward, determined to reach seclusion before any vehicles appeared. It took him awhile—he didn’t know precisely how long, for he’d lost track of time—to reach the edge of the forest, where he collapsed in a cold sweat beneath the shadowy safety of the fir trees. He stopped and sat, breathless, before pushing farther, making sure he was well hidden before sinking among the pine needles, exhausted but thankful for the branches sheltering him partially from the rain. He huddled painfully against a knotted trunk, barely conscious, and pulled the thick coat Annelise had handed him with the uniform closer, his delirious mind haunted by her image.

He slept, woke, slept again. When he regained consciousness, it was dark. He could feel his aching body, racked by fever. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered where the others were, wondered if he was back in the truck, returning to the hospital in Frieburg, but the effort to reason was too great and he drifted off once more.