I ran, giving it everything I had. I’d been too slow to save the Leckies. This time I’d be faster. I’d get there in time.
An engine roared. A plume of black smoke rose above the distant hedge – the only barrier between me and the far meadow. Between me and that hedge, a field of young spring wheat, its green shoots eighteen inches tall. A fine crop.
I was on the edge of the field and the track followed that edge in a big loop. Following it would take me on a detour, out to my right and then back again. I didn’t have time.
I struck out across the field, my boots sinking into the soft, tilled earth, leaving a trail of crushed wheat. Every step I took, my boots picked up another layer of mud. It was heavy going, and my heart was already racing. I was slick with sweat.
All the complexities of the world reduced to me, the mud weighing down my boots, the heat, and the distant hedge, now seemingly on the other side of the world and receding over the horizon even as I raced towards it.
Neesham stuck to the path, taking the long way. Even so, he was ahead of me – easier to run on the grassy verge at the edge of the field. He reached the gap in the hedge and his shoulders slumped as he looked into the far meadow. There was another shot, and Neesham winced. He turned to me and shook his head.
*
‘Next time, bring a gun,’ the Polish soldier said, scanning the woods at the edge of the meadow. ‘You thought we were under attack. So what was your plan?’
The Fordson tractor backfired, the sound ringing out like a shot across the field, the retort echoing back from the line of trees at the far end of the field.
Elizabeth was up in the driving seat of the tractor. The plough lines behind her told the story of the day, wobbly for the first few rows, but increasingly straight. Behind her, Frankie and Bill Taylor laughed as they rode a makeshift plough, standing on it like acrobats riding horses in a circus ring.
Frankie fell off the plough, and yelled at Elizabeth to stop. She looked around and saw me watching her. As she let in the clutch, the tractor backfired again. I flinched, and noticed Neesham did the same.
‘I skipped the planning stage,’ I said. ‘My old CO always said I had a bias for action.’
‘Like our cavalry charging those Panzers,’ he said. ‘Bias for action will get you killed nine times out of ten. Ten out of ten for those boys.’
‘I want you gone,’ I said.
‘I’m not with those others,’ he said. ‘I met them on the boat, but that’s all.’
‘Too much going on,’ I said.
‘I could help on the farm,’ he said. ‘Keep my eyes open. I’m a useful person to have around.’
It wasn’t a terrible idea. Bill Taylor needed the help, and we had the harvest coming up.
‘A few more days,’ I said. ‘Keep watch. Any more deserters, let me know.’
33
The Cross was quiet. I nodded to familiar faces as I carried two pints to my usual table in the corner.
Doc drank half of his pint in one gulp, his face grim.
‘You’ve got something to tell me,’ I said. Not a question.
He knew me better than to pretend he didn’t know what
I was talking about. We’d sat at this table most evenings for the better part of twenty years.
He pulled a pamphlet from his inside pocket and laid it on the table. It was well thumbed. Slips of paper marked favourite pages.
It was a flimsy publication. Cheap paper. Government issued.
‘Joining Up?’
A Handy Guide For Every Recruit
All you want to know!
