As she moved along, to her surprise, she realised the back wall had ended. There was an opening into another room.
More orders from the courtyard were shouted and as Fitz edged through the opening, she glanced back to see the farmhouse was already ablaze. The flames lapped up the petrol, and the whole place was bathed in an orange glow from the fire.
Chickens squawked as they fled from one of the outbuildings and Fitz could hear the bleat of a goat. The dog began to bark and pull at his rope. This time not with fierceness but with fear. It retreated back into the shed.
The figure of a soldier appeared in the doorway at the front of the shed, silhouetted by the orange glow of flames behind him. Fitz ducked back from the opening and pushed herself against the wall of the back room she was now in. She could hear the soldier say something about getting the dog.
Another soldier’s voice came. ‘Leave the thing to burn,’ he snapped. Fitz could hear the slosh of petrol being splashed into the shed.
She crouched down and stole a glance around the opening. There was only one figure there now. He took out a box of matches and struck one. It broke and he swore in German, before taking another match from the box, and struck it on the side of the box. It fizzled into life. The soldier tilted the match a fraction so the flame crept up the stick. Then he took a step back and slung the lighted match into the shed.
There was a whooshing sound and the fuel ignited a second later.
All Fitz could do was watch the flames eagerly lick the wooden structure. She was going to die in a shed in the middle of the Breton countryside and no one would know what had happened to her. She didn’t feel sorry for herself but she felt sorry for her father.
Chapter 14
The wood crackled and smoke billowed. The heat was already intense and Fitz backed further into the rear of the shed. The dog followed her, whining and offering the occasional bark. The animal sounded desperate, just like Fitz felt. The smoke was beginning to fill the back of the shed and the roof at the front was now on fire. The timber cracked and the flames angrily spat splinters of wood about.
The dog approached Fitz, whining and pulling on the rope. She could feel the animal at her legs and if there had been anywhere to escape to, Fitz would have but she realised the dog was shaking. She reached a hand down, touching the matted fur. She felt the rope around its neck. If she couldn’t save herself, she might at least be able to save the dog.
‘Come here, boy,’ said Fitz. She pulled at the knot but it was too tightly fastened. ‘Hold still.’ After some tugging and wiggling, Fitz managed to pull the loop over the dog’s head. ‘There you go, boy. Go on, then,’ said Fitz as tears began to fall down her face.
The initial burst of fire had died down a little and now all the petrol had been burnt, the flames had only the wood to feed their hunger.
It might just give the dog enough time to escape. But the animal didn’t move towards the door, instead it went over to the far corner and began scratching at the wooden panel.
Fitz could hear the voices of the Germans outside and wondered if they were waiting to see if she made a bolt for it. The thought was tempting but she wasn’t quite done yet.
The dog was still scratching and whining. Fitz scurried over to it.
To her surprise there was a latch. The shed had a rear door. Just a small one. Big enough for the dog. She managed to free the latch and lift it. The door opened inwards.
Immediately, the dog was out. Fitz knew she had only seconds before the Germans spotted the dog and guessed there was another exit. They would be after her in no time.
Without thinking, she scrambled on her hands and knees through the doorway. The fresh air took her breath away for a moment and she gratefully breathed in a lungful of it.
She took a furtive look around. She remembered coming into the farmyard from the left, where the forest was. Her skills of flying planes without radar, relying on landmarks and a good sense of direction, had never been more important than now. They could cost or save her life.
She looked up at the moon to confirm her bearings and with one last look around, she bolted from the cover of the bushes behind the shed towards the trees that bordered the property.
She didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back. She just ran. She half expected someone to shout at her to stop. Or there to simply be the firing of a rifle. Or maybe she wouldn’t even know she had been shot at. Maybe the bullet would kill her instantly.
As she stumbled across the muddy ground, she wondered if this was the last second she’d ever know on this earth.
She reached the wire fencing and scrambled under it.
Still no one shouted. No shots. No pain of a bullet. She could see the dark tree line ahead of her. It was less than fifty yards away. The branches swayed in the night breeze, cheering her on, waving for her to come to them.
And then she was there, running through the trees. Her breathing coming hard and fast. She had to sit down for a minute and slumped behind the trunk of a large Douglas fir.
She looked back around the tree. The whole farm was ablaze. Orange and black shadows danced in the moonlight.
The sound of leaves rustling behind her, made Fitz startle. She spun around expecting to see a German soldier pointing his rifle at her.
Her heart missed a beat with relief. She found herself laughing. It was the bloody dog. He sat down a few feet away from her. All the earlier aggression born out of fear had disappeared.
‘Oh, come here, you silly thing,’ said Fitz, holding her hand out towards the dog. ‘Come on, boy.’
