Avalanche of Daisies (44 page)

Steve's two letters were delivered to him just as the brigade was preparing to cross the Rhine. There was so much to do he knew he would never find time to read them both so he stuffed his mother's letter unopened into his breast pocket next to his fags and skimmed through Barbara's quickly where he stood. Her enthusiasm rose from the page like sunshine. ‘
A home of our own! Think of it!
' But there was too much going on – Jeeps darting about on either side of him, sergeant majors roaring, trucks being inched into line, the tankies chafing to be off – and he couldn't concentrate on anything except the job in hand. Good though her news was, it would have to wait until he was over the river.

The crossing was a massive undertaking, almost as complicated as the landing had been, and it was organised with the same attention to detail and the same air cover, for the Rhine at this point was more than a quarter of a mile wide and still a hazard. The mere sight of it was enough to show them what an obstacle it had been. It reduced all the other rivers they'd encountered to mere streams, from the Seine to the Maas. But now that the initial assault was successfully over, the Allied armies had it well under control.

The meadows leading down to the water's edge had been marked out into assembly areas, with the usual white tape, and there were redcaps everywhere directing the traffic, which was endless and complicated, for it wasn't just troops and armoured vehicles and tanks and guns that were being shipped across, but supplies and support groups too, trucks carrying blood-banks, long lines of Red Cross ambulances, lorries piled with
ammunition, crates full of food. There were Jeeps jauntily bouncing down the slope beside the convoys, even a bulldozer sent to scour out another exit route on the further side, but only one hastily constructed pontoon bridge to take it all across.

Downstream the engineers were constructing a second bridge, working with difficulty against a strong-running current. It was a bright spring day and the river looked totally peaceful, sky-blue and olive-green and spangled with sunlight. Above it, a cloudless sky was criss-crossed by the white contrails of the Spitfires and Typhoons that were taking it in turns to patrol, just in case the Luftwaffe should dare to put in an appearance.

Not that anyone in the brigade seriously thought they would. Not now. Not in the face of such fire power. No matter how many doubts they'd secretly entertained during the ten-month slog to this crossing, now that they'd arrived they were sure of their victory. The slogans they'd painted on the sides of their vehicles were evidence of that, cocky and cheerful and full of confidence. ‘
And you'd never have thought it would happen!' ‘Rhine Ferry – No Charge, No Sandwiches and No Risk!' ‘Montgomery Express, London to Berlin'.

Their good spirits were infectious. Even Dusty was cheerful. ‘Here we go!' he said, as a redcap waved their TCV towards the pontoon. ‘Next stop Berlin!'

The crossing went smoothly and so did the drive inland, for the assault troops had obviously established a wide front all along the river bank. They passed several riverside farms but most of them had been shattered by artillery fire and those that were still intact had prominent white flags draped from their remaining windows. It was plain that the civilians in the area had been thoroughly cowed and when the column turned off into a belt of woodland, they could see the reason why. As well as the river crossing, there had been a massive airborne landing here too. The fields were still full of
gliders, lying where they'd landed, some tipped over on their wings, some crumpled like paper, as if they'd been flung out of the sky. There were containers littered in every direction and the trees were hung with discarded parachutes. They dangled from the branches, green, yellow and white like exotic fruits, bright bold evidence of the terror and excitement of their fall. And in the middle of the litter, half a dozen farmworkers were standing together, cowed and quiet, watching the tanks and guns as they roared through.

About an hour along the road they reached a village, where there were more white flags draped across the front of the houses and no sign of any civilians at all. By this time they were actually feeling bored, for there was nothing for them to do but sit and smoke and wait to arrive.

Dusty had run out of cigarettes and was cadging from his mates. ‘Anyone got a fag? I'm gasping.'

‘You're a pain in the neck,' Steve told him. ‘Never mind gasping.' But he reached into his pocket to find him a cigarette. And as he did so he touched the sharp edge of his mother's letter. Time to read my mail, he thought and he picked up Barbara's first because he'd skimmed it that morning and his mother's would only be chit-chat.

Now he could take his time and enjoy her every word. How dear and close she seemed, describing this house they were going to live in. He'd have been content to live in a barn, providing he could be with her, and here she was telling him of a house with a garden and built-in furniture – even a refrigerator, he noticed. We
are
going up in the world. He read it all through twice and then, as their journey was still proceeding and still uneventful, he took out his mother's letter and read that too.

The shock it gave him was so intense it drained the colour from his face. If it had been anyone other than his mother he wouldn't have believed the words he was
reading. But there they were, in her familiar looping handwriting, stark and uncompromising. ‘
Your Barbara has been messing around with another man.'
It was like being punched in the stomach. She couldn't have been. Not Barbara. I'd have known.

Dusty was leaning towards him, sharp face concerned. ‘You all right, corp?'

‘Yep,' he said. ‘My mum rabbiting on, that's all.' Mustn't make a fuss or I shall let the side down. ‘How much fucking longer are they gonna keep us on the road?'

‘Up an' at 'em, eh corp,' another man grinned at him.

‘That's the ticket,' Steve agreed. But he didn't want to do anything except make sense of the letter. It couldn't be true. She wouldn't do such a thing. Would she? Not Barbara. It was as if his mother's words had opened up a picture-show in his head, flooding his mind with images whether he wanted to see them or not – Barbara's face in close-up, drowsy with kisses, the long line of her body gilded with firelight, her hands, setting a fire, pouring tea, weighed down by that heavy bouquet, receiving his ring, those quick feet tripping down the Town Hall steps, leaping towards the cottage, running across that market square, those gorgeous sea-green eyes, looking straight at him, smiling and loving. Oh she couldn't do such a thing. Couldn't. He wouldn't believe it.

And yet as the TCV purred on along the German roads, other images pushed into his mind too. His mother had given him the name of the man. Victor Castlemane, she'd said. Wasn't that the name of the feller Dusty'd flung out of the dancehall on the night they met? The one who'd shouted at her. He could hear his voice. ‘
You come here with me,'
he'd said. ‘
You're my gal!'
Had she been? Was there something going on, even then? He'd been violently possessive. In fact I thought he was her boyfriend. I asked her. And she said no. But was she telling me the truth? Oh God, she
couldn't have been lying to me, could she? Not my Barbara.

The images intensified. Now she was dancing with other men, doing the jitterbug with a whole series of Americans, all chewing gum and handing her on from one to the next, now she was walking towards him arm in arm with that horrible Victor. Oh yes, he
did
remember him, in sharp, painful focus, a short handsome boy with a bold face. Just the type to take someone else's girl. Oh for Christ's sake, this is awful.

They stopped and struck camp and he did everything that was required of him but the images didn't go away. They got more insistent. He ate what was set in front of him as taunting pictures filled his mind – Barbara and that foul creature whispering together, dancing together, kissing … No, no, no! Even in sleep the torment didn't stop and at five he woke with a start from a nightmare of such exquisite misery that he was glad to be awake, even with a day's fighting ahead of him.

That day the advance was quicker than they expected, although most of the old hands moved guardedly. There was still no sign of any opposition but that was no reason to take chances.

They passed through two villages, checked over a series of empty farmhouses, and finally, just as the light was fading, they came to another rather larger village, tucked between two slight hills, with a sizeable farm about half a mile to the east, built of red brick like all the other buildings in the area and looking solid and prosperous. The villagers were waiting in the square with a white flag, more than ready to surrender, and Steve and his team of six were detailed to check the farm.

There were three main buildings, the farmhouse, which was intact and would be relatively easy to flush out, and two barns set at right angles to one another, both badly damaged and both capable of harbouring a sniper.

Steve made a quick judgement. ‘We'll check the barns,' he said, looking at Dusty. ‘You lot clear the farm. Keep your eyes skinned for any more dug-outs.' Lots of the locals had been hiding in dug-outs and they would make a ready hiding place for troops.

The four men gave him the thumbs-up and headed off for the farmhouse. He and Dusty watched until they were out of sight. No ambush. No snipers. No gunfire of any kind.

‘Right,' he said. ‘Let's deal with these barns. Slow an' steady.'

They stalked towards the nearer of the two buildings. It was so quiet they could hear one another breathing. The barn door was tightly closed.

‘Kick it in?' Dusty whispered.

‘Yep,' Steve whispered back and he suddenly remembered how he'd kicked open the door to his honeymoon bungalow and how valiant he'd felt and how impressed Barbara had been. He could see her now, looking up at him. Oh she couldn't have betrayed him. Not when they loved one another so much.

Then boot met wood, there was a crash and the door burst open. And to his horror, he found himself looking down the long barrel of a Spandau. It was pointing straight at him and the soldier stooped over it was wearing the familiar field grey of the German army. Jesus! Now, and disastrously too late, he remembered his training. He should have told Dusty to cover him, hidden his approach, entered by the prescribed stages. How could he have forgotten anything as elementary as that? But he had and now they were both facing capture or worse and it was all his fault. Jesus!

There was a long pause while the three men stared at one another. Nobody fired and nobody moved. Then, with a suddenness that made them all jump, there was a burst of fire down by the farmhouse and the German began to shout.

Steve and Dusty sent rapid eye messages to one
another, reaching the same decision in the same split second. They were caught. It was over. If they ran they'd be shot in the back like the Scotsman. How vividly Steve remembered the Scotsman! They threw their rifles onto the barn floor and raised their hands in surrender. It was ignominious but there was nothing else they could do. The firing at the farmhouse was still going on but the German had picked up his machine gun and was waving it at them, pointing into the next barn and shouting at them angrily, ‘
Mach Schnell! Mach Schnell!
' Steve realised he was still analysing the sound of the exchange as he went where he was ordered. Three rifles – or was it four? – and then the long rattle of a German machine gun. Get the hell out of it, he urged his mates. But they were beyond his help now. They would have to fend for themselves. He was deserting them. Oh God! The shame of it! He was deserting his men.

There was a battered truck standing in the second barn and they were pointed into the back of it. Then the German climbed into the driving seat, slinging his Spandau down beside him, and they were off, with a squeal of tyres and a cascade of dust.

Now they'll hear us, Steve thought. But the exchange of fire was still going on and they were out of the yard and tearing along a sunken road, where they couldn't see the farmhouse or the village or anything at all expect a tunnel of branches. And the chance for a counter-attack and rescue was gone.

They drove for over an hour as the darkness fell, heading east and using totally deserted roads. Steve and Dusty sat on the floor of the truck among packets of food and piles of old uniforms and dozens of petrol cans. It was extremely uncomfortable for the roads were in bad repair and they were thrown about at every turn. But the physical discomfort was nothing to the turmoil in Steve's mind. He felt stunned by his stupidity, and deeply, horribly ashamed to have been so cowardly. He
should have followed the procedures, and then none of this would have happened, and he shouldn't have given in so quickly. How could he have made so many mistakes? The more he thought about it the more miserable he became. He shrank into himself, saying nothing, staring at the side of the truck, a failure, giving in at the first threat, a bad soldier, a worse husband, nothing but a total, God-awful, fucking failure.

Presently Dusty plucked up the courage to move. He took his cigarette packet from his tunic, very carefully, watching his captor all the time, and offered it to Steve saying, ‘Smoke?' To his surprise the German turned towards him and put out a hand towards the packet too, saying, ‘
Ja
.'

So they smoked together and as the German wasn't shouting or waving his gun at them, Dusty began to talk – very quietly.

‘Where d'you think we're going, corp?'

It took an effort for Steve to answer him, as if he were pulling a great weight into his head. ‘East,' he said at last.

‘I'm dyin' for a jimmy riddle.'

‘So am I,' Steve realised.

But neither of them thought it would be possible to stand up and relieve themselves out of the back of the truck so they sat on in discomfort and Steve fell back into his misery. More time passed and Dusty was just observing that they ‘must be there soon' when the German suddenly pulled up and climbed out.