Sophie informed me later that the man in the wire-framed spectacles had been the doctor tending to my leg, and with a small degree of success. While this gave rise to me hoping I would soon be in a fit state to be helped back to England, possibly via Spain, my hope was soon dashed. An informer in the village, Sophie explained, had passed on to the German troops who were stationed on the outskirts of the village that there was an American pilot hiding in their midst.
I already knew that my presence was putting the brave men and women who had helped to conceal me at considerable risk, and that if suspicion fell on them, they would be rounded up and sent off to a concentration camp. Or shot on the spot. I had seen a torn-down poster that had been nailed to a tree, warning that anyone caught harbouring Allied pilots would be executed.
Yet again I was moved under cover of darkness, this time to the crypt in the village church. Sophie came to visit me, bringing food and wine. I had grown fond of her, and she of me, but frightened for her safety, I told her not to come anymore.
‘I don’t want you involved,’ I explained, ‘it’s too dangerous now. You have done enough already. Please don’t put your life at risk for the sake of mine.’
‘It is too late to worry about the risk,’ she said. But I could see that she was scared. Already villagers had been taken away for questioning and had not returned. It was believed they had been taken to the nearby chateau occupied by the Nazis and where they would be tortured for information.
It was also believed that German soldiers who spoke excellent English would dress in RAF and American Eighth Airforce uniforms and wander the countryside pretending they had bailed out and needed help to return to England. Their job was to infiltrate the Resistance and report back to their superiors so that the culprits could be rounded up.
The following night I was moved across the road to the cellar beneath the village blacksmith’s forge. It had just been searched so was, for the time being, considered a safe hiding place. Next door was a bar frequented by German soldiers. How I longed to take my pistol and go up and shoot the damned lot of them!
That was the night I heard the soldiers singing ‘Stille Nacht’. Sophie was with me and we were eating a simple meal of bread and cheese which she had brought with her.
When the singing came to a stop, Sophie looked serious. ‘I must go,’ she said.
Despite my insistence that she should stay away from me, I couldn’t help but want her to stay longer. ‘Do you have to go so soon?’
‘I must,’ she said.
‘Promise me you’ll take care walking home.’
She merely nodded, as she so often did. But before she left, she came back to where I was sitting on an old olive-oil drum, and knelt before me. ‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked.
‘Anything,’ I murmured, not sure I could resist the temptation to kiss her if she remained there a moment longer. I was only flesh and blood, after all, and she was so lovely.
‘I want you to promise to do something for me.’
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘If I ask you to put a bullet in my head, will you do it?’
‘No!’ I exclaimed in horror.
‘I would sooner you killed me than those animals take me away to be tortured for information. I am afraid I am not strong enough to resist.’
‘Then you must make sure you don’t get caught.’
‘But what if I am? Would you not want to save me from the brutality they would surely do to me?’
The thought of this beautiful young girl being harmed in any way made me take her in my arms. ‘If it was in my power, I would keep you safe forever,’ I said. ‘But I can’t agree to your request.’
She raised her head and with the most solemn expression on her face – so solemn it hurt to look at her – she kissed me on the mouth. She kissed me passionately and with the blood rising up within me, I kissed her back. We made love in that least romantic of places, and all the while I was haunted with the thought that it might be the last time I ever did.
The next morning, I was told that some time tomorrow I would be smuggled out of the village. My presence, it had been decided, was putting too many people at risk. I understood completely and if only my damned leg wasn’t still such a mess, I would have struck out alone, but on crutches I knew I wouldn’t get far.
Mid-afternoon the next day, two men came to the cellar and rolled me up inside a large rug, along with my crutches. They carried me outside and put me on the back of a cart, then proceeded to add barrow loads of rubble.
It was an hour or so later that the carnage started. Unable to see what was happening, I listened to the sound of boots marching close by, and then shouting as the German soldiers started rounding up men and women. I had no idea if they were selecting villagers at random, or whether it was based on information provided by their informant. Shots began to ring out and then the screaming started. It went on and on, a bloodcurdling sound I knew I would never forget.
The horse that was harnessed to the cart began kicking up a row at the shots and cries, rocking the cart violently. Was Sophie amongst those who had been shot? I didn’t know what to do, stay where I was as instructed, or prove my mettle and use what bullets I had in my pistol to exact revenge. Strafe anything that moved . . .
The answer was taken away from me by the cart slowly moving, the wheels grinding against the cobblestones. Was the horse moving the cart of its own accord? Or had someone come to get me out of the village? Would a German soldier notice that the cart was moving? All I could hope was this was planned, that all attention would be focused solely on those poor devils who were being shot.
Feeling every bump and pit in the road as the cart rolled on its way, I felt sure that we would be stopped.
After what felt like an eternity had passed, the cart finally came to a stop. I then felt a different kind of movement, a slight shifting of weight. Was it somebody climbing down from the cart seat? If so, when had they got up there? Or had they been so furtive I hadn’t been aware of it?
A whispered voice called my name. ‘Red, are you okay?’
I couldn’t believe it; it was Sophie!
‘Is it safe for me to show myself?’
‘Yes.’
When I was free of the constraint of the rug, I saw that we were in a densely wooded area and it was dark. I couldn’t stop myself from hugging Sophie. ‘Thank God you’re all right,’ I said, grasping her tightly. Then letting her go, and leaning on my crutches, I asked what had happened back at the village.
‘They chose people at random and shot them,’ she said gravely. ‘When they were dead, the soldiers took more from the crowd. They made everyone watch what they were doing. Even children. It was to teach us a lesson.’