`He’s mad!’ continued Jervis, suddenly frantic. He had seen the look of hatred on the corporal’s face. It was as if the man had been looking for someone to vent his temper on, and to clear the air of his own humiliation.

  The German smiled. `He was assisting you to escape. What does it matter who or what he is?’ The smile faded. `An example must be made; these people are swine, without backbone, they have to be taught a lesson!’ He pushed Jervis’s shoulder. `Now, into the car, we have a journey to make!’

  The driver slid into his seat without even a glance at his prisoner, and waited for his orders. Jervis gripped the armoured side of the car, and turned back to the hut. Over the officer’s shoulder he saw the corporal beating at a writhing shape on the ground, whose wordless mouth twisted and mouthed in horrible contortions as the soldier stood astride him, a heavy steel rod in his fat hands. The other soldiers laughed and jeered, and one of them tore the old smock from the broken body, and waved it like a flag over his head. The movements ceased with awful suddenness, and the corporal looked down at the German, his streaming face split in an ingratiating smile. Jervis stumbled blindly into the car, heedless of the watching soldiers, and conscious only of the pathetic ragged heap at the corporal’s feet.

  The German officer nodded to his driver and the car began to move. `Carrion!’ he said, half to himself, and then settled down comfortably in his seat, the Luger resting in his lap.

  Jervis drew his legs together and bunched himself into a tight ball in the corner of the open car. The very idea of bodily contact with the officer who sat so calmly at his side seemed at that moment to be unclean, and he felt his tight limbs trembling with helpless rage, and a new feeling, previously unbeknown to him, but which he now recognized as hatred.

  He only half noticed the last of the white cottages slide past in a cloud of dust, and the crouching hills close in to blot out the laughing sea. He kept remembering his strange friend and helper, and seeing his awful silent pleas for kindness and mercy. And the British wounded; his mind vaulted painfully back to the sun-baked lorries and their loads of human suffering. What would happen to them? He forced himself to look sideways at his captor. He saw that the man was watching him quietly, his eyes darkened by the soft peak of his cap.

  `You are no doubt wondering where we are going? What is going to happen to you, ja?’

  Jervis shrugged with an indifference he no longer enjoyed. ‘I suppose you intend to shoot me, isn’t that the general idea?’

  The German frowned, and then sighed with mock sadness. `You are a prisoner, you will be treated accordingly. However, if you intend to co-operate with my superior officer, I have little doubt that you might be given more,’ he paused significantly, `preferential treatment!’

  Jervis clenched his fists. `Why did you let your men kill that poor creature? He didn’t know or understand anything!’ The words burst from him. `Now I understand what is meant by German cruelty!’

  `Silence! How can you understand anything?’ His face was tight with rage. `You are a mere boy, masquerading as an officer! I suppose you are going to tell me that when you blew up the dock at Vigoria, you did not know you blew up many innocent persons also, is that not so?’ His mouth twisted into a bitter smile.. `Civilians, dockyard workers, all blown to hell!’

  `The dock was a military objective, it was part of the war!’ Jervis leaned forward until the muzzle of the Luger rested against his side.

  `War! Of course it was war, and so was that business back in the village, so do not try to make black white!’

  They both glared angrily at each other in silence, and Jervis became aware that the driver was whistling softly, his massive head sunk indifferently into his shoulders.

  `What will happen to those wounded?’ Jervis’s voice was quiet and flat, the angry outburst had sapped away his strength.

  `The wounded?’ He appeared to ponder on the matter, but he, too, seemed to be regretting his sudden flare of temper. `They will be looked after. At the moment we are a little short of medical staff, but never fear, they will be cared for. The Third Reich never abandons those who have fought bravely!’ There was an imperceptible sneer in his tone.

  Jervis ignored the implication, and stared down at his knees. `How is the battle going in the south?’ He tried to appear calm, but his heart was pounding with sudden eagerness to hear news of the outer world, his world.

  The German laughed shortly. `It is being won.’ For a moment a smile passed across his cold features, and the years seemed to drop away. `No doubt I shall be able to find out for myself very soon.’ He stared past Jervis at the green hills. `For four years I have been fighting the British, and always people ask, how goes the battle! But it still goes on. France, Holland, Egypt, and now Italy.’ He shrugged, irritable with himself. `It will be over one day. That is all I can say!’

  The car halted at the side of the main road, and their voices were drowned by the thunder of vehicles. Jervis watched as lorry after lorry rumbled past, each jammed with stony, set faces and nodding coal-scuttle helmets. More lorries. carrying tanks and guns thundered along the narrow road, shepherded by military police on motor cycles. To Jervis it was like a film. This was part of the enemy war machine, and next to him was a German officer. It was more like a nightmare. He glanced up at the sun and back to the road. They were going south. To the front. A cold thrill ran through him, and he remembered the wounded in the village. How many of these German soldiers would live to see the sun rise in a few more days? He pressed his lips together in a tight line.

  I hope you rot in hell! It was like a prayer.

  The car started again and swung into a tiny narrow lane between two crumbling white gateposts.

  A German soldier saluted, and then they were speeding up a long gravel drive towards a proud rambling house on the top of a slope. As the car swung past a pair of gentle fountains and topped the rise, Jervis swallowed and bit his lip. Beyond and below the house lay the sea. He wished he could not see it. Each diadem of glittering green light seemed to mock him, as the smooth surface caught the last brilliance of the sun.

  I shall never see it again, he thought. The car had stopped in front of the house, and the officer pointed to the entrance. `The end of the road, ja?’

  As he climbed wearily up the wide steps at the entrance to the house, the smell of fresh flowers and the cool cleanliness of the dark interior only added to the feeling of unreality, and he stood uncertainly in the majestic, marble-pillared hallway, only half taking in the ornate, gilt-encrusted decorations and the single chandelier, which hung like a huge ear-ring from the domed ceiling.

  Tall doors of dark seasoned wood opened off from each side of the hall, and he stepped back involuntarily as two soldiers, hatless and with their sleeves rolled above their elbows,

  staggered past him, panting beneath the weight of a large metal trunk. He noticed, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, that the place seemed littered with pieces of luggage and packed equipment, and on a magnificently carved chest he saw an upended steel helmet and a pair of goggles perched incongruously alongside a tall, flower-filled vase.

  The German officer grunted, and tapped Jervis under the elbow. `Wait here. I will inform the colonel of your arrival.’

  Jervis watched the thin, brisk figure cross the polished floor, his high boots clicking on the wood blocks, and pass through one of the doors. Jervis did not have to turn his head to know that the driver was standing close beside him, and he felt his spirit draining from him, leaving him in a daze of miserable uncertainty.

  Somewhere in the house a telephone buzzed like a trapped fly, while from the sun-dappled drive came the staccato roar of motor cycles. The two soldiers returned and picked up more of the baggage from the floor.

  One of them, a short, red-faced man, stopped for a moment and stared at Jervis in surprise. For a moment, a slow smile crossed his face, but immediately it vanished, and he hurried away with his burden, as the officer returned.

  He stopped directly in front of Jervis and ran his eyes sharply over his crumpled trousers and stained jersey, as if he was carrying out an inspection.

  Jervis coloured. `Satisfied?’ he asked with sudden anger. `I’m afraid I didn’t find time to change!’

  The German’s face remained impassive. `The colonel will see you now. He has not much time. The regiment is leaving immediately.’ He rubbed his sharp chin, his eyes thoughtful. `The colonel speaks no English. I will translate the information you have to give.’ He turned on his heel before Jervis could answer, but as he opened the door he said softly over his shoulder, `Do not irritate the colonel, he is not in the mood for insolence!’

  Jervis followed the officer into the wide, comfortable room, his heart pounding painfully, and his fingers clenched tightly against his sides. His captor halted, his boots coming together with a sharp click, which jerked Jervis’s racing thoughts into readiness in spite of his misery, and made him glance round with chilled anticipation.

  The long windows which looked out across the lawns to where the sea sparkled so invitingly covered the complete side of the room, while the other walls were lined with books and hung with large military maps.

  The desk which dominated the room was also littered with maps, and several field telephones, which hung in their leather cases, ugly and out-of-place.

  A tall, stooped officer stood behind the desk, whilst to one side, and sitting with his legs crossed in a comfortable chair, was a dapper, quietly dressed civilian.

  The colonel straightened his back slowly, as if it was both an effort to tear his eyes from the maps and to find time for this interruption.

  He listened to the short, barking sentences from Jervis’s captor, his pale eyes moving restlessly around the room, and his long slender fingers beating a gentle tattoo on the top of the desk. Jervis wanted to scream as -the voice droned on, while the colonel listened, and the civilian’s head nodded slowly in either agreement or understanding.

  The colonel held up his hand, his voice, which was surprisingly low and soft, was directed to the officer, although the pale eyes were now fixed on Jervis in a flat, unwavering stare.

  ‘Herr Colonel wishes to know how your raid was carried out. Answer please!’

  Jervis swallowed hard, and met the colonel eyes. `I am not obliged to answer. According to the Geneva Convention, I ‘ he got no further.

  The colonel slammed his fist on to the desk, so that a pencil rattled noisily across the floor, and his voice, although still under control, was harsh.

  ‘Herr Colonel says that you are not to be stubborn. You are not making it easy for yourself!’

  The civilian spoke for the first time, and Jervis wrenched his gaze from the tall figure by the desk to the other man, who

  nodded encouragingly, his grey, clipped hair catching the reflections from the dying sun.

  `I am Guilio Zecchi.’ He dropped his dark eyes to study the pointed toe of his show. `I am the Mayor and political liaison officer to the colonel here. Please do not disregard the colonel’s warning, he is a dangerous man, and,’ he shrugged eloquently, `he has much to do V He wriggled his plump shoulders more comfortably into the chair, and smiled gently. `We know that you were responsible for the crime in Vigoria.’ He waved a well-manicured hand, as if dismissing the whole incident as some unfortunate lapse of sanity. `The Colonel wishes to know how you did it. Tell him!’

  Jervis was thinking furiously. They had not caught Curtis or the others. They did not know about the submarine. He spread his hands in a movement of resignation.

  `I was landed by submarine some days ago.’ The lie came easily. `I placed the charges beneath the dock, and went back to rendezvous with the boat before the explosion was due. My rubber dinghy sank, and I had to swim ashore. I struck my head….’

  At this point the colonel pointed to Jervis’s bandage, and barked a question.

  `The Colonel asks how you managed to treat your injury?’ The officer’s voice sounded strained.

  Without turning his head, Jervis spoke from between his clenched teeth. `Tell him about the poor wretch who helped me, and how your gallant soldiers taught these gutless Italians a lesson!’ He darted a glance at the mayor, and was gratified to see a brief look of anger darken the smooth face.

  The colonel looked from one to the other, and then at his watch. As if to add to the urgency of the proceedings, one of the telephones whirred impatiently.

  The colonel spoke sharply into the mouthpiece, his eyes searching across one of the maps. With a grunt, he slipped the telephone into its case and bundled the maps together into a flat folder. He lifted his eyes quickly and stared at Jervis, his face tired and suddenly old.

  `The Colonel says that you will be detained here for the night. Tomorrow you will be shot!’

  Jervis staggered as if he had received a blow in the heart. He couldn’t speak or even move his mouth, which had suddenly gone quite dry.

  The colonel walked slowly around the desk, his eyes sweeping the room as if to ensure he had left nothing behind. He halted between Jervis and the door, and his tone was quiet, almost gentle. Then he nodded to the mayor who still sat in his chair, and marched briskly from the room.

  Jervis turned to see the door close, and met the cold stare of the other officer. The man’s face was expressionless as he said, ‘Herr Colonel said it is better to die a brave man, than to be interrogated by the Gestapo!’ His shoulders seemed to sag. `He is right. Be thankful.’ He gestured with the pistol. `March! I will take you to your quarters.’

  Jervis faltered, knowing that his face was ashen, but still he forced himself to speak to the mayor.

  `There are British wounded in the village. What can you do for them? You must do something to help!’

  `You do not think of yourself? That is good.’ He studied Jervis closely. `You are brave. Never fear, the wounded are being taken care of. They will go north by sea. The roads are filled with, er, military traffic. There is no room for anyone going the other way, I fear!’

  Jervis tore his eyes away, and looked once more at the sea. I must hang on, can’t break down now! His lip trembled. `Thank you, sir. I feel better now!’

  He crossed to the door, the German behind him.

  There was a roar of engines, and he heard several vehicles crunching down the drive. He noticed that the luggage was missing from the hall, and only one soldier stood, by the entrance.

  He glanced involuntarily at the chest. The helmet and goggles had also gone. He walked blindly down a white-walled passage, the colonel’s words ringing in his brain. Tomorrow you will be shot.

  They reached an open door to one side of the long passage,

  and involuntarily Jervis stopped and drew back, the bare, stone-walled room which confronted him brought home the hopelessness and complete collapse of his final position.

  The German’s voice was crisp and alert, as if he, too, sensed the awful finality of the forbidding room.

  `Inside,’ he snapped, `it would be stupid to resist!’

  Jervis’s shoulders slumped, and he walked slowly through the door. It had once been a storeroom of some kind, and the rough walls were lined with wooden shelves, empty but for scraps of old straw and torn paper.

  A camp bed stood in readiness in one comer, and a crude bucket in the other.

  Jervis stared round unbelievingly, his trapped gaze taking in the bareness of the room, the lack of even a window, and the armed sentry who now stood watchfully behind the officer.

  `Food will be brought shortly. I would advise you to eat, then try to sleep.’ The German’s tone was almost matter-offact. `The sentry does not speak English, and he has been told to shoot, should you try to escape! Is there anything you wish to say?’ One eyebrow lifted slightly.

  Jervis clenched and unclenched his fists, and tried to clear his brain. `How … I mean when will it be?’ His voice was hoarse, and in the confined space of the room his breathing sounded fast and uneven.

  `First light. Five o’clock, I think.’

  `I see.’

  How unimportant he seemed to be to these people. He was already dead in their eyes. He remembered how the colonel had been impatient to leave with the regiment, the blowing up of the dock no longer important. Those details could be left to someone else to worry about.

  The German looked at his watch and sighed. `I am going. I wish you luck!’ He smiled briefly. `Perhaps I, too, shall be joining you soon!’

  `I thought perhaps you might be staying to ..: Jervis faltered.

  `I am a soldier-not an executioner! I will follow my regiment, and see how goes the battle.’

  He spoke sharply to the sentry, who stood stiffly to attention, his eyes fixed on Jervis, his lips moving slightly as if repeating his officer’s orders.

  The officer paused in the doorway. `Good-bye, Herr Leutnant, be brave!’ With those words, he stamped away down the passage, his boots echoing mockingly back into the room.

  Jervis looked at the sentry, who stood stiffly by the open door, his Schmeisser automatic pistol cradled across his forearm, its barrel moving slightly in time with the soldier’s breathing.

  He was little more than a boy, tall and gawky. His ungainly limbs were distorted by the huge boots and the heavy steel helmet which seemed to make his narrow face even more insignificant.

  Younger than I am, he thought, and just hoping that I’ll make a run for it. Almost without thinking, he stepped halfway towards the door. The Schmeisser rose a couple of inches, until it was level with Jervis’s chest. The soldier’s thin mouth split into a wide grin, the bared teeth giving him a slightly crazy look. `Bang!’ he said, and laughed delightedly at his joke.

  Jervis turned his back, and forced himself to lie down on the bed. By twisting his head to the wall he was able to blot out the sentry, who still chuckled in the open doorway, and as he concentrated his aching eyes on the rows of uneven bricks, he thought again of the way in which he had already been forgotten. He rubbed the palms of his hands angrily across his eyes until the pain forced back the tears which threatened to lay bare his misery and fear to the watching soldier. God, why this way? Why didn’t I fight it out in the hut? His tortured thoughts ran on in their haphazard groping for an answer, but only bricks were there to mock him.