“No, too awkward at the moment. He needs help and quickly. We’ll take him to my cottage first.”
“And what about a doctor?”
“George Hamilton. Who else could you trust? Now hang on while I get this life raft down the well.”
He tugged it out and moved into the trees. She sat there, aware of her uneven breathing in the silence of the wood. Behind her, under the sacking and the driftwood, Hugh Kelso groaned and stirred.
At Slapton Sands just before noon, the tide turned and a few more bodies came in. Dougal Munro and Carter sat in the lee of a sand dune and had an early lunch of sandwiches and shared a bottle of beer. Soldiers tramped along the shoreline, occasionally venturing into the water at some officer’s command to pull in another body. There were already about thirty laid out on the beach.
Munro said, “Someone once said the first casualty when war comes is truth.”
“I know exactly what you mean, sir,” Carter said.
A young American officer approached and saluted. “The beach is cleared of new arrivals at the moment, sir. Thirty-three since dawn. No sign of Colonel Kelso.” He hesitated. “Does the Brigadier wish to view the burial arrangements? It’s not too far.”
“No thank you,” Munro told him. “I think I can manage without that.”
The officer saluted and walked away. Munro got up and helped Carter to his feet. “Come on, Jack. Nothing we can do here.”
“All right, sir.”
Carter balanced on his walking stick and Munro stood, hands in pockets, and looked out to sea. He shivered suddenly. “Anything wrong, sir?” Carter asked.
“Someone just walked over my grave, Jack. To be honest, IVe got a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling. Come on, let’s get back to London,” and he turned and walked away along the beach.
“So, Berger, you understand what I am saving to you?” Konrad Hofer demanded.
Heini Baum stood rigidly at attention in front of the desk in the office which the CO had been happy to lend to the field marshal at Campeaux. He tried to ignore the fact that Rommel stood at the window looking out into the garden.
“I’m not sure, Herr Major. I think so.”
Rommel turned. “Don’t be stupid, Berger. You’re an intelligent man, I can see that, and a brave one.” He tapped the Iron Cross First Class with the tip of his crop and the band around the left sleeve with the Gothic lettering. “The Afrika Korps cuff-title, I see. So, we are old comrades. Were you at Alamein?”
“No, Field Marshal. Wounded at Tobruk.”
“Good. I’m a plain man so listen carefully. You did a wonderful impersonation of me last night, in both appearance and voice. Very professional.”
“Thank you.”
“Now I require a second performance. On Friday, you will fly to Jersey for the weekend accompanied by Major Hofer. You think you could fool them in Jersey for that long, Berger? King for a day? Would you like that?”
Baum smiled. “Actually, I think I would, sir.”
Rommel said to Hofer. “There you are. Sensible and intelligent, just as I told you. Now make the arrangements, Konrad, and let’s get out of here.”
The cottage was built in the same kind of granite as the house. There was one large living room with a beamed ceiling and a dining table and half-a-dozen chairs in a window alcove. The kitchen was on the other side of the hall. Upstairs, there was one large bedroom, a storeroom and a bathroom.
Rather than negotiate the stairs, Gallagher had laid Kelso out on a long comfortable sofa in the living room. The American was still unconscious, and Gallagher found his wallet and opened it. There was his security card with photo, some snaps of a woman and two young girls, obviously his family, and a couple of letters which were so immediately personal that Gallagher folded them up again. He could hear Helen’s voice from the kitchen as she spoke on the telephone. Kelso opened his eyes, stared blankly at him and then noticed the wallet in Gallagher’s hand.
“Who are you?” He grabbed at it weakly. “Give it back to me.”