Purple Hearts. Майкл Грант

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СКАЧАТЬ speed and decisiveness. The aftermath, the sick feeling that comes with each obsessive mental replay of digging broken glass into a man’s neck, feeling his blood, smelling it . . .

      And the hole that appeared not quite perfectly centered in the mistress’s chest.

      Her hands tremble so she sticks them in her coat pockets. How long will it take the milice to show up on the scene? Would the SD get there first? Did the patron and the French couple have the nerve to lie to the SD?

      No. But they might just repeat what she’d said about heading west. That very small ruse might just work.

      But deep inside her a voice says, “No.”

      No, they would not convince the SD, not for five minutes. So, make a plan, Rainy! They had a good ten minutes’ head start, but the SD could radio ahead, they could call in planes, they could mobilize the entire French police force as well.

      Which meant the likelihood was they were not going to make it to Limoges. That was just the reality.

       Time to hide.

      And what better place than the middle of the Das Reich division?

      “We’ve got a cargo of cognac,” Rainy says, “and a bunch of thirsty Germans somewhere around here, right? So let’s go make a sales call.”

6

      RAINY SCHULTERMAN—NEAR LIMOGES, NAZI-OCCUPIED FRANCE

      They drive the truck-load of cognac and black market cigarettes around for a full day. Rainy’s thought had been to use the cognac as proof of innocence, as proof that they were just smugglers, black marketeers. Surely, she figured, surely they would be stopped at a roadblock and then could negotiate a deal for the cargo. It had seemed so terribly clever when she’d thought of it.

      They have three transport barrels of cognac, three hundred and fifty liters or roughly ninety gallons each, plus two hundred cartons of cigarettes of ten packs each. The Das Reich might be Nazi fanatics, but in war no one ever has enough alcohol or smokes, and Rainy is reasonably sure that an offer to sell and, crucially, a promise to return with more, will get the attention of any divisional quartermaster.

      There is only one flaw in the plan: they encounter no roadblocks. Twice they pull off the road to avoid German staff cars racing by, perhaps in pursuit of them, perhaps not.

      The first night after killing the soldiers Rainy, Étienne and Marie sleep rough, driving the truck down a dirt track deep into the Limousin forest. Étienne and Marie sleep cramped in the truck’s cabin, and Rainy wedges herself into a place between two of the barrels in back. It is not comfortable, not even by army standards, and she sleeps very little. When she does sleep she is kneeling beside a river of blood, washing her hands in it.

      The next morning, chilled, aching and frowzy, they stop at a small café for coffee and croissants.

      “The croissants are good,” Rainy observes, politely saying nothing about the coffee.

      Marie says, “The coffee is merde. Chicory and roasted grain.”

      “It’s hot,” Étienne says. “Coffee is not the highest priority.”

      Rainy is not at all certain about that. She’d have paid a month’s salary—a hundred and fifty dollars—for a decent cup. But Étienne has been distant and defensive since the incident with his mistress or girlfriend or prostitute, whatever she was—his stories varied—and Rainy does not want to argue with him. He has not yet chosen to share with them the reason Marianne ended up chasing him down the street yelling that he was maquis.

      The people who join Resistance groups and risk death are a mixed bag, according to Colonel Herkemeier’s briefing in London. Some are committed Communists. Some are followers of General DeGaulle’s Free French. Most joined the maquis only after the Germans began shipping French citizens off to forced labor in Germany. There are dozens of groups under dozens of leaders, some quietly effective, some noisily useless. All are brave, that at least is clear: only a very brave person defies the Nazis.

      But as Rainy watches Étienne fuss with the croissant crumbs he’s scattered she knows that some are also informers working either for the Germans or the collaborationist traitors of the Vichy government.

      “We should get going,” Marie says.

      “In a minute,” Étienne answers. He has taken to overruling Marie on everything, asserting his now-questionable authority, though he has not yet challenged Rainy, who has carefully avoided antagonizing him. But his continued high-handedness is definitely getting on her nerves.

      She tries to imagine a scenario in which Étienne is a traitor. Had he provoked Marianne into giving him up? Is she his contact with the Nazis? Had the two of them cooked up the little demonstration that had resulted in her death?

      But why? Why not just walk in and tell the three SS men? Why the subterfuge?

      Of course the answer is obvious: Marie. She is his sister after all, and he might not want her to know that he’s a traitor. He could stand her thinking him a fool, but not a traitor.

      You’re talking yourself into it, Rainy, she chides herself, and you have no proof.

      They spend the morning driving along a road that is the dividing line between the Limousin forest and farm fields, and again, despite seeing unmistakable evidence of tank tracks on the side of the road, they are not stopped.

      “Any other time the Boche would have roadblocks every kilometer,” Étienne grumbles.

      “It’s an unusual situation,” Rainy allows. “Driving around and hoping to be—”

      They hit a pothole in the road and the truck swerves. When Étienne wrestles the rickety vehicle back on the road they hear the unmistakable flapping sound of a popped tire. They pull off and sure enough the right front tire is blown, worn rubber mangled around the rim.

      “Do you have a spare?” Rainy asks.

      Étienne laughs bitterly. “Spare tire? Why not ask for a golden chariot?”

      Rainy suppresses her irritation. Again. “Can you find a spare tire?”

      Étienne shrugs. He rolls then lights a cigarette and stands thinking ostentatiously, as Marie and Rainy hike into the woods for a quick bathroom break. When they return Étienne has a map unfolded on the hood of the truck. “Tulle is not far. We have a contact there.”

      “Maquis?” Rainy asks.

      “Communists.” He spits on the ground. “But they may help us. In any case, we have no choice.”

      They drive the truck into the forest, shredding the last of the tire in the process, and cut branches to pile against the sides as camouflage.

      “It’s five kilometers,” Étienne says. “You two wait here.”

      “I think I’d rather come with you,” Rainy says.

      Étienne is quick to understand her motive. “Do you, mademoiselle, propose to distrust me? This СКАЧАТЬ