Out of Time by Pauline Baird Jones

Author:Pauline Baird Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pauline Baird Jones
Published: 2005-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Thorhaus stood by the ditch, fingering the white silk that had hid the quarry from his sight, a slight smile curling his mouth. He wasn’t sure why he’d come back, other than the feeling he’d missed something. Had his subconscious mind noticed the silk rippling in the wind? It was possible.

It hadn’t taken him long to discover the only possible cover in the empty field or the abandoned parachutes.

At least one of the three fliers was both clever and inventive. He could admire this kind of initiative—and wish he didn’t have to hunt him down. He would like to meet him, though. He dropped the parachute, using his foot to tuck it back into the ditch. He had to do his job, but he didn’t have to tell Kass about this. Let him flail about, like the angry bull he was.

Thorhaus wished he had more imagination. This hunt would require it, not brute force. One might say it was more logical for the enemy to accept reality and surrender, but if Thorhaus were in this position, he would, he knew, be surrendering to a far different enemy. He couldn’t say it out loud, but his thoughts were still his own and he could think and feel shame at what he was forced to do to these soldiers doing their duty. The Fuehrer had invaded this country. He had behaved without honor and he elevated men who were like him to positions of power. Thorhaus did his duty because he had no choice. If he were the one out there, being pursued by someone like Kass, he’d do everything in his power to escape, too.

He paced back to his car. Well, it was mostly out of his hands. If they didn’t catch the fliers, the Gestapo would. Either they would get help, which would lead to discovery, or they wouldn’t get help and discovery would be inevitable.

It was a pity, though. He’d like to talk with a man who could think so fast on his feet. And perhaps play chess with him.

* * * * *

After playing it coy for an inordinate amount of time, the sun faded into the horizon, leaving Mel stumbling, as quietly as possible, in the deep and unrelenting dark of the blacked out countryside. This was probably the longest she’d ever gone without speaking and it was killing her to keep suppressing some really good material, or at least what seemed like good material. Tired might be impairing her judgment. She quickly and silently passed over the other reason she liked to talk: relieving stress. There was no help for it, so why dwell on it?

Here she was in France and she had no clue where they were or even what it looked like, other than that it had trees and mud. Lots of mud. She’d used some of it on her face, getting some interesting looks from the two men, until she’d explained it wasn’t for her complexion.

The first time they almost stumbled into the arms of a German patrol, Jack had moved into point, leaving Mel to cover their six.

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