Just Another Girl on the Road Read online

  Copyright © 2019 S. Kensington

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador

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  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  ISBN 9781838599355

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For V

  and for restless women, and the men who love them.

  “The journey itself is my home.”

  – Matsuo Basho

  Contents

  Chapter 1 France, 1944

  Chapter 2 France, 1944

  Chapter 3 France, 1944

  Chapter 4 France, 1944

  Chapter 5 France, 1944

  Chapter 6 France, 1944

  Chapter 7 France, 1944

  Chapter 8 France, 1944

  Chapter 9 France, 1944

  Chapter 10 France, 1944

  Chapter 11 France, 1944

  Chapter 12 London, 1944

  Chapter 13 Coronado, 1945

  Chapter 14 The Pacific, 1945

  Chapter 15 Burma, 1945

  Chapter 16 Okinawa, 1945

  Chapter 17 Home, 1945

  Chapter 18 Okinawa, 1983

  Acknowledgements

  Reading Group Questions

  Chapter 1

  France, 1944

  Screams shattered the late afternoon air, causing Sergeant Farr and Corporal Valentine to dive for cover at the base of a small rise. Topping the rise was a derelict farmhouse, its roof and walls half covered with creeping ivy. A door slammed back as a German soldier and girl hurtled down the steps and into the bramble-covered yard.

  The man was bare-chested except for an empty shoulder holster; his uniform trousers hung beltless and unbuttoned around his waist. He grabbed the girl’s hair, yanking her toward him. Something silver glinted in her hand. She slashed at his leg and the man cried out.

  Farr and Valentine crouched behind the cover of a short wall. The two men were checking the area for a possible drop zone. They were out of uniform, dressed in farm-laborer clothing. Farr tensed as another soldier appeared in the doorway. He was smiling. Christ, what was going on? He didn’t want to be watching this.

  The man grabbed again. Dragging the girl up the steps, he threw her against the wall of the house. The girl’s head hit wood with a loud crack and her legs crumpled. He shoved her upright, knocking the knife away. Pushing himself onto her and fumbling with his trousers, he lifted her shapeless dress with one free hand. The girl kneed him hard in the groin, and the man jolted back on his injured leg, cursing. She wrenched free and tumbled down the steps, falling off-balance into the dirt. The man swore again and plunged down the steps after her.

  Valentine pulled out his gun and hissed, “We ought to teach those bastards something.”

  Farr grimaced. They’d been ordered not to engage.

  Val persisted, “We ought to teach them something.”

  The girl was having trouble getting back up.

  Farr nodded curtly. “Right, let’s go.”

  The men broke cover, firing their pistols. Too late, the surprised Germans scrambled for their weapons. The men worked their way up the hill, covering the building in a hail of bullets as their opponents fell. It was over in a matter of seconds.

  Sprinting to the barn, Valentine dodged a tethered horse that reared back in fear. The girl was now half-sitting, one hand pressed against her shoulder, the other groping in the dust.

  Farr ran up the steps to the house, gripping his pistol with both hands. He inspected the dead soldier sprawled behind the railing, then kicked open the door, stepping over the other dead body. Walking cautiously into the adjoining room, he froze in the doorway. A tumbled bed with blood-soaked sheets occupied one corner, severed ropes dangled from its bedposts. The body of a half-naked German soldier lay dead on the covers. His uniform tunic was drenched in blood, and his groin mutilated. Strewn across the floor were a few tubes holding small tablets. Farr picked one up. The word ‘Pervitin’ was printed across its red-and-blue label. “What the hell?” he muttered.

  A shout brought him running back outside. Valentine grappled with the girl on the steps as she twisted frantically to get away.

  Farr gripped the man’s shoulder. “Let her go.”

  “She cut me.” His hand was bleeding.

  Valentine dropped the girl’s arm; the retrieved knife was clenched in her fist. She stumbled into the yard staring at them, and the men stared back. Her shoulder trickled blood, and there were rope burns on her wrists and lower legs. Splotches of bruising marked her body. A knife sheath protruded from her partly laced, high-top shoes.

  She was silent now, trembling violently. Dark hair rumpled past her shoulders, half covering her face. She wore a summer frock, but the sash was torn and the dress hung from her, sack-like. Farr judged her to be between sixteen and eighteen years of age.

  Valentine started forward, and she fell back a few steps, raising her knife.

  “Let her be,” Farr said quietly, not taking his eyes off the girl. “Stand back.”

  The girl looked up at him, and their eyes locked briefly. Something flickered in those dead eyes, giving Farr an unexpected flush of warmth. The horse’s high whinny broke the stillness, and in a moment the girl whirled, darting away.

  Farr leaped forward. “Get her!”

  The terrified horse reared, its forelegs chopping air. Throwing a glance at the approaching men, the girl grabbed the horse’s mane, managed to swing a leg over his back, and slashed down on its tether. The men scattered as she guided the skittish animal, snorting and prancing in a nervous semicircle, out into the yard. Leaning low and clinging to its mane, she dug her heels into its sides. Barely under control the horse lunged, taking a shortcut across the fields, and headed hell-bent for the fence. The main road lay just beyond.

  Farr clenched his teeth. “She won’t make it.”

  The horse rushed the fence at a full gallop. Gathering himself, he sailed over, with the girl clinging to his back. The sound of hooves faded as they cantered down the road and disappeared.

  Farr realized he’d been holding his breath, and let out a harsh sigh.

  From the opposite end of the road, two men on a battered Norton motorcycle sped toward them, swerving suddenly into the cover of thick brush. Farr watched his team officers, Major Nye and Lieutenant Raphael, scramble from the bike.

  Nye scanned the area, then approached. “All clear, Sergeant?” />
  “Yes, sir. There was a—”

  The major cut him short, striding up the hill toward the house.

  Raphael squinted, his gaze raking over the surrounding fields and farmhouse. “This will work well for the drop. Is everything in readiness?”

  “It’s ready, sir, and clear. We found a few Germans up there, probably deserters. They were acting very erratic. They had a civilian.”

  The lieutenant spun around. “These Germans, where are they now?”

  “Dead.”

  “And the civilian?”

  “A girl.”

  “A girl? Where is she?”

  “Gone.”

  “And the soldiers. You shot them?”

  “Yes, sir,” he paused awkwardly. “One was already dead.”

  “You were instructed not to engage. Had they not been deserters, we would all be in trouble, and this drop zone unusable.”

  Farr’s jaw tightened. “I judged it necessary, sir.”

  Raphael dragged shaking fingers through his hair. Spotting Valentine, he motioned him over. “Corporal, there is a first aid kit in the Norton’s satchel. Tend to that hand.”

  He turned back to Farr. “Everything is in order for tonight’s drop. We will remain until then and distribute supplies. God willing, the plastique as well.”

  Farr knew the evening’s plans hinged not only on a successful supply drop, but the arrival of an agent from the coast, bringing with him enough plastique to blow Pont du Namandie Bridge. This would stop, or at least delay, a large group of German forces bringing fresh tanks and troops north to the Normandy battlefields. These same soldiers had wiped out a village a few weeks earlier, in retaliation for Resistance attacks. The entire village.

  Raphael continued, “After this drop, my liaison will find us a new camp. Already we have stayed too long.”

  “Yes, sir.” Farr hesitated, recalling the girl. Her battered face looking up into his. He’d seen enough battered faces to last a lifetime.

  “Sergeant? Is there something else?”

  “The girl is hurt, Lieutenant. I think she’s in trouble.”

  “That is not our concern; she will go back to her village. Help Corporal Valentine with his hand.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Valentine was repacking the first aid kit when Farr noticed Major Nye emerge from the farmhouse, heading full tilt down the hill. Nye was British and had seen combat in North Africa before training with the undercover Jedburghs. He was an older man, quick to laugh, and known for his ingenuity, intelligence, and in times of crisis, an almost cruel ruthlessness.

  Nye reached the road and pulled Raphael aside. “Lieutenant, a word with you, please.”

  Farr strolled across the road, fiddling with the strap on his watch as he listened.

  “What the bloody hell happened up there?” demanded Nye.

  The lieutenant filled him in, including the wounded girl.

  “A girl?”

  “Yes, sir. Sergeant Farr said she was hurt. She has run away.”

  “How long ago? Where did she go?”

  “I am not sure; he did not elaborate.”

  “Very good. Go up to the farmhouse and inspect the dead men for any documents. We’ll have to get those damn bodies out of here before the drop.”

  Raphael started for the farmhouse, and Major Nye waved Farr and Valentine over. He glanced at Valentine’s bandaged hand, frowning. “Corporal, check the fuel tank on the Norton.”

  “Checked it this morning, sir; it’s running on fumes.”

  “Then we’ll use fumes.” He nodded to Farr. “Talk with me, Sergeant.”

  Both men turned away from the bike and walked into a small group of trees.

  “Brief me on what’s happened here,” Nye requested.

  Farr studied the man’s face. So, he had seen it.

  “I understand you had contact with a civilian: a young woman.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nye’s voice was clipped and tight. “Tell me about it, if you please.”

  Farr briefly related the afternoon’s incident.

  “What did she look like? How long has she been gone?”

  Farr described the girl and was startled to see a flash of excitement cross the major’s face.

  “Where was she headed?”

  “She took off on the horse down the main road, toward Ange de Feu. She left about a half hour ago, sir, right before you pulled up.”

  Nye swore under his breath. He paced in front of a tree for a few moments, then stopped and turned to Farr. “Yes. Now I want you to go and find her.”

  “Sir?”

  “Go and get her. Take Valentine with you on the Norton. Avoid checkpoints and stay hidden. If you’re stopped, you do the talking. Don’t let Valentine open his damn mouth. Show them your working papers, and you should be all right. Let us know immediately you find her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And take Jack. Raphael’s bloody pigeon knows this area better than the Germans. He’s in the small carrier under the gas tank. Valentine can handle him. Raphael and I will take care of the bodies, then head back to camp through the woods.”

  “Yes, sir.” Farr turned away, a grim smile set on his face. Whatever plans were being hatched, it now involved the girl.

  * * *

  Crossing the road, Nye slumped onto a tree stump, trying to absorb the last few minutes. Was it her? Could she still be alive? Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took out his map.

  His Jedburgh team had been dropped just after D-Day into this Deux-Sèvres area of France. The heavily wooded area was about eighty kilometers southwest of Poitiers, and less than that distance to the coast. The trees gave his small Jed team and the local French Resistance, or Maquis, as they were known in the countryside, ample cover in German-held territory.

  It could be done. The drop was not until midnight. The Maquis had found them a new campsite where they would hide the supplies and wait for the plastique. Nye knew what the others did not. Their agent, Degare, hadn’t made it to the ship, and the plastique was still there. Had they been betrayed? Was there an informant among the villagers? Or the Maquis? They needed that plastique.

  He thought again of the girl. Did she have papers? If not, he needed documentation and proper clothing. They had to have ID. Raphael’s liaison, Pascal, handled false documents. Pascal would have to move on it this evening. Stay up all night if needed. The drop must be organized. Too much needed, too quickly. He blocked these worries out. The main thing was to find her; Farr would track her down.

  In the few short months they’d worked together, Nye had grown to rely on this steady American who had come to him from the Office of Strategic Services. Farr had been assigned as a wireless radio operator for Nye’s Jedburgh Team EDMOND, when theirs had been killed in the parachute drop. Like other men who came from the OSS, Farr was freewheeling, independent, and unorthodox. Nye liked the man and trusted his instincts. He guessed Farr to be in his mid-twenties. Of medium height, he possessed an unremarkable face, except for his eyes. Nye would not care to see those eyes staring at him from down the barrel of a gun.

  He stood up as Raphael approached, stuffing the map back into his pocket.

  “Excuse me, sir, but what in God’s name has occurred up there?”

  “Just as you see, Lieutenant. The Germans were holding the girl. It appears she either had, or acquired a knife.” He paused. “Did you see the tablets?”

  Raphael nodded.

  “The Germans call it Panzerschokolade: tank chocolate. Gives them the ability to stay awake long hours, but beats the hell out of a man’s nervous system.” He glanced at a small knapsack in Raphael’s trembling hands. “What is that?”

  “I found it in one of the soldier’s kits. I think it must belong to the girl.”<
br />
  The major seized the bag, riffling through its various identification papers. On the front of one small card, the picture of a young woman gazed up at him. He stared. It was her.

  * * *

  Nye and Raphael were still sifting through papers when Valentine appeared, pushing the Norton. Farr began stowing supplies into a rucksack. Raphael winced as Valentine stuffed Jack’s small wire carrier inside his jacket. “Easy with that, Corporal.”

  Nye pulled Farr aside. “Find her, Sergeant, we need her. And handle this with care, she might be a bit difficult.”

  Farr glanced at Val’s bandaged hand. “Will do, sir.”

  “Use any bit of persuasion, Farr. Whatever it takes.”

  Farr straightened up and looked at him. Nye returned his look with steady eyes.

  “Ready to go, sir,” Valentine said.

  “Very good. Report back on your status; use code names only.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The major jerked his head, catching a disturbance out of the corner of his eye. But it was only the filtered sunlight, scattering leaf shadows across the road. He released his grip on the hidden pistol, letting out a long breath. “Right. Good luck then.”

  Val climbed on the Norton, and Farr settled on the back with the rucksack. Pulling a tight circle in the road, Val shot off with a lurch.

  Raphael turned to Nye with a frown. “Sir, what is this all about?”

  Nye shook his head. Leaf shadows or not, he was feeling uneasy. “We need to take care of those bodies, then get the hell out of here. I want you to contact Pascal for some false documents. They have to be done tonight.”

  Raphael raised his eyebrows. “That may be impossible.”

  “Contact the man. I’ll explain everything when we get back to camp.”

  * * *

  She had only gotten a few kilometers down the road. They saw the horse first, its head down, and grazing in a field. Val skidded to a halt, and the horse bolted. The girl lay sprawled in tall grass, just off the roadway. Hearing the bike she pushed herself upright, rising unsteadily to her feet. Farr dismounted, handing his pistol to Val. He noticed the torn sash was now wrapped tightly around her waist, the knife sheath jammed into it. She had been crying. He approached cautiously, with arms spread. Val remained on the bike, watching intently.