Night Fighters in France. Shaun Clarke

his shoulder and laying it across his thighs, where he lovingly stroked it.

      ‘When we’ve checked that the next village has been cleared, I want you to go with a forward patrol, lead them to the village, see what’s happening, then return here. If we know that the village is cleared, we can move on to link up with the Maquis.’

      ‘Very good,’ Pierre said.

      Nodding at Sergeant Lorrimer, who was kneeling beside the young Frenchman, Callaghan asked: ‘Do you mind doing this?’

      ‘My pleasure,’ Lorrimer replied. ‘That calvados perked me up no end and now I’m raring to go.’

      ‘Then take Pierre with you and try to get back here as soon as possible. Be careful, Sergeant.’

      ‘I will, boss,’ Lorrimer said. ‘OK, Pierre, come with me.’ When Pierre stared uncomprehendingly at him, Lorrimer stood up and jerked his thumb, indicating that the Frenchman should follow him. With Pierre beside him, he walked around the smashed fountain to where Jacko and Rich were sitting on the steps of a house, enjoying themselves by trying to communicate with two giggling girls who spoke almost no English.

      ‘No, you don’t understand,’ Jacko was saying, indicating himself and the dark-haired girl nearest to him by jabbing at her and himself with his index finger. ‘Me…love…you. Me want to get in your knickers.’

      The girl, not understanding what he was saying, started giggling again, though Rich silenced her by saying: ‘That’s bloody rude, Jacko! They’re decent girls.’

      ‘And we’re their conquering heroes, so we might as well…’

      ‘Shut your filthy mouth, Jacko,’ Lorrimer growled as he approached the men, ‘and get to your feet. Before you cause offence here by saying the wrong thing in front of a Frog who knows English, I’m taking you on a little patrol.’

      ‘Aw, come on, Sarge!’ Jacko protested, wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand and waving his bottle of apple brandy. ‘I haven’t finished my lunch!’

      ‘You’ve had enough for now. And if you have any more of that stuff you’ll be even more stupid and loose-tongued than you are normally. So put that bottle down, pick up your rifle, and get on your feet. You, too, Burgess.’

      ‘Very good, Sarge,’ Rich said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and winking at the moon-eyed French girl beside him. ‘Unlike some we could mention, I never complain about being asked to perform my duty. Backbone of the squadron, me, Sarge.’

      ‘And humble with it, I note,’ Lorrimer responded. ‘Now say goodbye to your two little girlfriends and let’s get to the jeep.’

      Rich shyly mumbled his farewell to the girl sitting beside him, but Jacko, climbing to his feet, was considerably more theatrical, bowing, sweeping his beret across his chest and saying with a dreadful accent: ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle. Je t’adore.’ When the girl burst into giggles again, Jacko grinned from ear to ear, then followed Lorrimer, Rich and the young Maquisard across the square to their jeep.

      ‘I didn’t know you spoke French,’ Rich said.

      ‘I don’t,’ Jacko replied. ‘Those are the only Frog words I know. Picked them up from the films.’

      ‘What a fucking prat!’ Sergeant Lorrimer muttered to himself, shaking his head in exaggerated disgust. Then, indicating the young Frenchman with the German rifle, he said: ‘This is Pierre, of the Maquis. If you understand what I’m saying, Pierre, this is Corporal Burgess, known as Rich, and Lance-Corporal Dempster, known as Jacko. As neither speaks French, you won’t have to put up with their bloody awful conversation.’

      ‘Well, thanks a lot!’ Jacko exclaimed.

      ‘I understand,’ Pierre said proudly, smiling at everyone. ‘Rich and Jacko! Nicked names!’

      ‘Nicked names,’ Lorrimer said. ‘You’ve got it.’ He sighed in exasperation and turned to the other two. ‘Pierre’s going to act as our guide and hopefully lead us to his fellow Maquis. But first he’ll take us to the next village on our route. If it’s been cleared, which we think it has, we’ll come back and tell the others about it. Then we head out.’

      ‘You picked the right men for the job,’ Jacko informed him.

      ‘I’m sure,’ Lorrimer said, then he clambered up into the driver’s seat of the Willys jeep, indicated that Pierre should sit beside him, and waited patiently until Jacko and Rich had climbed into the back, the former behind the twin Vickers guns mounted in the middle of the vehicle, between the front and rear seats, the latter behind the Browning heavy machine-gun mounted on the rear. ‘All set?’ Lorrimer asked.

      ‘Of course,’ Jacko replied.

      ‘Fire away,’ Rich added.

      ‘Hold on,’ Lorrimer said. Just to take the wind out of the sails of his two cocky passengers, he released the handbrake and accelerated quickly, making the tyres screech in the soil as the jeep shot forward, practically taking wing. Jacko and Rich were nearly thrown out and had to hold on to their mounted machine-guns to stay upright; they were still frantically trying to keep their balance when their SAS mates in the square, still eating and drinking, clapped their hands and cheered, before being obscured in the cloud of dust churned up by the departing jeep.

      ‘Mad bastards!’ Callaghan muttered as he watched the jeep disappear around the first bend in the track, heading into the forest.

      ‘Lorrimer’s just having some sport,’ Greaves replied, grinning. ‘They’ll be all right.’

      In the jeep, as Lorrimer slowed it down to a less suicidal speed, Jacko spread his legs and continued to steady himself by holding on to the grips of the twin Vickers. ‘Very good, Sarge!’ he bawled above the roaring of the vehicle. ‘A real smooth getaway!’

      ‘Designed to wake you up,’ Lorrimer replied. ‘And clearly it did.’

      ‘Bloody right,’ Rich confirmed, likewise holding on tight to his machine-gun.

      ‘Very quick! Most admirable!’ Pierre added, trying out his English. ‘We will be there in no time. Take this track, s’il vous plaît.’

      Following the direction indicated by the Frenchman, Lorrimer turned off the main road and took the narrower track heading east, winding through dense, gloomy forest. The narrowness of the track and its many bends, and the overhanging branches of trees, slowed him down considerably, but he would have gone slower anyway to enable Jacko and Rich to thoroughly scan the forest for any sign of German snipers. In this task Pierre was even more of a help, knowing the forest intimately, but no movement was evident among the dense trees.

      Ten minutes later they were, Pierre loudly informed them, approaching the next village.

      ‘Slow down when I signal,’ he managed to say in a mixture of French, English and sign language. ‘Stop, please, when I tell you.’

      Lorrimer slowed down and stopped entirely when Pierre, at a bend in the narrow track around which they could not see, dropped his right hand with the palm face down. When Pierre indicated that they were going to walk the rest of the way to the village, Lorrimer executed a difficult turn on the narrow track, so that the jeep was facing back the way it had come. Having cut the engine and applied the handbrake, he picked up his 9mm Sten sub-machine-gun and jumped to the ground.

      ‘You, too,’ he said to Pierre, then turned to Jacko and Rich to say, as Pierre jumped down beside him: ‘You two keep manning those guns. If you hear us running back – or hear or see anything else indicating that we’re being pursued by Jerry – get ready to open fire. Understood?’

      ‘Yes, Sarge,’ both men replied, simultaneously swinging their machine-guns around on their swivel mounts until the barrels were facing the track at the rear of the jeep.

      ‘Good. Let’s go, Pierre.’

      Lorrimer and the Maquisard walked away from