Assignment in Brittany Read Online Free

coast, and he had better keep well clear of that), increasing his speed, so that he would pass the two men and come back to the railway-line well ahead of them.
    And then the noise of heavy trucks rumbled across the quiet fields. When they were about a quarter of a mile distant, Hearne glanced at the watch on his wrist. It pointed to 10.58. The trucks were travelling slowly, probably half blacked out. About fifteen miles an hour, he guessed. He strained his eyes, but the trees which were spaced along the roadway broke his line of vision. Here and there, where the edge of the road was clear, he could see black lumbering shapes, like a herd of elephants stringing out towards a water-hole. Yes, fifteen miles an hour was about right. He listened patiently, his eye on his watch. When the last of the column had reached about a quarter of a mile away, and the hum of engines was fading towards the coast, the time on the watch was 11.01. They had taken three minutes to pass through half a mile, roughly at about fifteen miles an hour. That would give him almost a quarter of a mileof trucks. And many of them had been carrying oil: there was no mistaking the noise of the chains trailing on the paved roadway, clattering above the hum of the powerful engines.
    Ahead of Hearne, the two men had fallen flat on the ground. When the sound of motors had died away, they moved quickly towards the nearest cover. They didn’t want to attract any German interest, either. But even if they wanted to avoid the Nazis, that didn’t mean he wanted to meet them. He moved quickly to his left up the sloping hill, working round the edge of the patch of open ground in front of him. He set off impatiently: he was losing time having to make this detour to avoid these two blighters. But his temper improved with the easiness of the ground. He could no longer see the men, but he would allow himself half a mile before he turned back towards the toy railway again. He made it in good enough time, for he found plenty of cover. He blessed the Breton habit of never clearing their fields completely of trees. He had often wondered why the farmers should have taken the trouble, year after year, to plough and reap all round every small tree. Now he felt grateful to them.
    The half-mile was covered. Time now, he told himself, to swerve to his right, down through that small wood. Beyond it he would find the railway-line again. It was strange, he thought, to slip so quietly and cautiously through this peaceful countryside, past the small stone houses with their black windows staring at him like sightless eyes, past the sleeping people and the brooding church towers, while down in the valley the Nazi trucks lumbered along with their death-bringing loads.
    He had entered the wood, and, for the second time that night, almost fell over the narrow tracks of the railway.
    “What the hell—” he thought, and then cursed silently as he realised that he must have been working his way gradually down towards the railway all the time he had thought he was keeping parallel.
    And then suddenly a weight hit his knees, two arms were tightly locked round his legs, and he pitched forward on to his face with a grunt as the wind was knocked out of him. When he got back his breath, he found he was pinned to the ground. The larger of the two men was sitting astride him with a firm grasp on the back of his neck, with a strong knee-hold on his arms.
    “He’s French.” The boy who was squatting in front of him, watching him gravely, pronounced the verdict in a low whisper. “At least,” the whispered voice went on, “he’s wearing a French uniform. But he may be a Jerry. Never can tell, these days.”
    “You should have let me fetch him one, lad,” whispered back the weight across Hearne’s shoulders. The slow drawl and flat overtones were unmistakably Yorkshire.
    Hearne thought quickly: maintain he was French and. speak with a bogus English accent, and he’d still lose time in