The dull morning light filtering through the window roused Newkirk from the sleep which had overwhelmed him less than an hour earlier. He turned on his side, almost rolling off the edge of the low couch where he was lying; passed a hand over his face as if to wipe away the drowsiness, then got up stiffly and crept to the window.
A haze of smoke obscured the street outside, but at least the sirens which had been so persistent when he had dozed off were no longer audible. He glanced at his watch; it was gone half past six. So he'd missed roll-call, and he hadn't been able to contact home base and let them know what had happened. They would hear of the air raid, of course. He didn't dare guess what they were thinking, or how they would account for his absence, but he knew he had to get in touch as soon as possible.
Elise was curled up on the other sofa, deeply asleep. He didn't want to wake her; she had been pitifully exhausted by the time they'd taken refuge in this house, just over three hours ago. But his need to reach Mistral and get a message to Stalag 13 had reached the point of urgency. He still had too many doubts to take her along, yet he didn't want her to panic, if she woke and found herself alone. He bent over her, and gave her a gentle shake. "Wake up, princess," he said, in a low, hoarse voice.
She gave a little gasp, and opened her eyes, gazing up at him. For a moment, she seemed completely disoriented, then she realised. "Oh, it's you," she murmured indistinctly. "I remember."
"Yeah. Big night. Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep, but I have to go out."
It took a moment for her to comprehend. "Where are you going?"
"It's past time I called home," he replied, straightening up. "You should be safe enough here." They had seen the occupants of this house leaving, before Newkirk broke in here. From the amount of their possessions they had taken with them, he was pretty sure they didn't mean to come back for some time.
Elise sat up slowly. "You have to leave me here alone." She had started to get it.
"No choice, sweetheart." She'd be safer, anyway. It was even money the Gestapo were still looking for them, but Newkirk didn't care to mention it. "You should go upstairs, get some proper sleep on a bed for an hour or so."
"No," she answered sharply. "I want to stay down here." He couldn't blame her. Those seemingly endless minutes of sheer terror, huddled between two walls expecting to be blown into non-existence at any moment, had knocked him for six, and he had no doubt Elise's state of mind was even worse. Even though there was no likelihood of a further attack, he knew she wanted to stay close to the front door in case she needed to get out in a hurry.
"All right, have it your way. I'll just have a quick look round, see if there's anything to eat in the place." It had been too dark when they arrived for more than a quick reconnaissance; the electricity supply had failed, as had the water. Possibly the telephone lines were out as well, but so far as Newkirk could tell, there wasn't one in the house anyway.
He found the kitchen at the back of the house, overlooking a small courtyard surrounded by a brick wall, with a wrought iron gate allowing a glimpse of trees beyond. It would do as an alternative escape route, if they needed one. He rummaged around in the pantry, but either the owners were living pretty much hand to mouth, or they'd taken everything with them when they evacuated. Newkirk bet on the latter; he'd have done just that, in similar circumstances.
Returning to the front room, he found Elise attempting to make herself more presentable, straightening out the tangles in her hair by running her fingers through it. "No luck," he said.
"It doesn't matter. I couldn't eat, anyway."
He could sympathise with that, too. "I'll be off, then. Stay out of sight, and if the owners come back, slip out the back way. I'll be back soon." He gave her a nod, and left her.
The air outside was bad; it caught in his throat, and brought the sting of tears to his eyes. If the smoke still rising from the centre of town was anything to go by, fires were still burning. Newkirk pulled his coat close around him, and set off.
There were few people about, and most of them seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere else. Newkirk saw no signs of damage at first, but pretty soon the first destruction site came into view; two or three houses, reduced to an incomprehensible mass of debris. His heart sank. If Mistral had taken a direct hit...
He hadn't. The coffee house came into view, around a corner, still intact. Newkirk felt giddy for a moment, the relief was so great. He crossed the road quickly, and knocked on the door.
No need for a recognition code; Mistral knew him by sight. He stared in astonishment for a few seconds, then dragged Newkirk inside, and closed the door.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Newkirk held up his hands. "I don't know, Max." He could drop the code name now. "Your guess is as good as..."
"They bombed the town," Max interrupted furiously. "We had no warning."
"I know. I'm sorry. Look, I was here. I was in town last night. They didn't tell me, either." Newkirk leaned against the nearest wall. He wasn't up to this, not now.
Max glared at him for a moment, then turned away. "Sit down," he said abruptly. He went into the room behind the bar, and returned a minute later with a mug of black coffee. "That's all there is, till the water main is repaired. You look as if you need it more than I do." He sat across the table from Newkirk, watching him.
Newkirk swallowed the coffee. It was lukewarm, and bitter, but it helped. "I needed that. Max, I'm sorry. We weren't told." He blinked, and took a deep breath. "I need to contact Papa Bear urgently. Can you let me use the radio?"
Max shook his head. "The radio is in the cellar, and it's wrecked. There's three feet of water down there."
"Oh, sod it," Newkirk murmured. He leaned his elbows on the table, supporting his aching forehead on his fingers. He hadn't realised until this minute how much he had built up his hopes on that radio.
"I'll have to try for Blackbird," he said, after a while. "I don't know how I'll manage it. I'm not alone." He realised Max was looking puzzled, and added. "Can't take her there. Couldn't bring her here, either. I'm not sure of her yet."
Max got up, and went into the back room again, and returned with a sturdy-looking boy of about nine. The family resemblance was obvious
"This is Rolf," he said. "I was about to send him across the river to let Blackbird know our situation. He can take a message for you."
That would make things much easier, although it went against the grain to use a child as courier. "I don't want to put it in writing," said Newkirk slowly. "You good at remembering things, Rolf?"
"Ja, Herr Kapitan," replied the boy, staring at him with big serious eyes.
"He often carries messages to friends," added Max. "He won't forget anything, and if he is stopped, he knows how to look innocent."
Newkirk closed his eyes for a moment, sorting out the information which had to be passed on. He needed a code name, something they'd recognise him by. The obvious answer was the recognition code from last night's meeting; Kinch would know what it meant. "Tell them the message is from Salzburg."
He kept it short; no point in loading the boy down with a lot of information which Blackbird would be unable to transmit safely. Then he had Rolf repeat it back, three times. He was word-perfect.
"You sure he'll be all right, Max?" Newkirk asked, as the boy set off. "He's just a kid."
"Children grow up fast these days," replied Max. Then he went on, in a businesslike tone, "Is there anything else you need?"
"I hate to ask, but we haven't eaten. If you can spare anything, Papa Bear will see you get paid back for it." Newkirk considered, then added, "And it wouldn't hurt, if you could lend me a coat. They're probably looking for a Luftwaffe captain, after last night."
Max nodded towards the coat-rack. "Take mine. I'll get rid of that one."
"I'm sorry to lose it; some of my best work went into it," observed Newkirk, as he took off the uniform topcoat. Max carried it off to the back room. He was gone for several minutes, and when he came back he brought a canvas satchel.
"This should keep you going," he said. "It's as much as I can spare."
"You're a lifesaver, Max," murmured Newkirk. He thought twice before he went on, very softly, "How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad. I've heard the railway yard to the north is out of action."
"That must have been the target." They still should have told him. "What about in town?"
"There's a lot of damage around Kaiserplatz."
Newkirk felt a sudden icy chill. "Near the Alte Residenz?"
"It was hit. I haven't seen it, but I heard it's badly damaged, and a lot of casualties."
"I was there last night." Newkirk sat down again, shocked. He calculated how much time had passed between their escape from the hotel, and the air raid; probably not much more than half an hour.
"You really weren't warned that Hammelburg was targeted? Peter, how is this possible?"
"Someone made a mistake. They were meant to be bombing the communications base at Weizenfeld. Maybe there was a change of plan. I don't know, Max." Newkirk shook his head, and gave a sigh. Thinking about this was too difficult right now.
"I have to go," he said at last. "I'll try to get back later, in case there's a return message from Papa Bear. Take care, mate."
"You too, Peter," replied Max.
The smoke had thickened in the streets while Newkirk was in the café; he wasn't sure if it was a bad sign, but he quickened his pace as he returned to the house. He'd been gone longer than he had expected. As he approached, he saw a face appear briefly at the front window.
"I thought I told you to stay out of sight," he said, as soon as he got inside.
Elise gave him a cool, scornful look. "I'm not required to take orders from you."
"Oh, yes, you are, sweetheart. Right now, I'm in charge, and if you don't like it, then find your own way out of the country," Newkirk shot back furiously. This idiot of a woman was going to get them both arrested.
She glowered at him, her eyes very bright; then bit her lower lip. "You were gone so long. I was afraid you weren't coming back."
"I told you I'd be back."
"Yes, but I don't know if you're the kind of man who keeps his word." Her manner was antagonistic, but Newkirk could sense something else behind it. He held on to the retort which sprang to his lips, and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his anger as best he could. She knew nothing about him; she was frightened, and in shock after last night. He was the professional in this game. He didn't trust her, he didn't even like her, but he was responsible for her, until he received further orders.
"Okay, princess," he said at last. "You may not be happy with it, but we're stuck with each other till I hear back from the governor. Now, I don't know what sort of men you're used to dealing with, but when I say something, I mean it. I may have to leave you for a bit now and then, but I'll always come back for you."
Whether she believed him or not, she grew less tense. "How long will it be until you hear from him?"
"Not sure. Things are a bit of a mess just now, so it takes longer to pass a message along. I'll have to go back in a couple of hours."
Her expression said she wasn't pleased, but she accepted it.
"I picked up some grub while I was there," he went on. Then, at the blank look on her face: "Food, love. Don't look at me like that. You have to eat, or you'll be passing out on me."
Max had done well by them; bread, cold meat, tinned fruit, some chocolate - God alone knew where he got that - and a bottle of milk. It was a mixed meal, but it would see them through.
Elise, it turned out, was finicky about her food. She rejected the meat altogether, and he had to bully her into eating some bread; the fruit and milk went down easier. Newkirk put the chocolate aside for later, knowing it might be some time before they got another meal.
He waited until she'd finished eating before he broke the news to her about the Alte Residenz. As he'd anticipated, it came as a shock, but something struck her which hadn't occurred to him
"Do you think Wolfgang was still there?" she asked.
Oh, I hope so! thought Newkirk, but he kept it to himself. The degree of family affection between Hochstetter and his sister-in-law was a mystery to him, so he wasn't sure she would be as delighted with the prospect as he was. "It's possible," he replied cautiously. "Depends whether he'd twigged that we got away."
"You know, I'm almost certain it was him." Elise spoke almost in a whisper. "Stefan always thought, if there was anyone in the world he could trust, it was family, but Wolfgang is so committed..."
"You think he's the one who informed on you?" It made sense, but it was a nasty idea.
She didn't reply, just gave a tiny shrug, but he hadn't seen that look on her face before. If appearances were anything to go by, the thought had caused her a lot of distress. Newkirk tried to think of something comforting to say; he wasn't often stuck for words, but he'd never imagined he'd have to offer consolation over anything to do with Hochstetter. He got up, and went to the window, leaving her to regain her composure.
The smoke had started to clear in the street outside. There was still little traffic. A large black car drove slowly past, and stopped a little way further down. Newkirk watched, as the occupants got out.
"For what it's worth," he said softly, "Wolfgang seems to have got out of the hotel. Get your shoes on, princess. We have to go, fast."