‘What the bloody hell do I want with a couple of filthy dogs?’ the officer shouted. ‘Shoot them. Might as well put the other bugger out of his misery too if you don’t think he’s going to make it.’

The soldier alongside the officer pulled up his rifle and shot the Alsatian clean through the head. It was harder to see the second dog inside the truck and the first shot hit it in the gut. It squealed desperately for several seconds before a second blast put it out of its misery.

Marc waited to hear a fourth shot as he staggered back towards the road, shaking with fear. But despite the officer’s suggestion to put the man out of his misery, the bullet never came.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Paul backed up to the side of an apartment block and wrapped his arms over his head as masonry crashed around him. The giant slab of bricks hit the opposite wall of the narrow alleyway and took on a spin before crashing down less than two metres from where he cowered. Pebble-sized chunks pelted his body as the mortar shattered.

‘Dad?’ Paul shouted.

He opened his eyes a fraction, only for them to be forced shut by the dust swirling through the air. The worst of the collapse had passed, but single bricks still chinked down and a woman screamed horribly. At least it wasn’t Rosie.

A second later, Paul felt a tug on his arm. Half blind and his mouth filled with dust, Mr Clarke dragged his son towards the early sunlight piercing the end of the alleyway.

‘Did you see Rosie?’ Mr Clarke asked.

Paul was coughing violently and couldn’t answer.

‘Rosie?’ Mr Clarke bellowed.

She’d sprinted ahead and stood at the end of the alleyway, in better shape than her male relatives. The German planes continued to drone as Paul forced himself to open his eyes and blink out the grit. They’d emerged into a busy square filled with dust, flames and panic. When Paul got some focus he saw the wreckage of market stalls. Every building had shattered windows and a horse thrashed helplessly on its side. Its hind quarters were badly burned and it was pinned down by the charred remains of a cart harnessed to its back.

Rosie looked anxiously at her brother’s torn and blood-spattered shirt sleeve. ‘Show me your hand.’

Paul raised his arm and saw that it was peppered with scratches and cuts. He’d hardly noticed because his grit-filled eyes were much more painful.

‘We’ll have to find some water and get that cleaned up,’ Rosie said. ‘Your head’s cut too.’

Paul was aware of a stinging sensation just above his ear and he felt with his fingertips until he found some hair matted with blood.

‘Oh, that’s clever,’ Rosie said. ‘Stick your filthy fingers in and get it infected.’