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Back The Land Beneath Us Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Endorsements
  3. Books by Sarah Sundin
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright Page
  6. Presidential Radio Broadcast
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. Discussion Questions
  60. About the Author
  61. Back Ads
  62. Back Cover

Leah would never belong anywhere.

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26

BARNSTAPLE, NORTH DEVON
TUESDAY, MARCH 21, 1944

“Thanks for the ride.” Clay leaned inside the truck window and handed the driver two ration packs of cigarettes.

The older gentleman’s face lit up. “If I had the petrol, I’d take you blokes all the way to London.”

Clay laughed and joined G. M. at the roadside as the truck chugged on its way. Cigarettes were better than cash, which was good since the men had no cash.

Gene studied the map. “About a mile to Barnstaple Junction.”

The men headed up a narrow lane through high hedgerows, fragrant with spring.

“Time for us to show initiative.” Clay used one of Lt. Col. Jim Rudder’s favorite words.

After breakfast, Clay’s company had been ordered to divide into pairs and meet at the Marble Arch in London at 0900 the following morning. No money allowed. No questions would be asked about how they’d arrived.

Many of the men “requisitioned” bikes or cars. Clay understood the purpose. One day the Rangers might be behind enemy lines and need to steal vehicles. But in friendly England, it didn’t seem right. Gene agreed, so they’d decided to sneak onto a train and pay for their tickets after their return.

They passed through a village of white homes with slate roofs. Training hadn’t let up since they’d returned to Bude from the Isle of Wight. Rudder and the top brass in the Rangers had visited London recently and returned ashen faced. Speculation was, they knew the invasion plan and it was a bear.

All the more reason to train hard.

Hedgerows crowded the lane, and Gene ducked under an overhanging branch. “How’s the missus? Another month or two to go, huh?”

Less than that, but Clay nodded. “Her doc thinks she may deliver early. How’s Betty Jo?”

“Great. They work her hard at the laundry at Camp Forrest, but she likes it.”

“Good. Leah misses working at the library, but she enjoys her volunteer work.”

But what he wouldn’t give to have a word with that Mrs. Channing for talking to Leah in such an overbearing way. Leah was only guilty of innocence and zeal and standing up for the downtrodden, all of which were virtues in Clay’s eyes.

Soon the town of Barnstaple came into view, and they found the depot, built of mismatched brownstone with cream trim and a slate roof, full of rustic English charm.

Clay straightened his waist-length olive drab “Ike jacket” and made sure his drab trousers were still tucked into his Corcoran boots. They needed to look wholesome.

Inside the depot, they instigated their plan and stood in the ticket line. When the man in front of them went to the window, Clay glanced at his watch and motioned Gene to the timetable on the wall.

Barnstaple had a direct line to London’s Paddington Station, so they wouldn’t have to transfer trains.