“Do you know which way you’re going?” Leni shouted over his shoulder.

“Sort of!” Lockhart shouted back. “I’m trying to head southeast!”

The roads were in an appalling condition—the Allies had obviously visited Hanover many times, and vast parts of the city simply consisted of rubble. It made for difficult riding, and Lockhart became increasingly frustrated, wondering whether they were ever going to get out of the place. With every minute, he knew that the chances of being trapped by a roadblock got greater, and he cursed loudly every time they came across an impassable road. He was following his nose, estimating the direction by the position of the sun.

“I’m almost tempted to ask someone the way!” he said.

“Don’t!” shouted Leni. “They’ll only remember us! Keep going this way—it feels right to me. And don’t go too fast! I don’t want to fall off the back!”

“I’ll do my best!”

Leni was right—the road they were on appeared to lead out of town. This was the most likely place for a roadblock, thought Lockhart, somewhere on the outskirts. He considered his options. His SS Personalausweiss might just get him through—he could say that he had been visiting Hanover with his girlfriend. But he and Leni would match any description that had been circulated—it was too hopeful to assume that he would simply be able to pull rank. The other option was to ignore the roadblock altogether, but he did not fancy his chances. He was not a good enough rider to attempt any daredevilry—he had pushed his luck far enough today. And if he sped away from a roadblock, it would be Leni who would get the bullet in her back, not him. He couldn’t do that, couldn’t cold-bloodedly sacrifice her. Perhaps it would be best if they abandoned the bike and set off across country, attempted to walk back to Hildesheim. But then they would look like fugitives and somebody would be bound to report them.

Get the violence in first. It came back to him, like a mantra. If the roadblock was not too heavily manned, then they could come at it with guns, or rather gun, blazing. Better to go out like that; better than being tortured and strung up with piano wire. That bloody untersturmführer—this was all his fault. Lockhart slowed the bike down and came to a halt.

“Why are you stopping?”

“Because I think we need to work out what we’re going to do if there’s a roadblock.”

Lockhart outlined their options. He was surprised by Leni’s ready agreement.

“Fine,” she said. “Pass me the Luger. How many rounds has it got left?”

“Six,” said Lockhart, handing her the weapon.

Leni checked it over.

“You know these things like to jam, don’t you?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Well, we’ll just have to hope that this is one of the better ones.”

“You’re sure you know how to use it?” Lockhart asked.