Lockhart stopped. There was little point in going any further. There could be more drops and he was safe where he was. He sat down and leaned his head back against the cool wall. His legs began to shake uncontrollably, and he tried stifling his sobs. He wanted to scream out, a mixture of shock, rage, sadness and emptiness overwhelming him. Images of Anna and Amy plagued his head. A voice was telling him he would never see them again. He was too exhausted to argue with it.

The second grenade had exploded too near for Manoli’s comfort. He knew they had to leave the ditch—there was nothing they could do for the others. The Germans outnumbered them and were better armed. To stay would be suicide. If they ran now, they would have a good start on their pursuers. To ease his conscience, Manoli decided that he himself would stay. He could hold the Germans back with the Marlin for several more minutes while the others fled.

Manoli ran along the ditch, issuing the order. The men looked surprised and reluctant.

“But what about the others?”

“What can we do?” Manoli asked. “They are closing in all the time. We’ll all die. Mr. Lockhart would want us to go.”

The men could see the sense in that, but they felt guilty at leaving their comrades.

“Go!” Manoli shouted. “Just go!”

As the men got up to run, Manoli slung the Marlin over the edge and let rip with three long bursts in three different directions. Somewhere nearby he heard a scream and a German’s voice crying out in agony. That should stop them for a while.

Lockhart heard the screaming. It was only a few yards from the opening to the tomb. The sound chilled him—they were the cries of a man who was feeling the horror of knowing these were his last moments.

“Help me, help me! Please, please help me! I’m dying!”

And then the screams continued, the whole essence of the man channeled into that desperate call for help. But Lockhart knew that no help would come. Nobody would run into a line of fire. It had gone eerily quiet—no firing, no explosions, just the sound of a dying man filling the smoking air.

The screaming stopped after a couple more minutes. Lockhart felt his shoulders drop, and then tense up again as the firing started. But this time it was only coming from the German side. The andartes must have run for it. He knew he would have done the same, but that did not stop him feeling vulnerable.

He sat rigid, not daring to move. The firing was nearing the tomb. He pointed his Sten gun toward the entrance, his hands shaking violently. He told himself to keep calm, but Arisaig had never prepared him for a situation like this. Perhaps he should have stayed in Whitehall, prancing around St. James’s in his captain’s uniform.