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At first the carriages full of soldiers cont
inued to flash by, but a second later their charge was arrested. The ends of two linked carriages rose in the air, forming an inverted V. Lloyd heard the men inside screaming. All the carriages came off the rails and tumbled like dropped matchsticks around the dark O of the tunnel's mouth. Iron crumpled like paper, and broken glass rained on the three saboteurs watching from the top of the embankment. They were in danger of being killed by their own explosion, and without a word they all leaped to their feet and ran.
By the time they had reached a safe distance it was all over. Smoke was billowing out of the tunnel: in the unlikely event that any men in there had survived the crash, they would burn to death.
Lloyd's plan was a success. Not only had he killed hundreds of enemy troops and wrecked a train, he had also blocked a main railway line. Crashes in tunnels took weeks to clear. He had made it much more difficult for the Germans to reinforce their defenses in Normandy.
He was horrified.
He had seen death and destruction in Spain, but nothing like this. And he had caused it.
There was another crash, and when he looked in the direction of the sound he saw that the Tiffy had hit the ground. It was burning, but the fuselage had not broken up. The pilot might be alive.
He ran toward the plane, and Cigare and Legionnaire followed.
The downed aircraft lay on its belly. One wing had snapped in half. Smoke came from the single engine. The Perspex dome was blackened by soot and Lloyd could not see the pilot.
He stepped on the wing and unfastened the hood catch. Cigare did the same on the other side. Together, they slid the dome back on its rails.
The pilot was unconscious. He wore a helmet and goggles, and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Lloyd could not tell whether it was someone he knew.
He wondered where the oxygen tank was, and whether it had yet burst.
Legionnaire had a similar thought. "We have to get him out before the plane blows up," he said.
Lloyd reached inside and unfastened the safety harness. Then he put his hands under the pilot's arms and pulled. The man was completely limp. Lloyd had no way of knowing what his injuries might be. He was not even sure the man was alive.
He dragged the pilot out of the cockpit, then got him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him a safe distance from the burning wreckage. As gently as he could, he laid the man on the ground faceup.
He heard a noise that was a cross between a whoosh and a thump, and looked back to see that the whole plane was ablaze.
He bent over the pilot and carefully removed the goggles and the oxygen mask, revealing a face that was shockingly familiar.
The pilot was Boy Fitzherbert.
And he was breathing.
Lloyd wiped blood from Boy's nose and mouth.
Boy opened his eyes. At first there seemed to be no intelligence behind them. Then, after a minute, his expression altered and he said: "You."
"We blew up the train," Lloyd said.
Boy seemed unable to move anything but his eyes and mouth. "Small world," he said.
"Isn't it?"
Cigare said: "Who is he?"
Lloyd hesitated, then said: "My brother."
"My God."
Boy's eyes closed.
Lloyd said to Legionnaire: "We have to bring a doctor."
Legionnaire shook his head. "We must get out of here. The Germans will be coming to investigate the train crash within minutes."
