Six
H ow many hours had they been walking in the darkness of the night?
The march was slow and difficult because they had to avoid roads. The sight of a village nearby, the outline of a farmhouse in the distance, or of a fence marking the boundary of an estate was enough to make them abandon even the smallest of paths to take long tortuous diversions through fields, stubble and scrub; ankles sinking in loose clods of earth, stumbling in the dark, getting scratched.
Peg Leg Joe marched at the head of the column and sniffed out the way like a bloodhound. Every so often he would turn, look around, smell the air, and say, ‘This way.’
Every now and again he whispered, ‘Watch out!’
Everyone knew they had to curl up on the ground to make themselves as small as possible and melt into the nigh
