Tuesday, 13th June 1916

As he finished his breakfast at the kitchen table, David asked Rachel, "Are the hams and sausages loaded through the lower courtyard door or the upper?"

"Either, though now with my condition ..." She laid a hand on her belly. "I find it easier to use the lower one and the lift. Down six steps instead of up eight."

"Oh! You do this on your own?"

"No, the men take turns helping me."

"So, it would look normal if you came with me."

"Abnormal if I didn't. And much closer to normal if I drive. They all know me at the border."

"I should take my suitbag and sample case through now, rather than after. Time is tight, and I want to catch an early afternoon train from Offenberg."

"I'll take them through." Georg looked up from his coffee and shrugged. "I need to be over there, anyway, to escort her back through the tunnel."

"Yes, of course."

"Also, wear my jacket and an apron, and I'll wear your suitcoat. It would raise suspicion to see you in that."

David nodded and stood, removing his suitcoat as he said, "My bag and sample case are on the bench by the door."

Outside, he led Rachel toward the Lancia, explaining, "This is much easier than the Daimler, with its electrical start, automatic spark advance, and self-adjusting choke. Driving it is similar, though."

A short while later, across the cobbled courtyard and down the slope to the sausage and ham kitchen, David opened the boot and the rear doors for the two men who were waiting with wooden bins.

When loading was complete, Bethia handed David a basket, and he asked, "What is this?"

"Sandwiches, cheese, biscuits, dried fruit, nuts and wine. Karl's analysis of the men's reports shows that dining cars have been cut from many trains. When will you return?"

"With the meeting in the late afternoon, I'll likely take a room there for the night, possibly in Straßburg, with what we've heard about availability in Metz. Whatever, I'll drive across at Basel – with my story, a much less suspicious place than here."

"Telephone us at your first opportunity in Switzerland, David. Stop us from fretting."

The passage through the border posts was quick and efficient, the guards recognising Rachel and engaging in friendly conversation. As she drove toward Erzingen, Rachel chuckled. "I love his suggestion of using this every day for increased comfort."

A while later, David unlocked and opened the courtyard gate, and after Rachel had driven in, closed it behind her. Then, as he turned, he saw George ascending the lower steps. "Oh! The trench is complete. I wasn't aware."

"No, not complete – well, it is, but they still have to break through the foundation." He nodded over his shoulder. "I just arrived and was unlocking the doors. Your bag and case are there on the other steps."

David chuckled. "You look spiffy in that."

Georg smiled as he removed the suitcoat. "Too wide at the shoulders and much too snug at the waist."

A few minutes later, after the bins were transferred inside, David unbuckled his suit bag and spread it across the rear seat. Then, as he placed the sample case and basket on the front passenger seat, Georg asked. "Wouldn't they be better out of sight in the boot?"

"I thought appearing as a salesman with nothing to hide might be better at the checkpoints." He closed the door and added, "I should be away."

Georg nodded and shook his hand. "Godspeed, David."

"And you, here. This place is key to our continuing success."

As David steered the Lancia into the lane and Georg closed the gate behind him, the seriousness of the situation hit him. Alone. Beyond support. Continuing toward the unknown. The increasing risk. Like climbing solo again. But that always worked. Always found a way.

His mind turned to examining possibilities as he drove out of Erzingen and up the gentle slope to the pass. Then, down the other side and around the bends toward Eggingen, he spotted a control point on the stone bridge spanning the Wutach. Two makeshift sawhorses and three uniformed guards.

As he approached, they shifted their rifles from their shoulders, and one stepped forward, holding up a red paddle. From the outdated blue uniforms, grey beards and stooped postures, he recognised them as Landsturm, reservists too old for the Front.

David braked the car to a stop as he reached into his breast pocket for the cream-coloured document. Then he unfolded it, cranked the window open and held it out, the crimson wax seal catching the morning sun. "Mein Passierschein von Kronprinz Wilhelm."

The old soldier leaned close to read the document, looked at David's clothes and scanned the car's interior, then said, "Zu Befehl, Herr Meier." Then he turned and shouted to the other two guards, "Bewegt die Absperrung! Bewegt sie sofort! Macht die Fahrspur frei!"

David withdrew the pass and folded it. "Der Kronprinz dankt Ihnen."

When the barrier had been dragged aside, he drove across the bridge, through the small town and northward beside the Wutach, relieved that Henry's explanation of the document's strength had proved correct. Stronger than I had imagined. How far can I push it?

Mid-morning, he entered the Höllental pass, the Lancia's engine roaring in second gear, climbing the steep, newly restored road, and he reflected: Five and a half months since we buried this and the rails. More stable surface now. Faster than I hoped.

He glanced at his watch as he left the hills for the flatness of Freiburg, quarter past eleven. Skirting to the north onto the Badische Staatsstraße, he slowly opened the manual throttle, pushing the needle up to 70 and a bit beyond, before easing back to a more stable 68 to 70.

A few minutes before noon, he stopped the now-dust-caked Lancia at the gates of the military motor pool, next to the train station, rolled down his window, showed the guard his document, and said, "Im Dienste des Kronprinzen."

When the iron gates opened, he drove through and stopped next to a garage door as a grease-stained depot sergeant rushed out at the engine's sound. David switched it off, stepped out of the car, removed his driving cloak, and folded onto the seat before showing the document again. After telling him he wanted the car washed, filled with petrol and stored inside, he handed the sergeant the keys, adding it would be a day or two.

The sergeant saluted and said, "Es soll geschehen, mein Herr."

David thanked him, folded and buckled the suitbag, lifted it out and placed its strap over his shoulder. Then with the sample case and basket, he walked through the gate as it opened for him. Much better than I had imagined.

Three minutes later, inside the station, he approached a station guard, showed his Passierschein and told him he must get to Metz as quickly as possible.

After a crisp salute, the guard escorted him to the Military Ticket Office, where David again presented his document and said, "Metz."

The officer examined the royal signature and seal with a magnifying glass, entered the details in a ledger, and issued him a Militär-Fahrkarte stamped Polsterklasse. Quick, efficient and without cost, as Henry said it would be.

The guard then led him through the station to a platform, pointed to the clock and the upholstered bench and told him the shuttle to Straßburg would depart in eleven minutes.

David sat on the bench, lifted his wrist and looked past his watch to the clock, waiting for its hand to jump to the next minute. It's four seconds slow. Or I'm four seconds fast. Whatever, it's five past noon, and I have just under five hours. Three or four hours of trains, unless there are delays.