Where Eagles Dare

Smith transferred his attention from the room to the customers in the room, a clientele of a composition such as one might expect to find in a high Alpine village with a military encampment at its back door. In one corner were a group of obvious locals, men with still, lean, aquiline, weather-beaten faces, unmistakably men of the mountains, many of them in intricately embroidered leather jackets and Tyrolean hats. They spoke little and drank quietly, as did another small group at the back of the room, perhaps a dozen or so nondescript civilians, clearly not locals, who drank sparingly from small Schnapps glasses. But ninety per cent of the customers were soldiers of the German Alpenkorps, some seated, many more standing, but all giving of their very best with 'Lili Marlene', and nearly all of them enthusiastically waving their pewter-capped litre Steinbechers in the air, happily oblivious, in that moment of tearfully nostalgic romanticism, of the fact that the amount of beer finding its way to comrades' uniforms and the floor was about the equivalent of a moderately heavy rainstorm.

Behind the bar was the obvious proprietor, a gargantuan three-hundred pounder with an impassive moon-like face and several girls busy filling trays with Steinbechers. Several others moved about the room, collecting or serving beer-mugs. One of them approaching in his direction caught Smith's eye.

It would have been surprising if she hadn't. It would have been surprising if she hadn't caught the attention of every man there. But there was no surprise. She did. She would have won any Miss Europe contest hands down if she had had a face other than her own which, though pleasant and plump, was rather plain. But any possible lack of attraction in that cheerfully smiling face was more than over-compensated for elsewhere. She was dressed in a gaily-patterned dirndl and Tyrolean blouse, had a hand-span waist, an hour-and-a-half-glass figure and an obvious predilection for low-cut blouses, that in terms of attracting local custom, must have been worth a fortune to the gigantic proprietor behind the bar. She drew a great deal of attention from the assembled soldiery, not all of it just consisting of admiring glances : if she weren't wearing armour-plating, Smith reflected, she must be permanently black and blue. She approached Smith, brushed back her blonde hair and smiled, the gesture as provocative as the smile.

'Can I help you, sir?'

'Dark beer, please,' Smith said politely. 'Six.'

'Now I know why I left Montana, boss.' His voice held something of the dazed quality on his face. 'It wasn't because of the horses after all.'

'Your mind on the job if you don't mind, Lieutenant.' Smith looked thoughtfully after the girl, rubbed his chin and said slowly: 'Barmaids know more about what's going on in their own manor than any chief of police--and that one looks as if she might know more than most. Yes, I'll do that.'

'Do what?' Schaffer asked suspiciously.

Try to get next to her.'

'I saw her first,' Schaffer said plaintively.

'You can have the next dance,' Smith promised. The levity of the words were belied by the cool watchful expression on his face as his eyes constantly travelled the room. 'When you get your drinks, circulate. See if you can hear any mention of Carnaby or Reichsmarschall Rosemeyer.'

He caught sight of an empty chair by a corner table, moved across and sat in it, nodding politely to a rather bleary-eyed Alpenkorps captain deep in what appeared to be rather u patronising conversation with two lieutenants. The captain showed no more than a brief recognition of his presence and, as far as Smith could tell, no other person present was showing the slightest interest in either himself or his companions. The accordion band finished its stint more or less on the same note and at the same time and the singing of 'Lili Marlene' died away. For long seconds there was a profound and nostalgic.silence, four hundred men alone with Lili Marlene under the barrack gate lantern, then, as if on cue, a babel of voices broke out all over the room: four hundred men with unfinished litre jugs do not remain sentimental for overly long.

'And what might your name be, my Alpine rose?' His voice had a slightly slurred edge to it.

'Heidi.' She struggled to rise, but didn't really put her heart into it. 'Please, Major. I have work to do.'

"There is no more important work than entertaining soldiers of the Fatherland,' Smith said loudly. Holding Heidi firmly to forestall any attempt at escape, he took a long pull at his beer, then continued, quietly now, the mug still in front of his face: 'Shall I sing you a song?'

'What song?' Heidi asked warily. 'I hear too much singing.'

'I whistle better than I sing. Listen.' He whistled, very softly the first two bars of 'Lorelei'. 'Do you like that?'

Heidi stiffened and stared but immediately relaxed and smiled at him coquettishly.

'It's very nice, Major. And I'm sure "you have a beautiful singing voice, too.'