The Caves of Périgord: A Novel

and a big handkerchief.” Malrand, grinning because he knew what Manners was about to do, took one of the big damask napkins from the table, and came around to tie it into a blindfold across Manners’s eyes.
    “The most useful thing about the Sten is its ease of maintenance. It likes being greased and oiled and taken care of, but it will forgive you if you’re too busy fighting.” He laid the two Sten guns side by side, thumping them clumsily onto the table because of the blindfold. “Right, who has a watch with a secondhand?” Somebody shouted out that he did. “Tell me when to start, and then time me,” he said.
    “ Trois—deux—allez-y, ” came the cry. And despite the blindfold, Manners’s hands moved almost too fast to see. One Sten, slip the magazine, release the bolt, withdraw, flick the sear, and release the spring. Lay them down, one by one. The next Sten, the same procedure. “Finished,” he shouted.
    “Nine seconds,” came an awed voice.
    “Right. Soleil, mix up the parts from the two guns so I don’t know which part comes from which gun.” He heard the clatter, smelled the garlic mixed with Soleil’s cologne.
    “Good. Now time me again.” And still blindfolded, he reassembled the two guns. The spring, the sear, the bolt, the magazine. Safety on. Do it again. Lovely old Sten. Doesn’t matter which part comes from which gun, they all fit together just fine. “Finished.”
    “Twelve seconds.”
    He whipped off the blindfold. “Now, Soleil, which gun is yours and which is mine? You can’t tell. But take one of those two apart and put it back together. We’re not timing now. But Soleil will show you how easy it is. Who’s the youngest here?”
    A dozen voices cried that Little Pierrot was the one, just sixteen. He came up and easily put the second gun back together.
    “Who’s the oldest?” called Manners, stripping it down again. The elderly lawyer-type who had been speaking to Malrand rose hesitantly. “I have never handled a gun, monsieur, not in my life.”
    “All the better—you’ll show them how easy it is.” Most of these men would be accustomed to firearms from childhood, shotguns and rook rifles, military service. The lawyer handled the parts gingerly, had trouble with the spring, but finally handed the reassembled Sten to Manners with a proud glint in his eyes. “Well done, monsieur.”
    “Right, how many rounds do you load in the magazine?”
    “Thirty,” they all shouted.
    “What’s your best range?”
    “Five meters.”
    “What do you do if it jams?”
    “Release the bolt. Bang it on the floor.”
    “And if that doesn’t work?”
    “Throw it at the Germans.” They all roared, laughing now, delighted with themselves and the gun and with him.
    “Enough. We’ll shoot some in the morning.” He turned, clapped Soleil on the back, and headed off to sleep in the barn, the sounds of continued revelry building behind him. He had barely got to the hall when Marat caught him.
    “That was a very impressive performance,” he said. “It had to be.”
    “Why?” Manners asked bluntly. He was tired and drunk and did not want any more verbal jousting that night.
    “It’s what I came here tonight to tell you. Brehmer’s infantry battalions are due to arrive at Limoges tomorrow night. Three battalions of Russian renegades, Vlasov’s men. And one battalion of Georgians, who have been transferred from fighting Tito in Yugoslavia. They are hard and terrible men who know they are lost if Hitler is defeated.”
    “What do you mean, Vlasov’s men?”
    “He used to be a general in the Red Army, a good one. But when he was captured in one of the big encirclements, he turned his coat and joined the Nazis, and went round the POW camps recruiting more. Most of them probably joined up for the promise of a square meal. They claim to be fighting for a non-Communist Russia, but they’re renegades now. Doomed men. Traitors.”
    “Limoges tomorrow night,” mused Manners. “Then they have to move them to Périgueux and Bergerac, get them into barracks, food and sleep. That’s another day. Refit them, issue ammo, re-caliber their guns at the range, and a couple of lectures on tactics, communications, rules of engagement. Russian troops will need German liaison officers, and then some French speakers. The staff work for that will take some sorting out. Another day, and then at least one day familiarization with the country. Right, thanks, Marat. We have four days,