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“It’s the outside of enough,” said Dr Martel. “I dread to think what your chaps must have been doing to cause it. You know, if I hadn’t got to old Smith in time, he’d have been choked to death. What have you got to say about that, eh?”

Richter blinked. He had, to be entirely honest, not taken in the whole of Dr Martel’s particularly impressive rant on what-the-Germans-had-been-doing-this-time, but he felt now that he must have missed something important. If one of the men had been attempting to murder passing civilians, Dr Martel did indeed have something even worse than usual to complain about. “I’m sorry?” he tried, “I don’t believe I –”

“Choked,” said Martel, who was in full flow and not about to halt, certainly not for the Kommandant of Guernsey. “And, what’s more, I had to treat two people for burns before I left this morning. They’ve completely taken over at least two of the Porteous’s fields and God only knows how much further it’s stretched since. I gather, Colonel, that it – they – are now advancing on your hospital, which I suppose at least means you’ll finally have to take action.”

Richter mentally reviewed the conversation again and pondered on the possibilities that sheer annoyance had finally driven the good doctor mad, but other than being irate about something Richter couldn’t follow, he seemed much as usual. “Dr Martel,” he said, since the man seemed to have finally ceased his tirade, “what, precisely, is it that is causing the trouble?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Martel. “Honestly, Colonel, what unholy experimentation have you people been up to? Can’t you try and stick to constructing abominations out of concrete as usual?”

Richter considered abusing his powers and having Martel arrested for failure to answer a simple question, but restrained himself. “Dr Martel, if you could stop and explain –”

“I believe,” said Freidel, entering behind them, “that Dr Martel must be referring to our, ah, new crop.”

Richter began to feel that there was an improbable conspiracy at work. “What sort of crop burns and chokes people?”

“That is what we all wish to know,” said Freidel. “I have been asked to represent to the Controlling Committee that this sort of thing cannot go on. I presume it was originally some attempt to maximise crop growth in light of the current shortages?”

Dr Martel stared at him, and then turned to Richter, as if Freidel was too stupid to understand plain facts. “Colonel, will you please explain to Major Freidel that we simply don’t have the resources to engineer such unlikely scientific breakthroughs in any of our local nurseries or farms? Whereas we all know what sort of things you military types get up to – chemical warfare and what have you. God help us all.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could both stop this and enlighten me as to what the problem is,” said Richter, a low but steely undercurrent of anger edging his voice. It was usually enough to get results. “First you say that people have been attacked, and now you’re debating agricultural methods. Plants don’t choke people!”

“This sort does,” said Dr Martel, suddenly becoming almost cheerful as he realised that the Kommandant was woefully under-informed on the current crisis. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said, Colonel?”

“It appears to have begun just inland of Vazon Bay,” said Freidel, pointing on the map now laid out over his desk.

Dr Martel nodded. “Except now it’s spreading outwards fast. It’s not far off your hospital, I believe, but also north as far as Albecq – and southwards it had got past Le Gron when I left. Look, I don’t expect you to tell me classified secrets, but, trust me, Major Freidel, we have no makeshift fertiliser or substitute weed-killer that could turn plants actively carnivorous. It takes a military mind to come up with that kind of thing.”

“I still find this impossible to believe,” said Richter. “However,” he said, on receipt of their looks, “I realise I must.” He had, in the meantime, had a conversation with one of the doctors from the hospital who had reported as dryly as possible but with an underlying edge of panic in his voice.

Freidel drew back from the map. “Oberst, I saw with my own eyes two of the plants wilfully attack one of our men. It was all we could do to save him. Bullets have no effect on them.”

“They’re like a particularly vicious breed of runner beans,” said Dr Martel. “Only purple. And with teeth.”

Richter straightened. “Then I suppose the next question is what we do to stop them. How much in the nature of weed-killer do we have?” He glanced at Ernst.

“It’s not that I want to be eaten by something from the vegetable garden,” said Dr Martel, “but I feel I must point out that shortages are already bad enough as it is. We need to preserve as much of the actual vegetation and produce of this island as we can.”

“Yes, of course.” Richter looked to Ernst. “Could the RAF have dropped or sprayed some chemicals over the area – Vazon, did you say?”

“You think the British did this?” said Dr Martel.

Richter turned. “You like to think of yourselves as a particularly green-fingered nation, I believe?”

“Touché,” said Dr Martel. “But the question is, as I said when I arrived: what are you going to do about it?”

It was a good question, Richter reflected. What did one do when confronted with an invasion of killer plants?

Dr Martel made it home by a circuitous route, and the man-eating vegetation seemed to have slowed its advances, whether simply because it had or due to the might of the German military machine now being directed against it, he did not know.

“Whatever’s going on, it doesn’t seem to be the work of the Kommandant,” he announced, once he’d got in through the kitchen door. “You’ve had no trouble here?”

Olive shook her head. “What sort of plants are they, anyway?”

“Apart from six foot high and vicious?”

“Philip, that was a serious question. What type of plant is it that’s suddenly got so out of hand?”

Dr Martel sat down at the wooden table. “I don’t know. Nobody does. Ambrose and the rest of us asked every gardener we could think of before I went up to the Kommandantur and none of them owned to having started it, or having the first clue what the wretched things are. Some sort of completely new and carnivorous plant, that’s all I know.”

“Well, don’t you think that’s odd?”

Dr Martel leant his chin on his hand and surveyed his wife. “Yes, Olive, I do think it’s odd. I think the whole thing is the oddest thing I’ve ever come across.”

“No,” said Olive, sitting in the chair next to him. “What I mean is – if someone, whether a gardener, or the Germans experimenting –”

“Or the British, as Colonel Richter pointed out.”

“Well, whoever did it, they’d have had to work from existing plants or seeds, or something, wouldn’t they? It certainly can’t be some native plant that’s been sprayed with the wrong fertiliser and spread like wildfire, because it would still look like – well, what it was, if you follow me.”

Dr Martel looked at her for a moment, struck by the point. “So it would. But then what is it and where did it come from?”

“Something fell up there, didn’t it?” said Olive, and when he didn’t immediately understand, she sighed and said, “At Vazon Bay. Somewhere near there. Something fell the other week. We thought it was the RAF, but there weren’t any planes over that night. A meteor or something, somebody said. And that’s where it all started, didn’t it?”

Dr Martel straightened up. “Damn.”

“Philip.”

“Sorry. But – wait – killer plants from Mars? You can’t be serious.”

“No – or at least not quite like that. But if it doesn’t belong here, then it must have come from somewhere else entirely, and either the Germans brought it, or someone else dropped it. Or it fell.”

Dr Martel gave a nod. “Well, that’s logical enough, I suppose. We’ll have to try and capture some of the stuff and test it in any case – somehow.” He paused and glanced across at her. “Killer plants from outer space? You wouldn’t even watch The Invisible Ray when I tried to take you.”

“Honestly, Philip, you told me it was going to be Rose Marie, and then you got the dates confused. And I did not say that. I merely said it must be from somewhere else, mustn’t it? You were the one who started talking about Mars.”

“Oberst,” said Reinicke, on entering Richter’s office. “I wish to complain.”

Richter made sure his sigh was entirely internal. “Yes, Reinicke?”

“Why have the men I requested for the house to house search been withdrawn? I am midway through interviewing Mr Jacques, and it is imperative that I have the men I need to discover his partner in this business.”

Richter hesitated before replying. “Reinicke, you are aware of the current, er, agricultural situation, are you not?”

“Agricultural situation, sir? Surely that sort of thing is a matter for Major Freidel? As I have told you, I have been busy persuading Mr Jacques to co-operate with us, and that must remain my priority.”

“This concerns us all, Reinicke. Your investigation will have to wait until the vegetation is not trying to eat us.”

Reinicke stared. Confusion clouded his blue gaze for a moment before it was followed by the transparent thought that perhaps the Kommandant was losing it, that perhaps someone more able needed to take over the reins before confusion returned. “Oberst?”

“I suggest,” said Richter, “that you look out the window!”

Reinicke turned. “What in particular am I supposed to be looking at, Kommandant?”

Richter bit back a sigh. Why must Reinicke be so damned literal? As if he didn’t have enough problems this morning.

“If you people are going to keep summoning me to the Kommandantur in these conditions, I’m going to have to request an escort, or at least a machete or something,” said Dr Martel, on returning to Richter’s office.

Richter merely turned. “Tea, doctor?”

“I won’t say no,” said Dr Martel, putting down a file on the desk as Richter set about pouring him some blackberry tea. “Between us, as requested, the Controlling Committee have contacted every nursery on the island. We’ve also done our best to get hold of as many farmers, gardeners and allotment holders as possible and a general call for information on what’s left of the Vazon area.”

Richter gave a faint wince.

“Don’t worry, Colonel. For the moment the casualty count is low, but it’s not going to stay that way. Not now this lot has put down roots. Anyway,” said Dr Martel, “the point is that our enquiries are now a good deal more complete than this morning and yet still nobody knows anything. One day everything was normal, nobody was experimenting with any unknown chemicals in lieu of regular pesticides or fertilisers, and now this. I think we may have to settle for Olive’s theory in lieu of any actual explanation.”

Richter straightened. He had always found Mrs Martel to be an intelligent woman. “Oh?”

“The plants aren’t like anything we’ve ever seen,” said Dr Martel. “She reckons they might as well have fallen from outer space.”

Richter raised his eyebrows. “Outer space?”

“Well, maybe not, but they’re not from round here, that’s the essential point. What have your people been importing?”

“I have also set in motion various enquiries, all of which have yielded much the same information as yours: nobody has been doing anything out of the ordinary. One of our officers at the hospital made much the same remark – they could not even identify the plant class in question.”

“So what now? Are you going to start blaming our people again?”

Richter crossed to the desk and pulled out his own files. “We had reports of some disturbance in the Vazon Bay area last week – perhaps an unexploded bomb dropped by the RAF, we thought – but on investigation, there was nothing to be found, barring some pieces of rock. Space debris was indeed what we were forced to conclude. Perhaps Mrs Martel is right.”

“Still, wherever they’re from, the question is how do we get them to go?”

“I was hoping you would be able to help.”

Dr Martel had been tidying the papers in his file and, at that, looked up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Merely that we need every scientist of every kind on this island to apply themselves to the problem. You will be given all the assistance you require.”

“I have patients! And I’m a general practitioner – not a botanist!”

“Your patients’ current greatest need is, I must feel, the disposal of this threat to all life on Guernsey. And as there are very few botanists on this island, we are making do with everyone to hand. Since you are here, you are to hand. Will you oblige? Obviously, it is too dangerous to approach the hospital, so we have set up a temporary lab here in addition.”

Dr Martel treated Richter to a glare. “Oh, well, I suppose I can stare through a microscope as well as the next person, but honestly, Colonel, I don’t know what you expect from me!”

“That is all I ask,” said Richter. Personally, he felt that Dr Martel was more likely to come to some useful conclusions via a microscope than the next person, but then he was currently standing in the Kommandantur, so the next person was far more likely to be a soldier than any sort of scientist. “In the meantime, the military will continue trying to find out what we have in our arsenal that actually does work. At the moment, we’ve been reduced to spraying weed-killer around strategic positions, but it seems only to be a temporary deterrent – and besides, supplies are growing low.”

“As usual,” said Dr Martel.

“Indeed. As usual.”

“Kluge,” said Reinicke, taking a break from his interrogation for the second time that day. “Why is there weed-killer on my desk?”

Kluge glanced up from the typed sheets of paper he was currently studying. “Oberst Richter’s orders. In case you intend to leave the Kommandantur. It does at least have some effect on the damned things, if not for long.”

“Is it a joke?”

Kluge rose from his desk. “Not a very funny one, Sturmbannführer. The current agricultural situation is still causing serious problems.”

“And for this, er, agricultural situation, I need weed-killer to hand?”

“So the plants don’t eat you, Reinicke!”

“You are right,” said Reinicke. “It is not a very funny joke.”

Olive peered out the window, on edge at every slight movement in case the foliage had started to creep up on the house, but at the moment the back garden still seemed to be free of any such menace.

The telephone behind her rang and she jumped before hurrying to answer it.

“Peter?” she said. “Are you all right over there? It’s not Helen?”

On the other end, Peter said, “Mother’s fine. In fact it’s almost exactly the reverse.”

Olive frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

“Well,” said Peter, “we were surrounded by the damn things – then the branches of one smashed through the living room window and Mother was startled enough that she lobbed the nearest thing to hand right back at it.”

“I can’t say I blame her.”

She could hear Peter grinning. (Philip would say that was illogical, but one could, quite easily.) “No, me neither, but that’s the thing. She was drinking coffee – acorn coffee – and flung it, like I said, and you’ll never guess what.”

“Then you had better tell me.”

“It killed it,” said Peter. “They don’t like it any more than we do. Less, as it turns out. We thought it was just a fluke, or it had damaged itself on the glass, but we tried with my cup as well, and it works. We’ve been boiling up as much as we can manage and it’s pretty darned effective, I can tell you. But I thought Dr Martel should tell the Controlling Committee and the Germans. I don’t suppose they’d listen to me. I mean, you can imagine what Kluge would say if I turned up and recommended an acorn coffee offensive.”

Olive mentally reviewed Peter’s history with the Germans. “Yes, quite! And don’t worry – as long as the lines are still working, I should be able to contact him in the Kommandant’s office. This isn’t a joke, is it, Peter?”

“Scout’s honour,” he said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Acorn coffee?” said Dr Martel, on the telephone. Richter’s brow creased, unable to follow the one-sided conversation satisfactorily. “Look, are you sure, Olive?”

There was a long silence, broken only by the indistinct sound of Mrs Martel’s voice on the other end. “Oh, splendid. I shall be sure to tell the Kommandant at once.”

Richter raised an eyebrow as Dr Martel turned back towards him. “You shall be sure to tell me what, doctor?”

“We’ve cracked it,” said Dr Martel. “These killer plants. They have an allergy – and guess what it is?”

Richter had to smother yet another internal sigh. “I suggest that you simply tell me.”

“Acorn coffee!”

“Is this a joke?”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” said Dr Martel. “Guernsey invaded by killer plants from outer space and saved by the blasted acorn coffee, but apparently not. Anyway, you don’t have to believe me. Raid the canteen and try it for yourself. I only hope we’ve got enough. The demand for the wretched stuff will never have been this high before.”

“Acorn coffee?”

“Helen Porteous made the discovery, and it seems to be doing the trick so far.”

Richter gave a nod, and then strode across to pick up the phone, getting first the hospital – the site under the most immediate attack – and then Kluge. “Yes – as much as possible. If there are any vats – it must be the first priority –”

When he turned round again, he found Dr Martel watching him with a rather irritating smile on his face. “What is it, doctor?”

“Nothing, Colonel. Merely the somewhat petty pleasure of hearing you give what I firmly trust will be the most ridiculous orders you’ll ever issue in your life.”

Richter gave him a look, but then shrugged. “Provided it works, I don’t care.”

“No,” said Dr Martel more soberly. “No. Here’s hoping it does – here’s hoping we have enough.”

“We must,” said Richter, and that was another order. Dr Martel nodded.

“Acorn coffee for you,” said Kluge, nodding to the flask on Reinicke’s desk. “Just in case.”

Reinicke, who had finally finished his interrogation, shot Kluge a sharp glance. “That is, ah, strangely considerate of you. Might one enquire as to why?”

“Kommandant’s orders,” said Kluge and then paused, on the point of leaving the office. “Do you still have no idea what has been going on, Sturmbannführer?”

“On the contrary,” said Reinicke, reaching for a cigar, surveying it, and then putting it back down; presumably awaiting the fuller completion of his days’ work before he indulged in his reward. “I believe I now know precisely what has been going on here – and I have an arrest to make.”

Kluge managed to keep back a snort. “Well, don’t forget your coffee.”

“I have no idea what has got into everyone today,” said Reinicke and left the flask behind as he marched out, intent on his fell purpose.

Kluge smiled. And later, in the mess, he had the rare and considerable pleasure of relating to a group of his fellow officers how it was that Sturmbannführer Reinicke had been attacked by a stray row of vicious alien plants without even any weed killer to hand, let alone acorn coffee. His prey had slipped out of his grasp in the meantime, but he and his men had been rescued by a group of Kluge’s men armed with the regulation flasks of acorn coffee – eventually.

Kluge grinned again. It was a memory he would treasure.

“Olive,” said Dr Martel some days later, staring down at his plate. “What is this? Because it looks to me suspiciously like –”

“It’s perfectly harmless and very nutritious! That was what all you scientists found when you were examining it, trying to find how to kill it, wasn’t it?”

“Olive,” he said. “I will dine on turnip and cabbage; I will eat seaweed, and drink acorn coffee and blackberry tea, and consume whatever else we can come up with to sustain life, but I absolutely draw the line at ingesting killer plants from outer space!”

Olive looked back at him and bit her lip.

“What?”

“Well, it seems more like poetic justice than eating turnips, doesn’t it? After all, they nearly ingested us. And I really don’t know what else we’re supposed to do with them…”