Uncommon Enemy (15 page)

The rally of the university student union early the following afternoon started quietly. As the news of the previous day’s meeting with the German officials spread throughout the university, students began to assemble in small groups in the quad, seeking further information and debating various courses of action. Opinions were divided about the meeting and its implications and consequently there was confusion as to how the student body should react. The small groups rapidly grew into a large, noisy crowd and voices became louder as each student sought to express their opinion above the increasing noise.

On one side of the quad a platform with microphone and a speaker had been set up in anticipation of the rally. At its base the Auckland University College Students Association committee members, their heads close together in a scrum-like formation, were debating their next move. One of them looked up at the increasing throng. Turning back to the group he addressed a tall redheaded youth.

“They don’t know what’s going on, Ned. Somebody’ll have to say something and it has to be you.”

Ned Cox looked uncomfortable. He had been Student President for a year and had revelled in the prestige that came with the office. Not only had he enjoyed running the meetings but also it had enabled him to mix with the academic staff. Furthermore it had given his love life a new impetus. Often he had fantasized about a glittering academic career once the war was over, but nothing had prepared him for this new turn of events. Yet, clearly someone had to say something and as president it was his responsibility.

He nodded. “OK. Not exactly sure what I’m going to say, but I’ll give it a go.”

The crowd grew quiet as he stepped onto the platform and approaching the microphone, nervously blew into it. He looked around at the sea of upturned faces and cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen,” he began, and noticing some women students standing in a group on one side, added “and ladies of course.” He laughed nervously but the crowd remained silent. “Um, thank you for coming here today.”

“It’s not a bloody wedding, Ned!” shouted a voice from the back of the crowd. “Tell us what’s going on!”

An affirmative roar galvanized Cox into action. He held up his hand.

“I don’t know much more than you do. However I had a brief meeting with senior staff representatives about an hour ago. We have been informed that our university college and every other one in the country will be placed under the control of some sort of Nazi committee called the Academic Council. This committee will have the power to decide what courses will be taught and what books will be used to teach these courses.”

There was an immediate and angry roar of protest from the student crowd. Cox paused and ran his fingers through his hair. The day was cloudy and cool but he noticed that his forehead was heavy with sweat. Again he held up his hand.

“This committee will also, I believe, have the final say regarding the employment of teaching staff. Those that don’t support the New Order will probably lose their jobs and the committee will have the power to appoint their replacements.”

“That’s a total bloody takeover!” shouted a voice from the centre of the crowd. Echoing shouts of anger rapidly spread through the crowd that began to surge towards the platform. A chant of “No takeover!” spread rapidly from the centre in rhythmic waves. Caught up by the vocal momentum, the student president began to echo the chant into the microphone and to beat time with his clenched fist.

At first the cries on the edge of the crowd were thought to be a variation of the chant but when they rapidly turned into screams all heads turned and craned to see what was happening. The answer came rapidly and brutally. Several black police vans had suddenly arrived and disgorged their cargo of special police armed with batons. A flying wedge had driven straight into the group of female students smashing them aside and sending them sprawling. With well practiced speed the wedge, accompanied by a chant of “Move! Move!” surged forward their batons rising and falling in a grotesque rhythm on the unprotected heads of the tightly packed students. Instinctively the crowd turned to flee but in their panic many slipped and fell causing others to crash on top of them. The wedge flailed at those who were falling and as they fell, stood on their heads and limbs as it advanced towards the platform.

Nick Cox had no chance. From his vantage point he had seen the arrival of the special police and after a warning shout of “Get out of here!” had quickly turned away towards the side of the platform. The shot that hit him in the small of the back echoed around the quad. Some students flung themselves to the ground. Others, heedless of their fellows, redoubled their efforts to escape. Within an astonishingly short space of time the scene had been totally transformed. The special police stood among an array of moaning, sprawling students too terrified to rise or unable to move due to broken limbs.

From the platform, came a series of long, spine chilling screams from the student president who lay dying from the bullet lodged in the base of his spinal cord.

Emerging from behind the Old Choral Hall on the Symonds St side of the campus Stuart signalled to Carol to stand still while he peered cautiously round the corner.

“All clear for the moment. Come on.”

“You, sure?”

“Yeah, It should be OK. I think I copped another cracked rib when that bastard hit me.” He tried to take a deep breath and winced. “Getting to be a bit of a habit.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “I’ll be OK if I don’t have to do any running.”

“Good thing we were a bit late and wound up on the edge of the crowd.”

“Yeah, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Come on. We’ll head downtown.”

“OK, but get rid of your varsity blazer.”

Hastily taking it off and removing his wallet and fountain pen Stuart rolled the garment up and thrust it into a clump of bushes.

“Good. Now take my hand, Stuart, and walk slowly. The authorities may decide to round up participants in the rally. If we walk slowly, hand in hand, hopefully they’ll ignore us.”

Moving quickly into Symonds Street they began walking at a leisurely pace. Groups of cyclists and the occasional car went past but there was no sign of any military vehicles.

For a while neither of them spoke. The brutal response to the rally and their dash through the university buildings had left them shaken, bewildered and angry. Finally Carol spoke.

“It’s just getting worse and worse. Every day something new and awful happens.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “And at the moment I don’t have any answers. Those bastards back there----.”

“Stuart, don’t look round but there’s some sort of vehicle coming slowly up behind us.”

He stopped walking and without looking back spun her round to face him. “It’s an army motorcycle. Kiss me! Hard!” he commanded as he slid his right hand behind her head and drew her face towards his.

Wrapping her arms around him she responded immediately. The sound of the vehicle drew nearer and then slowed. Above the noise of the idling motor came a shout and a whistle. Stuart pulled his lips away from Carol’s. “Smile,” he whispered as he turned in the direction of the sound.

A motorcycle and sidecar had pulled up by the side of the pavement. A soldier wearing a German coalscuttle helmet, with a rifle strapped to his back was seated astride the bike. In the sidecar, wearing the distinctive high peaked hat and a death’s head insignia above the braiding was a uniformed officer.

The soldier was brown skinned.

With a supreme effort Stuart managed what he hoped looked like a sheepish grin.

“Hullo,” he said. The soldier grinned but the officer looked stern. “You two anything to do with the university?” he asked.

Stuart heard Carol gasp at the New Zealand accent. He squeezed her hand warningly and shrugged.

“Us? University? Hell no.” He laughed and looked fondly at Carol. “Anyway got better things to do with my time. Why?

What’s the problem?”

“A few nancy boy students kicking up a fuss. Bastards don’t know when they’re well off. Anyway the specials fixed them.

We’re just helping out, scouting for troublemakers. Where are you two going?”

“My girlfriend and I have been visiting some friends in Grafton. We’re just walking down to the waterfront to catch the Devonport ferry.”

“Known each other for long?”

Carol wrapped her arms around Stuart’s right arm. She smiled beguilingly. “Sorry if we’re not supposed to be kissing in the street. My fault, officer. It’s such a lovely day and I just couldn’t help myself.”

Both men gazed at her with undisguised admiration. Looking directly at the soldier she murmured, “That’s a lovely big motor cycle. I bet it can go fast.”

He smiled. “Yeah, she’s a beauty, eh?” He twisted the throttle and the engine roared. “That’s enough, corporal,” ordered the officer. “Sorry, sir,” he replied, as he throttled back, but his grin remained.

Stuart noticed that the officer’s right hand collar bore the distinctive double S flashings. The upper left hand sleeve of the officer’s field grey Waffen SS uniform featured an insignia of an eagle with wings spread, clutching a circular badge in its claws.

Inside the circle was a silver fern, It was intertwined with the Nazi cross. Around the lower sleeve was a cuff band embroidered with ‘New Order New Zealand’.

With a start Stuart noticed that the officer was staring at him. “Just admiring your uniform,” he said quickly. “Looks a hell of a lot better than boring khaki.”

“Yeah. I like it. We both joined up last week. The new government’s offering good wages and conditions, particularly for Kiwis with combat experience.”

“Combat experience?”

“Yeah. Me and Corporal Herewini fought with the Eight Army in the western desert against Rommel’s men. Now we’re
wearing their uniform. Funny, eh?” Although he smiled Stuart sensed that the man was gauging his reaction.

He shrugged. “C’est la guerre.”

The officer stared at him. “Sure you’re not one of those bloody students?”

“No” replied Stuart. He grinned and shrugged. “I dropped out in the bloody Fourth Form. It’s just a French saying of my Dad’s. It means, ‘that’s war’.”

“OK,” grunted the officer. “Just needed to be sure.”

Stuart, suppressing a sigh of relief, smiled reassuringly at Carol who squeezed his arm tighter.

“Our regiment is looking for good men. The pay’s generous, training’s exciting and there’s an opportunity to go overseas and fight the communists on the Eastern Front.”

The soldier murmured something to the officer and he nodded. “Sorry, we’d better get going. We’ve got a new recruitment station at the Chief Post Office.”

He nodded to the soldier who, grinning at Carol, twisted his throttle and called, “Bye, sweetheart!” before engaging the engine and roaring off down the road.

The two of them stood on the kerb and waved. As the machine disappeared down the hill Carol turned abruptly and buried her face in Stuart’s coat lapel. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her trembling. “It’s OK”, he said. “They’ve gone. You were great.”

“So were you.” Her voice was muffled. “I don’t know how we managed after what we’ve just seen. Stuart?”

“True.”

“First Hamish and now those two; and they were in the Eighth Army with Ian.” She looked up at him. “Is everyone joining the Germans?”

“I don’t think so. But it’s more common than most people realize. My research and the translations that Brendan did from German war documents showed us that most of the occupied nations formed Waffen SS regiments that fought with the Germans – the Dutch, Norwegians, French, Belgians, even Bosnian Muslims.”

“Even so, I didn’t think our boys would be like that.”

“It’s early days yet. After today’s behaviour the New Order government may start to have some difficulty recruiting Kiwis into its ranks.”

At Carol’s insistence Stuart accompanied her on the bus to Aunt Catherine’s in Milford.

“She’s a nursing sister. You need expert advice with no awkward questions.”

“But won’t she find it a bit odd, you turning up with a complete stranger with suspected cracked ribs?”

“You won’t be a complete stranger. I’ve talked about my very good university friend Stuart from time to time. And you’ve spoken to her on the phone, remember.” She smiled. “She’ll be delighted to meet you.

Aunt Catherine’s welcome was indeed warm.

“So you’re Stuart. Very pleased to meet you, young man.” Stuart entered the tidy three-bedroom bungalow and was ushered into the lounge.

“I’ve just lit a fire. Still chilly once the sun goes down,” Aunt Catherine explained.

“Stuart had a bit of an accident earlier today, Auntie. He thinks he might have damaged his ribs.”

“Indeed,” said her aunt immediately adopting a professional tone. “I shall need to examine you, Stuart. In the spare bedroom at the end of the hall there’s a dressing gown. If you’d like to remove your shirt and singlet and slip into the dressing gown, I’ll conduct the examination here, by the fire.”

Two minutes later Stuart returned wearing a large winter dressing gown.

“Good. Now, young man, come and stand over here by the fire and let’s have a look at you.” Stepping forward he loosened the gown to expose his chest. Carol immediately reached over and, running the tips of her fingers slowly downwards murmured, “Mmmm. He has got a nice hairy chest hasn’t he, Aunt Catherine.”

“Carol, really!” responded her aunt in mock horror. “Out of the way. This is strictly a medical matter. Go and make each of us a large cup of cocoa. Now, Stuart, stop grinning at Carol and show me how deeply you can breathe?”

Stuart began to draw a slow breath but winced in pain after an initial intake. “Hmmm,” responded Aunt Catherine, feeling methodically around his chest and rib area. “You haven’t been coughing blood or anything like that, have you?”

“No. I’m OK talking and breathing. It’s just when I take deep breaths.”

“A cracked rib or two is probably all that it is. Some medical people swathe the patient in bandages but the more modern approach is to leave the ribs to heal themselves,” and she frowned with mock severity, “as long as the patient does not indulge in activities of a vigorous or violent nature. Now, Carol, let’s have that cocoa.”

Sitting by the fire sipping their cocoa, Stuart and Carol described in detail to the increasingly horrified Miss Mason, the savage police attack
on the students.

“So,” concluded Stuart, “We wound up here.” He nodded to Aunt Catherine. “Carol was insistent that I come and be checked out by an expert which you clearly are.”

“You’re most welcome, young man,” she responded. “But what an appalling story. Your Hamish joining the Nazis and the police attacking unarmed students. Is this the way things are going to be in New Zealand from now on?”

“It looks that way, Miss Mason,” replied Stuart. “But I for one am not prepared to just accept it as being inevitable.”

“So what’s to be done?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ll go to varsity early tomorrow morning and see if anything else has happened and then,” he looked across at Carol, “we can decide what to do after that. We may find that our options are limited. What we don’t want to do is rush blindly into some action that will result in our being locked away.”

Aunt Catherine nodded then, after a thoughtful pause, yawned. “Now, you young people will want some time together, so I’m off to bed. The guest room’s all made up, Stuart and so I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“I’m sure I will be,” he replied, “and thank you again for your hospitality.”

Earlier Stuart had rung his parents explaining that he was staying with a university friend in the city, and was now facing the delightful prospect of having Carol all to himself. He looked at her and smiled. As the door of Aunt Catherine’s bedroom closed Carol slid off her chair and on to the rug in front of the fire.

“Come and sit here, Stuart,” she said, “We’ve both had a tough day.”

Within moments he was beside her. Snuggling up to him, she slid her hand inside his dressing gown and began to stroke his chest as he kissed her slowly and deeply. As their heads drew back she looked up at him and smiled.

“Hmmm, I was right. You have got a lovely hairy chest,” she murmured. They kissed again and his excitement mounted.

“God, you’re lovely, Carol,” he murmured.

She sighed and resting her head back on his chest, gazed at the flickering flames.

“I’ve got a lot to think about, Stuart. I promised my parents that I’d marry Hamish,” she shrugged, “and I also promised Hamish. I’m still wearing his engagement ring.”

“But, the man’s a Nazi. He’s not only betrayed his country but he’s also lied to you, his fiancée, by not telling you of his intentions – not to mention everything else that he’s put you through.”

“You’re right, Stuart, I suppose---.”

“No ‘suppose’ about it! You owe him nothing. You know I love you, and I know you have very strong feelings for me, so-----.”

He felt the tips of her fingers on his lips.

“Promise me something, Stuart.”

“Of course.”

“Give me a little more time to think it through.”

“Time is something we don’t have a lot of, Carol. Events are moving very fast.”

“I know that. Just give me a couple of days. Please?”

Her face was turned up towards him. Reaching forward he slid his right hand gently under her chin.

“I need a small favour in return,” he murmured.

“How small?” she asked.

“Very small. Just kiss me again.”

Her reply was to lift her face up towards his. Her mouth was soft and yielding and when his tongue found hers they both murmured in pleasure. Gently she pulled away from him and put her head on his chest. He could feel her trembling.

“Carol, surely you and I-----.”

Her voice was soft but firm. “Stuart, you promised.” Although his long sigh was born of exasperation, he kissed the top of her head.

“OK. I did.”

“I think we should both go to bed and, before you get any ideas, mister, you’re sleeping in the spare room at the end of the hall. Now, kiss me goodnight.”

She lifted her face again, kissed him slowly and lingeringly then stood up.

“Good night, Stuart.” She touched his cheek and left the room.

He sat for a few minutes, staring at the dying fire. Then, with a quiet smile he rose and made his way down the hallway. The door to Carol’s room was closed and he walked quietly past allowing his imagination to dwell on the image of her face framed by her dark hair, resting on the white pillow.

For some time he lay in bed reviewing the events of the day and their implications. The image of Carol was the final thought that caused him to drift off to sleep with the wisp of a smile on his face.