Uncommon Enemy (5 page)

The days that followed were full of excitement and challenge for Stuart. He and Carol started meeting for lunch in Albert Park on a regular basis. Although puzzled by her occasional bleak flashes he had come to the conclusion that in the meantime he was content with the pleasure of her company and to let matters take their course. She had told him that Hamish continued to disapprove of their lunchtime meetings but that she had refused to stop them. Yet, whenever he tried to further explore her relationship with Hamish she immediately changed the subject so he finally let it drop. With the memories of the library
meeting still fresh in his mind he had twice hinted that they should arrange another evening rendezvous, but on each occasion she had again quickly changed the subject.

Nevertheless the regular meetings with her buoyed his spirits. He made peace with his family and informed them of his scholarship. Their congratulations were mixed with their obvious relief over his exemption from military service. His father was clearly pleased that his son would not have to join the already expanding armed forces. Yet the government-funded research position would enable him to hold up his head when telling his neighbours, friends and church members why his son was remaining in New Zealand while others were going overseas on active duty.

Stuart’s excellent exam results further lifted his spirits. After hearty congratulations Professor Sterling lost no time in finding him a small office and assigning him a series of research tasks. His weekdays became rapidly filled with combing through books, archived newspapers, letters, official government documents and communiqués. As some of the material was in German Stuart was also able to persuade his mentor to hire Brendan as a part-time translator.

Superficially Stuart’s existence was idyllic - a challenging position, a developing relationship with Carol, and relative harmony at home. Yet clouding his horizons were the continuing reminders that there was a war on. Increasingly military uniforms began to appear on the streets. Patriotic speeches from “Where-Britain-goes-we-go” Prime Minister Michael Joseph Savage and other MPs filled the pages of the newspapers, alongside photographs of young Kiwis training and marching in readiness to join the brave boys overseas. Increasingly however, the initial optimism at home was tempered by the realities of the war. The rapid advance of the German army through Western Europe and the fall of France caused widespread concern. Consequently the papers made much of the rescue of the British army at the French port of Dunkirk by the flotilla of vessels that had crossed the English Channel and braved German air attacks to bring the troops back to England.

“It was a great effort, sir,” said Stuart as he and Professor Sterling studied the Dunkirk photographs in the New Zealand Herald.

“True,” replied the professor. “But don’t let it blind you to the fact that Dunkirk was a major defeat. Now virtually all of Europe is under the control of the German army, probably the best fighting force the world has ever seen.”

The deteriorating situation motivated Stuart and Professor Sterling to increase their work rate, seeking to gain any insight, no matter how minor, into the German military and political mind. The fall of France shifted their focus to attempts to research and predict the type of occupation likely to be imposed on the conquered peoples of Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Norway and Denmark and whether or not this would differ from the brutality of the regime that had already been imposed on Poland.

They had also been asked to keep a watching brief on Japan and the USA. Japan’s bellicose incursions into China contrasted sharply with the isolationist attitude that appeared to be widespread throughout America. Although President Franklin Roosevelt reflected the considerable sympathy felt for Britain in its battle with the Germany there seemed little likelihood of his country taking up arms in support of Britain and her allies.

Professor Sterling’s privileged position with the government’s Ministry of Defence gave Stuart access to censored information showing in grim detail the reality of the war’s progress and the increasing success of the German forces on land and sea. The newspapers, magazines and cinema newsreels continued to paint a positive picture of ‘our brave boys’ but Stuart found it increasingly hard to remain positive when he read the casualty figures of men and material.

It was a cool morning in mid-November when Professor Sterling put his head round Stuart’s door and informed him that there was a meeting scheduled for 11 o’clock with some military personnel.

“The Prime Minister’s Department is considering increasing our funding in order to provide more information for our military intelligence sections,” he explained. “A delegation is coming to meet us and discuss the potential of our research. If they see additional possibilities they will recommend an expansion of our operation.”

“What are our chances, sir?” asked Stuart.

“Reasonably good I should think,” replied the professor. “We’ll need to convince them that our research can be applied directly to the nation’s war needs. I’d like you to report on your research into the Nazi occupation of Europe including anything you can find on resistance movements - sabotage, partisan fighters, that sort of thing. The way the conqueror and the conquered behave is always an excellent indication of his ultimate aims and objectives. The conquering of a nation is a lot easier than its occupation. Our visitors might be interested in working with us on ways to undermine the enemy through support for resistance movements.”

“The military gentlemen have arrived, professor,” announced the departmental secretary.

Professor Sterling and Stuart rose to greet the uniformed members of the delegation. The first to appear was a tall, grey-haired man who strode into the meeting room with outstretched hand.

“Major Richard Thompson. Pleased to meet you. Allow me to present my team.” Turning to the two other uniformed men who had just entered the room he continued, “May I present Captain Mark Williamson and Lieutenant Hamish Beavis.”

Stuart and Hamish both froze at the same moment, and stood staring at each other in astonishment. “You two gentlemen know each other, lieutenant?” asked Major Thompson.

Hamish spoke first, bracing his shoulders to display his new uniform with its neat creases and shiny shoulder pips. “Yes, sir, I
know Johnson quite well. His top lip twitched upwards. “I’m not surprised that he’s still a civilian.”

Recovering himself quickly Stuart looked Hamish in the face before slowly shifting his gaze to the man’s shoulders..

“I see that Mr. Beavis has attained officer status.” He beamed. “I hope that he has more success in getting his troops to obey him than he has had with a mutual acquaintance of ours.”

The snarled response was immediate. “Watch your mouth, Johnson! I’d hate to damage it-----.”

“Beavis!” barked the major.

Hamish froze to attention. “Sir!”

“I don’t know what this is about, but may I remind you that we are here in a military capacity. You will conduct yourself in a manner that befits a man of officer rank. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir!” responded the still rigid Hamish, staring straight ahead.

Thompson turned to Sterling “I’m sorry about this, professor-----.”

“No need to apologize, Major. Mr. Johnson was also out of order. Now I suggest we all follow the major’s advice and remember that we are here to serve the cause of our country and should therefore set aside any private feelings.” He turned to his assistant.

“Agreed, Mr. Johnson?”

“Agreed, sir. Sorry, sir.” Stuart, although still recovering from the shock of seeing Hamish in his new capacity, had quickly realized that any further aggression on his part could undermine the meeting even before it got started.

“Good. That’s settled,” responded Major Thompson. “At ease, Beavis. I suggest, Professor Sterling that we get down to business.”

With a scraping of chairs and a rustle of papers, the five men and the secretary seated themselves around the table. Thompson opened the meeting.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “it’s important for our military to gather an accurate insight into the enemy’s thinking, his values and his ultimate goals. Rather stupidly we’ve made the mistake of not taking the Nazis seriously enough---.”

“In the hope that they’d keep to their own back yard,” grunted the professor.

“Exactly,” replied Thompson. “However, the fall of France and their occupation of Europe have motivated us to consider ways in which the Nazis could be undermined, other than on the battlefield.”

He paused and Sterling nodded. “Over the last few weeks Mr. Johnson has been engaged in extensive research. For the purposes of this meeting I have asked him to prepare a summary of three of his key findings.” He held up his fist and raised a finger for each point. “Resistance movements, the attitudes of various sectors of the population towards their new rulers, and collaboration by locals with the Germans.” He turned to Stuart and nodded.

“My theme is ‘The Nazis as Occupiers’,” began Stuart. “The first area I’d like us to look at is resistance movements.”

He paused and clearing his throat he glanced quickly at Hamish. The man’s expression was neutral but his gaze was unwavering. As Stuart began speaking he became aware that his topic was generating considerable interest. Avoiding Hamish’s stare he concentrated on making eye contact with the others in the room. After briefly outlining his methodology and sources of information, he moved on to his conclusions to date.

“What is clear to me is that in Occupied Europe the Nazis are receiving a surprising degree of cooperation among some sections of the population.”

The three military men exchanged glances and murmured with surprise. Taking this as his cue Hamish snapped, “That’s absurd! The people of Europe hate the Nazis. They’d never collaborate with them.”

Stuart, on his home ground and supported by his research, remained calm. The facts that he had unearthed were not palatable, but he was confident that his sources were reliable. Shifting his gaze towards Hamish he spoke slowly and deliberately.

“My research does not deal with the absurd. I deal in facts and, if asked to develop hypotheses, I do so based on those facts. Therefore they warrant serious consideration.”

“‘Develop hypotheses’? Huh. Typical of these varsity types. Trying to show off by using fancy words to demonstrate that they’re cleverer than the rest of us.” His eyes narrowed. “Listen, Johnson, remember that there’s a war on and that support for Hitler and the Nazis is regarded as traitorous!”

“I think that’s enough, lieutenant,” Thompson’s tone was sharp but his voice reflected uncertainty. He frowned at Stuart. “Surely you’re not saying that the Nazis have widespread support in places like Poland, Denmark, Norway, Holland or France?”

“It’s difficult to accurately gauge the level. It’s unlikely to be wide in Poland, due to the harsh nature of the occupation. And I’m not saying that is widespread, either. But it’s clear that there is support for the Nazis among certain sections.”

“That’s ridiculous, sir! They fought to keep the Germans out. And I know that they’ll continue to fight.”

“You ‘know’, lieutenant. How do you know?” The professor’s voice was calm and even.

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it?” said Hamish, seeking support from his fellow officer.

“I would hope so,” frowned Captain Thompson.

“Hope is one thing, but facts are what we are trying to deal with here, gentlemen,” responded the professor. “My young colleague and I have spent many hours sifting through a mass of material, some of it translated directly from original German sources.”

“‘German sources’! Are they reading German propaganda at this university, sir? Really, sir, this is too much! We are wasting -----.”

“Lieutenant Beavis!” his commanding officer’s voice had resumed its previous authoritarian note. “While I too am surprised at Mr. Johnson’s findings, I have no difficulty with these two gentlemen reading German sources. Surely this is the most reliable way of finding out what the enemy is thinking?”

“Yes, sir, but there’s more to it than that. Johnson clearly has suspect views. He may even be a Nazi sympathizer. He hasn’t joined up; he’s remained here at this university while others like me have joined the armed forces. That’s pretty suspect in my book!”

“Really, this is too much!” Professor Sterling half rose from his chair and leaning across the table addressed himself directly to Hamish. “You, lieutenant, clearly do not understand the difference between a researcher explaining his research outcomes and a man expressing a personal political opinion. Just because a research outcome is unpalatable, doesn’t make the researcher himself suspect. Clearly in your case the term ‘military intelligence’ is an oxymoron!”

“Are you calling me a ‘moron’?” snarled Hamish.

The professor slowly slipped back into his chair and sighed. Turning to the major he shrugged. “I rest my case.” Clearly embarrassed at his officer’s obtuseness Thompson stood up. “I’m sorry, professor, but under the circumstances it would be best if we left. I would like to hear more of your research but,” he looked hard at Hamish, “I will have to reconsider the makeup of my team.” With that he reached over, briskly shook hands with Stuart and Sterling and walked rapidly from the room.

Hamish, who was the last of the trio to leave, paused alongside Stuart. His words, although soft, were laced with menace.

“Start looking over your shoulder, Johnson.” 

The news of Hitler’s full-scale invasion of Russia caught everyone by surprise and lifted the spirits of the New Zealand population. Parallels were immediately drawn with France’s ill-fated military campaign in 1812 in which Napoleon Bonaparte’s Grande Armee had been defeated by the terrible Russian winter. The conclusion that Hitler’s Wermacht soldiers would eventually meet a similar fate was widespread.

The invasion immediately opened up another area of research for Professor Sterling and his team.

“I’m absolutely staggered at the rapid progress of the German army,” he commented. “They’re well on the way to Moscow.”

He glanced out of his office window. “However, in a few months there’ll be spring blossoms on our trees. That will mean autumn leaves in Russia. The German army won’t find the Russian winter an easy environment.”

What intrigued Stuart apart from the rapid German advance was the support for its soldiers that came from some sections of the Soviet Republics. One morning having barely seated himself at his desk, he received a phone call from Professor Sterling.

“Good morning, Stuart. Could you drop in to my office when you have a moment?”

“Of course, sir,” he replied. “I’ll come now.”

As he entered the professor’s office he was greeted with, “Here Stuart, take a look at this.”

Stuart accepted the photograph that was handed to him. He studied it for a moment and asked, “A German photograph, sir?”

“Yes, from the Russian front in the Ukraine. Rather bears out what you were saying at the meeting with Major Thompson.”

Stuart studied the photograph with increasing interest. It showed two blonde-haired German soldiers, without helmets or weapons, seated between two pretty girls in traditional Ukrainian dress. All four were spontaneously laughing and applauding.

“Apparently it was taken at some Ukrainian folk festival to which the German soldiers were invited,” explained the professor. “Clearly the question of loyalties is as confusing in the Soviet Union as it is in Occupied Europe.”

“It certainly warrants further investigation. Have your heard anything more from Major Thompson?”

“Yes, he phoned me just an hour ago. Our reports have resulted in their continuing to recognize the value of our work. He’s therefore agreed to an increase in our funding.”

“Excellent news, sir.” Stuart paused. “Did he mention Hamish Beavis?”

“Only briefly. Beavis has been re-assigned and will not have any further involvement with this office, or, to use the major’s words, ‘or any of its personnel’.”

Stuart smiled with relief. “That’s good news, sir, on both counts. Do you think we could offer Brendan some more work?” Stuart knew that his friend was quite happy to support the war effort with his translating skills.

“Excellent idea. His work is fast and accurate and his knowledge of colloquial German is proving invaluable. Would he be interested, do you think?”

“Rather, sir. I’m seeing him after work for a drink so I’ll ask him.”

During the previous war, legislation had been introduced that required pubs throughout New Zealand to close promptly at six o’clock every night - on Sunday they were not permitted to open at al. The most celebrated result of these drinking laws was the last hour before closing time, known to all as the ‘six o’clock swill’. Like all those going for an after-work drink Stuart was aware that time was limited. Promptly at five o’clock he left his office and made his way downtown to the De Bretts pub in High Street.

The noisy smoke-filled public bar, where women were not permitted, contained an increasingly familiar mix of men in civilian
clothing and military uniforms. The floor tiles extended halfway up the walls. Apart from the occasional cheaply framed print of a racehorse, boxing or wrestling champion, or rugby team, they were bare. The purpose of the establishment was clear – the consumption of large quantities of beer in the shortest possible time. Standing three deep at the long bar counter, the patrons waited impatiently as the barmen, using long hosepipes, poured beer into the relays of empty glasses and jugs that were constantly thrust forward.

Slowly Stuart began to push his way forward through the noisy, packed throng-most of whom were concentrating on downing as much alcohol as possible within the 45 minutes that remained to them. Through the smoke he spotted Brendan in a corner, sitting on a high stool his head slumped onto one of many tall circular tables screwed to the tiled floor. He was clutching a glass. A half – filled jug of beer was on the table beside him. As Stuart approached with a hearty greeting his friend barely looked up.

Puzzled he asked, “You OK, mate?”

“Not really,” slurred Brendan looking up at Stuart with bloodshot eyes.

“What’s the problem?”

Brendan grunted and muttered to himself.

Unable to hear him above the raucous crowd, Stuart leaned closer to his friend’s flushed face.

“Sorry, mate, I couldn’t hear you. What’s the problem?”

Brendan lifted his head and for a long moment looked hard at Stuart. Abruptly he stood up and shouted, “I said that I got my bloody call up papers this morning! But I’m telling you now, loud and clear, I’m not going! They can’t make me fight!”

Brendan’s sudden leap to his feet had caused him to collide with a soldier who had been leaning against an adjacent table. As the man whirled round and shouted, “Watch what you’re doing you bloody idiot!” he sloshed most of his beer over his nearest neighbour’s khaki tunic.

It was Hamish Beavis.

“You!” hissed Hamish seeing Stuart.

Before Stuart could respond the man whose tunic had received most of Hamish’s beer, reached out and grabbed Brendan by the arm. “Hey, you!” he shouted.

Swaying slightly Brendan turned round and peered at him.

“What did you just yell?” demanded the soldier.

“I’m not going to fight! No bastard can make me!” responded Brendan loudly.

“You been called up?”

“Yeah,” replied Brendan. “What of it?”

Hamish, obviously elated, grabbed his neighbour and shouted, “It all fits!” He pointed at Brendan and then at Stuart. “This joker is a coward, and his mate Johnson here is a supporter of the Krauts. What a bloody pair. And what a bloody nerve! Drinking in here with real Kiwi men!”

In spite of the high noise level in the pub, the shouting had attracted the attention of other men who, sensing a confrontation began to surge towards the protagonists. Stuart, realizing that the crowd was unlikely to show any sympathy towards a man who was refusing to obey his call up orders, made a vain attempt to calm the situation by addressing Hamish’s companion.

“Come on, mate. He’s had a few too many. He doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing. Let’s just forget it.” He forced a smile and looked at his watch. “There’s only a few minutes drinking time left and---.”

Hamish cut across him shouting to the growing crowd, “This man’s a yellow bastard! And his mate’s a yellow bastard! They’re both yellow bastards!”

“Yea, Carol was right. She said your vocabulary was severely limited!” retorted Stuart.

The mention of Carol goaded Hamish into a fury. Swinging his left arm back he lashed out. This time Stuart had anticipated the blow. Hamish had been drinking and his reflexes were slower than normal, providing Stuart time to sway back from the roundhouse punch. Over the past weeks he had gone over and over the ferry building fight in his mind, recreating what he would have done had he known that a punch was coming. The images stood him in good stead. Stepping forward with his full body weight he sunk his right fist into Hamish’s solar plexus. The man collapsed coughing and vomiting quantities of beer onto the tiled floor.

“He hit an officer, the bastard!” shouted Hamish’s companion, surging forward towards Stuart and Brendan.

Several men in military uniform, shouting support, lurched forward to join him but in doing so tripped over the moaning, coughing figure of Hamish. His vomit mixing with the thin layer of beer on the tiled floor caused the men to slide and clutch at one another for support. Each in turn, unable to stay upright, crashed cursing into other men. The result was mayhem.

Fuelled by alcohol and bruised from their falls, men vented their anger on the nearest stranger. Within seconds a full-scale brawl surged across the floor of the public bar. Jugs of beer crashed and shattered on the hard floor adding an additional hazard to the flying fists and boots as with shouts of fury and howls of pain, waves of men surged over the whole area.

Stuart found himself fighting on two fronts-to protect himself and to protect Brendan whose drunkenness made him an easy target. Stuart’s sober state did give him an edge over his belligerent attackers who were finding it difficult to swing effective blows in the crush of bodies. At first he managed to ward off most of the punches but inevitably one got through and sent Brendan sprawling. Instinctively Stuart turned to assist and in doing so received a blow to the back of his own head, knocking
him down beside his friend.

“Put the boot in!” shouted a voice above them. An excruciating pain shot through him as an army boot thudded into his ribs. Two more equally painful blows followed before another voice shouted, “OK, mates, that’s enough!” and Stuart and Brendan were left coughing and moaning on the floor in the corner of the bar while the brawl continued to surge above them. Deciding through his haze of pain that nothing was to be gained by trying to stand, Stuart put his mouth to Brendan’s ear and shouted, “Stay here. Don’t move. If we get up they’ll probably kill us!”

The blow, the fall and the alcohol resulted in Brendan’s drifting into a half-conscious state punctuated by an occasional moan of protest when a foot stood on him or a body sprawled near him. As Stuart lay on the sodden foul-smelling floor, hunched partly in pain and partly as a means of protecting himself from further assault, above the din he heard orders being barked out. Slowly the shouting subsided. Summoned by a barman’s telephone call the police had arrived in substantial numbers to deal with a familiar problem-a pub closing time brawl.

The police sergeant, aware that at any time his men could be called to another inner city watering hole to deal with the same problem, ordered the barroom to be cleared. Subdued by the sight of a phalanx of blue uniforms, men lurched towards the door and out into the street, assisting their mates who, through injury or drunkenness were unable to make it on their own. As the last few staggered away the sergeant surveyed the bodies strewn about the floor-some moaning and some lying still.

“Looks like bloody Waterloo,” he muttered. “Check to see if any of these layabouts need medical assistance.”

The policemen began working their way across the floor checking each man. “Most of them are just drunk, sarge,” said one of the policemen while the rest nodded in agreement. “Bit of blood but nothing serious.”

Hearing a load moan, the sergeant indicated the corner where several men, including Stuart and Hamish were lying. “Check over there.”

Two policemen walked gingerly across the slippery floor towards the group and, as Stuart began to prop himself up, one of them asked, “You OK?”

“Yes, except that I got booted in the ribs and it’s hard to breathe. He indicated Brendan who had fallen into a deep sleep. “My mate’s OK. He just needs time to sleep it off.” He began to struggle to his feet and winced as one of the policemen leaned forward and lifted him under the armpit.

“Sore, is it mate?” he asked.

“Yes. Might have cracked something,” he muttered as he slowly got up to his feet. He smiled wryly at the policeman and gingerly put his hand against his side. “The irony is that I didn’t even have time for a drink. Came in here looking for my mate and suddenly all hell broke loose.”

“That’s not true, officer. This man is responsible for the whole bloody mess!”

Turning Stuart confronted the sight of a belligerent Hamish, who had lurched to his feet, and stood swaying slightly and bleeding from a cut above his right eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” asked the sergeant, stepping forward.

“His mate down there,” Hamish gestured scornfully, “had his call up papers this morning. Stood in the corner shouting that he wasn’t going to join up, that he hated the King, and that he hoped the Germans would win. And Johnson here,” another scornful gesture, “joined in, egging him on and also shouting seditious comments.”

“You bloody liar!” responded Stuart, furious at the man’s wild accusations. “You and your army mates started swinging punches and set off the whole thing. And now you’re trying to blame somebody else.”

“Just hold it, both of you,” interposed the sergeant. “Now,” he continued, turning to Stuart, “what’s this about your mate there being called up and refusing to go?”

Stuart chose his words with care. “Apparently he got his call up papers in the post today. When I came in he had obviously been drinking for a while-----.”

“Because he’s yellow!” interrupted Hamish

“As I said, he’d been drinking for a while,” insisted Stuart, trying to keep his temper, “as had most of the men in the pub, including soldier boy here.”

His final phrase was ill chosen as the sergeant narrowed his eyes and said slowly, “Do you have something against the King’s officers?”

Hamish, sensing the shift in attitude, cut in rapidly. “He certainly does, sergeant. And what’s more he’s a supporter of the Germans. I’ve heard him say so up at that university of his.”

“That’s a serious accusation, lieutenant,” said the sergeant. He turned to Stuart. “Have you anything to say, young man?”

“Plenty, but you’d probably arrest me for obscene language in a public place. The lieutenant’s accusations are totally without foundation. I support the war effort just as everyone else does. He’s just pissed off because his girlfriend and I are particularly friendly.”

“Why, you----.”

“Take it easy, lieutenant,” cautioned the sergeant. “Now then,” he continued addressing Stuart, I’m not interested in private squabbles about sheilas, but,” he continued a little pompously, “anything that undermines national security is my concern. Now, you said that you supported the war effort like everyone else?”