Uncommon Enemy (6 page)

Not sure where it was leading, Stuart merely nodded.

“Fine. That’s your word against the lieutenant’s. But, what about your mate here?” He nudged Brendan with the toe of his boot and elicited an inaudible mumble.

“He’s OK. Unlike me he was pretty drunk. I’ll look after him when he comes round.”

“I think it’s your duty to investigate further, sergeant.” Hamish was clearly determined not to let the opportunity to discredit both men slip by.

“Investigate what?” demanded Stuart. “If he’s been called up, so what? No crime’s been committed. He doesn’t even have to report for several days.”

“True enough.” The sergeant nodded in agreement. “We’ll leave it at that.” Turning away he was about to order his men to leave when Brendan chose that moment to wake up. Propping himself unsteadily on one elbow he gesticulated towards the sergeant.

“Don’t have to report for several days, eh, mate? Huh. I’ll tell you again. I’m not going to bloody well report at all. I’m not going to join their bloody army, navy or air force - or anything else for that matter. They can fight their fucking war without me!”

“See, sergeant! The man’s a subversive. Do your duty!”

“Don’t be stupid. He’s still drunk. Anyone can see that. Let him sleep it off.”

Stuart was clutching at straws. The group of constables had clearly taken exception to Brendan’s outburst and began muttering angrily. Unwilling to lose credibility with his men the sergeant turned to two of them.

“Get him on his feet,” he ordered.

Mumbling incoherently Brendan was hauled upright. Stepping forward the sergeant announced that he was under arrest.

“But this is ridiculous! What are you charging him with?” protested Stuart.

“Breach of the peace will do for a start,” responded the sergeant. “There’s a war on, mate, and we all have to do our bit. Now move on or you’ll be joining your subversive friend.”

“Yeah, move on,” chimed in Hamish with a leer of triumph. “Just count your lucky stars that------.”

“All right, lieutenant, I’ll handle this thank you.” Although regarding the arrest of Brendan as justified, the sergeant was keen to minimize any further complications. “By the state of you I suggest you make your way back to your barracks or your home.”

“I just wanted to make sure that you------.”

“Now, lieutenant! Unless, of course, you’d like me to call the MPs?”

At his nod, two of the policemen moved towards Hamish who, having no wish to be involved with the military police, headed towards the door. His shout of “That’ll teach you, Johnson!” was lost on Stuart who was more concerned with the fate of his inebriated friend.

“You can see the state of him, sergeant,” he pleaded. “The man’s in no condition to-------.”

“Listen, son, he’ll spend the night in the cells where he can dry out with the rest of the city’s drunks. Then we’ll decide in the morning whether or not to charge him. Now, get yourself home and ring the station in the morning.” Seeing Stuart hesitate he touched him on the shoulder. “Off you go, now.”

“It’s OK, mate.” Brendan chuckled drunkenly. “These boys in blue are going to take care of me - and they’re not the bloody army.”

“Take it easy, Brendan. I’ll be in touch.” Stuart realized his response was inadequate but he had no wish to complicate matters. With a feeble wave to his friend he stepped gingerly out into the street.

Every time he took a breath his side hurt but he was able to walk, albeit with caution. Instinctively he headed downtown towards the ferry buildings until, passing a large department store window, he caught a glimpse of a dishevelled figure clad in a crumpled blazer with a torn sleeve. With a start he realized that it was his own reflection. As he paused he felt a chill of the evening wind through his shirt and realized that his blazer was quite damp - beer from the bloody floor. He must smell like a brewery. He couldn’t go home like this. His parents would be appalled.

He turned and headed back up the street cutting eastwards across Albert Park towards the university. The main building was still open and the few people still around gave him disapproving looks – probably more the result of his aroma than his appearance. Heading towards the History Department he entered the men’s toilet. Standing in front of the basin he spent a few moments scrutinizing his sorry appearance in the mirror. His blazer was damp and so were his trousers. “Not a pretty sight,” he muttered stripping off his blazer and wrinkling his nose at the smell. He couldn’t do much about the tear but at least he might be able to clean it. Picking up the piece of soap from the basin he proceeded to rub it in a circular motion over the coat. The dampened surface quickly created a light foam and once he’d covered most of the garment, he jammed it into the small wash basin and turned on the tap. The water flowed over the blazer, filled the basin and began cascading over the edge. Hastily turning off the tap he lifted the blazer up. It began to drip rapidly, some of it into the basin and the rest onto the floor.

As he stood holding the dripping garment the door swung open.

“What the devil? Good God, it’s you, Stuart! What on earth are you doing?”

Equally startled to see Professor Sterling, Stuart quickly explained about the pub brawl concluding with, “I couldn’t go home in this state so the only place I could think of was varsity.”

His professor’s reaction was to suggest that he leave the blazer in the basin where the smell might evaporate and adjourn to his study for a further discussion adding wryly, “This is hardly the place for us to be seen to be holding an earnest conversation.”

Stuart readily agreed, as the September night was turning increasingly cold.

“So, what’s to be done?” asked Sterling, once they had seated themselves in the welcome warmth of his study.

“Well, sir, I’m afraid that Brendan will be spending the night in the police cells with all the other city drunks.”

“Yes. Perhaps he’ll swear off the booze after the experience.”

“Quite possibly,” grunted Stuart. ‘‘At least for a few days.”

“At any rate, tomorrow morning I’ll go to the police station and see what can be done. He’s very foolish to carry on like that in a pub full of soldiers. However I should be able to get him released due to his work on our research project.”

“Yes that should carry a fair bit of weight.”

“Agreed, but he’ll have to keep his mouth shut and let me do the talking. Now young man,” he looked Stuart up and down,

“what about you? Clearly you can’t go home. Your dishevelled state would hardly endear you to your er, conservative parents.”

Stuart smiled wryly. “True.”

“Well, there’s only one thing for it.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“You’ll have to stay at my place.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t,” Stuart protested.

“You’ve no alternative Stuart. You can phone from there and explain to your parents that we have been engaged in some research at my home and that I’ve invited you to stay to save myself the trouble of having to run you home late at night. Sound plausible?”

“Well, yes, sir, but are you quite sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I have a spare room and you’re welcome to it. You’re lucky I brought my car in today as I normally catch the bus and ferry, to save using my petrol coupons.” He smiled. “In any case, young man, travelling with you in that state on public transport would severely damage my reputation in the community. Now, where did I leave my briefcase?”

Within ten minutes Stuart was seated in the professor’s 1937 Morris 12 waiting in the queue of cars for the vehicular ferry to transport them across the harbour to Devonport wharf. Growing increasingly tired, and shivering in his shirtsleeves he was relieved and pleased when the car managed to make it onto the ferry’s deck as the last one of the fifteen vehicles.

As the ferry began to pull away from the wharf Sterling faced Stuart. “Now, I need to discuss some matters with you.”

“Serious matters, sir?”

“Not sure,” replied the older man. “In the last forty-eight hours all German front line troops have ceased advancing on all fronts.”

“No further advances, sir? I know our boys gave them a mauling in Crete even though we lost the battle. Maybe the Germans are just taking the time to lick their wounds and regroup.”

“It’s much more widespread than Crete. For example Rommel has just won a major battle at Sol um in the Western Desert. Consequently he’s well placed to continue his drive into Egypt with the ultimate aim of capturing Cairo. Similarly, General Guderian and other German commanders in Russia appear to have halted their advances.”

In the increasing wind, the ferry was making slow headway against the whitecaps that thudded in an erratic rhythm against its hull.

Stuart frowned. “Odd. From their point of view the German armed forces have been very successful.”

“Certainly. They recently captured the major Russian city of Minsk. But, like I said, apparently they’ve been ordered to go no further, even though their ultimate goal of Moscow now seems achievable.”

Stuart gave a short laugh. “You don’t think this is a prelude to their suing for peace?”

Sterling grunted. “I very much doubt it. But whatever the reason, it’s unlikely to bring us much comfort. Clearly it’s something we’ll have to keep an eye on in the days ahead.”

The clanging of bells, echoes of whistles and rattling of chains announced the vehicular ferry’s arrival at Devonport wharf. Forty minutes later the Morris pulled up at the Professor’s Castor Bay house overlooking the Hauraki Gulf. During the trip Sterling had suggested that they would leave early the next morning, drive to Devonport and catch the first vehicular ferry to the city. He would drop Stuart at the university and then visit the police station to try and secure Brendan’s release.

Several weeks earlier Sterling had briefly explained that he’d been a widower for the past eight years, but still lived in the three-bedroom home that he and his wife had shared for twenty-seven years. Clearly the professor had a good housekeeper or took a pride in keeping the house up to standard, as the spare room was spotlessly clean. Rinsing out his clothes in the laundry tub, Stuart spread them on a clotheshorse in front of the lounge fire and after relaxing in a warm bath, he slept reasonably well in spite of the pain in his side that he and the professor had decided was probably a cracked rib. Sterling woke him at 6 o’clock. Two hours later he was in his small office trying to concentrate on some papers.

At 10 o’clock his phone rang.

“Hello, Stuart. I’m phoning from the police station, as I knew you’d be anxious. I had to wait for a while before being able to talk to the duty officer. Curiously enough a couple of soldiers turned up about 10 minutes after I arrived, asking about Brendan.”

“Soldiers?” responded Stuart, instantly concerned.

“They were both lieutenants. One of them with a plaster above his right eye was that fellow Beavis. The duty officer asked them if they were friends of Brendan. Foolishly, Beavis, who did most of the talking, said they were nothing of the sort and had come to make sure that the police officer would be doing his duty and bringing charges against Brendan.”

“Why do you say ‘foolishly’?”

“Two reasons. Firstly it alerted me to their intentions. Secondly I got the impression that the duty officer took exception to being told what to do by the two soldiers. Anyway, I stepped in and introduced myself. I explained that Brendan is engaged in research at the university that is important to the war effort. I took along a couple of official documents to support my claim which certainly impressed him.”

“What about the soldiers?”

“They made a further attempt to discredit Brendan but had to agree that he was drunk at the time. Then Beavis started on me.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t have to say anything. The duty officer took exception to their doubting the word and evidence supplied by the ‘university gentleman’ and advised them to leave the station before they found themselves in serious trouble – officers or no officers. They left muttering inaudible threats. Brendan was then brought to the front desk and I quickly informed him that he was about to be released and that he didn’t have to say anything. Mercifully, as well as being very surprised to see me, he was subdued, hung-over, or both. He signed for his personal effects without a word and now he’s waiting for me outside. I’ll send him home to rest, to stay out of trouble and come in to work tomorrow.” The professor chuckled. “A good morning’s work wouldn’t you say, young man?”

Stuart chuckled with relief. “That’s great news. I’m very grateful as I’m sure Brendan is.”

Stuart had just sat down at the table for the family evening meal when the phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” said his mother rising and walking out to the hall.

Her, “Hello”, was followed by a long silence. The family then heard her voice becoming increasingly agitated. Abruptly the conversation ended and she walked slowly into the dining room, sat down and stared at her husband.

“What is it, Maude?”

She looked at him and then at her two children. “That was my friend Margaret. She’s had the radio on and heard a special announcement. The Germans have dropped an enormous bomb or something on the Orkney Islands.”

“Where are the Orkney Islands, Mum?” asked Stephen.

“Just north of Scotland. Your Aunt Marie came from the coastal town of Kirkwall on the largest island.”

Stuart frowned. “The Orkney Islands? Why would they want to drop a bomb there? Surely they’re not strategically important?”

“The radio said that it’s some new sort of bomb that has been dropped as some kind of warning. Apparently the destruction on the Islands is really dreadful.”

“A new sort of bomb?” asked her husband.

“Apparently the Germans have developed a much more powerful bomb than any that have been dropped in the war so far. Has some special name. Something to do with atoms.”

“Stuart, what’s the matter?” Seeing her brother put his hand to his mouth and sit quite still, Claire reached out and touched him anxiously on the arm.

Looking round at his family, Stuart spoke softly. “There’ve been references to this in some of the documents that Brendan translated for us. Not sure how, but the allies have been able to intercept some of the Germans’ communications regarding new categories of weapons that they’re developing.”

“What sort of weapons?”

“Well, we do know that the Germans are developing some sort of rocket with bombs loaded up front that can fly without a pilot. There have also been a couple of documents that indicated that they’re developing a new type of bomb based on those atomic energy discoveries some years ago by our Earnest Rutherford. The British and possibly the Americans are probably researching the same area. However we assumed that the Germans were concentrating on developing their armed rockets.”

The three of them sat silently for a long moment until his father asked quietly, “If the Germans have developed this atom-type bomb before we have, and it’s very very powerful, God help us, they could use it to win the war!” He paused and looked hard at his eldest son. “Is that what you think, Stuart?”

Stuart shook his head. “Let’s not panic just yet. I’ll see if I can phone the professor at home.”

Seating himself at the phone table in the hallway Stuart lifted the handset off its hook, placed it to his ear and dialled the number. The professor answered almost immediately and Stuart leaned forward towards the mouthpiece.

“Good evening, sir. It’s me, Stuart.”

“Ah yes,” came the reply. “I suppose you’ve heard the news.”

“About the bomb? Yes, sir. Is it as bad as it sounds?”

“I’m afraid it probably is, my boy. A large area has been completely devastated by this one bomb. The Germans decided to drop it on the Orkneys as a warning. Probably used an airfield in occupied Norway, courtesy of their puppet governor Vidkun Quisling. Clearly they didn’t want to destroy a large part of a British city as they probably hope to keep it intact for their future occupation. What I’ve just heard, however, is that they have issued an ultimatum to London demanding an immediate and unconditional surrender; otherwise a similar bomb will be dropped on a British city within forty eight hours.”

“Is it the sort of bomb we were discussing the other day, sir?”

“The atomic-based weapon? Yes, it very much looks that way. It has previously unheard of powers of destruction. Who would have thought those bastards would beat us to it?”

Stuart had never heard Professor Sterling swear before. In spite of the gravity of the situation he smiled wryly. Things must be bad for Sterling, however temporarily, to discard his academic objectivity.

There wasn’t much more that the professor could tell him. Both of them had seen the sketchy information on the Germans development of new weapons but had never imagined that the enemy was so far advanced with their atomic research. The conversation finished with an agreement to listen to the six o’clock BBC radio news that evening and to contact each other to share impressions.

Stuart slowly replaced the black handset to its cradle and walking back to the dining room sat down heavily. Resting his elbows on the table he clenched his fists together and pushing them hard against his mouth, stared straight ahead. His family sat silently watching him. Finally he sighed, shook his head and looked up.

“Professor Sterling says that the situation is very grave,” he said bleakly. He looked at his mother. “As your friend told you, the Germans dropped the bomb on the Orkneys to demonstrate its destructive powers. They’ve told the British they’ll do the same to a city in England unless they surrender within forty-eight hours. He told us to listen to the six o’clock news from London tonight because he’s pretty sure that Britain will have no alternative but to agree.”

They all sat silently and then his mother began to cry. “My aunt often talked about the Orkneys – the kind people, their pretty fishing villages and wonderful historical sites. How could they?”

“And so it is with a heavy heart that I announce the British Empire armed forces on land, sea and air will immediately cease all operations against the forces of Nazi Germany.”

The family sat in silence by the large polished radio cabinet as the sonorous voice of British Prime Minister Winston Churchill filled the lounge.

“The government of Nazi Germany has threatened to systematically devastate our historic cities and their civilian inhabitants with their new atomic weapon. Our surveillance aircraft have confirmed that the devastation on the Orkney Islands is on a scale previously unknown to mankind. I have no doubt that the Nazis will carry out further terrible action of this kind unless we immediately capitulate. More detailed information will be made available to you in the coming days. In the meantime I ask you not to lose faith but to show the spirit that has sustained our island nation and its Empire throughout its long and glorious history.”

The crackling of the short wave broadcast ceased and a New Zealand voice announced,

“That was British Prime Minister Mr. Winston Churchill. Here now is the New Zealand Prime Minister Mr. Peter Fraser.”

There was a short pause and then Fraser’s Scottish burr filled the room.

“People of New Zealand, at an emergency meeting of the coalition cabinet this morning we have agreed that New Zealand has no alternative but to also surrender particularly as this action is about to be taken by Australia, Canada, South Africa and other parts of the British Empire and Commonwealth.

“Thousands of our servicemen and women are overseas. The British surrender makes them particularly vulnerable to the German forces. Furthermore, as a small island nation that relies for its prosperity on sea trade, we have no chance of sustaining a campaign against a very powerful enemy.

“Be assured that your government will do everything in its power to obtain surrender terms that will enable us to maintain the way of life of which we are all so justly proud.”

Hearing her stifled sob Stuart leaned forward and put his arm across his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, Mum,” he murmured. “It’ll be OK. You’ll see.”

Momentarily she stopped and looked up at him. The rivulets of tears ran down the lines in a face that had noticeably aged. A series of spasms shook her hunched shoulders.

“No, Stuart, that’s the trouble. It won’t be OK. Not any more.”