Young Lions (9 page)

“How close are we to finishing?” Wurth asked, surveying the field.

“The men are working flat out, sir,” Lindau answered.

Wurth’s paratroopers, von Schnakenberg’s Grenadiers and his adopted motorcyclists were scattered across the fields are far as the eye could see, busy digging up the mass graves of the dead civilians and slaughtered British soldiers. Other soldiers were collecting documents from the murdered men, women and children and dog tags from the bodies of the executed Fusiliers. A group of desk bound soldiers were recording details from the rapidly growing mountain of mouldy and musty material. Once the documents had been catalogued they were put into empty ammunition boxes. When the ammunition box became full it was locked shut with a padlock and an armed sentry was posted to guard it. Photographers were methodically taking photos of the dead.

“How much longer?” Wurth asked.

“We should be finished by tomorrow.”

“Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Wurth nodded his head. “We have a rehearsal for the Remembrance Day Parade on Saturday, Remembrance Day takes place on Sunday and we leave for Germany that afternoon.”

“You will have to intercept and destroy Wurth’s Fairfax report, Zorn,” Schuster said firmly.

“Me, sir? How?” Zorn was absolutely horrified.

“Wurst leaves Hereward straight after the Remembrance Day Parade and I’m sure that he will carry the report on him. We can’t wait until he leaves England. You’ll have to destroy it before he leaves Hereward. Afterwards will be too late.”

Except that Wurth would be guarded night and day by three thousand armed to the teeth, itching for a fight paratroopers.

“Are you at all familiar with English History, Zorn?” Schuster asked, picking up a hefty looking book.

“Sir?” Where was this leading?

“Who will rid me of this troublesome priest?” Schuster quoted from the text.

“I’m afraid that I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Schuster opened the front of the History text book and pointed to the contents page “That will tell you how to deal with Wurth.”

Chapter Seven
 

“Where’s Sam?” Ansett walked to the class room door and looked up and down the corridor.

Alan didn’t answer. His silence spoke for itself. I came alone. Incase it was a trap. Can I trust you?

“I see.” Ansett smiled grimly. He understood. “Follow me.”

Ansett led the way out of the classroom, down the corridor and out of the building. Alan followed him through the school gates and down the High Street towards the Town Square.

“Where are we going?” Alan asked.

“You’ll see.”

Alan was aware that he was sweating profusely despite the fact that it was nearly half way through November. Adrenalin was rushing through his body in waves. He could almost hear his heart pumping his blood through his veins. His right hand strayed to his waist where he could feel the butt of the Luger pistol pressing against his belt buckle. They were walking towards German Headquarters. If you betray me, they won’t take me alive, you bastard. The first bullet will be for you, Ansett, straight in your back. I’ve got four full magazines. I’ll take you and some of your Nazi friends with me and I’ll save the last bullet for myself. They won’t take me alive.

Ansett kept walking past German Headquarters.

“Not far now.” Ansett pushed open the giant oak doors of Hereward Cathedral and stepped inside. Alan followed. His hand fell away from his belt buckle. No. It could still be a trap. This is where they take you. When you think that you’re safe. When you think that you’ve made it. When you’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. Ansett fought in the last war, but he didn’t join up for this one. Why? The thought thudded through his mind like the persistent pulse of a headache. He could still be a traitor.

It was quiet inside. There were only a handful of worshippers scattered throughout the Cathedral sitting on the benches. Plus various groups of German tourists, both civilian and military, malingering around. But were they tourists? Was this a trap? Were they waiting for a signal from Ansett to spring the ambush?

Ansett headed towards the steps leading down to the crypt. He stopped at the bottom and drew out a large iron key. He inserted the key, turned it and opened the door. Considering its age, the door was surprisingly silent as it swung open. The hinges must be incredibly well oiled, Alan thought to himself. Ansett turned around and casually swept the Cathedral with his eyes to see if anyone had noticed him opening the door. No one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. “Come on,” He whispered.

Alan followed him down the stairs. It was deathly quiet, as quiet as … a tomb. Ansett picked up a torchlight that was placed conveniently by the door. “Close the door.” He ordered. Alan did as he was told and then had to pick up the pace to catch up with Ansett as the light from his torch disappeared into the darkness. Alan’s heart skipped a beat in sudden panic at the thought of losing sight of Ansett and being stranded down here in the dark. The thought of spending the rest of his days wandering hopelessly amongst the dead speeded up his steps until he finally caught up with him. Alan kept close behind as they walked down the length of the crypt. Tombs stretched out in front, behind and to either side of them as far as their torchlight could see.

“This…this place gives me the creeps,” Alan whispered.

“Why are you whispering? The dead can’t hear you,” Ansett whispered back.

“I can’t help it,” Alan admitted.

“They’re already dead, Alan.” Ansett spoke over his shoulder. “You can’t kill them with that thing.”

“Sorry, sir.” Alan bashfully put his Luger away. How had it got there? He couldn’t remember taking it out of his trousers. He wiped the sweat from the pistol grip before he placed it back inside his underpants.

They reached the end of the crypt. “Here, give me a hand. Grab the other end of this.” He shined the torch on the lid of a tomb before he put the torch down on the ground.

“What? This?” Alan asked with confusion.

“Yes,” Ansett answered. “On my command: lift up, alright?”

“You must be joking! It must weigh a ton!” Alan said incredulously.

“Just trust me.”

Alan realized that he had no other choice. If Ansett wanted to, he could simply switch off his torch, retrace his route to the exit and leave Alan to die with the dead.

“One, two, three, lift up!”

“Wood! It’s made out of wood!” Alan held the ‘marble’ lid in his hands.

Ansett laughed. “Yes! Now, slide it towards me about a foot.”

Alan did as he was told. He watched in confusion as Ansett climbed up beside the tomb and lowered himself into it. “Come on,” Ansett said. “Or are you going to stand there all day with your thumb up your arse?”

The shock of hearing Mr. Ansett uttering profanities was sufficient to jerk Alan out of his temporary paralysis. He climbed down a ladder that was built into the side of the ‘tomb.’ He climbed down about twelve feet and found himself standing in a room that measured about fifteen feet by fifteen feet square. Two sets of bunk beds ran alongside one wall of the room and a rack holding a collection of British and German weapons ran alongside another wall. A radio sat on top of a table that ran alongside the third wall and a small gas cooker and a woodwork bench ran alongside the fourth wall. A dining table with four chairs placed around it stood in the centre of the room. The whole scene was illuminated by a naked red light bulb. Red light so that they wouldn’t lose their night vision if they were entering or leaving. Red light so that even if someone entered the crypt they wouldn’t be able to see any light escaping from the hiding place. Alan noticed that there was an extra trap door where the ladder met the ceiling of the hiding place for extra security. Very clever.

“What’s that?” Alan pointed at where a curtain partitioned off a corner of the room.

“Gents,” Ansett answered matter of factly.

Alan laughed. Ansett was relieved. He could not remember the last time that he had heard his House Captain laugh. “Cozy.” Alan wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his blazer.

“Compact and bijou,” Ansett smiled. “There were four of us,” Ansett explained, his tone suddenly becoming serious. He pre-empted Alan’s next question. He was giving nothing away. There were four bunks. “One of us was killed. It’s not necessary for you to know who this person was.”

‘This person,’ Alan noticed. So he/she could be male or female. “You were a Stay Behind Party.”

Ansett nodded.

“Your job was to lie low and strike behind enemy lines when the Jerries passed you by.”

Ansett nodded again.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Alan snapped to a position of attention as if he was on a parade ground. “I thought that you were a coward.”

“And worse, no doubt, Alan,” Ansett said, shaking Alan’s extended hand. “No apology is necessary, son. That was the general idea. And it worked. People must continue to believe that I am a coward and a defeatist at best and a collaborator and a traitor at worst. From time to time I may have to call upon you and Sam to help me to perpetuate this myth. You will have to remain silent when others condemn me even though you wish to defend me and you may even have to add your voice to theirs. You may even have to cast the first stone.”

Alan nodded gravely.

“But the important thing is that you and Sam are not alone anymore.” Ansett picked up a rifle from the rack, checked that the safety catch was on and cocked the weapon in one easy, practiced, fluid motion. “It’s time for the Empire to strike back!”

It was ten o’clock in the morning on Remembrance Day and soldiers were busy setting up the barricades which would keep the crowds away from the route that the veterans would take to march past. The S.S, the Army and the paratroopers were each responsible for the security of a sector of the Town Square.

At 10.15 the crowds started to assemble with people picking prime positions by the barricades so that they could get the best view.

At 10.20 the Honour Guard consisting of one company each of paras, S.S. and Army soldiers marched onto the Square. All eyes were focused on the marching soldiers and no one paid any attention to four paratroopers who weaved their way through the crowd to the west side of the Square. Anyone who did notice them presumed that they were on crowd control duty. Two of the paras headed for the southwest corner of the Square and walked into the communal entrance of a block of tenement flats. They climbed the stairs to the top floor of the five floor block of flats and knocked on the door of the flat.

S.S. Hauptsturmfuhrer Andreas Schmitt was looking out of his living room window watching the parade preparations and was halfway through his breakfast when he heard a knock at the door. He swore, pulled his dressing gown chord tight, walked to the door and looked through the spy hole.

“Who is it?” Schmitt asked.

“Orders,” one of the paras answered.

“Verdammt!” Schmitt swore. “Today’s my day off.” He swallowed his last piece of marmalade-covered toast and opened the door. “Oh well, no rest for the wicked.”

“Mornin’,” the para said. The rifle butt caught Schmitt square in the face before Schmitt had time to realize that the para had greeted him in English. The force of the blow sent Schmitt spinning around and the cup of Earl Grey tea that he was carrying was sent flying through the air before it smashed to pieces on the wall.

“Sorry to disturb your breakfast, Fritz,” Sam said as he pointed at the dazed and confused German with his rifle. “Quick, Al. Tie him up.”

At 10.30 Brigadefuhreur Schuster began his speech with an interpreter providing a simultaneous translation into English.

At 10.35 Mayor Robin Walker started his speech. He stressed the need for tolerance, a general live and let live philosophy and the necessity of accepting the present political situation.

Ansett and Mike Robinson, the second member of the Stay Behind Unit, were busy ransacking the flat of S.S.Sturmbannfuhrer Wolfgang Offenbach. The German lay flat on his back on the floor with a surprised expression on his face. Offenbach’s eyes were staring wide open and a steady stream of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. A paratrooper bayonet was buried in his rib cage.

At 10.40 the German Army Chaplain began his service.

At 10.45 the Bishop of Hereward Cathedral, Ben Rathdowne, started his service. He talked about forgiving and forgetting, remembrance and reconciliation.

At 10.50 the Secretary of the Hereward Branch of the Royal British Legion, Richard Gill, began his speech. He spoke about pride and courage and about duty and honour. Tears started to trickle down his cheek as he talked about love and sacrifice.

Obersturmfuhrer Zorn walked up to two sentries guarding the main entrance to Hereward Cathedral. The two sentries came to attention and Zorn returned the salute. “At ease, gentlemen. “How are things here, Gefreiter?” Zorn asked amicably.

“Fine, sir. Everything is in perfect order.”

“I’m just doing a quick inspection, Gefreiter. I wonder if you would care to accompany me inside.”

“We’re not really supposed to abandon our post, sir,” Gefreiter Wilesk explained with a pained expression on his face. He wasn’t used to refusing the requests of an officer. Especially an official looking officer armed with an important looking attaché briefcase.

“You’re not ‘abandoning’ anything.” Zorn smiled good naturedly. “You’re merely leaving it for a few minutes. Anyway, everything is fine out here. You said so yourself. Major Lindau asked me to come over here and check things out.”

“Major Lindau said that it was alright?” Wilesek asked with raised eyebrows. “In that case, sir, it would be a pleasure and a privilege to escort you inside.” He was relieved to be let off the hook. Wilesek turned to the other soldier. “Come on, Artelt.”

“Do you have the keys?” Zorn asked.

“Yes, sir.” Wilesek unclipped a large ring of keys from his webbing belt, selected a huge rusty iron key and unlocked the door of the Cathedral.