Young Lions Roar (27 page)

“I’m glad to hear that, Alan. Or else I would be forced to shoot you,” Greg said.

Alan laughed again. “Mr Baldwin doesn’t get the chance to practise speaking Spanish very often. I think that it would be a good idea for you to meet him.”

“I would like that a lot,” Greg replied.

Alan yawned dramatically. “I don’t know about you folks, but I’m completely knackered. I’m going to hit the sack. I’m next on sentry duty. I’m going to get
some shut-eye before it’s my shift.”

“Good idea, Al,” Leon said with an approving nod.

“I’m going to hit the sack as well,” Sam said.

“And me,” Alice echoed. “Good night, everyone.” Alice walked over and gave Leon a hug and a peck on the cheek.

The youngsters disappeared upstairs, leaving the three men seated around the kitchen table and Bob outside on sentry duty.

Greg waited until the three teenagers had gone upstairs before he spoke. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr Leon…”

“Please. Call me Archie,” Leon interrupted.

Greg nodded his head. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Archie, but I didn’t expect your unit to include children.”

“Include children?” Leon said with raised eyebrows. “This unit is comprised entirely of children! I’m the only adult in it.”

“You’ve got to be joking!” Zed exclaimed in disbelief.

Leon shook his head. “I wish that I was, but I’m not.”

Greg shook his head in horror. “How are we supposed to accomplish this mission with a bunch of kids? We’ll be like lambs to the slaughter!”

“Now, Greg, before you continue, let’s just get one thing straight: those three kids alone have killed at least a hundred Jerries between them, and that’s before I joined
them.”

“Before… before you joined them?” Zed asked in confusion. “I thought that you asked the kids to join you.”

“Most adults think the very same thing,” Leon answered. “Those three asked me to join them after they’d just wiped out a squad of SS stormtroopers and they needed some
help to dispose of the bodies. Those three have killed more Germans than German measles!”

“Madre Dios!” Greg exclaimed.

“And you joined?” Zed asked.

“Of course!” Leon nodded his head. “I’d been scratching my head thinking about how I could start striking back at the Huns. Those Valkyries came up with the answer. My
sons and I joined up with them and we’ve been fighting the Huns together ever since.”

“Your sons?” Greg asked in confusion. “But I only saw Bob, where is your other…?”

Zed put his hand on Greg’s arm to cut off his question.

“It’s all right, Zed. I have two sons.” Leon gave a massive sigh. “Correction: I had two sons. Russell was Bob’s little brother. He was fifteen years old. The
Germans killed him.” A tear slowly trickled down Leon’s cheek.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Archie,” Greg apologised.

Leon patted him on the arm. “It’s all right, Greg. You didn’t know. How could you?”

“When was he killed, Archie?” Zed asked.

“Last week,” Leon answered. “We buried them last Saturday.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Archie.” Greg paused before he asked the next question. “But you said them?” Greg asked.

Leon nodded. “Russ’s girlfriend, Anne, was also killed. She was seventeen. She was the sole survivor of the massacre of Frampton-on-the-Ouse. She was buried beside the rest of her
family who were killed in the massacre.”

“Jesus Christ!” Greg exclaimed.

“Bloody German bastards!” Zed spat the words out with hatred.

Leon raised a clenched fist to his heart. “Russ’s death is like a physical pain in my heart, a constant ache that doesn’t go away. Every moment of every day I ask myself: what
could I have done differently to have stopped the Germans from murdering my boy? This time last week my boy was still alive…” Leon’s voice trailed away as he slumped further into
his chair. His body was suddenly wracked with convulsions and tremors shook his shoulders as he wept uncontrollably.

“It’s… it’s all right, Archie.” Zed wrapped an arm around his host’s shoulders. “I also… I also lost one of my boys.” He gulped. “My
eldest son, Terry, was killed during the invasion last September. He was killed fighting against the Nazis in Wales. My youngest boy, Ray, is up in Scotland with the commandos.”

“Did the aching ever fade away?” Leon asked as he wiped away his tears with the back of one of his hands.

“No,” Zed answered grimly. “It never fades. I can still feel it as if it happened yesterday.” Zed turned to look at Leon and placed both of his hands on his host’s
shoulders. “Hold onto your ache, Archie. Don’t let it fade. Transform the feeling of love for your son into hate for the Germans: hate will keep you strong.”

Leon nodded.

Greg pushed his chair back and stood up. “Tomorrow we will cut off the head of the Nazi snake and we will send Hitler back to hell, where he belongs!” Greg picked up his glass of
port and raised it in a toast. “To tomorrow’s mission, gentlemen: good hunting!”

Leon and Zed stood up and raised their glasses of port “Good hunting!” they chorused.

“So tell me, Sturmbannführer Ulrich: how are you enjoying your stay in England?”

“To be frank, mein Führer, I am not enjoying my stay in England at all,” Ulrich answered bluntly. “It is hard to enjoy living in a place when the locals are constantly
trying to kill you.”

“I see,” Adolf Hitler answered. “Thank you for being so honest with me. I was under the impression that England and Wales had been more or less pacified.”

Ulrich shook his head grimly. “Far from it, sir. If this is England when it is ‘pacified,’ I dread to think what it would be like if it was unpacified. My Brigade has lost more
men in the last nine months at the hands of the partisans then they did at the hands of the British Army during the entire Invasion.”

“And yet you have survived all of those partisan attacks? I guess that’s why they call you The Cat.” Hitler smiled.

Ulrich shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve just been lucky, sir. But sooner or later my luck will run out.”

“That’s very pessimistic of you, Sturmbannführer.” Hitler sat back in his leather upholstered seat.

Ulrich shook his head. “No, sir. I’m just being realistic. The trouble with being known as The Cat is that every Tom, Dick and Harry with a gun wants to be the last partisan to take
away my tenth life.”

Standartenführer Ernst Fraenkel, the SS Colonel in charge of Hitler’s personal bodyguard, leaned forward from his seat beside the Führer. “I agree that Sturmbannführer
Ulrich is being too pessimistic and I also think that he is being too modest, mein Führer.” Fraenkel smiled. “When one of Napoleon’s generals recommended another officer for
promotion Napoleon said ‘I know that he’s clever, but is he lucky?’ Luck counts for a lot, Ulrich, and the Gods of War are smiling on you, Sturmbannführer. May they continue
to smile on you not just for your own sake, but for the sake of Germany.”

“Hear, hear,” Hitler said.

“Thank you, Standartenführer Fraenkel. Thank you, mein Führer,” Ulrich said with a bow.

“Now tell me, Sturmbannführer, how do we pacify Britain?” Hitler asked with genuine interest. He sincerely wanted to discover what a fighting soldier thought of the current
situation in England as opposed to the opinion of the legions of sycophantic bureaucrats in Berlin.

“The way I see it, sir, we have two options.” Ulrich held up two fingers. “ If we really want to bring peace to Britain we can either invade the Free North, capture or kill
Churchill and the King and establish a Government of National Unity with Joyce as Prime Minister, or…”

“Yes?”

“We can leave.”

“Leave?” Hitler reacted as if Ulrich had suggested that he resign his position as Führer.

“Yes, sir. Leave.”

Hitler sat back on his seat. “Well, I tried that before, Sturmbannführer. I offered to leave the British alone.” Hitler was obviously flustered as he smoothed his perfectly
ironed trousers. “I assured the British that I did not covet a single square mile, foot or inch of their empire. On the contrary, I told them that the British Empire was a source of
inspiration for me, not a source of jealousy. I told them that we would rule Russia the way that they ruled India. Surely there is no greater form of flattery than imitation? I said that I would
leave Britain their empire and the world if Britain gave me a free hand in Europe.” Hitler paused before he continued. He clenched his fists on his knees and bared his teeth in anger.
“And how did the British react to my generous offer? They turned me down and spat in my face,” Hitler said bitterly. “Like I was the tinpot dictator of some Godforsaken Third
World banana republic, instead of the leader of the most powerful country on the planet!” Hitler was literally frothing at the mouth with anger.

Ulrich waited for Hitler to regain his composure and self control before he began to speak quietly. “With respect, mein Führer, any student of history would have told you that there
was never a snowball’s chance in hell that the British would accept that offer. The British have never allowed any one single nation to become the dominant power in Europe - whether it was
Phillip II, Napoleon or the Kaiser. It is in the British national interest to have all of the rival European powers, the French, the Spanish, the Russians and ourselves tearing at each
other’s throats here in Europe. In the meantime the British were busy conquering the rest of the world. I’m afraid that you have been poorly advised, mein Führer.”

“So it would seem,” Hitler said.

“And that is not all, sir.” Ulrich continued. “As far as the British are concerned, it is not good enough that we simply leave Britain. The British will not rest until the
status quo has been restored ante bellum…”

“What?” Hitler exclaimed in anger.

“With our frontiers restored to the borders agreed to as per the Treaty of Versailles…”

“What? That robber’s peace? That diktat? Never!” Hitler looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel. “Give up all of our conquests since 1938? Over my dead
body!”

“I’m afraid that that’s what it will take to restore peace between ourselves and the British, mein Führer.”

“Well, it’s just as well that I decided to choose the first option, isn’t it?” Hitler adjusted his lapels as he slowly calmed down and sat back on the leather seat.
“I will raze Edinburgh to the ground when I capture it!” Hitler suddenly leapt forward in his seat. “I will destroy all of her buildings, her castle and her palaces, and I will
bulldoze the rubble into the earth. I will sow the ground with salt so that nothing grows there for a thousand years. It will become a shooting offence to even mention the name Edinburgh! I will
make Scipio’s treatment of Carthage seem like a minor act of vandalism by comparison!” Hitler was building himself up to a crescendo. “And as for that Jew-loving Bolshevik
war-monger Churchill; I will have him brought back to London in chains, I will have him hung like the common criminal that he is, at the Tower of London and I will have his head stuck on a spike at
Traitor’s Gate for the royal ravens to pluck out his eyeballs! And the King will be forced to watch the execution from his prison cell at the top of the White Tower!”

Ulrich did not reply. He was content to let Hitler rant and rave.

“Hello, we’ve stopped.” Hitler leaned forward in his seat. “Driver, why have we stopped?”

“I don’t know mein Führer,” The SS Rottenführer driving the Silver Shadow Rolls Royce answered over his shoulder. “The whole convoy has ground to a halt,
sir.”

“With your permission, mein Führer, I will discover the cause for the delay,” Ulrich suggested.

“By all means carry on, Sturmbannführer,” Hitler replied.

Ulrich adjusted his helmet, straightened his tunic, and opened the door. Hitler absent mindedly drummed his fingers on the armrest and looked out of the window at the marshy Fens countryside
whilst he waited for Ulrich to return.

The door opened and Ulrich popped his head through. “Animals, sir.” Ulrich announced. “Animals are crossing the road ahead and we are waiting whilst they cross, sir.”

“Animals? What kind of animals?” Hitler asked with interest. “Cows? Sheep?”

Ulrich shook his head. “No, sir. Pigs.”

The explosion knocked Ulrich flat onto his back and the force of the blast sucked the air out of his lungs. He gingerly raised himself onto his elbows and peered through the
billowing smoke towards the end of the convoy. The bridge that they had recently driven over had completely disappeared, and so had the armoured car that had served as the rear guard to the
convoy.

“Mein Gott!” Ulrich exclaimed.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Hitler asked through the open door.

“We’re in a tight spot, mein Führer!” Ulrich explained.

“That’s putting it rather lightly, Ulrich! We’re under attack!” Fraenkel announced, as he grabbed his Schmessier machine gun and adjusted his helmet straps.

Leon ducked as a second explosion blew up the bridge at the front of the convoy. He stood up straight, shrugged off his cape, and fired a burst of rounds at each of the
motorcycle scouts who had been knocked off their bikes by the force of the explosion and who lay stunned on the ground. Leon fired another burst of bullets into the front seats of the staff car
that led the convoy, and another burst of rounds into the rear seat. As the lifeless occupants slumped forwards he closed quickly on the next vehicle in the convoy, an armoured car that served as
the advance guard. Leon cut down the commander, who was standing up in the turret, before he could react. Leon pushed the barrel of his Schmessier machine gun into the driver’s hatch and
emptied the rest of his magazine at point-blank range into the turret interior. He was rewarded with a chorus of screams. Leon stepped back, pulled the pin from a grenade, and posted it through the
driver’s hatch to finish off any survivors. The explosion abruptly cut off the crew’s cries of pain.

Leon was changing his magazine and preparing to attack the next vehicle when he realised that the explosion had not only destroyed the bridge, but also the armoured personnel carrier which had
been sitting on it. Leon smiled. So far everything was going according to plan. Now, where was Hitler hiding?