Young Lions Roar (4 page)

“Put your hand on your heart and tell me that you had absolutely nothing to do with it!” Alice repeatedly stabbed her forefinger at her brother.

Sam held up his hands in defence. “I tell you, sis, that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. I was a surprised as you were.” Sam looked out of their living room window at the
tall column of smoke that still came from the hospital.

“I don’t believe you!” Alice shouted angrily. “You and Alan are in this up to your eyeballs!”

“I swear to you, Alice, that it has absolutely nothing to do with us,” Alan insisted.

Alice turned to her brother. “Swear on mother and father’s grave, Sam, that you had absolutely nothing to do with the fire at the hospital last night, and I’ll believe
you,” Alice demanded.

“You’re not serious, Alice,” Sam shook his head with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m deadly serious, Sam,” Alice answered coldly. “Swear on Mother and Father’s grave.”

“Sis, I…”

“Swear it!”

“All right, all right,” Sam surrendered. “I swear on Mother and Father’s grave that I had absolutely nothing to do with the fire at the hospital last night.”

“Alan?”

“I swear on the life of my father and mother that I had nothing to do with the fire at the hospital last night.”

“Because if the Germans believe for one moment that the fire was anything other than an accident, if they even suspect that it was a partisan attack, then they will execute the hostages
that they captured the other night without hesitation and without mercy,” Alice explained with passion in her voice. She looked at both of the boys in turn to make sure that the weight of her
words sunk in. “They will kill our friends and our neighbours. People that we know and whom we grew up with…”

“Okay, sis!” Sam lost his temper. “We get the point! The Huns will kill the hostages if they think that the fire was a Resistance attack.”

“I sincerely hope that you do get the point, Sam, because you have displayed pyromaniac tendencies in the past, so forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you have not been playing
with fire again.”

Sam said nothing. What could he say? Everything that his sister had said was true.

Alice breathed out a huge sigh. “Okay. I believe you both. Although God knows why I should.” Alice shook her head. “You two are as trustworthy as a nest of vipers.”

The two boys looked sheepish because they knew that Alice’s words were true.

“So if it wasn’t you, who was it?” Alice asked.

“Maybe it was an accident?” Alan said.

“If it sounds too good to be true then it usually isn’t, Al,” Sam said.

Alice nodded in agreement. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Alice asked rhetorically.

“Yes,” Alan answered. “There’s another Stay Behind Unit operating in Hereward.”

“Well, if they’re an SBU, why didn’t they help us with the assassination attack on Kaiser Eddie then?” Sam asked angrily. “God knows we could have done with their
help. Robinson and Napoleon’s commandos could still be alive.”

Alan shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they were ordered not to. Maybe they knew nothing about it. Who knows? Maybe they’re a sleeper cell and they’re being saved for something
else. Something bigger.”

“‘Something bigger?’” Sam asked. “What could possibly be bigger than an assassination attempt against the Puppet King?”

“I don’t know,” Alan answered. “But I guess that we’re going to find out…”

“So let me get this straight,” General Major Christian von Schnakenberg said as he toyed with a glass of whiskey, swishing the amber liquid from side to side in its
crystal tumbler. “Both the Police and the Fire Brigade are maintaining that it was a tragic accident caused by an electrical fault…”

“Yes, sir,” Oberleutnant Nicky Alfonin answered. “Hereward Hospital was built at the beginning of the Victorian era about one hundred years ago and the maintenance records
confirm that the entire electrical wiring system was due to be replaced…”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” von Schnakenberg interrupted. “The upgrade was delayed due to the war.”

“Yes, sir,” Alfonin nodded as he consulted the notes in his open folder.

“How very convenient.” Von Schnakenberg took a sip of his whiskey and poured some for his adjutant. “But none of our men were injured?”

“No, sir,” Alfonin answered as he took a drink. “For whatever reason the fire seemed to spread towards the SS ward as opposed to the Army ward, and our guard were on the ball
and were able to evacuate all of our wounded using the fire escape at the Army end of the ward, without loss.”

“And SS casualties?”

“Thirty-one killed, sir.”

“Mein Gott!” Von Schnakenberg spilled his whiskey.

“The fire escape collapsed as the SS sentries were evacuating the wounded. The entire guard unit were killed…”

“Any civilian casualties?” von Schnakenberg interrupted as he mopped up the spillage with a tissue.

“Yes, sir.” Alfonin consulted his notes again. “No civilian patients, but a nurse, a doctor and a fireman were killed trying to rescue the SS wounded.” Alfonin closed the
folder. “The Police are insistent that it was nothing more sinister than a tragic accident and are not treating the fire as a suspicious incident.”

“A tragic accident indeed.” Von Schnakenberg pointed his captured British Army officer’s swagger stick at Alfonin. “Of course the police are not treating the fire as a
suspicious incident, because if they said that the fire had been deliberately caused by an arson attack than the SS would execute hundreds, if not thousands, of Hereward hostages.” Von
Schnakenberg took a swig of his whiskey. “I tell you this, Nicky - if the SS have even the smallest sneaking suspicion that their wounded were burnt to death as a result of a Resistance
attack then they will exact a swift and bloody revenge which will be ruthless and completely without mercy.”

“Yes please, Auntie Monique.” Anne Mair smiled up at her auntie as Monique speared another two sausages from the frying pan and placed them on Anne’s
plate.

“There you go, my dear, eat up. There’s plenty more where they came from, don’t you worry.” Monique Roos looked down at her niece and smiled warmly at her. She found it
hard to believe that the last time Anne had sat at the table she had been accompanied by her mother, Sarah and by her father, Davie, Monique’s younger brother. And now both of her parents
were dead, murdered by the SS. Davie had died as a result of the horrific wounds that he had suffered at the hands of SS torturers, and Sarah had been hung in the Town Square on the day of the
Hereward Cathedral Hangings. Anne had come to live with them on their farm in the small village of Frampton-on-the-Ouse which was located on the outskirts of Hereward, not far from the recently
fire-damaged hospital.

“Let me hold Harry whilst you get your coat on, Emily,” Anne offered as the family got ready to go to church. Her cousin Emily handed over her baby boy to Anne. Harry cooed with
delight as his Auntie Anne blew cool air through the seven-month-old’s wispy hair. Emily had moved from Hereward to Frampton to live with her parents when Harry had been born as she was
finding it increasingly difficult to cope since her husband Archie, a fighter pilot in the RAF, had been shot down and killed in the recent Battle of Britain. Emily had always had a very close
relationship with her younger cousin and thought of Anne as the younger sister that she never had. It was a real comfort for them both to be living under the same roof.

The family walked down the farm lane on their regular route to the Frampton Church of England village church and were joined on the way by other villagers. Monique’s husband, Victor, was
painfully aware that the churchgoers were overwhelmingly made up of women, children and older men such as himself. The only young men in the village were a few disabled veterans who were wheeled
along on wheelchairs or who propelled themselves through the village streets on crutches. The wounded had all been crippled in the War. Victor’s eyes filled up with tears as he thought of his
only son, Paul, Emily’s younger brother, who had been a Merchant Seaman and had been lost at sea when German U-boats had sunk his ship, ‘The Russell.’

“Morning, Vicar.” Roos shook Bill Ritchie’s hand as the Vicar greeted him on the church steps. “Nice day for it.”

“Morning, Vic. May I have a moment of your time?” Ritchie gestured with an open palm to the side of the door.

“Certainly, Bill.” Roos stepped to the side as the Vicar welcomed the rest of the family as they entered the church.

“How is she, Victor?” Ritchie asked with concern.

“Anne?” Roos answered. “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.”

“She’s lost both her parents in a matter of days, Vic, which is a heavy burden for anyone to carry, never mind a seventeen year old girl...”

“Yes it is...”

“But she could not be in safer hands, Vic, and if anyone can pull her through, you can.”

“Thanks, Bill... that means a lot to me.”

A pause. “And how’s Monique bearing up? Any word about Paul?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Roos shook his head in despair. “There were very few survivors from ‘The Russell’ and none of them knew what had happened to Paul. We can only
assume the worst and presume that Paul is dead.”

“Your family has been particularly badly hit by the War, Vic.” Ritchie said sympathetically. “First Paul, then Archie. Now Davie and Sarah…”

“Our family has been no more badly hit than any other family in Britain, Bill.” Roos said stoically. “We just have to grin and bear it just like in the last war. Slowly but
surely we’ll grind the bastards down. As long as Churchill and the King keep fighting up in Scotland, there’s always hope.”

Ritchie straightened up to a position of attention. “That’s the spirit! Once a Fusilier always a Fusilier! Strength and honour, Vic.” Ritchie reached out his hand.

“Strength and honour, Bill.” Victor clasped his old friend’s hand in a firm handshake.

The sound of lorries entering Frampton Village Square and stopping at the foot of the church steps caused the congregation to stop singing. The thick oak door opened and the
parishioners collectively gasped in horror as an SS officer strode confidently down the aisle towards the pulpit, slapping his leather gloves in his hand as he approached the vicar. The
congregation’s reaction to the German was as severe as if Satan himself had made an appearance and desecrated the holy ground of the church. When he reached the pulpit, the SS officer turned
around and flashed a smile that revealed a set of dazzling dentures that would have made a Hollywood star green with envy.

“Judging by your reaction to my entrance I’ll wager that it’s been many a year since an enemy soldier has corrupted your church with his presence. Possibly the first since the
Norman Conquest? Don’t worry.” He chuckled good-humouredly, “I won’t take it personally.” He waited in vain for a response from the congregation. “Ladies and
Gentlemen, boys and girls, my dear Vicar,” the SS Obersturmführer continued in perfect English without a hint of a guttural German accent. He bowed to Ritchie before turning back to face
the congregation. “There is absolutely no cause for alarm. I must apologise for this unseemly intrusion, but I’m afraid that duty calls even on a Sunday.” The Obersturmführer
clicked his jack booted heels together like a Prussian fencing instructor. “We are searching for Jewish Bolshevik terrorists who cowardly attacked a Red Cross convoy carrying British refugees
to a resettlement camp. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you to show me your identification cards so that we can make sure that the terrorists are not cunningly hiding amongst
the good people of Frampton…”

Mumbling and grumbling came from the congregation at this inconvenience. Interrupting a church service? Were there no depths to which the Germans would not sink?

“So I’d like all of the men and all boys over the age of fourteen to accompany me outside to the village square and I would like all the women and children to remain here in the
church where your ID cards will be checked separately…”

The men and older boys stood up and put their Sunday best jackets on. “This should only take a minute, dear,” Roos said to Monique as he kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll
see you soon, girls,” he said to Emily and Anne. “I’ll be back before you can say blackberry pie.”

“Blackberry pie,” Anne said automatically.

“Maybe not that quick, but pretty quick,” Roos chuckled as he adjusted his hat at a jaunty angle.

“Come back quickly, Daddy,” Emily said as she hugged Harry closer to her.

“You too, Vicar,” the Oberstürmfuhrer insisted. “It’s a sad sign of the times that even a man of the cloth is not above suspicion.”

Ritchie shrugged his shoulders, put on his grey suit jacket and walked down the aisle past Roos.

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen. Even the Germans wouldn’t harm a vicar,” Roos assured his family. “This is a routine ID check, that’s
all.”

“Your father is absolutely right, fräulein,” The SS officer said, making the family jump with surprise. He had walked so silently in his patent leather jackboots that they had
not heard him approaching. “There is absolutely nothing to worry about. This is nothing but a routine ID check. Sir?” The Obersturmführer gestured with a bow and an outstretched
arm towards the door.

Roos was the last man to leave.

As the SS officer reached the door he turned around to face the women and children. “Don’t worry,” he assured the worried faces, “it will all be over soon.” He
clicked his heels, bowed graciously and closed the door behind him. He turned to face the stormtrooper guarding the door. “Lock the door,” he ordered curtly.

The loud staccato burst of continuous machine gun fire made the congregation jump and set off a cacophony of crying, shouting and screaming.

“What’s happening?” Emily shouted as Harry started wailing in her arms.

“They’re killing all of the men!” a woman shouted in horror as she looked outside through a stained glass window by the door. There was a burst of machine gun fire and the
glass shattered as the woman fell backwards and lay sprawled on the floor with a line of bloody bullet holes stitched across the front of her dress.