‘I don’t think that’s going to be an option,’ Dave says, looking at the flaming wreckage.
‘Well, I have better news for my second lead,’ Abbey says. ‘The stamp on the gold bar, I recognised it. I was trying to explain before Follia so rudely interrupted.’
‘Felt like more than an interruption,’ I say. Some of my injuries are still hurting.
‘Anyway, the emblem of the letter P with the W that hooks at the bottom,’ Abbey explains, ‘that is the symbol of Kotwica, the Polish Underground Resistance during World War Two.’
‘Keep going, Abbey,’ Emma encourages, all of us intrigued.
‘The original meaning of the letters was Pomscimy Wawer, which translates to We Shall Avenge Wawer. This was in reference to the Wawer massacre of 1939. It was a large-scale massacre of Polish civilians by German troops in occupied Poland. The Polish Underground Resistance fought the Germans for years until their liberation, using the Kotwica emblem as their unifying symbol. The emblem was also used to mark their guerrilla and sabotage attacks on the German occupiers, as a psychological-warfare tactic, but they also used it to mark any items of value, including gold bars.’
‘So how did it get here?’ I ask.
‘Throughout the war, the Nazis claimed anything of value,’ Matt explains.
‘I hate Nazis,’ Emma mutters.
‘Everyone does,’ Matt agrees. ‘They stole gold, jewellery, art and even prized historical relics from all across Europe. The British Museum fought them as part of the Allies’ Monuments Men.’
‘Monuments Men?’ Emma asks.
I’m thankful I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what my brother is on about.
‘A group of men and women who worked with the army to protect and safeguard historic and cultural items from war damage and recover works of art and relics that were stolen by the Nazis.’
‘Protect and recover relics,’ I say. ‘Sounds a lot like us.’
‘They were hunters,’ Abbey agrees. ‘In 1945, they found more than six thousand paintings hidden in an Austrian salt mine. Despite their hard work, thousands of paintings, treasures and historical relics stolen by the Nazis are still missing.’
‘And there is still an international effort to recover all that was taken and return it to the families and the pillaged nations,’ Matt says.
‘So the Nazis stole some of the Polish gold and it ended up on our submarine,’ Emma says. ‘Is that the end of our story?’
‘Not even close,’ Abbey says cheerfully. ‘That gold bar was one of many that were rumoured to be aboard the Walbrzych Gold Trains.’
‘Wait, I know this one,’ I say, quick to interrupt. ‘Weren’t they the trains loaded with treasures stolen by the Nazis in the closing days of the war but never seen again? I’m sure I saw in the news that a team were digging somewhere in Poland looking for the trains?’
‘They sure are,’ Abbey says. ‘Over three hundred tonnes of gold, jewels, weapons, and masterpieces, including silverware was taken from the Jewish and Polish populations. Most of it has never been recovered, and rumour has it, a large quantity was aboard the Walbrzych Gold Trains. Luckily, we already know somebody at the dig sites in Poland.’
‘Delta Team?’ Matt guesses.
‘Our Delta Team, of the British Museum?’ I ask.
‘Professor Helena Lainson herself,’ Abbey says proudly. ‘She is our leading expert on all Nazi art and relic recovery. I am certain she would like to know about the gold bar you found.’
‘So, let’s get her on the line and ask her,’ I say.
‘I’m afraid Prof Lainson is old-school,’ Abbey says. ‘She only does face-to-face unless it’s a matter of utmost urgency.’
‘Sounds like we’re off to Poland,’ Dave says.
‘Not all of you,’ Abbey replies.
‘What’ve you got in mind, Abbey?’ Matt asks.
‘I’ve managed to track down the last living member of the Second Platoon of F Company of the Suffolk Regiment,’ she explains. ‘He served in those final days of World War Two.’
‘Good work, Abbey,’ Matt says. ‘Organise some transport for us, would you?’
‘Already on the case,’ she replies.
‘Two leads,’ Matt says once Abbey has signed off. ‘Dave, I want you to speak with the survivor of the Suffolk Regiment, veteran to veteran.’
‘I’ll go with him,’ Emma says.
‘We’re off to Poland then,’ I say to Matt with a broad grin. ‘On the trail of missing Nazi gold.’
He’s grinning, too – all of us are except for Dave who looks on at the burning U-boat.
8
ANDREW COOPER—Unknown
My eyes flicker open, struggling with the light and the dull ache deep inside my skull. My mouth is dry and a strange ringing echoes in my ears. As my vision returns, I see I am in a hospital. There are other patients in beds near mine. Catching myself in a mirror, I see a bandage wrapped around my forehead. I probe the dressing with my fingers, earning a shot of pain from the lightest touch.
‘Mr Cooper,’ a soft voice calls to me. ‘I wouldn’t touch those bandages if I was you. You’ll undo all the good work of our doctors.’
Standing at the foot of my bed is a young woman dressed in the white overalls and apron of a nurse. Though my vision is still unfocussed, I can tell that she has a slender frame and tied back blonde hair. The nurse steps closer, taking my wrist in her hand.
‘What are you…?’
‘Taking your pulse,’ she replies before I can finish the question. ‘I am measuring your heartbeat for our charts.’
‘Where…?’
‘You’re in King’s College Hospital,’ she explains with a hint of annoyance at my questions. ‘You and many other wounded from the British Expeditionary Force have been moved to London hospitals due to Luftwaffe attacks on the southern airfields and towns.’
‘How long have I…?’
‘You have been here for a week,’ she says. ‘Before that, I don’t know. You suffered a nasty head injury Mr Cooper and lost a significant amount of blood. You seem to be recovering well enough with no sign of permanent damage. All that was needed was for you to wake up.’
‘You sound annoyed I took so long,’ I reply with a dry mouth and sore throat.
‘Well, there is a war on and every space in the hospital is needed,’ she replies.
‘What happened?’ I ask, still trying to make sense of it all. ‘At Dunkirk, I mean?’
‘The navy and civilian boats evacuated over three hundred thousand men,’ she replies. ‘The British army was saved and Prime Minister Churchill is calling it a miracle.’
‘Not for everyone,’ I reply, thinking of the friends I lost on that beach.
My vision clears further and I see her properly. Small nose, blue eyes, a few freckles on her cheeks, and lips I instantly long to see smile. She’s young, about my age at a guess.
‘An angel.’
‘I’m sorry?’ she asks in confusion.
‘I didn’t mean to say that out loud.’ I chuckle, laughter drawing more pain in my head. ‘What is your name?’
‘It is the seventeenth of July and about time you had a proper meal, Mr Cooper,’ she says, scribbling on a chart and then turning away. ‘I’ll send some food for you and a doctor to assess you further.’
‘It’s Private Cooper, actually,’ I reply.
‘Not in here, it isn’t,’ she says, her remark drawing a smile from me.
One day. It took me one entire day to become overwhelmingly bored in my hospital bed. The only highlight is when I see the nurse who was with me when I first woke. I have seen her twice since, sharing only a few words before she is summoned away.
Slowly, carefully, I push myself out of the bed and stand. My legs tremble, muscles unused for weeks having to take my weight. My head spins with the ache throbbing beneath the bandages. Taking my first uncertain steps, I cross the room before clinging onto the far wall for support, breathing deep as my vis
ion begins to blur again.
‘Come on,’ I tell myself. ‘One foot in front of the other.’
‘You shouldn’t be out of bed, Mr Cooper,’ I hear the nurse’s soft voice admonish me. I blink my eyes, unable to see clearly through the pain. I am going to vomit at any moment. My stomach churns as my legs threaten to buckle.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, but with another step I stumble and crash to the cold floor.
‘I did warn you,’ she says, taking my arm and helping me to stand again. ‘You soldiers, you’re all as stubborn as each other.’
The nurse guides me back to my bed, forcing me to lie back down.
‘Rest and recover,’ she orders, sounding slightly annoyed. She sounds more like Corporal Brooke, God rest his soul. ‘I will not always be around to scoop you off the floor,’ she says.
I can too easily imagine the things she has seen in this hospital which have made her so hard. We are all too young for such horror.
‘I need to get back to my regiment,’ I say, forcing my eyes shut and breathing deep as I try to keep the contents of my stomach down.
‘Not in this condition, you don’t,’ she says. ‘You barely survived your last battle. Why are you so eager to return?’
‘I’m a soldier,’ I tell her. ‘It’s my …’
‘Duty?’ she guesses.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘It’s not just that though. You train and march and fight beside those men every day and they become like family to you. I can’t just leave them, especially if Jerry invades. Besides, my father fought in the Great War. I’d be letting down his memory if I didn’t return to defend this country.’
‘Yet, I don’t think you’re quite old enough for this army are you?’
I smile, giving away the truth. ‘Maybe a year short,’ I explain.
‘And the rest,’ she says.
With my eyes closed I hear the sound of running water before a cold, damp cloth is laid on my forehead. ‘That feels good,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she says. Though my eyes are closed, I can hear in her voice that she is smiling.
‘Anyway, what about you?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
‘You can’t be much older than me. How come you’re here?’
‘Entry age is lower for nurses,’ she says. ‘I’ve been here for nine months now, joining the hospital soon after war was declared. I’m still learning. I’ve seen a lot of soldiers come through our doors.’
‘Hopefully we’re the last,’ another voice calls from across the room. I recognise it instantly as belonging to Captain Grayburn.
‘I would stand and salute, Sir,’ I apologise.
‘But you wouldn’t want to upset your pretty nurse,’ he says.
‘I have other patients to care for,’ she says.
‘Thank you,’ I try to tell her, but from the sound of her footsteps, she is already gone.
‘How are you feeling, Private?’ the captain asks.
‘Been better, Sir,’ I say. The headache begins to subside, my stomach settling at last. ‘You?’
‘I could say the same,’ he replies. I force my eyes open and see Captain Colin Grayburn standing in the doorway. It takes me a few seconds to believe what I am seeing; the arm he injured in France now ends at the shoulder.
9
ANDREW COOPER—Kings College Hospital, London England. 28th July 1940
I walk the halls of the hospital, checking in each ward but I am unable to find her. It’s difficult to ask for someone without their name. I even try describing her to a few people, doctors and other nurses, but they yell at me for wasting their time.
‘Mr Cooper,’ I hear her disappointed voice call out to me. ‘I heard there was a madman wandering the hospital. Why am I not surprised it’s you?’
‘I’ve been discharged and I’m getting the train back to the First Suffolk today,’ I tell her.
‘And you were searching for me because?’
‘I wanted to thank you for looking after me,’ I say, giving her the bunch of flowers I was hiding behind my back.
‘You stole these from the hospital garden, didn’t you?’ she guesses, taking my gift.
‘Maybe.’ I laugh, unable to lie. ‘The point is, I wanted to ask if I can write to you and visit you when I have a pass of leave from the regiment.’
‘Shouldn’t you be more worried about the possible invasion of our country?’ she says, a small smile on her lips.
‘Probably, but right now I couldn’t care less.’
She laughs at that, a victory, no matter how small.
‘I cannot stop you from writing to me,’ she says.
‘Except it will be much easier if I knew your name.’
‘You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. Tell me though, what would you write to me about?’
‘I’m sure I’ll find something,’ I say with a grin. ‘So?’
‘Margaret,’ she replies. ‘Margaret Parks. Friends call me Maggie.’
‘Thank you for all you have done for me, Maggie,’ I say. Without thinking, I step closer and kiss her. I think I’m just as surprised as she is.
‘Well, Mr Cooper,’ she says once we part, ‘after that, you had better write to me.’
‘You can count on it,’ I tell her.
‘Stay safe, Mr Cooper, or should I say Private Cooper now you are re-joining the army.’
‘Call me Andy,’ I reply, kissing her again.
10
EMMA—Home of Theresa Myhill, Burt St Edmunds, England
‘Welcome,’ Theresa Myhill greets us at the door. ‘It’s nice to meet you. My father does not receive many guests asking about the old days.’
‘Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ I say. ‘I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you in any way.’
‘Not at all,’ Theresa replies as she guides us through her home. ‘My children moved out long ago and have started families of their own. It is just me here now with my father. I will warn you though that he does get tired quite easily these days and may not be able to stay focussed for long.’
‘We won’t take up much of your time,’ I reply, ‘will we, Dave?’
‘Er…no…not at all,’ he says, though it is clear that his mind is elsewhere. It has been ever since the incident with the U-boat. Something shook him there, but he won’t talk about it.
‘Here we go,’ Theresa says as she shows us into the study. ‘Take a seat and I will bring my father through in a moment. Would either of you like a drink? Tea or coffee?’
‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ I reply.
‘Coffee, black, thanks,’ Dave replies.
I wait until Theresa is gone before I round on Dave.
‘What is up with you?’ I ask him. ‘You’ve been quiet and distant since we left Scotland.’
‘Nothing,’ he replies with annoyance.
‘C’mon, Dave. I know when something’s troubling you.’
‘Just leave it for now, okay?’ he says.
I back away, sensing that I won’t be getting anywhere if I press him more. Instead, I look around the study and the framed photographs and medals around the room.
‘You with me, Abbey?’ I ask as I activate my earpiece.
‘Am I ever not here when you guys call up?’ her voice replies. ‘You know I don’t sleep.’
‘Doesn’t seem like it,’ I reply. ‘Tell me what you found out about the Suffolk Regiment.’
‘They saw action in the Western Front throughout most of the war,’ Abbey explains. ‘The First Battalion was part of the British Expeditionary Force that fought in France in 1940 before being evacuated at Dunkirk. They returned to France in 1944 and took part in some of the fiercest fighting throughout Europe until the war’s end. In fact, on D-Day they captured the Hillman Fortress, said to be the most formidable coastal defence the British Army faced. That was just the beginning of the Allied invasion for them, and for over a year they were at the front line, fighting through hell.’
‘There are photos of his old unit,’ I say, picking up one frame from the desk. It shows a group of nine soldiers gathered inside an old English pub. They look happy, smiling and laughing with beers raised high.
‘They look like a good bunch,’ Dave says.
‘Does it bring back memories?’ Abbey asks.
‘Kinda,’ he replies without saying anymore.
‘So where were they in the final days of the war?’ I ask.
‘The First Battalion of the Suffolk Regiment was part of the force that captured the city of Bremen in April 1945,’ Abbey explains. ‘After that the records aren’t so clear. I tried to contact someone at the Ministry of Defence but the records for this group after April 1945 are classified.’
‘And I’m guessing no mention of a U-boat base or harbour?’ Dave says.
‘None,’ Abbey says. ‘The identification tags you guys took from the body on the U-boat must have belonged to one of the men from that unit. You’re about to meet the last survivor from their section and platoon.’
‘Who saw a lot of fighting,’ I say as I look upon more of the photos and medals and then spot the rifle mounted above a framed picture of the regiment.
‘Emma Lovell, Dave Conway, please meet my father, Thomas Myhill,’ Theresa states from the doorway. Her father is seated in a wheelchair and she guides him into the study. His face is wrinkled with time, hands unsteady and trembling.
‘Father, this is Emma and Dave from the British Museum to ask you a few questions about the war.’
‘It’s not often a beautiful young woman comes to my door,’ he says, his words slow and steady, but there’s still plenty of life in him yet.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ I say. He takes my offered hand in his and kisses it gently once in greeting.
‘You smoothy,’ his daughter teases.
‘Not bad for ninety-two years old.’ He chuckles. ‘You’re here to ask about my war days, aren’t you?’
War of the Damned (Relic Hunters) Page 6