Day of Vengeance

by Johnny O'Brien

  “You OK?” Jack called into the darkness.

  “Got dirt in my face. Bring that candle over.”

  Angus pulled himself up from the ground.

  “What is this place?”

  Jack held the candle to the wall of the passageway. By its light they could just make out a narrow passage stretching out into the darkness. Jack moved his face closer to the side wall and then nearly jumped out of his skin. His stare was returned by the hollow eyes of a human skull that rested in one of a series of recesses built into the wall.

  “That’s sick,” Angus said, staring at the skull.

  “I think it’s some sort of old tomb or catacomb. This graveyard must be built on an older graveyard,” Sophie said.

  “So if we follow this passage – it might lead somewhere?” Jack said.

  “You want to go in even further?” Angus said.

  “We’ve no choice. Let’s go.”

  They crept on. Jack did not know whether it was better or worse to have the candle. With its meagre light he could just make out the grim shapes and shadows of human bones and skulls. Without it, they would have been spared the sight, but they would have had to feel their way, with the dreadful knowledge that at some point they might inadvertently touch something horrible. After a while there were no more recesses and the old man-made stone wall ended and gave way to natural rock which seemed quite light in colour.

  “Stop!” Angus said.

  Abruptly, the walls of the passageway on either side disappeared altogether and directly ahead of them there was only a huge, black, empty space. Jack held the candle above his head to see if its faint light might pick out any structure or shape in the darkness before them. Gradually, as their eyes adjusted, they started to discern a series of large ghostly shapes in the darkness ahead. Hanging in mid-air, there were a number of elongated spikes of grey–white rock that tapered downwards like giant icicles.

  “Careful!” Angus pointed down. They had edged closer to a lip of rock beyond which there was no discernible floor. The passageway had led them to a high shelf above a cliff which opened into some sort of vast underground cavern.

  “Caves,” Jack said. “Limestone caves. I think those are stalactites – big ones.”

  “Over here,” Sophie said. She pointed down. “It’s a ladder or something.”

  An old metal ladder was screwed into the side of the cliff face. It led down from the rock shelf into the depths of the cave.

  “Looks like no one’s been here for a while,” said Angus. “Shall I try it? If it goes down into the bottom of the cave… maybe it leads somewhere… maybe it’ll lead us out.” Angus grabbed the top of the ladder and shook it.

  “It’s a bit knackered – but seems secure. Here goes…”

  He slid himself over the lip and put his feet on a metal rung. Jack and Sophie peered down and watched as the top of Angus’s head disappeared into the gloom below. Soon he was out of sight.

  A moment later, they heard him call up. “I’m down. It’s not far. Come on.”

  In a couple of minutes they were all at the bottom of the cave.

  “Stalagmites too… it’s incredible.”

  “Never mind that,” Angus said. “Is there a way through?”

  “There,” Jack pointed. It’s definitely some sort of path.”

  They set off again, picking their way through the swirling shapes and spikes of the limestone rock formations.

  “The cave seems to taper in there.”

  Gradually, the cavern narrowed and they clambered through a sequence of smaller caves and chambers. They rounded a corner and, in front of them, a wall rose from the ground right up to the ceiling.

  “Blocked.”

  Jack reached out and touched the wall.

  “But it’s wood. Planking. It’s been put there. The cave has been sealed off. There must be something on the other side.”

  “Do you think we can knock it down?” Angus said.

  “We don’t want to make a noise. We’ve no idea what’s on the other side.”

  They started to run their hands over the wooden planks; checking for any gaps or weaknesses.

  “You know, I think it looks quite new… the wood smells fresh.”

  “And put up in a hurry – over here – there is a loose plank,” Sophie said, beckoning them towards her.

  Angus wobbled the plank. “It’s only nailed at one end. If I push…”

  He eased his weight against the plank which bent inwards, creating a hole big enough to step through. He released the plank and it snapped shut again. Angus was on the other side.

  “What’s there?” Jack whispered.

  “Can’t really see. The passage goes on for a bit, but it’s quiet, I’ll hold the plank open and you guys can squeeze through.”

  Soon Jack and Sophie were on the other side too. Gingerly, they crept forward along the passage. The candle flickered and Jack felt the air around them warming.

  “I think we must be near the entrance.”

  Gradually the passageway began to open out into a low cave. Ahead, a series of rectangular shapes loomed into view. As they moved closer they saw that the shapes were huge wooden crates.

  “Someone’s using the cave for storage.”

  “It can’t be far to another entrance.”

  They squeezed through the narrow space between the cave wall and the line of crates. Occasionally, they stopped to listen. But the makeshift warehouse seemed completely bereft of life. Finally, they reached the end and Jack peered round the last of the crates. In the darkness, he didn’t notice the lettering stamped on the side of each crate. Even if he had seen the words, he would not have been able to understand them, because they were in German. However, he would have recognised the bold black symbol printed next to the words. A Nazi swastika. In front of the crates, there was just an empty space. Jack took the lead now, waving the others forward.

  “No one here. And I think we can get through here.”

  They rushed forward to a small door that was set into huge wooden gates that filled the entrance to the cave.

  “It’s open,” Jack said, trying the handle.

  They stepped through the door and Jack sucked in the sweet night air. They were free.

  There was enough light for them to work out that they were in some sort of clearing, but still in the middle of woodland. In the distance, to their left, they could make out a line of outbuildings. There was light coming from the buildings and they could hear voices and the hum of a generator.

  “Not that way – I can hear people…” Jack said.

  “There’s some kind of mini railway track built into the ground, just here,” Angus said.

  “We need to get out of this clearing. I think we should go across and then into the woods. I don’t know what this place is, but I’m guessing we shouldn’t be here. And we still can’t be all that far from the chateau.”

  They started to make their way across the clearing, but had only managed twenty paces when suddenly, out of nowhere, two army jeeps appeared. They were caught directly in the powerful beam of the headlights. Jack’s heart sank. He tried to see who was in the jeep but the lights were blindingly bright. He heard footsteps as a man approached and then stopped right in front of them. Jack squinted, but he could not make out the face. The man spoke and Jack thought he recognised the voice.

  “How nice to see you again,” he said.

  The Death’s Head leered at Jack. It was as if the Nazi emblem, with its grinning teeth, was mocking him from its position at the centre of the officer’s cap. It was the same man, for sure: the trim uniform, the iron cross at his throat and, on his right collar, the identical zigzags side by side like lightning bolts. Jack recognised the thin, anaemic face set in a head that seemed a little too small for the cap and he recognised the eyes. They were an intense green colour.

  Axel Gottschalk stared at him. Jack half-expected that, if he blinked, the man’s eyes would close not from above – like a human eye �
�� but from the side, like some as yet undiscovered Amazonian lizard waiting to devour its prey. But the face had changed since Jack had last seen it. The bridge of the nose was covered with a plaster and on one cheek a second plaster oozed blood from the wound beneath. The skin around the jaw line and extending to the mouth was raw and weeping. Jack clearly remembered Antoine screwing the glass of flaming brandy into his face. He remembered Antoine’s brief expression of joy and then the terrible consequence of his act of defiance, and shuddered.

  “Time for some answers.” Gottschalk spoke English with only a slight accent. It was a drab monotone betraying no emotion.

  They sat in a drawing room which stretched all the way from the front of Chateau Villiers to the back. Sunlight flooded through the windows onto the room’s dark wood panelling. It was topped with blue wallpaper, which showed a pastoral vignette of a couple picnicking by a lake, repeated again and again. The innocence of the scene contrasted with the fear in the pit of Jack’s stomach. Gottschalk sat in a high-backed armchair in front of the fireplace and peered at Jack, who sat on one of three sofas grouped around a low coffee table that was cluttered with a heavy crystal ashtray, a humidor packed with cigars and several newspapers. But Jack’s eye was drawn to something else that looked oddly out of place on the coffee table. It was a crude model of a ship. A battleship with some lettering on the side, which Jack could not read. It looked like a child’s toy.

  “First, trouble in Paris… and now here.” Gottschalk dabbed at the raw skin on his cheek with a white handkerchief.

  It was several hours since they had broken free from the underground catacomb, only to be caught trying to escape from the clearing into the woods. Since then they’d endured the best part of a sleepless night in the dark, in one of the cellars beneath the chateau, terrified of what might happen to them. Then Jack had been dragged out on his own, leaving Angus and Sophie behind. It looked like they were to be interrogated separately. Jack glanced at the intricately carved mantelpiece, which showed a bloody hunting scene with snarling dogs and a cornered fox about to be ripped limb from limb. He understood how the fox must have felt.

  Gottschalk continued, “Your friends in Paris were kind enough to give us the identities of all your collaborators. Initially they were reluctant of course, but after treatment, they were more than generous with their information: names, places… this so-called ‘Network’ of resistors… and this mad plan to kill the Führer, first in Paris and now here. As soon as we found out we laid our trap. We arranged for the Führer to return safely to Berlin but pretended he was still coming here. I briefed him when we were together in Paris. I will shortly have the pleasure of reporting to him that, not only have we broken a dangerous French resistance group, but we have executed our plan and added the British Empire to our list of conquests.”

  Jack had no idea what Gottschalk was talking about. He wanted to run, but sentries stood at each of the doors, silently watchful and more guards were posted out on the terrace. This time, escape was impossible.

  “You’re a murderer,” Jack spat. “We saw you machine gun those men – you already had them prisoner.”

  Gottschalk eyed Jack with curiosity rather than annoyance. His dull monotone did not change. “May I remind you that we are at war and all our actions are entirely justified.”

  “I thought you had signed a peace…” Jack said.

  Gottschalk shrugged. “In any conflict, there will be a period when unpleasant things have to be done until stability can be restored. Competition, conflict, death, renewal – it’s our nature – we might as well accept it. If we do, things become more… simple.”

  “Why haven’t you killed us, then?” Jack blurted out.

  Again the same monotone, “You, my friend, are… interesting. A complication. In fact, you worry me. It seems that this Network is not just confined to some hotheads here in Paris and the north of France. Your presence, and that of your friend, would seem to indicate a British connection. This is concerning. Particularly given that our time is drawing close.”

  “What time? What is drawing close?”

  Gottschalk got up and walked to a large, parchment-coloured globe on a pedestal, with its top pulled back to reveal a selection of bottles and decanters. He poured himself a drink, took a sip and put the glass down.

  He moved closer until his face was only an inch from Jack’s. Now his demeanour changed and it became more threatening. “That’s not your concern, my friend. But the British are my concern. You are English. You are part of the Network and therefore you must be able to tell us.”

  “What?”

  “What is the British connection with the Network and what do they know of Villiers?”

  “I don’t know…” Jack stuttered. “We’re just caught up in this by mistake…”

  Gottschalk paused, collected himself and said venomously, “You were at Bonaparte’s café in Paris, you are linked to the hotheads here and you are British. We want to know exactly who you are. We know there is a British connection. I think you are a spy. God knows why they are using people so young… either they are desperate or they must assume you will be above suspicion.”

  Jack looked back at Gottschalk defiantly. Even if he wanted to tell the truth, there was no way Gottschalk would ever believe him.

  “Very well. I am giving you one hour to think about your response. If you refuse to speak during that time – well – I think you know what happens next.”

  He clapped his hands. Suddenly, two of the guards marched over. They pulled Jack to his feet.

  “Take him back downstairs. Double the guard detail around the site. The time is getting close and we don’t want any more… interruptions. Bring the girl up next, we will try her.” He pondered for a moment. “We are running out of time. We should plan harsher measures…”

  “Sir?” the guard asked.

  “Yes – plan to assemble the remaining prisoners in an hour and warn the airfield.”

  Jack was taken from the room.

  Gottschalk was alone. He moved over to the coffee table, reached down and picked up the small wooden battleship. He inspected it closely. The crude matchstick guns, turrets and masts had fallen off long ago. The toy ship was dirty and old. It should probably have been thrown away many years before. But Gottschalk cradled it carefully in his hand and inspected it closely from all angles. On the bow of the ship, crudely etched in ink with a school boy’s hand were the words ‘SMS König’. Gottschalk ran his finger over the lettering. For a moment he was transported somewhere far away: a spring morning a long time ago, a pretty wood where a young boy raced a toy ship down a bubbling stream. Gottschalk’s eyes moistened, although anyone watching would not have noticed. He blinked suddenly, put the model ship down and moved over to the globe. He closed the lid and drew his finger gently over the map of Europe from Berlin to Paris. His finger stopped there for a moment and then it traced a line across the English Channel to London, then across the Atlantic to New York. He swivelled the globe gently and it came to rest again at Moscow. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a while, a smile shaped his lips. He had waited a long, long time. But finally his Day of Vengeance was coming.

  Jack was marched through the corridors of the chateau and then down the spiral staircase to the cellars. A soldier opened a wooden cellar door and pushed him inside.

  Sophie jumped up from a mattress on the floor and threw her arms around him. “I thought they were going to kill you…”

  Jack was surprised, but the warmth of Sophie’s arms around him brought a rush of comfort. He felt a lump in his throat.

  “Did they say anything about Mum and Dad?”

  Jack shook his head, “Sorry Sophie… I don’t know.”

  “You!” The guard grabbed Sophie by the shoulder and hauled her from the cellar. “Your turn to meet the boss. Come on…”

  Jack caught the terror in Sophie’s eyes and reached out to her. But before he could say anything more, she was gone and the door was sla
mmed shut and locked.

  “Jack – you’re OK. Thank God,” Angus said. “Did they do anything to you?”

  “No… it was just Gottschalk.” Jack shook his head. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Angus, he thinks we’re British Intelligence or something… wants to know how we’re connected to the Network.”

  “But we don’t know anything.”

  “That’s the problem. I’m really scared, Angus, I think if he doesn’t get what he wants soon, well, I don’t know what’s going to happen… but it’s not good.”

  Jack slumped to the floor and put his head in his hands. Angus sat down beside him and stared blankly at the wall opposite.

  After a while, the key turned in the lock of the door again.

  “I guess Gottschalk’s finished with Sophie,” Angus said, looking up.

  The door swung open, but it was not Sophie who was pushed into the cellar. It was a man. Someone Jack and Angus knew well. Very well indeed.

  It was Dr Pendelshape.

  Pendelshape had lost weight. He was thinner and the lines on his forehead had become more accentuated with stress and fatigue. His deep-set eyes had dark bags under them and his grey hair, usually closely cropped and neat, had grown dishevelled and wispy. The plumpness in his face had gone and his cheeks had hollowed out. He sat opposite Jack and Angus in the cellar with his arms clasped around his knees. He looked tired and old and seemed to be ageing still further with the barrage of questions he was enduring from the two boys. They had already pumped him for information on his miraculous escape from the Armada in 1588, the attack on VIGIL and his mission to 1940. Pendelshape was stunned to discover Jack and Angus had escaped the Revisionist assault and had even witnessed his kidnapping in London.

  “What about Gottschalk?” Angus asked. “What do you know about him?”