“But the question remains: if the Police, the S.S. and the Army don’t have him…?” Ansett started.
“…Then who does?” Sam finished.
Sam and Alan left the Police station after they had had a look at the corpse which the German Navy had fished out of the River Ouse. They talked to each other as they walked.
“That was definitely Hook,” Sam said to Alan in hushed tones.
“Yes, it was.” Alan nodded his head. “And you know what that means?”
“Hook was not killed by a Policeman or a Special or a German.”
“Hook was killed by someone he knew. Did you get a look at the bullet wound?”
“Yes. Dr. Caruthers said that he was shot at point blank range. Probably at a distance of less than three yards…”
“Hook was executed. But why?” Alan asked.
“Not so much ‘why?’ but by whom?”
Chapter Eighteen
Senior Leutnant Alfonin, Schellenberg the driver and another soldier had survived the machine gun attack on their A.P.C.s. They had dived underwater when the bullets had started flying and they had allowed the current to carry them out of the killing zone. They had not been able to climb out of the fast flowing river and they had been swept down river until they had bumped against boats moored against the pier at Ely. Alfonin and his men had spent two days so far in hospital because they were suffering from severe hypothermia. Unfortunately, Schellenberg never recovered and died.
Generalmajor von Schnakenberg came to visit his men on their third day in hospital. “How are you feeling, Nicky?”
“I feel like a drowned rat, sir,” Alfonin answered. “But I feel far better than Schellenberg,” he said bitterly.
“I know, Nicky.” Von Schnakenberg put his hand on Alfonin’s shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. “Damned bad luck.”
“It wasn’t his fault, sir.” Alfonin tried to raise himself to a better sitting position in bed. “Schellenberg was exhausted. The men were exhausted and I was exhausted.”
“I know.” If Alfonin was inferring that von Schnakenberg was at fault for issuing the orders in the first place, then he was prepared to accept the criticism with good grace. After all, Alfonin was right. Von Schnakenberg’s punishing work schedule had sent those men to their deaths and he was painfully aware of it. He was also prepared to take full responsibility for their deaths.
“Have they found any of the others, sir?”
“No, Nicky.” Von Schnakenberg shook his head sadly. “The three of you were the only ones that the Navy found. The remaining twenty men of your platoon are still missing, presumed drowned. They’ll be in the middle of the North Sea by now.”
“I see, sir.” Alfonin shrugged with resignation. Then his eyebrows furrowed. “Wait a minute, sir. I must have misheard you: you said that ‘twenty men’ were missing and that they were ‘presumed drowned?’”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Von Schnakenberg was confused. “The crew of your half-track plus the crew of Feldwebel Kaiser’s A.P.C.”
“What do you mean Kaiser and his crew?” Alfonin was sitting bolt upright in his bed.
“The S.S. reported that when they arrived two half-tracks were in the river and there was absolutely no sight or sound of either your crew or Kaiser’s.”
“I don’t understand, sir.” Alfonin had thrown his legs off the bed. “We drove into the Ouse, but Kaiser didn’t. He stopped his half-track and he and his men jumped out to give us a hand.”
“So how did his A.P.C. end up in the river and what happened to Kaiser and his men?”
“The Partisans must’ve killed them.”
“What Partisans?” Von Schnakenberg asked in confusion.
“The Partisans who massacred me and my men in the water!”
“‘Massacred?’” Von Schnakenberg repeated incredulously. “I thought that your men had drowned.”
“No, sir.” Alfonin slumped back into his bed. He suddenly felt sick. Nausea was attacking his head and stomach in waves. “I thought that you knew that partisans had attacked us. I thought that you were going to tell me that you had caught or killed them. In fact, I expected to see Kaiser here today to report to me in person.”
“Neither you nor your men had any gunshot wounds…”
“And those of my men who did die from gunshot wounds will be at the bottom of the sea by now,” Alfonin said. He suddenly sat upright like a jack-in-the-box. “What about the A.P.C.s, sir? They’ll have empty shell cases in them and they might have clues which would lead us to our attackers!”
“The S.S. has them,” Von Schnakenberg said bitterly.
“What!”
“When Army patrols turned up at the scene of the crime the following morning the half-tracks had gone.”
“I don’t believe it,” Alfonin was completely gob smacked.
“Well, you’d better believe it.” Von Schnakenberg shook his head in sympathy. He could remember exactly how he felt when he was told. “Disappeared. Neither sign nor trace of them. The S.S. maintain that our two A.P.C.s were still there when they left the scene at midnight.” Von Schnakenberg punched his thigh in frustration. “We know that they have them and they know that we know that they have them. The infuriating thing is that we don’t have any proof that they have them. And the bastards know it! They will have repainted them by now and removed all Army identification that would link them to the Potsdam Grenadiers.”
“Does Schuster know?”
“What do you think, Nicky?” Von Schnakenberg said. “It was probably his idea! Or his lapdog, Zorn’s. It doesn’t really matter. The question is: What are we going to do about it?”
“I’ve told Edinburgh about the death of Ivanhoe and I’ve told them that there’s a very strong possibility that he was betrayed and killed by someone that he contacted,” Ansett said to the boys. They were all sitting and standing in their customary positions in his classroom.
“More than a very strong possibility.” Sam emphasized. “More like a definite, one hundred percent, water tight, possibility.”
“Anyway,” Ansett continued, ignoring Sam’s attempt to correct him. “Edinburgh has ordered us to keep a low profile and that means you boys,” he pointed his pipe at Alan and Sam. “No more personal vendettas, alright? That’s an order. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the boys answered in unison.
“Edinburgh has also confirmed what we had already suspected,” Ansett carried on, “something big is brewing. What day is April 23rd?”
“Shakespeare’s birthday,” Alan answered.
“Correct, Alan.” Ansett was genuinely impressed. “We’ll make a scholar of you yet. What else?” Ansett pressed.
“St. George’s Day,” Alan said.
“Correct again!” Ansett laughed. “Give the man a coconut! And guess who’s coming to dinner?”
Ansett’s question was met with blank faces and shrugged shoulders.
“Reichsstatthalter Scheimann, head of the German Occupation Authority and Prime Minister Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the Government of National Unity.” Ansett announced the news like a butler announcing their arrival at a ball.
“Blimey! The Leader himself!” Sam was thunder-struck.
“Il Duce,” Alan added in a daze.
“They will be visiting Hereward on April 23rd, St.George’s Day.”
“And what are our orders?” Alan asked.
“We are to stand by and await further instructions,” Ansett answered. “So we’ll do just that,” he said with pursed lips. Ansett looked as if he had been sucking a lemon. “No hell raising of your own, boys, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam saluted. “Message received and understood.”
“I hope so, lads.” And Ansett really did hope so. Sam was a loose cannon. He didn’t t
rust Sam as far as he could throw him. There was no way of knowing if Sam’s promise was sincere. No way of knowing, that is, until his next wanton act of death and destruction. “Dismissed.”
Ansett watched the two boys leave. He had work to do. Ivanhoe had come to Hereward specifically to set up another fighting group for the express purpose of helping to deal with the proposed visit on April 23rd. Ansett now had to step into dead man’s shoes and complete Ivanhoe’s mission of recruiting and setting up another cell.
Sam and Alan carried on with their studies at school five days per week and with their duties with the Specials one night per week. They followed Ansett’s orders to keep a low profile. Sam carried out his instructions under duress with much mumbling and grumbling. Alan noticed how Sam always put his hand on the butt of his revolver whenever Germans approached. He knew that Sam had an itchy trigger finger and it was only through an immense effort of will and self control that he was able to suppress the urge to whip out his six shooter and blaze away like Wyatt Earp at the OK Corral. Alan, on the other side, was positively relieved to receive the order to stand down. He welcomed the chance to have a breather and relax. He was glad that he did not have to constantly worry about being dragged into some ill conceived, spontaneous life threatening caper thought up on the spur of the moment by Sam. Although the Uprising continued with further incidents throughout the day and night, Sam and Alan played no further part in them.
Ansett started recruiting immediately. He remembered that the boys had recommended the services of Sergeant Jock MacDonald. He also remembered that the boys had said that MacDonald had killed a wounded German on what they referred to as their own ‘Private Guy Fawkes Party’ on the evening prior to ‘Bloody Wednesday.’ They had also told him that MacDonald had won a Military Cross during the Great War whilst serving in the Ross shire Highlanders. He sounded like a useful man to have around.
Ansett approached him at home and matter of factly asked him whether he would like to join. He couldn’t see the point of beating around the bush. When MacDonald asked Ansett how he could prove that his offer was genuine Ansett replied that he should choose a message that Ansett would arrange to have played on the B.B.C MacDonald chose “Campbelltown Loch I wish you were whiskey.”
The message was played on the B.B.C. at 9 p.m. the following evening. Ansett returned to visit MacDonald the next morning. They sealed the deal with a manly bone crunching handshake, a dram of whiskey and a toast to the King. It was the 21st of February. Approximately eight weeks until the visit. Ansett asked MacDonald to recruit one more member of the group. He would return in two weeks time to confirm that MacDonald had carried out his orders.
“So the arrangement is that the Army is responsible for the security of Reichsstatthalter Scheimann and Prime Minister Mosley for the duration of their journey between London and Hereward. However, as soon as the convoy reaches Hereward it becomes the responsibility of the S.S.” Von Schnakenberg explained to the assembled officers of his brigade packed together in Hereward Cathedral Hall. “General Fruenkel’s Division is responsible for the security of the convoy between London and Cambridge.” He pointed with a captured British Army Officer’s swagger stick at a giant map pinned to a blackboard. “Our Brigade is responsible for the security of the convoy between Cambridge and Hereward. Brigadefuhreur Schuster’s Brigade is responsible for security within Hereward itself. Any questions, gentlemen?” Von Schnakenberg asked the crowd.
A dozen hands went up at once.
“Hauptmann Alfonin?” Alfonin had been recently promoted to fill the dead man’s shoes of his company commander who had been killed during a weekend visit to London.
“Why aren’t we sharing responsibility with the S.S. for security in Hereward?” Alfonin asked. “Why is everything split up?”
“The Reichsstatthalter felt that one of the factors that contributed to the ‘Remembrance Day Massacre’ was the fact that security had been split between the S.S. the Luftwaffe and the Army. He felt that it would be more effective both from an administrative and security point of view if one service was given a specific area of responsibility.”
Muttering and murmuring swept through the Hall. Everyone knew that Reichsstatthalter Scheimann was a serving S.S. officer and it had not escaped anyone’s notice that the ‘one service’ in question was, not surprisingly, the S.S. It was common knowledge that Scheimann, Himmler, Schuster and Hitler himself were all old party comrades from the Munich Beer Hall Putsch days. This was an example of cronyism and nepotism at its worse.
Another question from the floor.
“Why are they visiting Hereward, sir?”
“Another good question, Hauptmann. It has probably not escaped your notice that there has been rather a lot of building work going on in Hereward recently, particularly within the grounds of St. John’s Academy. Does anyone here know why?”
It was obvious from the lack of response that they did not.
“As you know,” von Schnakenberg continued, “the Fuhrer has only visited England once, when he came to London shortly after our forces reached the Scottish Border in October last year…” Von Schnakenberg paused for dramatic effect. He wanted to let the tension build. He knew that the audience was on tenterhooks. “The Fuhrer decided a long time ago, months before the Invasion took place, possibly years before the War actually started, that if we ever went to war against England and, God willing, won then he would want an official residence somewhere in the country.” He paused again. Von Schnakenberg was enjoying his role. “He has chosen a place for his official residence. The Fuhrer has chosen Hereward!”
Conversation flowed across the congregation like a Mexican wave from the front of the crowded hall to the rear and back again.
“The Reichsstatthalter and Prime Minister Mosley will inspect the Fuhrer’s Official Residence in England at St. John’s Academy on April 23rd, St. George’s Day.”
Chatter dramatically increased throughout the Hall, rebounding off the walls as the assembled officers digested the news and let it sink in.
Von Schnakenberg ploughed on. He knew that what he was about to say would blow the assembled Officers away. “The Fuhrer himself will visit Hereward on September 27th, the anniversary of Operation Sealion.”
During the next week Ansett approached and recruited a second man to the fighting group, David Mair, an ex-Physics teacher at St. John’s and also a former Officer in the Royal Signals who had served during the Great War. Mair had been a Captain in Hook’s Home Guard Battalion, but had been bed ridden with a severe migraine attack when the Fusiliers had marched out of Hereward. Ansett had found him only too keen to volunteer for further hazardous duties. Like other men who had watched their friends and comrades die, Mair experienced a strange feeling of guilt that he had survived whilst others had perished. Ansett could almost see the weight lift from Mair’s shoulders as he cheerfully volunteered to once again risk life and limb. As with MacDonald, Ansett asked Mair to recruit another member of the group. Ansett would return in one week’s time, on March 7th to confirm that Mair had carried out his orders.
Chapter Nineteen
Von Schnakenberg allocated the three units under his command three specific areas of responsibility to be covered during the convoy’s journey from Cambridge to Hereward. Oberstleutnant Dahrendorf’s motorcycle Battalion was responsible for providing motorcycle, A.P.C. and truck borne troops to escort the convoy. Oberstleutnant Rohm’s Potsdam Grenadiers were responsible for guarding villages and towns along the route and supplementing and reinforcing the garrisons that were already there. Oberleutnant Todt’s Oberschutzen Jaeger Regiment was responsible for guarding isolated houses and pubs, farms and hamlets and the general countryside along the route.
Dahrendorf remarked that it was a shame that Schuster and the S.S. would get all of the credit if the visit was a success. Rohm pointed out that Schuster and the S.S. would also get all of the b
lame if the visit was a failure. Von Schnakenberg wasn’t willing to put any money on it, but he was pretty sure that Rohm had had a mischievous glint in his eye as he had made that observation. It seemed that von Schnakenberg was not the only one who wanted to rain on Schuster’s parade.
On March 7th Ansett returned to visit MacDonald. He informed Ansett that he had successfully recruited another member for the fighting group. Before he could continue, Ansett interrupted him and told MacDonald that he didn’t want to know who the new recruit was. MacDonald cottoned on pretty quickly. He realized that he would have to think in a completely new way. His every thought and action would have to be governed by one word-security. Ansett told him that he and the other group member should stand by for further orders.
Ansett then went to see Mair. He told Ansett that he had not managed to recruit the person whom he had wanted to. Ansett told him that he would return in one week’s time on the 14th of March. If Mair had not managed to recruit another member by that date then Ansett would have to do so himself. Ansett was aware of the risk of Mair being forced to work with someone who might be a complete stranger to him, but he was also conscious of the fact that he was rapidly running out of time. It was only six weeks until the St. Georges Day visit on April 23rd.
“What’s happening within Hereward itself on the day of the visit?” Alan asked.
“There will be a platform built in front of the Town Hall where Reichsstatthalter Scheimann and Mosley will sit…” Ansett began.
“They’re going to build a platform right where they built the gallows in January?” Sam asked incredulously.
“Christ!” Alan exclaimed. “That’s in damn bad taste.”
“The Germans have never been noted for their sensitivity, lads,” Robinson remarked dryly.
The boys both turned to look at Robinson. They were surprised at what he had said. In fact, they were surprised that he had spoken at all. Robinson was a man of few words and Alan and Sam had had very little contact with him since the ‘Remembrance Day Massacre,’ despite the fact that he was the School Janitor. Never the less, the boys were glad to have Robinson along. He was loyal, dependable and completely and utterly ruthless. Plus, there was safety in numbers. Robinson had proved his worth through his high body count in November.
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