Young Lions

by Andrew Mackay

  Mair. I was going to see Mair. He was going to tell me whether or not he had recruited the fourth member of the group.

  Mair had not betrayed him. The fourth man had betrayed him, just as the fourth man had betrayed Mair. Mair had been captured. He had been tortured until he confessed. Mair was probably in the cells right now. Or dead. Yes, Ansett decided. He was probably dead. The S.S. would’ve had no use for Mair once they’d squeezed all of the information out of him.

  Halder appeared later that evening.

  “Mr. Ansett, you have some visitors…” Zorn ushered Ansett’s guests into the cell.

  “Mr. Ansett…is that you?”

  Ansett recognized the voice. Charlie Bratten…eight years old…the youngest boy in Cromwell Boarding House.

  “Mr. Ansett, what have they done to you?” George Hemphill asked. At nine years old, he was the second youngest boarder.

  “You …you bastards!” Ansett growled.

  “Give me what I want, Mr. Ansett,” Zorn said as he crouched down beside him.

  “Mair…Mair…David Mair,” Ansett groaned. I’ll give you him because you have him already.

  “Good.” Zorn stood up with a smile on his face. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.” He turned to face Ulrich. “We have Ansett.” He pointed at his prisoner with an unlit cigar. “We have Mair.” He lit up, “and we also have the other man that Mair named, Mason.” Zorn was not worried about naming names in front of Ansett. Ansett would never have the opportunity to reveal those names. The only way which he would be leaving the Police station would be in a body bag.

  Ansett jerked at the mention of the third name, but neither Zorn nor Ulrich noticed. They were too busy playing detective.

  “The Resistance operates in four man cells. So we’re looking for one other name…” Zorn was thinking aloud.

  “Cut a deal, Zorn,” Ulrich urged. “You have two boys here. He’s given you one name. Release the youngest boy as a gesture of goodwill.”

  Zorn bit down on his cigar. “I hate to admit it, Ulrich, but that’s not a bad idea.” He extracted the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Halder. “Obersturmfuhrer Halder?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Drive young Charlie Bratten back to Cromwell and then return.”

  Halder saluted and left.

  Zorn turned back towards his prisoner. “Mr. Ansett, I’ll offer you a deal. One name per child. Charlie Bratten is already on his way home.”

  Ansett did not reply.

  “Mr. Ansett?”

  No response.

  Zorn was seized by a sudden feeling of panic. Don’t tell me that he’s dead. Don’t tell me that we’ve killed him. And we were doing so well.

  “Medic! Shake him awake!”

  The medic shook the crumpled heap lying on the floor. He shook his head. “It’s no use, sir. He’s unconscious. He’s passed out.”

  “Verdamnt!” Zorn swore. He stood up from his chair. “Alright. What’s the time?” He looked at his wristwatch. “Eight o’clock. I’m starving.” Zorn patted his belly. “Medic, when Obersturmfuhrer Halder returns kindly tell him that Hauptsturmfuhrer Ulrich and I have nipped out for a bite to eat, a shower and a change of clothes. Tell him that we’ll return sometime after 10 p.m. He’s not to touch him whilst we’re away. Understand?”

  “Very good, sir,” the Medic replied.

  “And one more thing…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Clean Ansett up. He’s absolutely filthy. He looks like something that the cat dragged in. I don’t want to get any of his blood on my nice, clean, shiny uniform.”

  Ansett watched Zorn and Ulrich leave the cell through a blood encrusted eyelid which could barely open. He slowly let out a breath of relief. His desperate effort to feign unconsciousness had worked. Ansett was certain that he had been aided and abetted by the medic who had helped him to deceive his torturers. He was sure that the S.S. orderly would have been able to tell whether or not he was faking. For whatever reason, the German had decided to give him a rest rather than to blow the whistle on him. Ansett was certain that Halder and his bullyboys would have hurt him twice as badly if they knew that he was faking.

  Mason, you bastard, Ansett said to himself. You’re the traitor. You’re the betrayer. I should have thought of you sooner. First Hook, then Mair and then me. What do we all have in common? We all are, or all were, teachers at St. John’s. Hook didn’t enter the school gates to walk through the school grounds enroute to somewhere else. He entered the school gates to walk to your house. The deputy rector’s house within the school grounds. Ansett clenched and unclenched his fist in frustration. Because I didn’t put two and two together I’m in this S.S. torture chamber. Because I didn’t figure it out Mair is dead. And if I don’t get out of here then Zorn will squeeze the name of the surviving members of the Resistance out of me. Robinson. MacDonald. The boys. The boys. I can’t give him their names. Robinson and MacDonald. They were both soldiers. They know the risks and they’ll take their chances. But the boys. They’re only children. This is still a game to them. I won’t give them to Zorn. I’ll kill myself before I let that happen.

  “Alice, what on earth is going on?” Sam asked.

  “The S.S. arrested Mr. Mair, your Physics teacher yesterday,” Alice answered “They tortured him to death.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Sam’s eyes widened with shock.

  “And Alan…” she gripped her friend’s forearm. “They arrested Mr. Ansett.”

  “When?” Alan asked.

  “Early this evening. About five o’clock.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Mrs. Mair told me when she arrived here with Anne. They’re both upstairs now having a rest,” Alice answered. “They were leaving the Police station as Ansett was being brought in.”

  Alan looked at his watch. “It’s just past seven. They’ve had him for nearly two hours.”

  “He could’ve talked,” Sam said grimly.

  “Which means that they could be after us by now,” Alan said.

  “But if he had talked then the S.S. would’ve been waiting for us,” Sam said.

  “They could still be waiting for us. They could be waiting for us right now. Hiding in the houses around us.” Alan pointed out of the window. “They might be waiting to see what we do. Whether we try to warn other members of the Resistance.” He was thinking aloud.

  “They’re waiting for us to lead them to Robinson. Christ…” Sam shook his head.

  “Alright. Let’s give Ansett the benefit of the doubt. Let’s say that they haven’t broken him yet.” Alan meant that in a literal as well as a literary sense. “But they will break him sooner or later. He will talk and give us up unless…”

  “Unless we get him out,” Sam said firmly.

  At 9.05 p.m. an S.S.sturmbannfuhrer and two S.S. troopers walked up the steps to the Police station. The sturmbannfuhrer approached the desk. “My name is Sturmbannfuhrer Schmitt. You are to transfer one of your prisoners, Mr. Ansett, into my custody.” The sturmbannfuhrer handed over his orders.

  Duty Sergeant Russ Dickson looked at Schmitt’s orders and scanned the page. The words were written in German and were completely incomprehensible, but he recognized two names, “Peter Ansett” at the top of the page and he saw Brigadefuhreur Schuster’s name and signature at the bottom of the page. “Very well, Sturmbannfuhrer.” Dickson bowed slightly. “Everything seems to be in order. If you’d care to follow me.” He walked out from behind his desk.

  Dickson grabbed a large set of keys from the wall behind his desk and led Schmitt and the two young S.S. troopers down the corridor towards the cells. “Here he is.” He stopped outside a cell. “Peter Ansett.”

  Halder heard the jangling of the keys in the lock. He looked at his watch. Only 9.10 p.m. My God, Zorn an
d Ulrich were keen. He and the boys had barely had enough time to grab something to eat. Zorn and Ulrich had eaten dinner, had gone to the barracks, showered , changed into a fresh set of uniform and had returned to the Police station within slightly over one hour.

  “Hallo, Obersturmfuhrer. You must be enjoying your rest after all of your hard work today,” Dickson said good-naturedly.

  “What going on here?” Halder asked in halting English as he fastened his belt and holster. An S.S.sturmbannfuhrer was standing behind the Police sergeant. The door to Ansett’s cell was open.

  “Everything is perfectly in order, Obersturmfuhrer,” Dickson answered. “The sturmbannfuhrer here has orders to take Mr. Ansett to hospital.” Dickson looked over his shoulder.

  Schmitt was surprised to see the sergeant wink.

  “Who are you?” Halder asked the sturmbannfuhrer.

  “How dare you address a senior officer without standing at attention!” Schmitt exploded. Spittle flew across the room.

  Halder automatically braced, clicked his heels and saluted.

  “Sturmbannfuhrer Zorn felt unwell after dinner and he asked me to come down here to transfer the prisoner to the hospital.” Schmitt’s S.S. troopers had an arm each around Ansett’s waist and they were carrying him out of the cell.

  “Very well, sir.” Halder said, his ears still stinging form the fury of Schmitt’s ferocious rebuke.

  “Herr Obersturmfuhrer! Is everything alright out there?” A voice from the guardroom asked.

  “Yes, Raeder. Everything’s fine.” Halder saluted, about turned and returned to the guardroom. The sturmbannfuhrer spoke rather good English and even appeared to have picked up a Cambridge shire accent. He must’ve been here since the Invasion way back in September. Or even before September…a long time before September…

  My God!

  “Scharfuhrer Raeder! Grab the men, grab your weapons and follow me!” Halder ran down the corridor towards the entrance and leaped down the front steps of the Police station.

  Dickson heard Raeder and his three men thunder down the corridor following their leader. They emerged in the foyer frantically buckling their belts and making ready their weapons. Dickson waited for the last soldier to run past him.

  Halder peered into the darkness. “No one! Where the hell are they? I can’t see a damn thing.” He swore in frustration. The Square was empty except…there. Four figures. One being helped to walk by two others. Halder jumped when he heard the shots being fired from behind him. However, Raeder’s shots had missed; the figures had speeded up and had disappeared into the shadows. Halder turned around and raced back up the stairs. “Raeder, you bloody idiot! I want them alive, not dead!”

  Two rounds tore a ragged hole in Halder’s stomach and he crumpled up and lay on the cold floor clutching his fatal wound through blood soaked fingers. Dickson slowly walked towards Halder holding a revolver in his right hand and stood over him. His left arm hung loosely by his side. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the floor.

  “This is from David Mair.” Dickson shot him again in the stomach.

  “This is from Peter Ansett.” He shot him in the chest.

  “And this is from me.” Dickson shot him right between the eyes. He looked up as he heard someone running up the stairs. Dickson raised his revolver and pointed it at the door. Too late, he realized that he had run out of rounds.

  “Sergeant Dickson. Are you alright?” Sturmbannfuhrer Schmitt asked.

  “I’m alright.” Dickson smiled weakly. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He tried to move his left arm. It stayed still. It felt as he someone had strapped it tightly to his side.

  “What are you going to do?” Schmitt asked.

  “I…I don’t know.” Dickson looked at the five bodies lying sprawled on the floor.

  “I’ve got an idea.” Schmitt walked over to Halder and fired a burst of three bullets into his chest. The gunfire echoed around the room. He then walked up to each corpse in turn and fired a few rounds into each body making sure that no two cadavers had the same wounds. Schmitt stopped and changed his empty magazine for a full one.

  Dickson smiled and looked at Schmitt. His vision was beginning to fog over and his eyelids were starting to close, but he understood what Schmitt was doing.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Zorn and Ulrich pulled up outside the Police station at exactly 10p.m. Zorn whistled the Horst Wessel, the S.S. anthem, as he mounted the steps two at a time. Ulrich smelled the sickly sweet smell of blood before Zorn and drew, cocked and switched off the safety catch of his Luger in one swift and fluid movement.

  “What the hell happened here?” Zorn asked. The foyer of the Police station looked like the abattoir of a slaughter house. Six bodies lay sprawled on the floor. Blood had pumped out to form a huge sticky crimson lake that was already congealing. “Scharfuhrer Maier!” Zorn shouted over his shoulder. “Bring the men in at the double!” Zorn had brought another four soldiers and a medic to replace Halder’s interrogation team.

  “My God!” One of Maier’s men was immediately sick when he saw the grisly sight that greeted him. His vomit added to the mess.

  “Check the wounded!” Maier ordered. He cursed and cajoled his stunned and shell shocked men into action.

  “Come on, Ulrich,” Zorn said as he checked that the magazine of his pistol was full, “Let’s check the cells.”

  Sam and Alan watched as Zorn’s staff car and a lorry arrived at the Police station. The boys emerged from the shadows of the main door of the Cathedral and brazenly walked straight across the cobblestones of the Town Square as if they owned the place and had every reason in the world to be there. No one would have any reason to challenge two S.S. troopers lawfully going about their business.

  Alan and Sam approached the staff car and lorry from behind. Zorn had not left anyone to guard the vehicles. Sam ducked underneath the front wheels of Zorn’s car.

  Sam finished what he was doing, stood up, nodded and gestured with an outstretched hand for Alan to go first. They silently climbed the stairs together. They stopped at the top. Ready? Sam’s mouth asked the silent question. Alan nodded. Safety catches off.

  The boys burst through the door. Four S.S. troopers and a medic were tending the dead and wounded. Maier turned around. Too late. The arc of bullets cut through the Germans sending them flying in all directions to sprawl over the bodies of their fallen comrades.

  “Dickson! There! Look!” Alan pointed at the Police sergeant.

  Sam jumped over the corpses to Dickson. “Zorn!” Sam shook the sergeant’s uninjured shoulder. “Where is he?”

  “What the-?” Zorn exclaimed. The machine gun fire echoed throughout the station.

  “Partisan attack!” Ulrich shouted above the sound off the shooting.

  “What weapons do you have?” Zorn asked desperately.

  Ulrich held up his Luger.

  “Shit.”

  Sam cautiously came up to the corner where the corridor to the cells began.

  “Be careful,” Alan warned.

  Sam fired a burst down the hall. “Zorn, you bastard!” He shouted. “We’re coming to get you! Ready or not!” Sam looked over at Alan. “Cover me!”

  Alan fired a burst down the corridor. “Go!” He shouted.

  Sam ran down the passageway to the next corner. He fired a burst around the corner. “Go!” He ordered.

  Alan ran down the hall and came to a halt beside his friend. “Where are they?” Alan asked.

  “They must be in the guardroom at the end of the corridor.” Sam pointed.

  “Where are they?” Zorn asked.

  “At the end of the corridor,” Ulrich answered. He fired three rounds down the passageway. “Christ!” Ulrich hurriedly slammed the door.

  The grenade exploded against the guardroom door.<
br />
  “Have you got another one?” Sam asked.

  “Here.” Alan handed it over. “Be my guest.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Sam grinned like a berserker.

  The second grenade blew the heavy metal door off its hinges. The blast sent metal splinters hurtling into the room catching Ulrich in the face and the chest. The explosion threw him across the room. Zorn and Ulrich were sprawled flat on their backs, shocked and concussed by the explosion. They were choking and spluttering for air like fish out of water.

  “My God…” Ulrich groaned. “We’re finished…” His face was a mess of blood, cuts and bruises and his tunic was shredded and smoking.

  “Never…say…die, Ulrich.” Zorn moaned through broken and bleeding gums. He gritted his teeth and pointed his pistol at the door.

  “Can you hear them?” Alan asked.

  “Yes,” Sam answered. “Police sirens. It won’t be long before they get here.” He walked up to the door with the Schmeisser butt tucked in tight against his right shoulder at the ready. “We better make this snappy.” He turned towards Alan. “Are you ready?”

  “I was born ready.” Alan grinned.

  “Come on,” Zorn said. “Get it over with.”

  “What are they waiting for?” Ulrich asked through blood-encrusted teeth.

  Ulrich’s question was answered almost before he could finish the sentence. A grenade cart wheeled through the air and landed slap bang in the middle of the room between the two men. The grenade exploded but most of the shrapnel sailed harmlessly over the Germans lying on the floor.

  Sam and Alan both fired a burst of machine gun fire as they leapt into the room. Zorn fired his Luger at Sam but the grenade explosion had ruptured his eardrums and had affected his aim. His shots were wide and to the right. Zorn’s rounds drilled holes in the wall above Sam’s head and caused the boy to duck automatically. Sam instinctively fired a burst of bullets at Zorn, punching into his chest and leaving bleeding gaping holes.