We’ll soon see about that, Sam thought to himself.
The two figures crept quietly through the sleeping streets of Hereward, keeping closely to the shadows. They were dressed entirely in black, from their balaclavas to their black plimsolls. Their faces were camouflaged with black shoe polish and their Schmessier submachine guns had black material wrapped around them to disguise their shape and also to prevent their weapons from giving away any tell-tale shine. They wore black gloves and moved like shadows through the night towards their target.
They stopped at the corner before the building and watched the two lorries that were parked in front of the hospital. They knew that the one on the left contained an Army guard unit, whilst the one on the right contained an SS guard unit. The men in black knew from earlier observation that each unit consisted of an under strength squad of eight men commanded by an NCO with a junior NCO as second-in-command. The black figures knew that the Army and the SS had divided their responsibilities so that two Wehrmacht soldiers patrolled the outside of the hospital in pairs and two stormtroopers patrolled the inside of the hospital in pairs. Each guard duty lasted two hours. Both guard units had been on duty since six pm and they were due to be relieved at six am. The time was now three am in the morning, which meant that the guards currently on patrol were now on their second stint of sentry duty, and had probably had little sleep since their first patrol. They would be tired, bored and fed up and the only thing on their mind would be getting back to the lorries and hitting the sack in their sleeping bags. The men in black also knew that the guards as a whole would rather be somewhere else, and considered the entire duty to be a complete and utter waste of time. Their comrades were busy enjoying the May Day Bank Holiday and were no doubt tucked up snugly in bed with their English girlfriends, enjoying their weekend leave whilst they were stuck on this chicken shit detail. In military terms both the Army and SS guards had low morale and were somewhat less than diligent in their attitude towards the carrying out of their duties.
The men in black were determined to capitalise on the guards’ carelessness and lack of attention and dedication to detail.
The black figures gave the Army sentries a one hundred feet head start, before they carefully and cautiously followed them on their patrol around the outside of the hospital. When the two shadows reached the Emergency Exit at the back of the building they silently climbed three flights of stairs to the top floor. They slowly opened the Emergency Exit door and both slipped through. They were at the end of a short corridor with three rooms to the left of them - the drug store, the linen store and the cleaning store - and two toilets to the right of them, male and female. Directly in front of them was the main staircase and a pair of lifts. The men in black slowly crept to the end of the short corridor and carefully looked around the corners to the left and right. There was nobody in sight. The black figures knew from earlier reconnaissance that the ward on the left was full of Wehrmacht wounded whilst the ward on the right was full of SS wounded. The vast majority of the German wounded had been injured in the recent fighting on St George’s Day. There were no SS guards visible. Nor did there appear to be any medical staff on duty.
One of the dark figures breathed a huge sigh of relief. “There’s no one here. That makes things a whole lot easier,” he whispered to his companion.
“I guess that the doctors and nurses don’t consider looking after wounded Nazis to be a top priority.” Truth be told, the medical staff were also probably working with a skeleton crew as a result of the public holiday. “We need to be quick before the SS guards turn up on their patrol.”
The first figure nodded his head in the darkness. “Let’s do this. Strength and honour.”
“Strength and honour.” Both figures shook hands.
The first man slowly took off his rucksack and placed it on the floor. He loosened the drawstring and took out a large box-shaped object that he put down silently. He slowly unwound the thick towel that he had wrapped around the jerrycan. He unscrewed the cap and instinctively screwed up his nose at the sudden release of petrol fumes. The man picked up the petrol can and carefully poured some underneath the door of the drug store. He continued pouring and left a stream from the drug store to the linen store and on to the cleaning store. He poured the remains of the petrol can underneath the linen store and the cleaning store. The two figures retraced their steps to the Emergency Exit and stepped through the door onto the Emergency Exit stairs. The last man through took a box of matches out of his trouser pocket, extracted a match, lit it and set fire to the petrol-soaked towel that he was holding in his hand. The towel instantly caught on fire and the man threw the burning material into the middle of the petrol-soaked floor. The entire floor erupted in flames and the arsonists had barely descended to the second floor when the whole of the drug store erupted with a massive explosion as the fire reached the ether and oxygen bottles stacked on the floor inside.
“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.”
Chapter Three
“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. “L
adies 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.”
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