Young Lions Roar

by Andrew Mackay

  Chapter Seven

  “They’re not coming, Miguel. Sergeant Borghese and Carlos are dead.”

  “They’re not dead! The sergeant and Carlos are alive!” Miguel threw his hat across the room in frustration. “We just need to give them more time.”

  “More time?” Private Alfonso de Cervantes asked incredulously. “More time to do what, Miguel? The dead need no more time. Borghese and Carlos are buried five metres under the rubble of the hotel!”

  “It’s Sergeant Borghese to you, you disrespectful bastard!” Corporal Miguel Pizarro slapped Alfonso backhanded across the face, sending him flying across the room.

  De Cervantes lay sprawled on the floor in an untidy heap. He slowly raised himself onto his elbows and rubbed his red cheekbone tenderly with one hand. “Corporal Pizarro, whether you like it or not, Sergeant Borghese and Carlos are dead. It’s time that we decided what the hell we should do.”

  Pizarro sighed as if he was breathing his last breath and his shoulders slumped and sagged like a tired old man’s. “I know, Alfonso. You’re right. Sergeant Borghese and Carlos are dead. The question is: what do we do now?”

  “We find out if Sergeant Borghese and Carlos completed the mission and Scar Face is dead. If he is then we go home, and if he isn’t dead then we find him and we kill him,” Alfonso said, with steel in his voice.

  Pizarro straightened up in his chair and seemed to grow six inches. “Spoken like a true Legiónary, Alfonso! I knew that I could count on you!”

  “I’m with you until the end, Jefe!”

  “That’s my boy.” Pizarro had recovered his resolve. “Here’s what we’ll do: we’ll stay here in the safe house and observe the SS Barracks from this window. We’ll be able to see who enters and who leaves the barracks. Sooner or later Scar Face will come out for air, and when he does we will kill him and avenge the deaths of Sergeant Borghese and Carlos. Understood?”

  “Understood, Jefe,” De Cervantes answered. “However, I have one question, Corporal: how long do we stay here before we decide that Sergeant Borghese and Carlos must have completed their mission and killed him?”

  Pizarro thought for a moment. “One week, Alfonso? How does that sound?”

  De Cervantes nodded. “Sounds fine, Jefe. How long will our sentry duties be?”

  “Six hours on, six hours off, from six am until midnight.” Pizarro answered. “How does that sound, Alfonso?”

  De Cervantes nodded his head. “Sounds good, Jefe.”

  A pregnant pause. “Alfonso?”

  “Yes, Jefe?”

  “I’m sorry that I hit you. It was wrong and I shouldn’t have struck you. It was bang out of order and I humbly apologise.” Pizarro bowed his head.

  De Cervantes laughed jovially. “Forget about it, Jefe. It’s no more than I deserved. Viva La Legión! Viva España!”

  “Viva la Legión! Viva España!” Pizarro chorused.

  “And that was the last time that you saw Lothar, Andreas? When he went to the toilets?” Hauptsturmführer von Stein asked the three SS sergeants standing in front of him.

  “Yes, sir,” Scharführer Andreas Schmitt answered. “Lothar went to the toilet and then the bomb blew up…”

  “It’s just a case of damn bad luck, sir.” Another SS sergeant shook his head with resignation. “If he hadn’t needed to take a piss at that precise moment he would have stayed in the bar with us, and he would have survived.”

  Von Stein shook his head sadly. “Bad luck had nothing to do with it, Walter; Lothar was murdered.”

  Scharführer Walter Hausser laughed. “With all due respect, sir, I doubt if the Resistance targeted Lothar specifically. The partisans killed Lothar because he was German, sir. If I had gone to take a piss at that time then the bomb would have killed me. It wasn’t personal. It’s just politics.” Hausser shrugged his shoulders philosophically. “He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “When your time’s up, your time’s up, sir. It’s time for you to go and there’s nothing that you can do about it,” the third SS sergeant said matter-of-factly.

  Von Stein shook his head again. “I wish that you and Walter were right, Geyr, I really do. I also wish that Lothar had been killed randomly by the Resistance, but I’m afraid that it’s not as simple as that.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Schmitt asked.

  “Lothar was assassinated by a Spanish Hit Team,” von Stein answered.

  “What?” Hausser said incredulously.

  “I don’t understand, sir,” Scharführer Geyr von Berlichingen said. “You’re saying that the Spanish killed him, and not the Resistance?”

  “Correct, Geyr.” Von Stein nodded. “Lothar was murdered by members of the Spanish Foreign Legión. Spanish Legiónaries planted the bomb which killed Lothar and the others and I will be their next target, unless you help me to stop them first.”

  “Yes, sir, of course we’ll help. That goes without saying, sir,” Schmitt answered. “All for one and one for all.”

  “We’re with you all the way, sir,” Hausser added.

  “To the death, Hauptsturmführer,” von Berlichingen said resolutely, as he clicked his heels together and bowed.

  “Good, I knew that I could count on you.”

  “So what’s this all about, sir?” Von Berlichingen asked.

  “ I’m going to tell you a story, gentlemen, but before I do, you must swear that you will not repeat what I am about to tell you to another living soul; because if you do and word gets out, I’ll be shot in front of a firing squad quicker than you can say ‘ready, aim, fire!’”

  “We swear it, sir,” the three sergeants chorused.

  “Bueno.” Von Stein nodded his head. “The story begins in Spain during the Civil War…”

  “What’s the matter, Aurora? You seem worried about something. You hardly said a word during the whole lesson.” Alan asked as he tenderly wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. He had waited until everyone had left the Geography classroom before he had approached her.

  “I am worried, Alan,” Aurora nodded as she wiped away tears from her red-rimmed eyes with a damp handkerchief. “Papa and I are in terrible danger.”

  “Why? What’s happened?” Alan asked with concern.

  “Sergeant Borghese and three of papa’s men are missing. Francisco was papa’s bodyguard. Papa thinks that they’ve been killed by the SS.”

  “What?” Alan asked incredulously. “By the SS? I thought that the Spanish and the Germans are friends. What happened?”

  “I don’t know the exact details, Alan. But something happened in Spain during the war. Papa stopped the SS from executing some captured Republican prisoners, there was a gunfight, and papa thinks that the SS survivors of the gun fight somehow followed him to Hereward and are trying to kill him.”

  “Bloody hell!” Alan exclaimed.

  “The problem is that with Francisco dead, papa and I are on our own. The Spanish Embassy in London cannot spare the Legiónaries to come up here and protect us. Papa says that if they sent up another four men it would leave the Embassy exposed and vulnerable to Resistance attack. We will have to wait for reinforcements to leave Spain and arrive in London before the Embassy can send us any replacements.”

  “But that could take days or even weeks, Aurora,” Alan said.

  Aurora nodded as she rested her head on Alan’s shoulder. “I know, Alan, and until then it is just papa and me. Papa has given me this to protect myself.” She took a Luger 9 millimetre pistol out of her school bag and showed it to Alan.

  “For God’s sake, Aurora! Put it away!” Alan said in horror. “We’re in a classroom! If any one sees us we will be in a world of trouble!”

  “I’m sorry, Alan.” Aurora burst out crying as she put it away. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s all right, Aurora.” Alan tenderly kissed her fore head. “It’s me who should apologise. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. You are under a terrific amount of stress and st
rain. Here, let me show you where to hide it. Stand up.”

  Alan turned Aurora around, pulled up the back of her shirt and tucked the pistol underneath the waistband of her skirt, where it rested in the small of her back.

  “There. Now you can grab it in a hurry if you have to instead of rummaging around, searching the depths of your school bag for your pistol.”

  “How do you know all of this, Alan?” Aurora asked with furrowed brows.

  Alan shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I just know things. Listen, Aurora, you are not alone, so you don’t have to worry: I will protect you.”

  “Against the SS?”

  “Aurora.” Alan faced his girlfriend and put his hands on both of her shoulders “I’ve killed more Germans than you’ve had hot dinners.”

  Aurora’s eyes widened in amazement.

  “I will protect you against the SS, against the Army, the Fascist Militia, Uncle Joe Cobley, and against anyone else who tries to mess with us,” Alan promised. “And not just I; Sam will protect you too.”

  “Sam? Is he like you? Is he not scared of the Germans either?”

  “Sam?” Alan laughed. “Sam eats Germans for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sam would like nothing better than to help a damsel in distress and in the process pin some more Nazi scalps to his totem pole.”

  Aurora laughed and her eyes sparkled with newfound hope.

  “So don’t worry, Aurora: Sam and I’ll look after you and if a dirty, stinking Nazi even looks sideways at you it will be the last thing that he ever does, and he will rue the day that he was born.”

  “I feel more confident already.” Aurora looped her arm with Alan’s. “With my two knights in shining armour, my two paladins to protect me.”

  “That’s my girl.” Alan smiled.

  The couple were unaware that someone stood outside the class room door, eavesdropping with interest.

  “There they are, Hans. Come on, let’s go. Let’s follow them.”

  “How do you know that it’s them, Christian? They could be anyone.”

  “Open your eyes, Hans. Look at the way that they’re dressed. They are too well-dressed and they look too well-fed to be English. And if they were German then they would be in uniform. Look at their suntans. They certainly didn’t get them in rain drenched England, did they?”

  “I suppose not, Christian. But still, shouldn’t we contact Sergeant Major Bratge and wait for reinforcements, as we’ve been ordered? He was very clear about his instructions: these men are armed and dangerous.”

  Christian guffawed. “We’re armed and dangerous, Hans! The Spaniards should be worried about us, not us about them. And as for contacting Bratge? I don’t know about you but I haven’t seen a phone box recently that works, and if we waste time looking for one these killers will escape and we’ll be back where we started. Look, Hans, if we arrest these two then we’ll be home in time for beer and medals.”

  “I’m not sure, Christian… maybe we should still try and find a phone and wait for reinforcements…”

  “For God’s sake, Hans!” Christian was exasperated and rapidly running out of patience with his cautious companion. “What did I just tell you? If we do that, then the Spaniards will be long gone! What about using your initiative? Come on; are you a man or a mouse? If we pull this off, then we’ll probably get promoted.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  Christian shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Then we’ll be dead and none of this will matter.”

  “All right, Christian. Fair enough. You’ve convinced me. Come on, let’s go and arrest these two hitmen.”

  The two young Army Military Policemen quickened up their pace to catch up with the two Spaniards who had disappeared around the corner in front of them.

  “We’re being followed, Alfonso. The Germans are onto us,” Corporal Miguel Pizarro said as the Spaniards rounded the corner.

  “I know, Jefe,” Private Alfonso de Cervantes replied. “What are we going to do? Do we fight, or do we flee?”

  Pizarro looked at de Cervantes as if the private had just insulted his mother. “We’re Legiónaries, Alfonso. We always fight and we never flee. I would have thought that after five years in the Legión you would know that by now.”

  “It was a rhetorical question, Jefe.”

  “I don’t give a damn if it was rhetorical, Miguel: it was stupid.” Pizarro’s eyes expertly scanned the ground around him. “Quick. In here,” he ordered.

  De Cervantes followed him into the narrow alleyway.

  “Silencers,” Pizarro instructed as he drew his pistol from the small of his back and screwed on the silencer attachment. De Cervantes did the same.

  “Ready, Miguel?” Pizarro asked.

  “I was born ready, Jefe.”

  “Bueno.” Pizarro nodded “Then let’s do this and then get the hell out of Hereward.”

  “Viva la Legión! Viva España!” De Cervantes answered.

  “Where the hell are they?” Hans asked in surprise as the two MPs rounded the corner. The Spaniards were nowhere to be seen.

  “Quick,” Christian replied. “Let’s pick up the pace. They can’t be too far ahead.” He drew his pistol from his holster as he started to walk faster. Hans did the same.

  As they walked past a narrow alley, the two Spaniards quickly stepped out and shot the two MPs in the back at virtually point-blank range. The Germans were dead before their bodies hit the ground. The Legiónaries fired another two rounds into the back of their heads to make doubly sure that the MPs were dead. They then dragged the two bodies into the depths of the narrow alley and dumped them in the corner, unscrewed their silencers, replaced their pistols, and left without saying a word.

  “Sturmbannführer Ulrich, why is the Army searching for two Spaniards on the loose in Hereward?” Brigadeführer Herold asked, as he leaned on his desk with steepled fingers.

  Ulrich’s raised eyebrows betrayed his shock at Herold’s question. “I didn’t… I didn’t know that you knew about that, sir. How did you…?”

  Herold waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t look so surprised, Ulrich: I have my sources, just as you have yours. Why is the Army searching for two Spaniards?”

  “The Army thinks that these two Spaniards are responsible for the bomb explosion at the King Alfred Hotel, sir,” Ulrich answered.

  Now it was time for Herold to raise his eyebrows in surprise. “The Army thinks that the Spanish bombed the hotel? I thought that we and the Spanish were friends. After all that we’ve done for them? The ungrateful bastards!” Herold shook his head.

  “No, sir. Not the Spanish, but two Spaniards,” Ulrich answered. “There is a significant difference, sir.”

  “So the Wehrmacht thinks that this might be a bomb attack which was carried out by Republican die-hards who escaped to Britain during or after the Civil War?”

  Ulrich nodded. “I assume so, sir.”

  Herold wagged his index finger at Ulrich. “Don’t assume anything, Ulrich.” Herold thought for a moment before continuing. “What are the names and ranks of our men who were killed in the bomb attack, Sturmbannführer?”

  Ulrich looked at the list of names in his hand. “Hauptsturmführer Abetz, Hauptsturmführer Zimmermann, Obersturmführer Bayerlein…”

  “Wait a minute, Ulrich,” Herold interrupted. “I thought that only two SS officers were killed in the attack?”

  Ulrich glanced down at this notes and nodded. “Hauptsturmführer Zimmermann died of his wounds this morning, sir.”

  “Bloody Spanish bastards!” Herold snarled. “Continue, Sturmbannführer.”

  “Scharführers Witzleben, Dannhauser, Unger, Dollmann, Tresckow and Kophamel were also killed, sir…”

  “Kophamel?” Herold suddenly sat up in his chair as if he had been hit by a bolt of lightning.

  “Sir?” Ulrich asked in confusion.

  “Uh, nothing, Ulrich,” Herold shook his head. “I just had a sudden thought. I want to see the service records of all of our dead
men, and I particularly want to know if any of them served in Spain with the Condor Legión.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ulrich snapped his folder shut.

  “I also want to know the names and service record of all the personnel at the Spanish Consulate, particularly the name of their Military Attaché.”

  Ulrich shook his head. “Finding out the names of all of the personnel should be relatively simple, sir. However, finding out their service records may be more difficult…”

  “I don’t want to hear any excuses, Ulrich. Just do it, and I want it done yesterday!” Herold shouted. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I hope so, Sturmbannführer. For your sake.” Herold pointed his finger at Ulrich. “Because your record so far in command of Hereward has failed to impress me, and you are one whisker away from being sent back to Berlin in disgrace. Dismissed.”

  “Heil Hitler!” Ulrich saluted.

  “Heil Hitler!”

  “Two of my MPs are missing, sir, Privates Marlene and Schwarzkopf. They failed to return from their patrol today,” Sergeant Major Bratge reported as he stood at a position of attention.

  “What do you think has happened to them, Sergeant Major?” General-Major Christian von Schnakenberg asked him.

  “Well, I don’t think that they’ve deserted, sir,” Bratge replied. “They only joined the unit recently and they were both as keen as mustard and desperately trying to impress, especially young Schwarzkopf, sir.”

  “So do you think that they tried to arrest your two Spanish hitmen?” von Schnakenberg asked.

  Bratge nodded. “That’s exactly what I think happened, sir. They spotted the assassins and decided that the two of them were up to the job of arresting them without calling for reinforcements, despite the fact that they were expressly ordered to do so. They bit off more than they could chew and as a result of their overconfidence they are no doubt dead and lying in a ditch somewhere.” Bratge shrugged his shoulders in resignation.

  “Ah, the folly of youth,” von Schnakenberg commented. “When you’re young you think that you are indestructible and that you can do anything.”

  “Marlene and Schwarzkopf found out the hard way that their appraisal of their own abilities was hopelessly optimistic.”