Young Lions Roar

by Andrew Mackay

  “No hard feelings?” Sam guffawed. “I can just walk away?” Sam shook his head. “If I refused to help you and Mendoza and Aurora were killed by the Germans you would never forgive me, and you would certainly never let me forget until the day that I died!” Sam laughed easily and clapped Alan on the shoulder. “Of course Aurora’s worth the risk, Al! Did you ever truly doubt that I would help you?”

  “Of course not,” Alan admitted with a cheeky smile. “But I thought that I should at least go through the motions of giving you a choice.”

  Sam playfully ruffled his best friend’s hair. “You sly dog! Can you imagine what would happen to me if Alice found out that I’d refused to help you, and that I’d let you go off by yourself and you had gotten yourself killed?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” Alan admitted. “Your life would not have been worth living.”

  Sam shivered at the thought of it. “You’re damn right. The very idea of it brings me out in a cold sweat!”

  “I would rather face an entire Panzer division by myself than suffer the wrath of Alice! Anyway, Sam, I knew that you could never resist coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress!”

  “You’re right, Al. You know me too well. However, I hope that you are aware that if Mendoza betrays us to the Germans, Alice and Mr Leon will feed him to the pigs so quickly that he won’t have time to say ‘adios’ to his daughter. Aurora will still end up an orphan either by our hand or by the Germans.”

  Alan smiled and shook his head. “Major Mendoza will not betray us to the Germans, Sam. He is a Spanish Legiónary and he is a man of honour.”

  “As long as you’re confident, Al, then that’s good enough for me.” Sam slapped his thighs with both hands and stood up with a mischievous grin on his face.

  “So when are you going to meet the mysterious Major Mendoza?”

  “Major Mendoza has invited me to his official residence for tea and crumpets at two o’clock this afternoon.”

  Sam nodded his head with approval. “How very civilised. Does Edinburgh know that you’re making contact with the Spanish Military Attaché in Hereward with the intention of establishing an anti German unofficial Anglo-Spanish alliance?” Sam asked in a mocking tone, with raised eyebrows.

  Alan shook his head as he loaded his Luger pistol with a full magazine of rounds. “No, Sam. I thought that on a need-to-know basis Edinburgh doesn’t need to know.” Alan slipped the pistol under the back of his shirt, where it rested underneath the waistband of his trousers.

  Sam nodded his head. “Wise decision, Al. Those old women up in Edinburgh probably wouldn’t agree and would order you to break off all contact with Mendoza and throw Aurora to the SS wolves.”

  “That’s precisely what I thought, Sam, and I’m not prepared to do that.”

  “Neither am I,” Sam said resolutely. “I was getting bored sitting around waiting for orders, anyway. I think that it’s time for some independent action: let the chaos and carnage begin!”

  “Major Mendoza, your Spanish guests are here,” Mrs Purlieu announced as she peered through the front door spy hole.

  “Already?” Mendoza said as he folded up the Sunday Times newspaper that he was reading in the living room. “That was quick and unusually efficient. I wasn’t expecting the Legiónaries to arrive for at least another week. I would have expected Major de Rivera to have phoned me.” Mendoza shrugged as he walked towards the front door. “Oh well, maybe Antonio meant to give me a pleasant surprise. Mrs Purlieu, could you let in our visitors, please, and then go and find Aurora and tell her that our guests have arrived? She’s probably in her bedroom.”

  “Certainly, Major.” The house keeper paused as she opened the front door. “Although I must say, Major, that your Legiónaries don’t look particularly Spanish...”

  “What... what do you mean, Mrs Purlieu?” Mendoza asked as an alarm bell began to ring in the back of his head.

  “Well, Major, when my Tom - God rest his soul - returned from a tour of duty from India, he was tanned as brown as a Bengal Lancer. Your guests look as if they’ve lived their entire lives in England...”

  “...Or in Germany,” a guttural voice interrupted.

  Mendoza ran into the entrance hall just in time to see one of his ‘Legiónaries’ shoot his housekeeper straight between the eyes with a silencer-attached Luger pistol.

  The killer turned to face Mendoza and pointed his still smoking pistol straight at the centre of the Spaniard’s forehead. “Major Mendoza, I presume?”

  Mendoza regained consciousness when the third bucket of water was thrown over his head. He slowly opened one of his eyes and saw a tall man standing in front of him, holding a bucket and looking like a lion watching wounded prey. Mendoza tried to open his other eye but found that he couldn’t. Judging by the painful throbbing behind the shut eye, Mendoza guessed that the eye was glued shut with dried blood.

  The man with the bucket bent down, gripped Mendoza by a mop of blood-matted hair and painfully wrenched his head up to look into the wounded Spaniard’s face. A sharp burst of pain shot through Mendoza’s head like a shooting star, and the Spaniard thought that he would pass out again.

  “Ah, you’re awake, Major. That’s good to see because this wouldn’t be half as much fun if you were asleep...”

  “...Or if you were dead,” another voice interrupted.

  “Yes, or if you were dead,” the first voice continued. “Thank you, Walter.”

  So two Germans, Mendoza thought to himself. The Spaniard slowly started to check his body for injuries, flexing and unflexing his toes.

  “Forgive me, Major. How remiss of me: I believe that introductions are in order. I am Scharführer Andreas Schmitt of the 4th SS Infantry Regiment.” Schmitt bowed. “And this is Scharführer Walter Hauser, also of the 4th SS Infantry Regiment.”

  “At your service, Major.” Hauser clicked his heels behind Mendoza’s back.

  “Major Juan Mendoza, XVIIth Bandera, Spanish Foreign Legión,” Mendoza rasped painfully through broken lips. He slowly circled his ankles and put pressure on his feet. Bueno. He thought that he could stand.

  Schmitt laughed and shook his head with amusement. “It’s not necessary for you to introduce yourself.”

  “We know who you are, Major Mendoza,” Hauser added.

  So it’s personal then, Mendoza thought to himself. These were Scar Face’s friends out to avenge their fallen comrade. The Germans were definitely going to kill him then, or else they would not have given their names. Mendoza slowly flexed and unflexed his fingers. His wrists were bound to the arms of a chair. The fog in his head gradually lifted. Aurora. Aurora! His heart suddenly leapt. Had he managed to warn her before the Germans had overpowered him? Had she managed to get away?

  “Aurora. That’s who you’re wondering about, isn’t it?” Schmitt asked.

  Mendoza’s wrists strained in vain against his restraints. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll...”

  “You’ll do what exactly, Major?” Schmitt interrupted mockingly. “You’ll break free of your bonds, overpower Scharführer Hauser and kill me?”

  “Something like that...” Mendoza rasped through a blood-soaked mouth. The Spaniard glanced quickly at the clock above Schmitt’s head. A quarter to two. Bueno.

  Schmitt waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all right, Mendoza: it’s perfectly understandable. After all, you are her father.” Schmitt walked closer to Mendoza. “You’re perfectly entitled to threaten and rant and rave as much as you want. It’s your prerogative. If it makes you feel any better - ‘yes’ you did try to warn her, but ‘no’ you were not successful, and ‘yes’ we’ve captured her.”

  “You bloody bastards! If you’ve laid one dirty finger on her I’ll...”

  Hauser interrupted Mendoza with a vicious crack of his Luger pistol butt on the back of the Spaniard’s head. Mendoza lurched forwards in his chair and was only prevented from toppling over by the two ropes which bound his wrists to the arms of the chair.


  “Walter, what the hell did you do that for?” Schmitt asked as he looked at Mendoza’s slumped and unconscious form. “We were just getting to the good bit where we tell him what we’re all going to do to his daughter!”

  “I’m sorry, Andreas.” Hauser shrugged. “But all of his empty threats were starting to do my head in. Let’s just get Geyr to bring in the bitch and get this over and done with. I want to get back to the barracks in time for dinner. It’s a hog roast tonight with all of the trimmings, and it’s my favourite. If we’re late then those greedy bastards in the 5th SS will eat everything and we’ll be left with nothing but pig fat.”

  Schmitt shrugged his shoulders. “All right, fine. Ruin my fun, you rotten spoilsport. The trouble with you, Walter, is that you’re always thinking with your stomach.”

  “The trouble with you, Andreas, is that you’re always thinking with ‘little Andreas’ instead of your stomach!”

  “Hey, not so much of the ‘little,’ Walter, you cheeky bastard! Geyr!” Schmitt shouted. “Bring in the bitch!”

  Alan looked at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes as he walked along at a brisk pace.

  “All I’m saying, Al, is that you might consider offering some conditions,” Sam suggested as he struggled to keep up with his friend’s quick march.

  “For the last time, Sam, no,” Alan said angrily. “I am not going to bargain with Major Mendoza over the life of his daughter. I will protect Aurora and her father unequivocally, without conditions.”

  “It’s just that if you tell Edinburgh that you are protecting them in exchange for intelligence then it might sweeten them, that’s all,” Sam persisted.

  Alan stopped walking and turned to face Sam with his hands knuckled on his hips. “Sam, protecting Aurora and Major Mendoza is not a means to achieve the end of gathering intelligence: it is an end in itself. Edinburgh will just have to like it or lump it. Anyway, Edinburgh is not going to find out unless you tell them.” Alan stormed off in a fury.

  “Oh, j’accuse! J’accuse!” Sam pointed a stabbing finger at Alan’s back as he ran to catch up. “I like that, Al! I like that! That’s rich after all that we’ve been through. To accuse me of base treachery!” Sam stood with his arms folded and his brows furrowed in the huff.

  Alan wrapped an arm around his friend’s neck. “Oh, Sam, of course I’m only joking! I know that you would never give the game away!” Alan playfully knuckled Sam’s hair. “I would rather have no-one else beside me in a fight.”

  “Do you mean that?” Sam rubbed his head with a frown on his face.

  “Of course!” Alan punched Sam playfully on the arm.

  “All right.” Sam nodded his head. “As long as we’re clear, then. Let’s discover what the good Major Mendoza has to say then.”

  “Papa! Papa! What have they done to you?” Aurora tried to break free from her captor’s grasp but the German’s grip was too tight.

  The German laughed. “Easy, tiger!” von Berlichingen said as he tightened his grip on Aurora’s wrists.

  “You dirty German bastards! If you’ve hurt him, I’ll…!”

  Von Berlichingen viciously slapped Aurora across the face with a ferocious forehand. Aurora was only prevented from collapsing by the fact that the German held onto one of her wrists with a painful vicelike grip.

  “You’ll do what?” Von Berlichingen sneered into Aurora’s sobbing face as she knelt on the floor. The German lifted up his hand for another slap.

  Aurora raised one hand to defend herself. A tear rolled down Aurora’s face as she shook her head and bit her lip in order to stifle a reply.

  “I didn’t think so.” Von Berlichingen slowly lowered his hand and flexed his fingers.

  “Oh, Geyr! You’re so masterful!” Schmitt said in a falsetto voice.

  “You certainly have a way with the ladies, Geyr!” Hauser said.

  “Casanova, eat your heart out!” Von Berlichingen said. “Treat them mean and keep them keen, that’s what I say, gentlemen.” All three Germans laughed uproariously.

  Aurora tenderly touched her bruised cheekbone with a shaking hand.

  Mendoza gritted his teeth in pain and fury and kept his eyes welded shut. Surely it must be ten to two by now. His only hope was that Alan would be a stereotypical British stickler for timing and would not be late. Mendoza did not know how long he would be able to hold on. He had to prolong Schmitt’s monologuing and buy some time.

  “You’ve got a right little wildcat there, Geyr!” Hauser said with a smile.

  Von Berlichingen shrugged his shoulders. “I like it when they struggle: it makes it more of a challenge.”

  “She’s got spirit, I’ll say that for the little Spanish bitch,” Schmitt said as he took a sip of wine from a glass on the dining room table. The German smacked his lips with appreciation and then held the wine glass up to the sunlight and swilled the red liquid around. “I must say that Major Mendoza has very good taste. My compliments to the host, sir.” Schmitt bowed to the Spaniard and then tutted in annoyance. “I forgot: the bastard’s unconscious again. Honestly, no staying power.” Schmitt shook his head in disappointment. “I thought that the Legiónaries were tougher than that. I guess that I was mistaken.”

  Von Berlichingen guffawed. “Andreas, why do you act so surprised? We have consistently overestimated the fighting capabilities of our enemies: first the Poles, then the French and the British, and now the Spanish. Why are you so surprised? These untermensch bastards are simply no match for a Third Reich fighting man. I have no doubt that the Russkis will prove to be as useless a pile of shit as the rest of them when the time comes to invade.”

  Schmitt shrugged his shoulders. “Of course you’re right, Geyr.”

  Hauser coughed. “Another bucket of water, Andreas?” He suggested.

  “Good idea, Walter,” Schmitt agreed with a nod. “If you would be so kind to do the honours?”

  “Certainly.” Hauser disappeared.

  “Pull the bitch to her feet, Geyr,” Schmitt ordered.

  Von Berlichingen roughly pulled the sobbing Aurora to her feet.

  Hauser reappeared with a bucket of water and Schmitt swiftly threw the contents over Mendoza. After two more buckets had left the Spaniard thoroughly drenched, Hauser roughly wrenched the semi-conscious Mendoza’s head back.

  “Wakey, wakey, Major,” Hauser said.

  “Aurora…” Mendoza said through blood-cracked lips and a foggy daze of pain.

  “Papa!” Aurora struggled to break free again. “Papa! What have they done to you?”

  “Nothing, my butterfly…” Mendoza reassured his daughter as he painfully coughed up and spat out a globule of blood.

  “At least nothing compared to what is going to happen to you, you Spanish bitch,” Hauser threatened nastily.

  “Your wings are going to be well and truly clipped, my little señorita. You’ll never fly again,” von Berlichingen added menacingly.

  “Now, now, gentlemen.” Schmitt smiled like a crocodile. “Promises, promises. Geyr, bring Aurora over here, please.”

  Von Berlichingen dragged the struggling girl over to where Schmitt stood behind the dining table. Schmitt swiftly punched Aurora in the base of her stomach and, as the girl doubled over, struggling for air, he turned her around and pushed her face down over the dining room table. Von Berlichingen stepped to the front of the table and grabbed hold of both of Aurora’s wrists and pulled her arms out as far as they would stretch. It was obvious that the two Germans had carried out this manoeuvre many times before.

  “What… what are you doing?” Mendoza asked as his eyes bulged with horror as he realised what was about to happen.

  “Come, come, Major,” Schmitt said with genuine astonishment. “Don’t play the innocent with me; surely you’ve been to war before?” The German took off his belt and holster and laid it on the dining room table in front of him.

  “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her, Schmitt! Or I swear to God you will wish that you’d never bee
n born!” Mendoza struggled against his rope bonds.

  The three Germans all broke out into fits of belly-aching laughter.

  Schmitt wiped tears of laughter away from his eyes with the back of his hand and shook his head with amazement at the Spaniard’s brave, but futile words of defiance. “Now I’m going to rape your daughter, Mendoza and you’re going to watch me…”

  “No!” Mendoza moaned like a wounded animal.

  “Papa! Please save me!” Aurora begged through tears.

  “Aurora! Hold on, my sweet! Be strong!” Mendoza urged.

  “…Then Geyr and Walter will do the same, and then I’m going to cut her pretty little throat with this bayonet.”

  Mendoza groaned and slumped in his chair. His shoulders sagged and he appeared to have given up all hope of release or rescue.

  Schmitt held up his bayonet and the blade twinkled in the sunlight as he slowly twirled it around. “And there will be absolutely nothing that you can do to stop me.”

  “Papa!” Aurora sobbed.

  “…And then I’m going to kill you, Mendoza, with the same knife.” Schmitt stuck the bayonet into the dining table top. “And the cherry on the cake will be that we will leave a note claiming that you were executed by a British Resistance Death Squad. Franco will demand retribution for the cold-blooded murder of a favourite son…”

  “Oh yes, Major: we know that you are Franco’s Golden Boy,” Hauser added contemptuously. “Correction: you were Franco’s Golden Boy. The dead are no one’s favourites.”

  “Franco will also demand retribution for the rape and murder of a child,” von Berlichingen continued. “The much-loved granddaughter of a powerful Government Minister no less. What’s the going rate of exchange, Andreas?”