Young Lions Roar

by Andrew Mackay

  “Oh, I think that the deaths of two hundred innocent Hereward hostages would be a fair punishment for the murders of these two Spanish celebrities, don’t you think, Geyr?”

  “I think so, Andreas.”

  “Enough talking.” Schmitt bared his teeth and grinned like a jackal.

  “Geyr, hold on tight. Aurora, brace yourself - this is going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me.”

  “Papa!” Aurora screamed as Schmitt roughly pushed her skirt above her waist and brutally ripped off her underwear. “Do something! Stop them! Don’t let them hurt me!” Aurora begged through tear-filled eyes.

  “I can’t, Aurora.” Mendoza shook his head with hopeless frustration. “Be strong, Aurora and hold on. It will be over soon.”

  “Knowing Andreas it will be over very soon,” Hauser said with a smile.

  “I’d say three minutes should do the trick. What do you think, Romeo?” Geyr asked Schmitt.

  “Oi! You cheeky bastards! Shut up! You’ll put me off my stride!” Schmitt shouted jokingly at his two comrades. “And as for you, Mendoza, I want you to remember that all of this is happening - the rape and murder of your daughter, and your own death - because you wouldn’t let Kophamel kill a bunch of useless Red prisoners.” Schmitt shook his head in disgust as he unbuttoned his trousers. “All of this was so easily avoidable.”

  Mendoza looked at the clock above the German’s head. It was five minutes to two. For God’s sake, Alan, be early for once in your life.

  “Who said a soldier’s lot is not a happy one?” Schmitt said as he brutally thrusted.

  As Aurora screamed out in pain and agony, Mendoza shook his head in despair as a large tear fell from his bloodstained face onto the floor. It was too late. By the time that Alan arrived, both he and Aurora would be dead.

  Chapter Ten

  Alan looked at his watch. “Look: two o’clock. Bang on time.” Alan headed up the garden path towards the front door.

  Sam grabbed Alan’s arm. “Al, wait - look at the door.”

  Alan stopped dead in his tracks and followed Sam’s gaze. The front door was slightly ajar and Alan could see some dark liquid slowly spreading in an ever-widening pool on the tiled floor. And he could see something else: a hand.

  Alan nodded in recognition of the changed situation. “Silencers. Make ready,” he ordered.

  Both of the boys quickly looked behind them and checked that the coast was clear. They swiftly extracted their Luger pistols from beneath their trouser waistbands and screwed on a silencer attachment. The boys cocked their weapons and flicked off the safety catches.

  “Ready,” both boys said softly.

  “Cover me,” Alan ordered as he raised the pistol to the firing position and used his left hand to help steady the weapon.

  “Right behind you, Al,” Sam said as he adopted a similar position.

  Alan slowly approached the open door and silently pushed it open far enough to give him enough room to squeeze through. He entered and carefully stepped over the body lying in the hall. Alan breathed a sigh of relief as he realised that although the body was female, it wasn’t Aurora. “Must be Mrs Purlieu, the housekeeper,” Alan explained.

  Sam nodded. “What’s that sound?”

  A rhythmic crying and sobbing sound of someone in acute pain and distress was echoing from further down the corridor.

  Alan’s face turned white. “Aurora,” he whispered as he quickened up his step, and Sam following close on his heels.

  Alan came to the end of the corridor and carefully peeked around the corner. He was at the entrance to the dining room. He was facing the back of a tall-backed chair and he could see the back of a man’s head. Each of the man’s arms was tied to an arm of the chair with a length of rope against which the man struggled futilely in impotent fury. Major Mendoza. Another man stood to the right of the Major; he had his left arm wrapped around Mendoza’s neck and he held a pistol in his right hand that he held loosely against the right hand side of his body. He was not expecting any trouble and was obviously enjoying the horror show, squeezing Mendoza’s neck from time to time and laughing uproariously. Alan looked beyond the chair to the dining room table. He saw the back of another man pulling Aurora’s arms out over the table. His pistol was still in his holster. The top half of Aurora’s body was stretched over the table and her eyes were squeezed shut with pain. Two streams of tears ran down her face in a continuous flow. The rapist stood directly behind her. The two men shouted out filthy obscenities and laughed at each other’s jokes as the rape continued. The rapist had placed his belt and holster that still contained his pistol on the dining room table.

  Alan stepped back and allowed Sam to have a look.

  “Right, Al, this is the plan: we’ll both go around the corner all guns blazing. I’ll kill the German standing by the Major and you kill the one holding Aurora by the arms. I’ll free the Major and arm him. You cover the rapist and free Aurora and then Aurora and the Major will decide what to do with the rapist. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “ Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” Alan smiled resolutely. “Strength and honour, Sam.”

  “Strength and honour, Al.”

  Schmitt opened his eyes just in time to see Hauser’s head explode in a crimson shower of blood, bones and brains. The dead German fell forwards like a timbering tree. At the same time two massive holes appeared in von Berlichingen’s chest, and the German fell forwards and lay slumped on the dining room table with his eyes open and a confused look of surprise on his face.

  “Was ist…?” Schmitt said as two schoolboys armed with pistols suddenly appeared in front of him. One of the boys pointed his pistol at Schmitt’s chest with a look of such pure hatred and rage on his face that the rapist’s state of arousal faded and wilted at an astronomical rate. Schmitt hastily withdrew from the body of the child that he had been raping.

  “Aurora, Aurora, are you all right?” Alan asked as he briefly took his eyes off the rapist.

  “Alan, Alan… is that you?” Aurora asked weakly.

  “Yes, my love, it’s me. You’re safe now,” Alan reassured her. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes, I can,” Aurora replied. “Papa?”

  “Yes, my butterfly,” Mendoza replied. “I’m all right. Alan’s brave young friend…?”

  “Sam, Major Mendoza.” Sam bowed.

  Mendoza returned the bow. “Sam has freed me.”

  “As for you, you dirty, murdering, child rapist. What are we going to do with you?” Alan pointed his pistol straight at Schmitt’s face.

  “Now, Al. I know that you’re mad as hell, but let’s not be too hasty.” Sam said with upturned palms. “We could squeeze some valuable information out of him. Major Mendoza, what do you think?”

  “What do you mean by ‘valuable information,’ Sam?” Mendoza asked as he rubbed his wrists that had been rubbed raw and bloody by the ropes. “If you’re part of the Resistance then I don’t want to know anything about it. Aurora and I are in as much trouble with the Germans as it is, and…”

  The sudden gunshot and Schmitt’s scream cut through the conversation. The rapist lay doubled up on the floor in the foetal position with his eyes screwed tightly together in agony and his two hands clutched together between his legs, trying in vain to staunch a steady stream of blood which flowed down his legs from his groin and formed an ever increasing pool on the floor.

  Aurora stood in front of him with a still smoking pistol in her hand. Schmitt’s pistol that she had picked up from the dining room table. “I don’t want information,” she said through gritted teeth. “I just want revenge. I want this dirty, murdering, child raping bastard to suffer as I have suffered.” Aurora spat on the German’s face which was screwed tight in absolute agony. “As Mrs Purlieu suffered.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” Alan nodded grimly. “Major Mendoza, do you have a telephone?”

  “Yes, I do. Why?”

  “Because I know some
one who is an expert in the twin arts of making stinking Nazis suffer a slow and agonisingly excruciating death, and also of extracting information as efficiently and effectively as possible.” Alan explained.

  “We can kill two birds with one stone and also dispose of the bodies without fuss.”

  “Mr Leon?” Sam asked.

  “Just the man,” Alan replied.

  “Then be my guest.” Mendoza showed the way with an outstretched arm to his study and a telephone.

  “What’s all this I hear about you missing three of your men, Hauptsturmführer von Stein?” Brigadeführer Herold asked.

  “Three scharführers in my company did not return from their weekend passes to London, sir,” von Stein explained from a position of attention as he stood in front of Herold’s desk.

  “What do you think has happened to them?” Herold asked with steepled fingers.

  “I don’t know, sir.” Von Stein shrugged his shoulders. “I know the men well, sir. We’ve served together since Poland and it’s highly unlikely that they’ve gone AWOL and it’s extremely unlikely that they’ve deserted. I mean where would they desert to? It’s virtually impossible to make it to Ireland. I think that the Resistance in London must have killed them, sir.”

  “The usual suspects, eh, Hauptsturmführer?” Herold said as he swivelled his chair from side to side. “Well you’ve lost four sergeants from your company in a matter of weeks, von Stein - that’s pretty damned careless of you, don’t you think?”

  Von Stein’s cheeks coloured at the criticism. “With all due respect, sir, what my men do when they are off duty is no concern of mine. They’re not children, they’re grown men, and it is certainly not my responsibility to…”

  Herold slammed both his palms onto the top of his desk. “What your men do is always your responsibility, von Stein, whether they are on or off duty!” Herold shouted angrily. “The realisation of that responsibility is what separates a good officer from a bad officer. You are a father to your men, von Stein, and they are your children. Don’t you forget it!”

  “Yes, sir,” von Stein answered with lowered head. He felt suitably chastised.

  “Good.” Herold stood up and straightened out his tunic. “I sincerely hope so, von Stein, both for your sake and more importantly for the sake of your men. You’re a good officer, Hauptsturmführer.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Von Stein acknowledged the compliment with bowed head.

  “Your men admire and respect you, von Stein.” Herold started to pace around his office. “It may surprise you, Hauptsturmführer, that despite my reputation as a ruthless bastard, the morale, wellbeing and spiritual welfare of the men under my command is, and always will be, my number one priority. The word on the street is that the men of your company would follow you to the gates of hell itself.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Von Stein blushed with pride. “Charlie Company is indeed a band of brothers, sir.”

  Herold stopped pacing for a moment. “And therein lies the problem, von Stein…”

  Von Stein gulped nervously. His throat felt as dry as a dead man’s armpit.

  “You are aware of the Queen Alexandra Road explosion?” Herold asked.

  “Yes, sir,” von Stein nodded. “My company took the hostages into protective custody, sir.”

  “And carried out the executions?”

  “As per your orders, sir,” von Stein confirmed. “Two hundred hostages were executed as punishment for the Resistance attack which killed and wounded over twenty of our men, sir.”

  “Except that the Resistance didn’t kill our men, Hauptsturmführer.”

  “The Resistance didn’t kill our men?” Von Stein asked with raised eyebrows. “I… I’m afraid that I don’t follow, sir. Then who killed our men, sir?”

  “Spaniards.” Herold answered grimly.

  “The Spanish?” Von Stein appeared to be absolutely flabbergasted. “I thought that we and the Spanish were friends, sir! After all that we did for them in the Civil War…”

  Herold shook his head. “Not the Spanish, von Stein. Spaniards - there is a significant difference.”

  “Republican diehards, sir?”

  “Perhaps…” Herold stopped pacing and looked directly into von Stein’s eyes. “And you know nothing about it?”

  Von Stein looked as surprised as if Herold had asked him if he had killed his own men personally. “No… no, sir. How could I, sir?”

  Herold continued to look directly at von Stein. “Mendoza’s men were responsible for the King Alfred Hotel bombing, the Queen Alexandra Road attack and were probably also responsible for the disappearance of your three scharführers. I’m afraid that your three scharführers probably never even made it out of Hereward and their bodies are probably lying in some forgotten ditch somewhere.”

  “What? How? Mendoza is here in Hereward?”

  Herold nodded. “Major Mendoza is the Military Attaché at the Spanish Consulate in Hereward.” Herold watched von Stein’s reaction.

  “Mein Gott, sir.” Von Stein’s eyes bulged with shock. “What a bloody mess…”

  “I think that Kophamel told his three mates about what happened in Spain and when he was killed your Three Musketeers decided to carry out a revenge attack…”

  “Kophamel!” Von Stein punched a fist into an open palm. “That bloody idiot.” Von Stein shook his head in despair. “I told him to forget about Mendoza or else it would eat him up like a cancer. He always was a hothead.”

  “Wise words, Hauptsturmführer.” Herold nodded. “Kophamel should have followed your advice.”

  “So what now, sir?” Von Stein asked. “Is that the end of it? Will the Spaniards be satisfied that honour has been served?”

  “I hope so, von Stein, for your sake and for the sake of the Triple S Brigade and German forces in Hereward in general,” Herold said grimly.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  Herold handed him an envelope. It was addressed to: “Brigadeführer Fritz Herold, Commanding Officer of the Triple S Brigade.” Von Stein opened the envelope, extracted the note, and read the typed writing: Any attack carried out against Lieutenant-Colonel Juan Mendoza or his daughter Aurora will be interpreted as a declaration of War against the XVIIth Bandera, the Spanish Foreign Legión, and Spain. Hauptsturmführer Manfred von Stein will be held personally responsible for the safety of the Colonel and his daughter and should any harm befall Lieutenant-Colonel Mendoza or his daughter Aurora, Hauptsturmführer von Stein will be punished accordingly.

  Von Stein turned as white as a sheet. “Surely… surely this is a joke, sir?” Von Stein smiled weakly. “I would have thought that the Spanish Foreign Legión in Britain consisted of Major Mendoza and no more than a platoon of embassy guards in London, sir.”

  Herold shook his head sadly. “I wish that that was true, Hauptsturmführer. That was certainly the case until fairly recently, but by the end of next week the situation will have completely changed.”

  “I’m… I’m afraid that I don’t understand, sir.” Von Stein’s brows furrowed in confusion.

  “I’m going to tell you this now, von Stein, because this information directly concerns you. The rest of the Brigade will find out soon enough.” Herold took a deep breath before continuing. “The 6th SS Infantry Regiment is being redeployed from Britain to Poland and will leave Hereward at the end of next week.”

  “But… but that will leave us seriously under strength, sir,” von Stein protested. “And what of our invasion of Scotland? We will barely be able to keep a lid on Partisan activities in Cambridgeshire with two regiments, never mind invade the Free North.”

  Herold nodded his head in agreement. “I know, Hauptsturmführer, but it’s ours not to reason why. The Führer in his wisdom has decided that the 6th SS is better deployed on anti-Partisan duties in Poland. However, every cloud has a silver lining as they say, and the powers-that-be have decided that this redeployment provides a marvellous opportunity for our fellow Fascist brothers in Arms to show their s
upport in the common struggle against Churchill’s Jewish Bolshevik clique of war mongering terrorists.”

  “Don’t tell me, sir,” von Stein said. “Franco has offered the services of the XVIIth Bandera?”

  Herold nodded grimly. “Spain and Great Britain are not technically at war so the Caudillo can not officially offer the services of the Spanish Foreign Legión, so the XVIIth Bandera has been disbanded and reformed as the 1st LVE Infantry Regiment, or the 1st Spanish Volunteer Legión Infantry Regiment…”

  “You say tomato, I say tomato…” Von Stein shrugged his shoulders with weary resignation.

  “Incidentally, Marshall Petain has also offered the services of a military unit - the 1st LVF Infantry Regiment or the 1st French Volunteer Legion Infantry Regiment - to take part in the invasion of Scotland.”

  Von Stein snorted contemptuously. “It didn’t take long for the French to change their spots. What is the price of French support, sir?”

  “I don’t know.” Herold shrugged his shoulders. “At the very least, the transfer of sovereignty of the Channel Islands.”

  “And I would imagine that the Spanish will want our help to recover Gibraltar, sir,” von Stein said.

  “If I was a betting man then I’d put good money on it,” Herold agreed. “The 1st LVE will take up quarters in Hereward by the end of next week, and together with the 4th and 5th SS Infantry Regiments will form a brigade under my command.”

  “So… what happens to me, sir?” Von Stein asked nervously.

  “Absolutely nothing, von Stein,” Herold answered. “As far as I am concerned and as far as you are concerned, this incident is dead and buried. I don’t want to hear another word about a vendetta or a blood feud. This incident is finished. Finito. If I hear that Colonel Mendoza has tripped over a cobblestone and has fallen over and bruised his knee, you will find yourself face down in a ditch beside your three scharführers with a bullet in the back of your head before you can say ‘please, sir, it wasn’t me,’ and I’ll be the one with my finger on the trigger. Do you understand?”