Young Lions Roar

by Andrew Mackay

  “Yes, sir.” Von Stein stood at a ramrod straight position of attention.

  “Hauptsturmführer von Stein, I’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt about the deaths of your three scharführers. I’m willing to publicly acknowledge that the Resistance killed them and I am willing to privately accept that Kophamel led them astray and put the idea of vendetta into their heads, and not you. But - so help me God - if I find out that you put thoughts of revenge into the minds of your men and that you were responsible for their deaths then I will hunt you down like a dog and kill you without a moment’s hesitation. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I cannot afford to have a civil war going on in the streets of Hereward, von Stein,” Herold explained, “with Legiónaries and my stormtroopers fighting each other instead of the British. Of course I would prefer to have the 6th SS instead of the Spaniards, but they’ve been sent to Poland and there’s absolutely no point crying over spilt milk. I have to welcome the 1st LVE as brothers in arms and weld them together with the 4th and 5th SS to form a team. I cannot form a team based on trust and mutual respect and support if my men are constantly looking over their shoulder worrying that they might be shot in the back because of a private blood feud between two allied officers. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Herold stopped pacing around the room, straightened his tunic, and sat down behind his desk. “By the way, von Stein, did you notice how the XVIIth Bandera’s warning notice referred to Mendoza?”

  “No, sir.” Von Stein was too dazed and confused to notice very much.

  “It referred to Lieutenant-Colonel Mendoza: he’s been promoted. Mendoza is the new commanding officer of the 1st LVE Infantry Regiment.”

  Von Stein rocked back on his heels as if he had been slapped in the face.

  “And a word of warning, Hauptsturmführer: four of Mendoza’s Legiónaries managed to kill and wound approximately fifty SS and Wehrmacht soldiers,” Herold said. “Mendoza will now be in command of approximately five hundred Legiónaries based in Hereward. My advice would be to stay well clear of him. Dismissed!”

  “How are you, Aurora? How do you feel?” Alan asked as he kissed his girlfriend on her forehead and sat on a chair beside Aurora’s bed. He picked up Aurora’s hand and held it tenderly.

  “I’m drugged up to my eye balls, Alan,” Aurora replied with a croaky voice as she carefully moved the morphine drip that was attached to the back of her hand. “I’m attached to a catheter which is not very comfortable and the painkillers make me feel nauseous. I feel like I’m going to be sick all of the time.” Aurora pointed to the tin bowl that sat on her bedside table. “I haven’t eaten for twenty-four hours and I haven’t had anything to drink either. My throat feels very dry.”

  Alan gently kissed Aurora’s hand. “I’m sure that you’ll be able to eat and drink very soon. How are your scars?”

  “The doctors say that the tears are healing and that the stitches are doing a good job. However, I’m confined to my bed for a week and I’m not allowed to walk in case it rips the stitches.”

  “Good.” Alan nodded as he patted Aurora’s hand. “That’s a good idea. It sounds as if you’re in safe hands.”

  “Yes, I am,” Aurora agreed. “I am in very safe hands. The doctors and nurses have been very kind to me, despite the fact that I’m an enemy alien,” Aurora said bitterly.

  Alan smiled. “Now that’s not true, my love and you know it. You are the victim of a terrible crime. Nationality has got nothing to do with your treatment and the doctors and nurses would treat you the same if you were German. You are a human being and that’s the end of it. A person’s nationality is nothing more than an accident of birth. You no more chose to be Spanish than I chose to be English. And anyway, Spain and Britain are not at war…”

  “Yet,” Aurora interrupted sadly.

  “Oh, Aurora, that’s a very pessimistic thing to say,” Alan teased playfully.

  Aurora shook her head. “I’m afraid that I’m not just being pessimistic, Alan. Papa told me that his regiment, the XVIIth Bandera of the Foreign Legión, has been disbanded and has been reformed as the 1st Spanish Volunteer Legión Infantry Regiment, and will arrive in Hereward by the end of next week.”

  Alan’s eyes were widened in shock. “Bloody hell! But why are they here?”

  “To take part in the invasion of Scotland, of course! And papa has been promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel to lead them.”

  “Remind me to congratulate your father on his promotion, Aurora,” Alan said sarcastically.

  “It’s not his fault, Alan!” Aurora protested passionately. “He does not want to fight against the British!”

  “It looks as if he won’t have any choice, Aurora,” Alan said bitterly.

  Aurora did not persist in defending her father, because she knew that what Alan had said was true.

  Alan decided to change the subject; he had not come to the hospital to argue with his girlfriend. “At least the damage is not permanent, my love, and you will recover.”

  Aurora nodded. “You are right, Alan: the doctors have said that I will still be able to have children.” Aurora paused. “The physical scars will heal, but the emotional scars will never heal,” Aurora said sadly.

  “What… what do you mean, Aurora?” Alan asked.

  “That animal raped me, Alan!” Aurora shouted angrily. “That Nazi bastard raped me and destroyed my virginity. A woman’s virginity is a gift that she should only give to a man that she loves, and that rapist destroyed that gift.” A large tear slowly trickled down Aurora’s cheek. “I wanted to give my virginity to the man that I love, Alan. I wanted to give my virginity to you and now I will never be able to.”

  “I… I’m sorry, Aurora,” Alan said with tear filled eyes. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Alan. Just hold me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “How is Mendoza’s daughter, Hauptwachtmeister Bratge? Her name’s Aurora, isn’t it?” General-Major von Schnakenberg asked with concern.

  “Yes, sir. Aurora’s recovering in hospital, sir,” Bratge replied as he stood at a position of attention in front of von Schnakenberg’s desk. “But she’s lucky to be alive, sir. Those animals really tried to hurt her. Fortunately the damage isn’t permanent and she will be able to have children in the future.”

  Von Schnakenberg shook his head in disgust. “Bloody animals, raping a child. Some people have absolutely no morals. How old is Aurora?”

  Bratge consulted his notes. “She’s fourteen, sir.”

  “Bastards. Well, I hope the Police catch the swine. Has Mendoza identified the rapists?”

  Bratge shook his head. “No, sir. Both she and Major - sorry, Lieutenant-Colonel Mendoza - told the Police that they were unable to identify the rapists. They said that they had never seen them before.”

  “Were they able to identify the nationality of the rapists?”

  “They said that the rapists were British, sir,” Bratge replied.

  “How convenient.” Von Schnakenberg swirled his whiskey filled crystal tumbler.

  “Both of the rapists were shot from behind in the head and one of them was also shot twice from behind in the back. Their heads were virtually blown apart because they were shot at virtually point-blank range and their faces were unrecognisable, sir.”

  “How did Mendoza manage to shoot them? I presume that he was tied up when they were raping his daughter?” Von Schnakenberg asked.

  Bratge nodded. “Yes he was, sir. However, Mendoza said that the two rapists had obviously never been Boy Scouts and they couldn’t tie knots for love of money. They were too busy concentrating on raping Aurora to notice that Mendoza had slowly but surely been unloosening his ropes.”

  “How did he manage to get a weapon?”

  “Mendoza said that he had a Luger pistol taped underneath the seat of his chair for emergency use.”

  “Ho
w very cloak and dagger,” von Schnakenberg said. “What do you think, Hauptwachtmeister? Is his story plausible?”

  Bratge shook his head. “Mendoza has obviously never read any Sherlock Holmes novels, sir. His story has more holes in it than a chunk of Swiss cheese. These rapists must have been professionals to force entry to the house, kill the housekeeper and overpower Mendoza, sir, a man who has been a soldier for the last twenty years and no doubt must know a thing or two about close quarter and hand-to-hand unarmed combat. It seems likely that the rapists have done this sort of thing before, sir. Perhaps they were serial rapists. It certainly seems like a professional job. I’m certain that they would know how to tie good, strong, solid knots of rope. They had also beaten Mendoza pretty badly and he was concussed and he had lost a lot of blood by the time that the Police brought him to the hospital. One of his eyes was more or less glued shut with dried blood.”

  “So how did Mendoza manage to escape from his ropes unnoticed, find and make ready his weapon, and aim and fire four well-aimed rounds whilst he was concussed, with one eye glued shut with blood, and kill the rapists?” von Schnakenberg asked.

  “That’s the six million Mark question, sir.” Bratge smiled. “I don’t think Mendoza did free himself, sir. I don’t think that he was in any fit state to shoot those two men. I think that Mendoza was rescued by someone who shot the two rapists and then untied and released him.”

  “But by whom?” von Schnakenberg asked. “The XVIIth Bandera - sorry, the 1st LVE - doesn’t arrive in Hereward until the end of next week and I thought that the Spanish Embassy wasn’t able to send any reinforcements to Mendoza.”

  “Perhaps his rescuers were British, sir.”

  “British?” Von Schnakenberg raised his eyebrows. “Mendoza has hardly lived in Hereward for a month, Hauptwachtmeister. He would barely have found the time to get to know the town. Where would he have found the time to get to know a local with a gun?” Von Schnakenberg paused with thought for a moment. “Do you have any suspects, Hauptwachtmeister?”

  Bratge shook his head. “No, sir. I have absolutely no idea who freed Mendoza and killed the two rapists.”

  “So the trail runs cold yet again. How bloody frustrating, Hauptwachtmeister.” Von Schnakenberg shook his head.

  Bratge flashed his set of pearly whites. “Not quite, sir.”

  “Oh, what do you mean?” Von Schnakenberg sat up in his seat with renewed interest.

  Bratge passed von Schnakenberg an A4-sized brown manila envelope.

  “What’s this, Hauptwachtmeister?” Von Schnakenberg asked with raised eyebrows.

  “An early Christmas present, sir,” Bratge replied mysteriously.

  Von Schnakenberg impatiently tore open the envelope. Six black and white photographs fell out onto the desk. Von Schnakenberg picked up the first photo. He looked at it in confusion. “What the hell is this? A letter?”

  Bratge nodded as he enjoyed the air of suspense. “Yes, sir. It’s the letter ‘A’ written in gothic script. It was found tattooed on the underside of the left arm by the armpit of one of the rapists.”

  Von Schnakenberg picked up another photo with mounting excitement. “Another letter A tattooed on the underside of the left arm by the armpit?”

  “Yes, sir.” Bratge could not resist smiling. “Blood groups.”

  Von Schnakenberg picked up the other four photos in quick succession. ‘My honour is my loyalty?’ ”

  “Yes, sir. Both mottoes were tattooed onto the upper right arm of both of the rapists.”

  “And a Death’s Head skull and cross bones with the stylised runes underneath.”

  “Yes, sir. Tattooed onto the upper left arm of both men, which would suggest that they went to the same tattoo artist.”

  “SS” von Schnakenberg looked like a cat that had got the cream.

  “Elementary, my dear Watson. It’s standard SS procedure to tattoo all stormtroopers with their blood group in case the soldier is wounded and requires a blood transfusion.” Bratge smiled in triumph.

  “So the SS are raping children now. Why does that not surprise me?” Von Schnakenberg shook his head with disgust. “No doubt they would have killed Mendoza’s daughter afterwards and made Mendoza watch before they killed him as well.”

  “Probably, sir.”

  Von Schnakenberg’s face darkened with barely suppressed fury and rage.

  “The SS have no honour, they have no code. They blacken the name of the German armed forces and their despicable actions tarnish us all with the same brush,” von Schnakenberg said, with venom in his voice. In an instant the anger and hatred vanished from von Schnakenberg’s face as if a shadow had lifted. He smiled at the Sergeant Major and shook his head in awe and wonder. “I’ve got to hand it to you though, Hauptwachtmeister, what an amazing piece of detective work. I would not be surprised if you start another career in the Police when this War is over, Bratge. Detective Inspector Bratge of Scotland Yard,” von Schnakenberg chuckled.

  Bratge’s chest puffed out with pride as he replied, “I have seriously thought about it, sir.”

  “How did you find out all of this information?” von Schnakenberg asked curiously.

  Bratge shrugged his shoulders modestly. “I have a contact at the Police station in Hereward, sir. It’s amazing the way that a couple of bottles of schnapps can help loosen tongues.”

  “And the photographs?”

  “I suggested that the Police photographer take those, sir. The photos cost me three bottles of schnapps.”

  Von Schnakenberg thought for a moment. “Do the Police know that the rapists are SS stormtroopers?”

  “Yes, sir. And they also know the names of the rapists.”

  “Mein Gott!” Von Schnakenberg sat up straight with surprise. “How on earth did they find that out?”

  “The Second in Command of the 4th SS Infantry Regiment requested that the Police help in the search for three scharführers from the regiment who had left Hereward to go on weekend leave to London but who had not returned…”

  “The 4th SS? But isn’t that Sturmbannführer Ulrich’s regiment?”

  Bratge nodded. “Yes, sir. Sturmbannführer Ulrich is the second in command…”

  “Does he have his sticky little paws in everything?” von Schnakenberg interrupted. “Wasn’t he involved in the Queen Alexandra Road bombing?”

  “Yes, sir. He was virtually the only sole survivor.”

  “No wonder that he’s known as The Cat.” Von Schnakenberg shook his head in amazement.

  “It’s standard procedure for both ourselves and the SS to ask the Police to assist in the search for missing personnel, sir.”

  Von Schnakenberg nodded in confirmation of the familiar fact, and took a drink of his whiskey.

  “The three missing scharführers were called Hauser, Berlichingen and Schmitt, sir. Both Hauser and Berlichingen had A blood groups and Schmitt has a B blood group. All three men were platoon sergeants in Hauptsturmführer von Stein’s company, sir, along with Scharführer Kophamel who was killed in the King Alfred Hotel bombing.”

  “So the vendetta continues. A plague upon both their houses!” Von Schnakenberg slapped his desk with the palms of both of his hands in frustration. “For bringing such death and destruction to my city!” Von Schnakenberg stood up and started to pace around his office.

  Bratge did not react to the General-Major’s uncharacteristic loss of self control.

  “Hauser and Berlichingen were the two dead rapists, Hauptwachtmeister Bratge. The question is: where is Schmitt?”

  “Aurora! It’s so good to see you. But I didn’t expect to see you out and about so soon.” Sam gave Aurora the gentlest of hugs and kissed her delicately on both cheeks.

  “It’s good to see you as well, Sam.” Aurora held onto Sam’s forearms in order to steady herself.

  “How do you feel?” Sam asked with concern.

  “It’s good to be up on my feet again. As you know, I was consigned to my bed in the hospital for a we
ek.”

  “Yes, I know. Remember when I came to visit you? You had been in for a few days.”

  Aurora held a hand up to her forehead. “Ah, yes. I forgot.” Aurora smiled. “I must be losing my marbles in my old age.”

  “Either that or you were still pumped high on morphine.”

  Aurora laughed. “Yes, that as well. I feel like a Chinese opium addict. I’m still on painkillers four times a day. Listen, Sam, do you mind if we find somewhere private where we can sit down and talk? It’s just that I find it painful to stand for long periods of time.”

  “Of course, Aurora. Here.” Sam guided Aurora over to a bench and supported her as they sat down.

  “Does it still hurt?” Sam asked.

  Aurora nodded as she laid her hand on top of Sam’s. “Yes, it does. I can only walk very slowly and I have to sleep lying very still on my back. The doctors warned me that I had to be aware that my stitches could still rip if I walk too fast and that my scar could still separate.” Aurora paused. “That Nazi really hurt me, Sam.”

  Sam’s face turned crimson with rage. “I swear as God as my witness, Aurora, that we will pay those murdering Nazi bastards back for all of the crimes that they have committed against us. We will make each and every one of those swine rue the day that they were born.”

  “You really hate the Germans, don’t you, Sam?”

  Sam nodded. “The Germans murdered my mother and my father. The Germans made me and Alice orphans. I hate the Germans when I wake up in the morning and I hate them when I go to sleep. I even hate the Germans in my dreams.” Sam paused. “Hatred is all I have left now, Aurora.”

  “That is sad, Sam.” Aurora looked Sam directly in the eyes. “And what of love, Sam? Is there any room for love?”

  Sam straightened up. “I love my God, my King and my country. And I love my friends and family. But hatred is a stronger emotion than love: hatred makes me feel alive and gives me the motivation to keep fighting rather than surrender.”

  Aurora nodded in understanding. “I hate the Germans as well, Sam, for what they did to me, what they did to Spain and also for what they continue to do to Britain.” Aurora paused. “Will you help me when I decide to exact my revenge on them?”