Alice smiled weakly and then promptly passed out. Leon tenderly picked her up and carefully carried her over to the side where he gently lay her down against the wall.
“Sam, she’s going to be all right,” Leon said confidently.
Sam nodded his head grimly.
“How much ammunition do we have left?” Bob asked between firing a burst of bullets.
“We’ve got one ammunition box of belted ammunition left, Bob,” Sam answered.
“Well, that’s not going to last forever,” Bob said as he squeezed off another burst.
“Conserve your ammunition, son, and only fire at targets of opportunity. If the Huns start throwing grenades into the shed two at a time then we’re done for,” Leon said grimly. “I won’t be able to throw them all out in time.”
“So what’s the plan, Dad?” Bob asked.
“I don’t know, son. I’m still thinking,” Leon admitted.
“Well, you’d better think faster because we’re running out of options as well as ammunition,” Sam said. “Hello, what’s this?”
“A white flag.” Leon answered. “Cease fire. The Huns want to talk.”
Leon’s face drained of colour as he watched two dirty and dishevelled figures shuffle out from behind the lorry with their hands held high in the air. He put his hand to his mouth in horror. “Aurora and Alan…” he said aloud.
“Partisans!” Von Clausewitz shouted. “Come out with your hands up or I will shoot your comrades! You have one minute to decide!”
Sam looked at Leon with wide bulging eyes. “What shall we do? We can’t let them kill Alan and Aurora! We have to surrender! We have no choice!”
“We do have a choice, Sam! If we go out there, the Huns will kill us!” Bob argued.
Leon looked at both of the boys in turn. He knew that they were both right. He shook his head in resignation. “We’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t…”
“Thirty seconds left, Englanders, and then I will execute the prisoners!”
Leon looked out into the courtyard and saw Aurora and Alan. His heart skipped a beat and a cold wave of panic swept over him. Where were Russ and Anne? He had presumed that they were with Aurora and Alan. If they were wounded, then he would have to tend to them as quickly as possible.
“It’s over, lads; put down your weapons and step outside slowly with your hands in the air,” Leon said with resignation.
“But, Dad…!” Bob protested.
“But nothing, Bob!” Leon said with fire in his eyes. “It’s over! Your brother and Anne are missing! We must find them!” Leon snarled angrily.
Bob bowed his head in shame. He had completely forgotten about his brother.
Leon held his hands up in the air and carefully climbed over the makeshift hay bale barricade. He was closely followed by his son and Sam.
Leon eyes bulged wide with a sudden cry of horror. “My son! My son!” He ran over to Russ and knelt beside him. He tried to staunch his son’s wounds but there were too many bullet holes. Russ’s eyes stared glassily into the distance. His life’s blood had bled out of him a long time ago. Leon cradled his son’s head in his lap, stroked his hair and cried rivers of tears. His entire body was wracked with grief and he sobbed unreservedly. Bob collapsed beside his father and tenderly held one of Russ’s hands. Leon wrapped an arm around his sole surviving son and squeezed him tightly.
Sam walked over to Anne and knelt down beside her. She lay on her back, spreadeagled like a giant star fish. A line of bullet holes ran diagonally up her body from her left hip to her right shoulder. Sam gently put his fingertips on Anne’s eyelids and tenderly closed her eyes.
Aurora and Alan stumbled over to their friends and sank down beside the bodies of their comrades. Tears ran freely down their blood and dirt encrusted faces.
“This is all very touching,” von Clausewitz said as he walked up to the grieving partisans. “But what I want to know is: where is Obersturmführer Monat and the rest of the patrol?”
Leon stared up at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. If looks could kill, von Clausewitz would have dropped dead on the spot. Von Clausewitz was entirely nonplussed; the partisan was not the first man to have stared at him with such a look of pure hatred. He was not the first and von Clausewitz had no doubt that he would not be the last. They usually looked at him like that right before he shot them between the eyes.
“Your son?” Von Clausewitz pointed at Russ’s body with his chin.
Leon could not trust himself to speak, but gave the barest of nods.
Von Clausewitz drew out his Luger pistol, cocked it, flicked off the safety catch and pointed it at Bob’s head. “I’m sure that you think that losing one son in a day is quite enough. Where are Obersturmführer Monat and the rest of the patrol? I’m not a patient man, partisan. Don’t force me to ask the same question again, or else you and your son will regret it.”
The surviving members of von Clausewitz’s squad had gathered around the prisoners. They were interested to discover how the drama would resolve itself.
Von Clausewitz looked up as a patrol car led a convoy of three lorries that trundled down the road leading to the farm. The stormtroopers all turned to watch as the vehicles came to a halt in the courtyard. Four men got out of the patrol car and started walking towards the stormtroopers. The three lorries also came to a halt, and a squad of fully armed soldiers leapt out of each vehicle. The platoon quickly formed up in the courtyard behind their officers and started to follow them towards the Germans. Von Clausewitz’s brows furrowed in confusion. The new arrivals wore standard issue German Army field grey uniforms and were armed with German weapons, but… there was something not quite right. They looked too dark, for starters. The soldiers had not become that tanned under an English sun. Von Clausewitz started to get a familiar tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Reinforcements?” Von Clausewitz asked hopefully.
The officer in command shook his head. “Not really.”
Von Clausewitz’s face drained rapidly of colour as he spotted the shield on the side of the officer’s helmet. Red, yellow, red, horizontal stripes - Spanish.
Oh shit.
“What do you want to do with him?” Lieutenant-Colonel Mendoza pointed his Schmessier machine gun at the prisoner.
Von Clausewitz was staring at the bodies of his men. His three surviving stormtroopers had been lined up against the wall of the shed and shot without ceremony.
“The Scharführer wanted to find out what happened to the rest of his patrol,” Leon answered. “I’m going to show him.”
Despite the fact that Mendoza had issued strict orders to his Legiónaries to keep what they had seen and done that day to themselves, word had spread throughout the Bandera like wildfire. The SS had attacked Lieutenant - Colonel Mendoza’s daughter, Aurora, and although she had escaped injury the Nazis had in the process killed two of her friends. As a direct consequence the Legiónaries issued a fatwa against Hauptsturmführer von Stein in particular, and against the SS in general, as they had promised in their earlier ultimatum. As far as the Spaniards were concerned, all stormtroopers were now fair game. The Legiónaries were determined to extract their pound of flesh.
“The Spanish have declared war on the SS, General-Major,” Hauptwachtmeister Bratge announced.
“Casualties?” Von Schnakenberg asked.
“Three stormtroopers were found dead this morning, sir,” Bratge answered.
“And you’re sure that it was the Spanish who killed them and not the Resistance?”
“They were each found with a chorizo sausage stuffed in their mouths, sir. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, sir, but I think that the evidence is pretty conclusive.”
Von Schnakenberg chuckled and shook his head with amusement. “Who said that the Spanish don’t have a sense of humour?”
“Your orders, sir?” Bratge asked.
Von Schnakenberg steepled his fingers and thought for moment before he answered. “Double o
ur Military Police patrols, but issue strict instructions that the patrols are not to interfere in any fracas between the Spaniards and the SS unless the lives of our own men or civilians are at risk. Clear?”
“Crystal clear, sir.”
“The SS cooked up this mess; let them stew in their own juices.”
“Let us remember before God,
and commend to his sure keeping:
Anne Alexandra Mair and Russell Jonathan Leon who died for their country in this war;
And also those whom we knew, and those whose memory we treasure;
And all those who have lived and died in the service of our country.
They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old: age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them.” The Vicar read out the Act of Remembrance solemnly.
“We will remember them.” The mourners repeated.
A schoolmate of Russell’s played the Last Post on his bugle.
Russell Jonathan Leon was buried with full military honours on June 8th 1941. He was fifteen years old. Russ was laid to rest beside his mother’s grave. Katherine Victoria Leon had been killed during the German attack on Hereward in September 1940. Anne Alexandra Mair was seventeen years old and she was laid to rest beside the graves of her mother and her father, her uncle and her auntie, her cousin, and her cousin’s baby boy.
Chapter Sixteen
“What is the current casualty figure, Sturmbannführer Ulrich?” Brigadeführer Herold asked.
“Five dead, sir,” Ulrich answered grimly.
“And Spanish casualties?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Ulrich shook his head as he answered. “The Spanish have commandeered a whole wing of a floor of Hereward Hospital, sir. The wing is heavily guarded around the clock by at least a platoon of Legiónaries and the only people allowed access are Spaniards or British medical personnel. I think that it’s safe to assume that the Spaniards have suffered casualties of some sort or another. I very much doubt that our boys went meekly to their deaths; I’m confident that they put up a fight.”
“Apparently they didn’t put up enough of a fight, or else they wouldn’t be six feet under. The whole situation is absolutely preposterous and totally unacceptable!” Herold thundered. “Who the hell do the Spanish think they are? This is a German town!” Herold’s chest was heaving with rage. He looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel. Herold slowly calmed down and sat back in his chair. “What is von Schnakenberg doing about this situation?”
“Nothing, sir,” Ulrich answered bluntly.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, sir,” Ulrich answered. “Whenever any Army Military Police patrols see any trouble between our boys and the Spanish they make a swift exit, stage left. I think that General-Major von Schnakenberg has given the MPs strict instructions not to intervene.”
“He’s given them strict instructions not to go to the aid of fellow Germans?” Herold’s eyes bulged wide in horrified disbelief.
“I don’t think that the General-Major sees it quite in those terms, Brigadeführer.”
“What do you mean?”
Ulrich hesitated before he answered. “With all due respect, sir, you weren’t here when Brigadeführer Schuster was in charge. A state of virtual civil war existed between us on the one hand and the Army and the paras on the other hand. More Germans were killed by each other than by the partisans,” Ulrich explained matter-of-factly.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend…” Herold stared off into the distance.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, if von Schnakenberg considers the Spaniards to be his friends and the SS to be his enemies, then we are well and truly screwed.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Ulrich’s brows furrowed with confusion.
Herold sighed. “By this time next week, Mendoza’s men will not be the only Spaniards in Hereward. Franco has despatched the 1st Division of the Spanish Volunteer Legión to England to take part in the invasion of Scotland, and the entire Division will be based in Hereward.”
Ulrich’s face drained rapidly of colour until he was as white as a sheet. “Mein Gott…!” he said, with horror.
Herold nodded his head slowly. “You look exactly how I felt when I heard the news,” Herold said grimly. “There will be eighteen thousand Legiónaries based in Hereward for approximately ten days before the invasion begins. How long do you think it will take for Mendoza’s men to fill in the new boys with the current state of German-Spanish relations?”
“My God!” Ulrich exclaimed with his hand to his mouth. “There will be a massacre… there may well not be enough of us left alive to take part in the invasion of Scotland…”
“My thoughts exactly, Ulrich.” Herold nodded his head. “There are scarcely two thousand SS in the whole of Hereward. We don’t stand a chance unless we even the odds a bit more.”
“How do you intend to do that, sir?” Ulrich asked with the desperation of a drowning man gasping for air.
“We must bring the Army over to our side. Von Schnakenberg has about two thousand men in Hereward. The combined strength of four thousand Germans might be enough to convince the Spanish that it would not be a wise decision to declare an all out war against us. It would simply cost them too many casualties,” Herold explained. “We must convince von Schnakenberg that the Spaniards, and not us, are the true enemy.”
“But sir, General-Major von Schnakenberg has issued strict instructions that his MPs are not to intervene unless the Spaniards start to attack…” Ulrich was thinking faster than he could speak.
Herold said nothing. He waited for Ulrich’s wheels of thought to stop turning around.
“Sir, you’re not suggesting…?” Ulrich began to ask.
“I’m not suggesting what, Sturmbannführer?” Herold asked with a knowing smile.
“You’re not suggesting... you’re not suggesting that we carry out attacks on the Army and pin the blame on the Spanish?”
Herold shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Why not? It’s been tried before. We faked an attack on German border posts by Polish troops at the beginning of the War…”
“Except no one believed us, sir!” Ulrich interrupted. “The whole world knew that it was faked! If we try this stunt against the Army they will see through us and we will be in a world of hurt! Von Schnakenberg is not a fool, sir! We will be jumping from the frying pan into the fire, and we’ll end up having to fight the Army as well as the Spanish!” Ulrich protested vehemently. “You will have to get someone else to do it, Brigadeführer, because I won’t do it; I will not murder fellow German soldiers!”
“Are you refusing to obey a direct order from a superior officer?” Herold asked with raised eyebrows.
“Is this what this is, sir?” Ulrich asked. “Are you giving me a direct order to kill fellow German soldiers? Is that the order you want me to give to my men? Because if you are, then yes, I refuse. You’ll have to get someone else to do your dirty work for you, sir, because I won’t do it. You can demote me, you can send me back home in disgrace, you can even shoot me, I don’t care; but I won’t murder innocent German soldiers in order to carry out your Machiavellian plan, sir.”
Herold stared at Ulrich as if he was looking at a mythical creature for the first time; a unicorn or a Minotaur, perhaps. Ulrich was literally dripping with sweat. Herold nodded with awe and amazement. At last he had found a man with a quality that was as rare as it was admirable: integrity. Herold smiled with newfound respect for Ulrich. Yes, he was convinced that Ulrich would sacrifice his life rather than sacrifice his honour and murder fellow German soldiers.
“At ease, Sturmbannführer.” Herold chuckled with amusement. “I didn’t give you a direct order; I was merely speaking my mind, testing the water, playing devil’s advocate, if you will.”
Ulrich’s shoulders literally slumped with relief. He looked as if he was ready to collapse into a dishevelled and exhausted heap at
any moment.
“I guess that we’ll just have to think of a new plan to get the Spaniards off our backs…” Herold said. “And by the way, Ulrich, I have some more good news…”
“Who else knows about the Führer’s visit, sir?” Oberleutnant Nicky Alfonin asked.
“It would be more accurate to ask ‘who doesn’t know,’ Nicky,” General-Major von Schnakenberg answered. “ The British, the Spanish, the SS and ourselves have been asked to provide one platoon each when the Führer inspects the Guard of Honour in Hereward Town Square on June 15th at three o’ clock in the afternoon. Nicky, you will command our platoon Honour Guard.”
Alfonin bowed graciously. “Thank you, sir, but Hereward Town Square?” Alfonin asked in disbelief. “Haven’t they learned anything from the last time that they tried to hold a parade in Hereward Town Square? Have the deaths of the King and Queen slipped their minds? It’s hardly the best omen…”
Von Schnakenberg shrugged his shoulders. “I did warn them, Nicky, but they just shrugged it off. They insisted that this time it would be different.”
“How, sir?”
“This time the Führer’s personal bodyguard will be ultimately responsible for his safety whilst the Führer is visiting Britain. His personal SS praetorian guards are flying over from Berlin to the Luftwaffe base at Duxford with him. They will supplement the local SS forces that will provide security in each of the places that the Führer visits - Hereward, Ely, Cambridge, Oxford, Bath and so on. Local SS forces will also provide security between the different venues that the Führer will visit. ”
“So the entire operation will be an SS under taking from start to finish, sir?” Alfonin asked. “The Army will not be responsible for anything?”
Von Schnakenberg nodded his head. “That’s right, Nicky. Brigadeführer Herold is to provide security whilst the Führer is in Hereward, which of course includes during the parade in the Square. Our orders are simply to provide an Honour Guard.”
Alfonin gave a massive sigh of relief. “Well, I can’t say that I’m sorry that we haven’t been given the dubious honour of being responsible for providing security, sir. Security surrounding the visit will have more holes in it than a chunk of Swiss cheese.” Alfonin said grimly. “I mean the British Fascist Militia is sure to be riddled with Free North spies, and the Spanish Legiónaries hate us as well. Edinburgh probably knows about the Führer’s visit already. They’re no doubt assembling an assassination team as we speak.”
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