Young Lions Roar

by Andrew Mackay

  Von Stein, Mendoza thought to himself. His heart sank.

  “He spoke surprisingly good Spanish, sir,” the captain continued. “He asked me to give you this package personally.”

  “Open it, please,” Mendoza ordered. His hands were shaking so much that he couldn’t trust himself to open the bow.

  “Certainly, Colonel.” The captain opened the box and couldn’t help stepping back and wrinkling his nose at the repulsive smell.

  “Pass the box to me, please, Captain.”

  Mendoza accepted the box with trembling fingers and slowly unwrapped the bloody newspaper. He suddenly dropped the box as if it was red hot, and promptly passed out. Mendoza’s head thudded onto the top of his desk before the startled captain could catch him. The captain tentatively looked inside the box. A delicately manicured severed finger lay within a nest of blood-soaked newspaper.

  “Well done, Hauptsturmführer; whatever you’ve been doing, it’s starting to work. None of our men were killed last night.” Herold was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he stood up from behind his desk and shook von Stein’s hand.

  “Excuse me, Brigadeführer, but I don’t know -”

  “Come, come, my boy. No need to be so modest,” Herold said as he wrapped a fatherly arm around his Prodigal Son’s shoulders. “Listen, I don’t want to know the details, just pass on my congratulations to your men on a job well done.” Herold shepherded von Stein towards the door.

  “Yes, sir,” von Stein answered, with a bewildered expression on his face.

  “Keep up the good work, Hauptsturmführer; we may yet come out of this with our heads still on our shoulders,” Herold said optimistically.

  YOU FAILED TO COMPLY WITH THE LAST INSTRUCTIONS AND AS A RESULT YOU HAVE BEEN PUNISHED. IF YOU FAIL AGAIN WE WILL CUT OFF MORE THAN YOUR DAUGHTER’S FINGERS. YOUR MISSION IS TO KILL HITLER. COMPLETE THE MISSION BY 20TH JUNE OR THE HOSTAGES WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

  Mendoza dropped the paper and collapsed onto the armchair. What the hell was going on? Why did the SS kidnappers want him to assassinate Hitler? Was there some sort of internal power struggle going on between Hitler and the SS? He shook his head in disbelief. It didn’t matter. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. It was purely academic. There was absolutely no chance in hell that he would be able to complete the mission. Aurora and Alice would be dead by this time tomorrow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  John Baldwin was busy packing his rucksack, when he heard a knock on the front door to his flat. He opened the door to find a small boy standing there.

  “Yes, what is it, Kendall?”

  “There’s a German officer down stairs who wants to speak to you, sir,” Kendall replied.

  “Thank you, Kendall,” Baldwin nodded. “Please tell him that I’ll be right there.”

  As Kendall scurried off, Baldwin adjusted his St John’s Old Boy tie and put on his favourite tweed jacket. He walked downstairs and opened the front door to Cromwell Boarding House.

  A German officer stood in front of him as Kendall had described. Or at least he was dressed as a German officer, except for one significant difference: he wore a red, yellow and red horizontal shield on his right arm.

  The officer flashed him a sunscreen advertisement smile. “El Bonito, I presume?”

  “Excellent idea of yours to carry out a ‘Fighting in a Built Up Area’ exercise, Captain Baldwin!” Major Mason exclaimed as he tapped his swagger stick into his other hand. “The Colonel will be most pleased with your show of initiative, John.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Baldwin bowed his head. “I thought that it might prove useful, seeing that we may well find ourselves fighting through Berwick-Upon-Tweed, sir.”

  “Sshhh!” Mason put his forefinger up to his lips dramatically. “Not so loud, John! On a need to know basis; the men don’t need to know yet!”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Baldwin apologised. “With your permission, I will lead my company into Frampton and we will begin fortifying the village. I think that we will have fortified the village by noon, Major.”

  “Very good, Captain Baldwin, we will begin our assault at noon. Carry on.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Baldwin saluted and walked off smartly.

  Mason smiled. He always knew that it was a good idea to have recruited Baldwin into the Militia. There was far more to the young man than met the eye, and Mason would tell Colonel Griffiths that Baldwin was responsible for organising the F.I.B.U.A. exercise when the Colonel returned from the briefing.

  Colonel Mendoza waited as the SS Military Policeman searched his briefcase. It was stuffed full of documents and Mendoza held it open as the policeman gave it the most cursory of inspections. There was a long line of officers waiting impatiently behind Mendoza, and the Invasion briefing was about to start. There would be hell to pay if any of the officers were delayed because of the jobs worthy examinations of an overzealous policeman.

  “Thank you, sir,” the MP said. “Please take a seat inside the Hall.” Mendoza nodded and walked through into St John’s Memorial Hall. The oak panelled walls bore the names of all of the Academy’s teachers and past and present pupils who had been killed in the First World War and all of the various Imperial Police actions that British troops had fought in since. Mendoza noticed that the walls did not bear the names of those who had been killed in the more recent fighting. If Hitler succeeded with his plans to transform St John’s into his official British residence there was a chance that the walls would bear the names of those killed in the present war; but they would be the names of German, not British, dead.

  Mendoza carefully placed the briefcase beside his feet and tested the strength of the chain that connected the briefcase to a handcuff around his left wrist. Yes, he was certain that there was no chance that he could become physically separated from his briefcase unless it was through his own decision. Mendoza pulled his collar away from his neck. He was painfully aware that he was sweating like a pig. He hoped that if anyone noticed they would put it down to the fact that it was an unusually hot day even for June. Mendoza was also genuinely nervous as he was going to present his plan detailing how the 1st LVE was going to relieve their SS comrades at the Beattie and Auchterlonie Bridges to none other than the Führer himself.

  The convoy of requisitioned farm and furniture removal lorries carrying Baldwin’s company of militiamen trundled up Frampton High Street towards the far end of the village. As the first lorry reached the top of the village the front wheel rolled on top of an anti-tank mine. The explosion tore off the wheel and ripped through the bottom of the cab, instantly killing the driver and his passenger. The force of the explosion flipped the lorry onto its left side, where it lay burning and smoking. The cries of the dead and dying men inside were abruptly cut short by the staccato sound of two MG 42 machine guns opening fire at point-blank range. After a brief burst of bullets to finish off any survivors the machine guns switched fire to the second lorry, where they shattered the windscreen, killed the driver and the passenger, and ripped into the rear compartment like a chainsaw.

  Baldwin sat in the cab of the third lorry, momentarily paralysed with fear.

  “Sir, what should we do?” his young driver asked frantically, with wide eyes of terror.

  His words shocked Baldwin out of his temporary stupor. “We’re under attack! Everyone out! Take cover in the houses!” he ordered.

  His militiamen piled out of the back of the lorry as the MG 42s started to search for targets in the third lorry. Baldwin got out of the cabin just in time, as rounds shattered the windscreen. His driver was not as quick and he died with a look of complete and utter surprise and disbelief on his face before he could open the door.

  The first militiaman reached a house, and as he turned the door handle the booby trap exploded and threw him back out into the middle of the road, where he landed in a burnt and bloody heap. His two companions who reached the door behind him were also thrown to the ground, and quickly bled to death
before anyone could help them.

  “Christ!” Baldwin’s eyes bulged wide with horror. “Watch out! The houses are booby-trapped!” Baldwin warned his men as he looked around frantically searching for a familiar face. “Sergeant Cannon!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Where’s Second Lieutenant Doxat?”

  “Dead, sir,” Cannon answered grimly.

  Baldwin thought quickly before he spoke. “All right. Sergeant Cannon, you’re in command of the Second Platoon.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Second Lieutenant Ball,” Baldwin shouted as he spotted one of his young platoon commanders, “on my command you will take the Third Platoon and assault the enemy position, the house at the far end of the village, by executing a right-flanking attack - understood?”

  “Yes… yes, sir,” Ball replied nervously.

  “Sergeant Cannon, on my command you will take the Second Platoon and assault the enemy position, the house at the far end of the village, by executing a left-flanking attack, understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” Cannon replied resolutely.

  “The First Platoon is combat ineffective. I will command Company Headquarters and we will provide covering fire, understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” Cannon and Ball chorused.

  “Company Headquarters! On my command provide covering fire! Second and Third Platoons, on my command, assault the enemy position. Open fire!” Baldwin ordered.

  “Here they come!” the first machine gunner said as the militiamen broke cover. He whooped like a Red Indian as he cut down the slowest three militiamen.

  “We won’t be able to hold them for long,” the second machine gunner said. “It’s time to bug out!”

  “What about the girls?”

  “We leave them as planned,” the second machine gunner said as he shot another two militiamen. “Gotcha!”

  “All right,” the first machine gunner said. “Let’s go!”

  Sergeant Cannon was the first militia man to reach the house. He leaned against the wall with his mouth hanging open like a panting dog as he caught his breath. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

  “Go!” he ordered. “No! Not through the door! It may be booby -!”

  The young militia man kicked open the front door and instantly disappeared in a huge haze of smoke and fire.

  By the time that Ball reached the house there was nothing left of Cannon and the Second Platoon but a pile of burnt and bloody bodies.

  Ball bent over at the waist as he was violently sick. He quickly recovered and wiped his vomit smeared mouth on the sleeve of his filthy black battledress.

  “Come on, lads,” he said. “You know the drill. Let’s do this by the numbers! Machine gunners!”

  Two machine gunners stepped forwards and fired their Schmessiers through the open door, spraying the far corners of the living room. Another two militiamen then stepped forward and threw in two hand grenades. “Grenade!” they both shouted as they hurriedly backed out of the room. As soon as the grenades exploded the two machine gunners again stepped forward and fired into the room. “Clear!” they both shouted in unison.

  “All right, lads!” Ball shouted. “You know the drill. We clear the house room by room, floor by floor! Let’s go!”

  Mendoza finished his presentation and sat down on his seat.

  “Excellent presentation, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, Alfredo.” Mendoza said with a smile. He looked at Major Alfredo Astray with genuine warmth and affection. They had served together since the Civil War began and Mendoza sincerely regretted that his actions were about to place his old friend firmly in the eye of the storm. But he couldn’t see that he had any choice in the matter. There was no viable alternative to the path that he was about to follow.

  “Sir! Sir!” Ball shouted from the top bedroom window. “Captain Baldwin! Come quickly!”

  Baldwin stood up from his position behind a lorry. “What is it?”

  “Come quickly, sir!” Ball said with a grim look on his sweat and smoke encrusted face. “We’ve freed two prisoners, sir!”

  “Alfredo, come outside with me for a cigarette break,” Mendoza said as he pulled out a cigarette case.

  “But, Colonel Mendoza,” Astray raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I don’t smoke and neither do you.”

  “You’ll start after what I tell you,” Mendoza said as he wrapped an arm around the shoulders of his old friend, and guided him out of the Hall.

  “Dirty bastards…” Baldwin said as he shook his head. “How could anyone do this?” He looked down at the two dirty and dishevelled girls that his men had recently rescued.

  Ball had ordered his men to search the house for anything that they could find to cover the girls’ nakedness. They were huddled together for warmth as well as for comfort with their arms wrapped around each other. Ball’s men had managed to find a large double duvet that they delicately draped around the shivering girls’ shoulders.

  Ball guided Baldwin into another room by the elbow. He was glad to see that his men had formed a protective circle around the girls, as if to shield them from further harm. “We found each of them tied up… tied up to the four corners of a bed, sir.” Ball found it physically difficult to speak. “They were each spread-eagled naked, sir. We found their torn and bloody underwear underneath the bed.” Ball gulped.

  “Those sadistic SS bastards cut off the dark haired one’s finger, sir. I think that they’ve been… I think that they’ve been…” Ball couldn’t finish the sentence. His eyes welled up and a large tear traced a track down his dirty cheek.

  “It’s all right, Tommy. It’s all right.” Baldwin put a protective hand on the young officer’s shoulder.

  “It’s enough to make you join the partisans!” Ball said furiously as he punched a fist into his other hand,

  “That’s enough, Tommy!” Baldwin warned with fire in his eyes. He whipped his head around to look through to the other bedroom to see if any of his militiamen had heard Ball’s hasty words. “That’s high treason you’re talking!”

  “High treason, sir? High treason against who, may I ask? Against Joyce’s government? Joyce is only the prime minister because the Germans support him. Joyce is the German’s creature, their slave, their plaything.” Ball spat out the words with contempt. “And the Germans did this, sir! Germans cut off that poor girl’s finger and Germans raped the girls! Those dirty German bastards! SS gear is strewn all over the house! Those Nazi bastards kidnapped these two girls and raped them for their own perverted pleasure! If we hadn’t turned up in time they would probably have killed them!” Ball was talking as fast as a runaway train. “I’m not a Fascist, sir! I joined the Militia because I thought that it was the best way to bring peace to our country. And as for high treason, sir?” Ball snorted with derision. “Maybe I am a traitor, sir, because it looks like I’ve been fighting for the wrong side.”

  “I will choose to ignore that last outburst, Second Lieutenant Ball; you’re tired and stressed out and you’ve been through a lot this morning. But I warn you not to express such sentiments in front of your men, and certainly not in front of the Colonel!” Baldwin said sternly. He thought before he spoke again. “We’ll discuss your concerns later, Tommy. Have the girls said anything?” Baldwin asked.

  Ball shook his head as he wiped his away his tearstained eyes with a blood smeared sleeve. “No, sir, they haven’t said anything. They’re too traumatised. The girls haven’t even told me their names.”

  Baldwin shook his head. “They don’t have to, Tommy. I know who they are. They’re two of my students at St John’s; Aurora Mendoza and Alice Roberts.”

  Ball put a hand to his mouth. “Alice Roberts? I went to school with her big brother, Angus. Well, Aurora’s father must be worried sick. We must contact him and let him know that the girls are safe. God knows how long the girls have been missing!”

  Baldwin clicked his fingers. “You’re right, Tommy! The Huns have already looted Frampton. I very much
doubt that we’ll find a phone here. Quick, get the men back onto the lorries; we’ll drive back to Hereward and I’ll contact Colonel Mendoza from our barracks.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ball saluted and hurried off to gather up his men.

  But Baldwin did not manage to make the phone call in time.

  Mendoza looked at his watch. It was five seconds to noon. “Alfredo, take cover!” he ordered.

  “Wha-?” Astray asked in confusion.

  At exactly twelve o’ clock a seven and a half pound mortar round landed on the roof of the main school building. Simultaneously, Mendoza’s briefcase exploded underneath the table where he had left it. The briefcase contained a one kilogram bomb fitted with a timed fuse, and when it exploded it killed or wounded everyone within a twenty five metre radius. For the next minute a further fifteen mortar rounds landed on the main school building, and shortly afterwards the entire building collapsed like a stack of cards.

  “Cease fire!” Lance Corporal Lopez ordered. As his men secured the mortar, Lopez jumped out of the back of the lorry and walked around to the front where he climbed into the passenger cab. “All right, Cruz. Let’s go,” he ordered. Within five minutes the lorry had arrived back at the 1st LVE barracks. By ten past twelve the mortar had been returned to the Armoury without anyone noticing that it had ever left. By a quarter past twelve Lopez and his men were lining up in the lunch queue. No one had noticed that Lopez and his men had even left the base.

  “Did it work?” Greg asked. He was sitting at a table in a dark corner of the ‘Prince of Wales’ pub, drinking a pint of Guinness.

  Baldwin nodded. “I think so. Better than we expected.” He took a sip of his Guinness. “By the time that we got back to Hereward the Huns were running around like a bunch of headless chickens.”

  “But did he manage to accomplish the mission?” Greg asked. Although there was no one sitting within earshot he was conscious that it was more prudent to talk carefully in code.

  “I don’t see how he can have failed,” Baldwin answered. “The building looks as if it has been flattened by the hand of God himself. There’s nothing left but a pile of ruins. The Fire Brigade are still searching for survivors but they haven’t found anyone yet, and I doubt that they will. Colonel Griffiths and his second in command, Major Bennett, have not returned, and they are both officially posted as missing. I’m sure that they’ve both been killed.”