The Command

by Christopher Nicole

  Murdoch laid her on the wing. ‘Jennie,’ he shouted. ‘Jennie, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she called back, ‘but Sergeant Upjohn is dead.’

  He could see now, from on top, that the bullets had ripped through the roof of the machine, immediately in front of where she had been sitting. It was horrible of him to feel relief, but he wanted to shout for joy. ‘Get out,’ he shouted. ‘This thing is going to go any minute.’

  ‘Half a mo,’ she gasped, and he knew she was moving the dead man’s body from in front of her. He dropped his legs through the window to help her, and as he did so, the plane gave a lurch and sank. Margriet screamed as she floated off. Standing grabbed her. Murdoch’s leg was caught for a moment, and he went down with the plane, his eyes open, staring at Jennie, capless, straddling Upjohn’s dead body.

  He had no breath left, kicked instinctively, and rose through the window, broke the surface, saw that she was not there, took a long breath, and dived again. The plane had struck the bottom; they were only in about fifteen feet of water. But it was fifteen feet too many. He gained the window, upside down, looked inside, saw her unmoved, her face expressionless, only the traces of green mucus around her mouth and nose revealing where she had reached for breath.

  Her hand drifted towards him, and he caught it and pulled. Her leg had also caught, but now it came free, and she floated out of the window with him. Lungs bursting, he gained the surface, turned to her. She lay on her face in the water, motionless, and she was starting to sink again. He grabbed her hair and her arm and twisted her on her back, looked around. The beach was not far away, and Standing was nearly there, towing Margriet. Sergeant Withie’s body had floated away. The two men inside the plane were there forever.

  Murdoch swam, on his back, using his feet, his hands tucked into Jennie’s armpits. His uniform felt like lead and his boots seemed filled with water. But he forced himself onwards, and after a surprisingly short time his feet touched sand. He stood up, took Jennie in his arms, and carried her ashore. Margriet, water dripping from her clothes and her hair, sat on the sand and watched him. Standing stood beside him.

  He laid Jennie on the sand, knelt beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Standing said.

  ‘Yes,’ Murdoch said. ‘So am I.’

  *

  A Dutch patrol found them half an hour later, told them they were on the island of Walcheren. They were taken across the island, through windswept trees and empty countryside, to the company headquarters and given blankets to wrap themselves in while their clothes dried. The soldiers also brought in Jennie’s body, and that afternoon she was buried. There was no marker on the grave. The soldiers were solemn, but their thoughts were far away. Jennie was just a statistic. News had been received of the German raid on Rotterdam. A hundred Heinkel one-elevens had been dispatched to blast the city out of existence. Apparently the High Command had immediately offered to surrender, but it had been too late to recall all of the planes.

  ‘They say the city has been devastated,’ the Captain told Murdoch. ‘That there are more than thirty thousand dead. It is not war. It is mass destruction.’

  Which is another word for war, Murdoch thought. He went outside and looked to the north. Rotterdam was less than fifty miles away, and it was possible to see the smoke pall. As if it mattered. He had never felt to crushed in his life before. Jennie had been so unassuming, so giving without thought of reward, and so loving. And like Ralph, she was now dead.

  While he was alive. And he was Murdoch Mackinder. He was not a man who could give up and weep; his reputation would not allow him to do that. He could only fight with hatred in his heart, as he had done against the Mahsuds. And he was determined to do just that.

  ‘I must get to the south, to the British army,’ he told the Captain.

  ‘It would be best for you to go to Middelburg,’ the Captain said. ‘There you will get a train, or a boat, down the canal to Vlissengen. Belgium is just across the Scheldt.’

  He gave them his own car, first thing on Thursday morning, and they drove into the city. The three of them had hardly spoken since the crash, although Margriet had wept a lot. She was suffering from shock, Murdoch supposed. Well, they all were. And he was suffering from guilt as well. Jennie had wanted to stay behind, and he had forced her to come. Oh, Jennie!

  Middelburg, all of Walcheren, indeed, seemed untouched by the war, save for the anxious faces of both civilians and soldiers, as they looked across the canal at South Beveland, and that pall of smoke on the northern horizon. They were taken to army headquarters, where a Colonel met them.

  ‘We have surrendered,’ he told Murdoch, his face ashen. ‘It was announced yesterday evening.’

  ‘Oh, God damn,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘We are under orders to disarm and arrest all British and French troops on Dutch soil.’

  ‘Are you going to do that?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘I have not surrendered, General,’ the Colonel said proudly. ‘My orders were to hold Middelburg, and I will do that as long as possible. But you must leave immediately, for Vlissengen. I will telephone the commander there, and tell him to have a boat ready for you to cross the river into Belgium.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Murdoch said.

  They were given breakfast. Margriet could not eat, she was so terrified at learning the news of the Dutch surrender. She just stared at Murdoch with huge eyes. After the meal they were given the use of a military car, and Murdoch and Standing were supplied with Dutch greatcoats to conceal their English uniforms.

  ‘Does this make us into spies, sir?’ Standing asked.

  He was joking, but Murdoch thought about it. ‘Given the calibre of the enemy,’ he said, ‘if we spot any Germans we had better take these off.’

  ‘We are going to be shot,’ Margriet said. ‘Oh, we are going to be shot. I wish I had gone home. I came to you, Murdoch. To you. To be spurned. I risked my life, for you. To be spurned.’ She began to weep, while Standing stared at her in amazement.

  ‘She will be in trouble, if we are caught,’ Murdoch told him.

  They reached Vlissengen just on noon, bumped over the cabled streets, and looked at the Scheldt. It was still Holland on the other side, but the Belgian border was only a few miles further on.

  ‘I never saw a better sight,’ Standing said.

  The car took them to the military headquarters.

  ‘Lieutenant-General Mackinder and party,’ Murdoch told the Captain who greeted them. ‘Colonel Hulder is expecting us.’

  ‘Ah, yes, General.’ The Captain looked unhappy. ‘The Colonel is waiting for you.’

  They were taken upstairs and into an office, where a short, somewhat stout man stood behind his desk. He saluted as Murdoch entered. ‘General Mackinder! It is a great pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘I’m quite pleased to be here myself,’ Murdoch agreed. ‘Have you a boat waiting?’

  ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible, General.’

  Murdoch gazed at him.

  ‘I am under specific instructions to place you under arrest, sir.’

  Margriet uttered a moan.

  ‘We had been given to understand that you would not implement those orders,’ Murdoch said, as quietly as he could.

  ‘Unfortunately, sir, I have no choice. Upon receipt of the message saying you were on your way here, I telephoned my superior, and he told me that under no circumstances were you to be allowed to escape. It appears that the German general commanding the troops in this area has specifically said that you are not to be allowed to leave the country. He has threatened reprisals if that is done, sir. I have no choice.’

  Margriet turned and ran for the door, but it was filled with soldiers. Murdoch and Standing looked at each other.

  ‘I would beg you to do nothing rash, gentlemen,’ the Colonel requested. ‘I would be obliged if you would lay your sidearms on the table.’

  ‘I think we had better,’ Murdoch said. He released his holster flap, placed
the revolver on the table. Standing did likewise.

  ‘Why don’t you fight them?’ Margriet shrieked, shaking herself against the hands holding her arms. ‘Don’t you realize that they are going to shoot us?’

  Murdoch could understand her fear. But actually she was lucky in that she was being taken to her own husband — it could only be Reger who had given such an order. No doubt it would earn her a beating, but nothing more than that. While he...a prison camp in Germany. That was a deadening thought. Save that surely Churchill would have him exchanged? Far more deadening was the smile which would be on Reger’s face, because he would have won, after all, this round. And who could tell it would not be the final round? At least between them.

  Standing was taken away. Murdoch and Margriet were also separated, and Murdoch was placed in a car, with an armed Dutch lieutenant beside him, and driven across to the island of Beveland and thence on to the mainland. Everywhere was evidence of the Dutch surrender, soldiers standing around in groups, waiting to be disarmed by the Germans, civilians standing around in no less anxious groups, wondering what was going to happen to them. Equally, everywhere was evidence of the Dutch defeat, shattered railways and bridges, while there were German troops everywhere, always advancing. The journey took a long time, although it was not much more than fifty kilometres, and it was dusk before they reached Breda, which was apparently their destination. The car had been stopped several times, and the Lieutenant had had to show his papers. Now, on the outskirts of the city Murdoch was formally handed over to a German Lieutenant. The young man was very formal and polite, and entertained him to a good dinner. When he asked after Margriet, however, as he had not seen her since leaving Vlissengen, the young man shrugged.

  ‘I do not know, Herr General,’ he said. ‘No doubt you will discover Frau von Reger’s whereabouts in due course.’

  After the meal Murdoch was driven into Breda itself. The houses were mostly shuttered, and there had been considerable damage. Only German soldiers were to be seen, their bicycles and motorbikes parked everywhere; the swastika drooped lazily from the town hall. Here the occupying regiment had established its headquarters, and Murdoch was taken upstairs to meet the commanding officer. He entered the office and checked, as he found himself gazing at his son.

  ‘General Mackinder,’ Paul von Reger threw out his arm in a Nazi salute. ‘Heil Hitler.’

  Murdoch gave a conventional British salute. Paul looked very smart in his olive-green uniform, his Iron Cross at his neck; Murdoch realized that he had to be very nearly forty, but was the same tall, spare figure he remembered from 1933.

  ‘The fortunes of war,’ Paul said.

  ‘Yes,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  Murdoch said down.

  ‘Cigarette?’ Paul asked.

  ‘I don’t, thank you.’

  Paul lit one himself, sat behind his desk. ‘I don’t know why you have been brought here, General. It is the command of my father, you understand. He will be joining us later tonight.’

  ‘Ah,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘No doubt he wishes to ensure that you are being properly treated,’ Paul suggested. ‘It is sad when old friends have to fight each other.’

  ‘Quite,’ Murdoch agreed.

  ‘Especially when...’ Paul hesitated, glanced at him. ‘It is not like 1918.’

  ‘No,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘I mean, there is no resistance, anywhere. It is incredible to us. We have advanced so far, so fast...in the south it is even worse. Always we expect a counter-attack, as at the Marne in 1914. But there has been no counter-attack. We cannot understand this.’ He smiled. ‘It makes us nervous.’

  ‘There will be a counter-attack,’ Murdoch promised him.

  Paul shrugged. ‘If it does not happen soon, it will be too late. Perhaps they need you in command, General.’

  He was clearly serious rather than poking fun. ‘I wish I was,’ Murdoch agreed.

  There was a knock on the door and a Lieutenant appeared, to tell Paul something in German. Paul frowned, stood up, replied.

  ‘It is very odd,’ he said in English. ‘But...my mother is here. In Holland. It is very odd.’

  Murdoch also stood up, gazed at Margriet as she was brought in.

  ‘Mother?’ Paul asked. Margriet’s normally immaculate clothes had been ruined by their immersion and drying, and still showed traces of blood. Equally her normally immaculate coiffeur was a matted mess. There was no calmness left in her features.

  ‘Paul,’ she cried, and ran forward to throw herself into his arms. ‘Oh, Paul, I had expected your father.’

  ‘He will be here, Mother. But...did he know you were coming?’

  Margriet looked over Paul’s shoulder at Murdoch, who gave a hasty shake of his head. The situation was too complicated at that moment for the best course of action to be decided — in which case it was best to keep as quiet as possible until they discovered how much the other side already knew.

  ‘Why, your father knows all things,’ Margriet said, disengaging herself and gazing openly at Murdoch.

  ‘Please sit down,’ Paul said. He spoke to the waiting Lieutenant, and the boy saluted and hurried off. ‘I have ordered coffee. Now, Mother, do sit down. You look dreadful.’

  Margriet lowered herself into a chair. ‘Is your father here?’

  ‘Not at the moment. He is on his way. I expect him any minute. In fact...’ They could hear the sound of a car engine.

  Margriet clutched the arm of her chair and stared at Murdoch. Who could only again attempt to use his eyes to urge cautious patience for as long as possible.

  They stood up together to face the door, which was opened by Paul himself. ‘Herr Count General!’ He stood to attention, saluted.

  Reger’s return salute was perfunctory. He stepped into the room, looked at Murdoch, and then at Margriet. ‘Close the door,’ he told his son.

  Paul obeyed, looking mystified.

  ‘Adultress,’ Reger said to his wife. Not satisfied with betraying me before our marriage, you do so afterwards as well.’

  Margriet’s nostrils dilated.

  ‘You are taken, in flagrante delicto. But, stupid woman, you would have been found out anyway,’ Reger said. ‘Did you suppose you could escape so easily? Someone who knows you saw you on the train, going towards Holland. Three days before the invasion. Did I not know better, I could accuse you of treachery.’

  Paul was looking from one to the other, more mystified than ever.

  ‘Have you nothing to say?’ Reger shouted, and suddenly slapped her face, with such force that she fell. Paul caught her just in time to stop her hitting the floor, set her back on her feet. Blood dripped from her cut lips.

  ‘Father?’ Paul asked in alarm.

  ‘That was uncalled for,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘And you,’ Reger snarled, turning to face him. ‘You call yourself an officer and a gentleman.’

  Murdoch had had to make a quick decision. Margriet was obviously going to have to suffer, but the important thing was to steer Reger away from the treachery issue. ‘Your wife came to me, Reger,’ he said evenly, ‘because she had nowhere else to go. She was sickened by you and your Nazis, and she took the opportunity of being close to the Dutch frontier to leave you. I was flying her to England and political asylum when we were shot down. I can give you my word, as an officer and a gentleman, that we have not committed adultery.’

  ‘Your word,’ Reger sneered. ‘I do not give a damn for your word. You are a liar, and a man who takes other men’s wives to bed. So, now you will give me satisfaction.’ He slapped Murdoch’s face in turn.

  ‘No!’ Margriet screamed.

  Paul looked more astounded than ever.

  ‘Well?’ Reger demanded. Will you meet me? Or will you prove yourself a coward after all, for all those pretty ribbons you wear?’

  ‘Father,’ Paul protested. ‘General Mackinder is a prisoner of war. You cannot challenge him to a duel.’

/>   ‘Bah,’, Reger said. ‘No one as yet knows he has been taken prisoner. No one who matters. I will have satisfaction. This man has plagued my bed for too long. I will have satisfaction.’

  ‘Well,’ Murdoch said, licking blood from his lips and deciding to allow his simmering anger to take over. ‘If that is what you wish...’

  ‘No,’ Margriet screamed again. ‘He will kill you, Murdoch. He is a practised swordsman.’

  ‘Be quiet, woman,’ Reger growled. ‘I will deal with you, after you have seen your paramour die. I will take every inch of skin from your ass. That is what I am going to do.’

  ‘We did not sleep together,’ Margriet shouted. ‘I wanted to. But he already had a mistress.’

  ‘You are lying. And it does not matter. You have confessed your guilty intent.’

  ‘My intent,’ she cried. Not his. I am the guilty one. Do you want to know the real reason I fled to him?’

  ‘Margriet!’ Murdoch snapped. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I took your plans with me,’ Margriet said. ‘I betrayed you, Reger. I betrayed you, and I betrayed Germany. It was my pleasure to do so, for all the hurt and humiliation you have made me suffer for forty years.’

  Reger stared at her with his mouth open. So did Paul. ‘You did that, Mother?’ the boy said at last.

  ‘Yes,’ she shouted. ‘Yes.’ And gave a bitter laugh. ‘No one believed me.’

  Murdoch said nothing. It was too evident that her menfolk did believe her.

  ‘Then you will be shot.’ Reger said. ‘I command you to be shot. Now. Now!’ he screamed at her.

  ‘Father!’ Paul protested.

  Now,’ Reger shouted again.

  ‘There has been no trial...’

  ‘Trial? I do not need a trial. I am commanding general of this area. I am her husband. I am her accuser and her judge, and her jury, and I condemn her to death. Take her into that courtyard and fill her with bullets. Now. I want to see her die.’ Murdoch realized that the man was not quite sane, at this moment. Then he turned on Murdoch. ‘I will deal with you afterwards, adulterer.’

  Chapter Fifteen: Dunkirk 1940