Eagle Has Landed

by Jack Higgins

  ‘He was when I came in.’

  A shadow crossed Pamela Vereker’s face, ‘I wonder about that sometimes. Wonder if he somehow resents being out of it all now.’ She shook her head. ‘Men are strange creatures.’

  There were no obvious signs of life in the village except for smoke here and there from a chimney. For most people it was a working day. Ritter Neumann had split the assault group into three sections of five, all linked to each other by field telephone. He and Harvey Preston were deployed amongst the cottages with one section each. Preston was rather enjoying himself. He crouched by the wall at the side of the Studley Arms, revolver in hand and gave his section a hand signal to move forward. George Wilde leaned on the wall watching and his wife, Betty, appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Wish you was back in action then?’

  Wilde shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Men,’ she said in disgust. ‘I’ll never understand you.’

  The group in the meadow consisted of Brandt, Sergeant Sturm, Corporal Becker and Privates Jansen and Hagl. They were deployed opposite the old mill. It had not been in use for thirty years or more and there were holes in the roof where slates were missing.

  Usually the massive waterwheel stood still, but during the night the rushing water of the stream, flooded by many days of heavy rain, had exerted such pressure that the locking bar, already eaten away by rust, had snapped. Now the wheel was moving round again with an unearthly creaking and groaning, churning the water into foam.

  Steiner, who had been sitting in the jeep examining the wheel with interest, turned to watch Brandt correcting young Jansen’s technique in the prone firing position. Higher up the stream above the weir, Father Vereker and the two children also watched. George Wilde’s son, Graham, was eleven and considerably excited by the activities of the paratroops.

  ‘What are they doing now, Father?’ he asked Vereker.

  ‘Well, Graham, it’s a question of having the elbows in the right position,’ Vereker said. ‘Otherwise he won’t be able to get a steady aim. See, now he’s demonstrating the leopard crawl.’

  Susan Turner was bored with the entire proceedings and, hardly surprising in a five-year-old girl, was more interested in the wooden doll her grandfather had made for her the evening before. She was a pretty, fair-haired child, an evacuee from Birmingham. Her grandparents, Ted and Agnes Turner, ran the village Post Office and general store and small telephone exchange. She’d been with them for a year now.

  She crossed to the other side of the footbridge, ducked under the rail and squatted at the edge. The floodwaters rushed past not more than two feet below, brown and foam-flecked. She dangled the doll by one of its movable arms just above the surface, chuckling as water splashed across its feet. She leaned still lower, clutching the rail above her head, dipping the doll’s legs right into the water now. The rail snapped and with a scream she went head first into the water.

  Vereker and the boy turned in time to see her disappear. Before the priest could move she was swept under the bridge. Graham, more by instinct than courage, jumped in after her. At that point the water was usually no more than a couple of feet deep. During the summer he had fished there for tadpoles. But now all was changed. He grabbed the tail of Susan’s coat and hung on tight. His feet were scrabbling for the bottom, but there was no bottom and he cried out in fear as the current swept them towards the weir above the bridge.

  Vereker, frozen with horror, had not uttered a sound, but Graham’s cry alerted Steiner and his men instantly. As they all turned to see what the trouble was the two children went over the edge of the weir and slid down the concrete apron into the mill pool.

  Sergeant Sturm was on his feet and running for the edge of the pool, tearing off his equipment. He had no time to unzip his jump jacket. The children, with Graham still hanging on to Susan, were being carried relentlessly by the current into the path of the water-wheel.

  Sturm plunged in without hesitation and struck out towards them. He grabbed Graham by the arm. Brandt plunged waist deep into the water behind him. As Sturm pulled Graham in, the boy’s head dipped momentarily under the water. He panicked, kicking and struggling, releasing his grip on the girl. Sturm swung him round in an arc so that Brandt could catch hold of him, then plunged on after Susan.

  She had been saved by the enormous force of the current, which had kept her on the surface. She was screaming as Sturm’s hand fastened on her coat. He pulled her into his arms and tried to stand. But he went right under and when he surfaced again, he felt himself being drawn inexorably into the path of the waterwheel.

  He was aware of a cry above the roaring, turned and saw that his comrades on the bank had the boy, that Brandt was back in the water again and pushing towards him. Karl Sturm summoned up everything he had, every ounce of strength and hurled the child bodily through the air to the safety of Brandt’s arms. A moment later and the current took him in a giant hand and swept him in. The wheel thundered down and he went under.

  George Wilde had gone into the pub to get a bucket of water to swill the front step. He came out again in time to see the children go over the weir. He dropped the bucket, called out to his wife and ran across the road to the bridge. Harvey Preston and his section, who had also witnessed the mishap, followed.

  Except for being soaked to the skin, Graham Wilde seemed none the worse for his experience. The same held true for Susan, though she was crying hysterically. Brandt thrust the child into George Wilde’s arms and ran along the bank to join Steiner and the others, searching beyond the water wheel for Sturm. Suddenly he floated to the surface in calm water. Brandt plunged in and reached for him.

  Except for a slight bruise on the forehead there wasn’t a mark on him, but his eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. Brandt waded out of the water holding him in his arms, and everyone seemed to arrive at once. Vereker, then Harvey Preston and his men and finally, Mrs Wilde, who took Susan from her husband.

  ‘Is he all right?’ Vereker demanded.

  Brandt ripped the front of the jump jacket open and got a hand inside the blouse, feeling for the heart. He touched the small bruise on the forehead and the skin was immediately suffused with blood, the flesh and bone soft as jelly. In spite of this Brandt remained sufficiently in control to remember where he was.

  He looked up at Steiner and said in fair English, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but his skull is crushed.’

  For a moment, the only sound was the mill wheel’s eerie creaking. It was Graham Wilde who broke the silence, saying loudly, ‘Look at his uniform, Dad. Is that what the Poles wear?’

  Brandt, in his haste, had committed an irretrievable blunder. Beneath the open jump jacket was revealed Karl Sturm’s Fliegerbluse, with the Luftwaffe eagle badge on the right breast. The blouse had been pierced to take the red, white and black ribbon of the Iron Cross 2nd Class. On the left breast was the Iron Cross 1st Class, the ribbon for the Winter War, the paratrooper’s qualification badge, the silver wound badge. Under the jump jacket, full uniform, as Himmler himself had insisted.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Vereker whispered.

  The Germans closed round in a circle. Steiner said in German to Brandt, ‘Put Sturm in the jeep.’ He snapped his fingers at Jansen who was carrying one of the field telephones. ‘Let me have that. Eagle One to Eagle Two,’ he called. ‘Come in please.’

  Ritter Neumann and his section were at work out of sight on the far side of the cottages. He replied almost instantly. ‘Eagle Two, I hear you.’

  ‘The Eagle is blown,’ Steiner said. ‘Meet me at the bridge now.’

  He passed the phone back to Jansen. Betty Wilde said in bewilderment, ‘What is it, George? I don’t understand?’

  ‘They’re Germans,’ Wilde said. ‘I’ve seen uniforms like that before, when I was in Norway.’

  ‘Yes,’ Steiner said. ‘Some of us were there.’

  ‘But what do you want?’ Wilde said. ‘It doesn’t make sense. There’s nothing for you here.’


  ‘You poor stupid bastard,’ Preston jeered. ‘Don’t you know who’s staying at Studley Grange tonight? Mr Lord-God-Almighty-Winston-bloody-Churchill himself.’

  Wilde stared at him in astonishment and then he actually laughed. ‘You must be bloody cracked. I never heard such nonsense in all my life. Isn’t that so, Father?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s right.’ Vereker got the words out slowly and with enormous difficulty. ‘Very well, Colonel. Do you mind telling me what happens now? To start with, these children must be chilled to the bone.’

  Steiner turned to Betty Wilde. ‘Mrs Wilde, you may take your son and the little girl home now. When the boy has changed, take Susan in to her grandparents. They run the Post Office and general store, is this not so?’

  She glanced wildly at her husband, still bemused by the whole thing. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  Steiner said to Preston, ‘There are only six telephones in the general village area. All calls come through a switchboard at the Post Office and are connected by either Mr Turner or his wife.’

  ‘Shall we rip it out?’ Preston suggested.

  ‘No, that might attract unnecessary attention. Someone might send a repair man. When the child is suitably changed, send her and her grandmother up to the church. Keep Turner himself on the switchboard. If there are any incoming calls, he’s to say that whoever they want isn’t in or something like that. It should do for the moment. Now get to it and try not to be melodramatic about it.’

  Preston turned to Betty Wilde. Susan had stopped crying and he held out his hands and said with a dazzling smile, ‘Come on, beautiful, I’ll give you a piggyback.’ The child responded instinctively with a delighted smile. ‘This way, Mrs Wilde, if you’d be so kind.’

  Betty Wilde, after a desperate glance at her husband, went after him, holding her son by the hand. The rest of Preston’s section, Dinter, Meyer, Riedel and Berg followed a yard or two behind.

  Wilde said hoarsely, ‘If anything happens to my wife …’

  Steiner ignored him. He said to Brandt, ‘Take Father Vereker and Mr Wilde up to the church and hold them there. Becker and Jansen can go with you. Hagl, you come with me.’

  Ritter Neumann and his section had arrived at the bridge. Preston had just reached them and was obviously telling the Oberleutnant what had happened.

  Philip Vereker said, ‘Colonel, I’ve a good mind to call your bluff. If I walk off now you can’t afford to shoot me out of hand. You’ll arouse the whole village.’

  Steiner turned to face him. ‘There are sixteen houses or cottages in Studley Constable, Father. Forty-seven people in all and most of the men aren’t even here. They are working on any one of a dozen farms within a radius of five miles from here. Apart from that …’ He turned to Brandt. ‘Give him a demonstration.’

  Brandt took Corporal Becker’s Mk IIS Sten from him, turned and fired from the hip, spraying the surface of the mill pool. Fountains of water spurted high in the air, but the only sound was the metallic chattering as the bolt reciprocated.

  ‘Remarkable, you must admit,’ Steiner said. ‘And a British invention. But there’s an even surer way, Father. Brandt puts a knife under your ribs in just the right way to kill you instantly and without a sound. He knows how, believe me. He’s done it many times. Then we walk you to the jeep between us, set you up in the passenger seat and drive off with you. Is that ruthless enough for you?’

  ‘It will do to be going on with, I fancy,’ Vereker said.

  ‘Excellent.’ Steiner nodded to Brandt. ‘Get going, I’ll be up in a few minutes.’

  He turned and hurried towards the bridge, walking very fast so that Hagl had to trot to keep up with him. Ritter came to meet them. ‘Not so good. What happens now?’

  ‘We take over the village. You know what Preston’s orders are?’

  ‘Yes, he told me. What do you want us to do?’

  ‘Send a man up for the truck, then start at one end of the village and work your way through house by house. I don’t care how you do it, but I want everybody out and up in that church within fifteen to twenty minutes.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘A road block at each end of the village. We’ll make it look nice and official, but anyone who comes in stays.’

  ‘Shall I tell Mrs Grey?’

  ‘No, leave her for the time being. She needs to stay free to use the radio. I don’t want anyone to know she’s on our side until it’s absolutely necessary. I’ll see her myself later.’ He grinned. ‘A tight one, Ritter.’

  ‘We’ve known them before, Herr Oberst.’

  ‘Good.’ Steiner saluted formally. ‘Get to it then.’ He turned and started up the hill to the church.

  In the living room of the Post Office and General Stores Agnes Turner wept as she changed her granddaughter’s clothes. Betty Wilde sat beside her, hanging on tightly to Graham. Privates Dinter and Berg stood on either side of the door waiting for them.

  ‘I’m that feared, Betty,’ Mrs Turner said. ‘I’ve read such terrible things about them. Murdering and killing. What are they going to do to us?’

  In the tiny room behind the Post Office counter that held the switchboard, Ted Turner said in some agitation, ‘What’s wrong with my missus?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Harvey Preston said, ‘and there isn’t likely to be as long as you do exactly as you’re told. If you try shouting a message into the phone when someone rings through. Any tricks at all.’ He took the revolver from his webbing holster. ‘I won’t shoot you—I’ll shoot your wife and that’s a promise.’

  ‘You swine,’ the old man said. ‘Call yourself an Englishman?’

  ‘A better one than you, old man.’ Harvey struck him across the face with the back of his hand. ‘Remember that.’ He sat back in the corner, lit a cigarette and picked up a magazine.

  Molly and Pamela Vereker had finished at the altar and used up what remained of the reeds and marsh grasses Molly had brought to create a display by the font. Pamela said, ‘I know what it needs. Ivy leaves. I’ll get some.’

  She opened the door, went out through the porch and plucked two or three handfuls of leaves from the vine which climbed the tower at that spot. As she was about to go into the church again, there was a squeal of brakes and she turned to see the jeep draw up. She watched them get out, her brother and Wilde, and at first concluded that the paratroopers had merely given them a lift. Then it occurred to her that the huge sergeant-major was covering her brother and Wilde with the rifle he held braced against his hip. She would have laughed at the absurdity of it had it not been for Becker and Jansen who followed the others through the lychgate carrying Sturm’s body.

  Pamela retreated through the partly opened door, bumping into Molly. ‘What is it?’ Molly demanded.

  Pamela hushed her. ‘I don’t know, but something’s wrong—very wrong.’

  Half-way along the path, George Wilde attempted to make a break for it, but Brandt, who had been expecting such a move, deftly tripped him. He leaned over Wilde, prodding him under the chin with the muzzle of the Ml. ‘All right, Tommi, you’re a brave man. I salute you. But try anything like that again and I blow your head off.’

  Wilde, helped by Vereker, scrambled to his feet and the party moved on towards the porch. Inside Molly looked at Pamela in consternation. ‘What’s it mean?’

  Pamela hushed her again. ‘Quick, in here,’ she said and opened the sacristy door. They slipped inside, she closed it and slid home the bolt. A moment later they heard voices clearly.

  Vereker said, ‘All right, now what?’

  ‘You wait for the Colonel,’ Brandt told him. ‘On the other hand, I don’t see why you shouldn’t fill in the time by doing what’s right for poor old Sturm. As it happens, he was a Lutheran, but I don’t suppose it matters. Catholic or Protestant, German or English. It’s all the same to the worms.’

  ‘Bring him to the Lady Chapel,’ Vereker said.

  The footsteps died away and Molly and Pamela crouched against
the door, looked at each other. ‘Did he say German?’ Molly said. ‘That’s crazy.’

  Footsteps echoed hollowly on the flags of the porch and the outer door creaked open. Pamela put a finger to her lips and they waited.

  Steiner paused by the font and looked around him, tapping his swagger stick against his thigh. He hadn’t bothered to remove his beret this time. ‘Father Vereker,’ he called. ‘Down here, please.’ He moved to the sacristy door and tried the handle. On the other side the two girls eased back in alarm. As Vereker limped down the aisle, Steiner said, ‘This seems to be locked. Why? What’s in there?’

  The door had never been locked to Vereker’s knowledge because the key had been lost for years. That could only mean that someone had bolted it from the inside. Then he remembered that he had left Pamela working on the altar when he had gone to watch the paratroopers. The conclusion was obvious.

  He said clearly, ‘It is the sacristy, Herr Oberst. Church registers, my vestments, things like that. I’m afraid the key is over at the presbytery. Sorry for such inefficiency. I suppose you order things better in Germany?’

  ‘You mean we Germans have a passion for order, Father?’ Steiner said. ‘True. I, on the other hand, had an American mother although I went to school in London. In fact, lived there for many years. Now, what does that mixture signify?’

  ‘That it is highly unlikely that your name is Carter.’

  ‘Steiner, actually. Kurt Steiner.’

  ‘What of, the SS?’

  ‘It seems to have a rather morbid fascination for you people. Do you imagine all German soldiers serve in Himmler’s private army?’

  ‘No, perhaps it is just that they behave as if they do.’

  ‘Like Sergeant Sturm, I suppose.’ Vereker could find nothing to say to that. Steiner added, ‘For the record, we are not SS. We are Fallschirmjäger. The best in the business, with all due respect to your Red Devils.’

  Vereker said, ‘So, you intend to assassinate Mr Churchill at Studley Grange tonight?’