by Soren Petrek
Soon, this war will all be over, Gabrielle thought as she dropped slices of carrot into the stock she was preparing from last night’s chicken. There were shortages everywhere, but in the rural farm areas a little bartering could get you most of the staples. Sugar and coffee were almost impossible to find and were reserved for special occasions. Perhaps the rationing would be over soon. The townspeople spoke about the coming invasion with increasing frequency. That would be a special occasion. Everyone expected it, but had no idea where or when it would happen. She heard that more German troops were being moved into the coastal areas near Normandy, a possible landing area for the Allies. Others thought the Calais area would be the target, or the south of France across from the allied controlled areas of Africa. She wondered if the fighting would ever come to her little town. It held no strategic importance whatsoever. That’s fine with me, she thought. Not even the Resistance groups did anything in Oradour sur Glane. As far as she knew, there was no Maquis group functioning within, or even related to the town. She supposed some men might be active but word gets around and there had been no talk of any such activity. It was as if there had been an unspoken understanding among the townspeople to stay out of the Resistance and hope the Germans would continue to ignore their little village.
Spring was turning to summer and perhaps all of this would be past soon enough. Gabrielle vowed to visit the Toche family as soon as the Germans were gone and it was safe to travel. It had been almost five years. What a beauty Madeleine must be now. Who knows, maybe she has a young man. She could even be married for all she knew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Teach was covered in black from head to toe. His face was smeared with grease to hide his pale complexion from the sentries on the beach and elsewhere. He glanced around at the men with him. These were British commandos and their peerless reputation as soldiers preceded them. He had been on a couple of missions with this group, and after some skirmishes with the Germans he had been accepted. He was an outsider, though, from SOE and not regular army. He sensed the men viewed him with some distrust, knowing that he was some kind of intelligence officer. As in all wars, men on the ground often thought intelligence men were suspect and untrustworthy. Perhaps there were too many stories of double agents and spies to engender much faith. Additionally, more times than not the information that they supplied was incomplete or downright wrong and got men killed. Teach was different. He kept his head in combat and showed true courage. He fought alongside them and kept his end up. They knew that once upon a time he had been regular army and that was good enough.
Teach moved silently into the shadows as the remainder of the team buried the small rubber raft that had carried them from the submarine offshore. He knew this was a mission of vital importance. His team was scouting drop zones for the Paratroops and making contact with a few select indigenous Resistance groups. Their jobs would be crucial before the invasion. Their objective was to frustrate the enemy response as much as possible and then to fight openly when the time came. He knew that Madeleine would not be among them, not even by a chance encounter. She was not a Maquis soldier. He felt the hollow place inside him tug at his feelings. He hadn’t known what to expect of his emotions when he left Madeleine those long months ago. This was all new to him. He had relationships in the past, one quite serious that had simply dwindled as the heat of passion went out. This was completely different. If anything, his longing for Madeleine increased with each day. It grew with the promise that perhaps the war would be over soon and they would be reunited. He didn’t entertain the thought that she would forget him. He didn’t care. They were in love, a love born during dark and dangerous times. If it could survive the war, it would survive forever.
Teach checked his gear and motioned to the men to do a weapons check. Caution and care flashed through his mind. He winced involuntarily when he thought of the dressing down he had just received from Colonel Jones on just that very issue. His last mission had been quite hairy and he and his men had narrowly escaped. Teach had carried one of his wounded for miles to meet the raft they used to escape from France. Clearly, he had been careless. His Colonel had put his face an inch away from Teach’s so that their noses almost touched. The lambasting he had received was right out of the, “Hard Case Guide to British Military Discipline.” The last words echoed in his mind.
“Do you understand, Captain? You put yourself and your men in a position to be discovered again, and I will personally make it my life’s unending task to make yours a hell on the earth.” His Colonel was shaking with rage, spit flying from his mouth.
“Yes, sir!”
The Colonel moved back a pace or two and the instant Teach spoke he was right back in his face.
“Do not speak! When I want to hear your voice, I’ll tell you, Laddie! Now get out.”
Teach saluted, spun smartly on his heel, and marched from the room.
Teach was ashamed and searched his mind for a reason for the near failure of the mission. After a few days rest and early briefing on his current mission, Teach learned that his Colonel had put him in for a citation and a field promotion. He heard the news with disbelief. He was a major now, and when the Colonel pinned his new insignia on his uniform he said loudly to all assembled, “Major Teach, your King and country are proud of you and I am proud of you.” His words had given Teach a glimpse into the difficulties of command. He understood the anguish that some commanders felt, sending men to fight, often sending them into certain death. The anguish was beyond description. He understood the harsh words and silently vowed not to let his Colonel or his men down. The thought of death paled in comparison to the horror of making mistakes and getting men killed.
Teach brought his mind back to the task at hand. I will be patient, he promised himself. I can’t single handedly win the war so that I can get back to Madeleine sooner. For a brief instant he wondered what would be left of her after so much killing. He didn’t know many specifics, but her success was common knowledge among the ranking staff at SOE. He smiled. She was amazing. He had seen it immediately, and apparently she saw something in him. His doubts were only for himself and not her, but he would be damned if he let another man have her.
Teach glanced down the beach in both directions. He signaled his men and they silently ghosted over the small dunes and disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
General Heinz Lammerding held his head in his hands as he shuffled reports around on the antique desk. All bad news, he thought as he slowly shook his head. He pawed through a couple of sheets, catching a phrase or word here and there. It didn’t help. The bad news remained the same. He finally gave in to the inevitability of it all. He grabbed a cigarette from a wooden box on the desk, lighting it from an ornate crystal desk lighter. He spun in his chair and looked out the tall windows behind his desk and out onto the manicured lawns. He would miss the beautiful Chateau he had commandeered upon his arrival in France. A regular army Colonel moved out without a word of protest. After all, he was a general and led the infamous Das Reich division. Its status was legendary. Which made carrying out his plan for the future that much easier.
He’d known for a long time, starting during his posting at the Russian front, that there would be no victory in this war. Once the Nazi advance had been stalled, there seemed to be an ever-increasing number of Russian soldiers pushing them back towards Germany. His troops had endured months of cold stalemate punctuated by periods of absolute chaos. Both sides had committed atrocities in plain view of the opposing forces. His men were hard and callous and saw little distinction between combatants and civilians. One of his elite regiments, der Fuhrer, was particularly savage. Things were different on the Russian front, desperate and brutal. There were no rules of war and people died. He hoped that the relocation from the front would calm his men’s frazzled nerves and restore at least part of them to a more civilized state. He didn’t envy the Allied generals preparing to throw green men into the Atlantic wall against
seasoned veterans. His Das Reich SS would chew into them like the starving wolves of winter they were.
His memory went back to the heady days at the beginning of the war and how the German Blitzkrieg onslaught overpowered their enemies. They conquered at will. Initially he had been in favor of at least repatriating German lands sacrificed in the armistice following the First World War. He supported some acquisition of additional territories, but knew it was arrogant and disastrous to have attacked Russia. Hitler had been intoxicated with victory and believed his own propaganda. The disorganized rabble that had been the Russian army melded into an astonishingly brutal and determined steel-hard wall of hate. It pushed relentlessly to drive Germany from Russian soil. Stalin spent any number of men to achieve victory. His generals carried out his commands with religious fervor. Their sheer numbers would ensure victory. Even women served and fought. Many were the best snipers Stalin commanded.
On the other side of the channel the indomitable British, now fortified by the United States, prepared for invasion. Field Marshal Ernst Rommel had personally seen to the fortification of the Atlantic wall. His preparations were so awe inspiring that they led to the term, ‘Fortress Europe’. The defenses were impressive but Lammerding knew they couldn’t hold forever. He had seen first hand the courage of American soldiers in the first war. They were coming, these sons of the men he had fought at the Marne. In addition to their bravery, they fought with a conviction that they could not be defeated. American courage always flirted with reckless abandonment. They were well provisioned and believed in the cause of freedom. It would be one hell of a fight, and the pivotal battle of the Twentieth Century.
Lammerding stood and walked over to a sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee, glancing into the mirror on the wall. It was an act of reassurance and a justification for his criminal behavior. He had managed, with the help of a couple of his most trusted officers, to divert some gold headed for the coffers of the Third Reich. He didn’t care that it had been stolen from the French people; to the victors went the spoils. It had been that way since Roman times, the adage attributed to Rome’s conquering legions. There had been such large scale looting throughout the war that his little nest egg seemed modest in comparison. How many others had fortunes waiting in Swiss accounts to ease their disappointment at the prospect of the loss of another war? He didn’t care as long as he had some. His stash had grown to approximately half a ton. His orders had been to use whatever means necessary to disrupt Resistance efforts. He knew that meant the terror tactics he employed without compunction. The orders had given him a free hand to collect as many valuables as possible and he preferred gold. Gold, you could spend anywhere. Jewels required appraisals and questions and negotiations. Gold was worth what the world market dictated. Eventually he was satisfied with what he had collected. He had committed no crime in his eyes. His fellow SS officers had been hedging their bets all over the European theater. There was hidden gold, precious art and antiquities everywhere. His would be hidden where he could easily get to it, not at the bottom of some lake or the Mediterranean. The deed was done. All he had to do now was get the gold to Zurich. All of the necessary arrangements had been made. Capture meant summary execution, although he was confident punishment would be forestalled until after the invasion. He smiled at the thought. He couldn’t claim that the gold had fallen into enemy hands or had been lost during battle. His actions would be clear. His excuse would be that he had moved the gold to Switzerland for safekeeping. Of course he should have moved it to Germany, where he was sure it would be “redirected” into the hands of others, meaning that he’d keep none. It was worth the risk involved. He had lived with the specter of death in two wars, and now as a General commanded by a lunatic. Besides, he told Hitler what he wanted to hear and avoided any contact with those who conspired against the madman. No, he would not be caught. His junior officers would never reveal anything. More than likely, if anyone got too close or suspected the truth, they would be killed. He felt a little like Roman generals of old, operating with a degree of impunity afforded by the command and loyalty of thousands of soldiers.
He remembered all too well the deep wounds Germany suffered at the hands of the victors following the first war, the scarcity of money, the inflation, and the suffering of the people. What better breeding ground for the kind of fascist takeover Hitler had orchestrated? The people thirsted for revenge and blindly followed the man that promised it to them.
Lammerding paced around the ornate room, his mind shifting from issue to issue. The real question was, how to move the gold? The old tactician in him knew that the time to do so was when the invasion started. Everyone would be moving at top speed towards the fighting. That would be a perfect time to send his gold in the other direction. He and his men would stay and fight while one of his officers transported the gold to the railroad station and sent it to Switzerland disguised as documents. His agents in Switzerland would offload the gold and spirit it away into the impenetrable darkness of the Swiss banking system. His assistants would be well compensated with more than enough for a life of ease after this madness was over. He intended to fight until surrender to the United States was unavoidable. He would make sure that he and his men were as far away from Russian troops as possible. His retirement didn’t include torture and an indefinite stay in a Russian Gulag. He would slip away just prior to surrender and make his way to South America, beyond the reach of extradition or discovery. He would be comfortable with his young wife and his gold. He had been making careful preparations for her departure. Planning was one of his strengths. All he had to do now was wait. Patience was another strength learned in the trenches and in the snow of the Russian front. Never be in a hurry when you could avoid it. Haste usually meant mistakes. There could be no mistakes now. He picked up the phone and put the plan into action.
At the other end of the line, Major Kampfe listened intently to his general’s instructions. He simply answered yes when asked if he understood. He had taken orders from this man for so long that he followed them without hesitation or question. He had an additional motivation for following the general’s orders but would have carried them out whether he got a cut of the gold or not. The pay was a bonus, the general had privately explained, and he had assured the major that he would certainly earn it when the Americans came.
Kampfe smiled ruefully as he placed the phone back in its cradle. He knew he was getting the assignment because the General trusted him, he who had collected much of the gold at his direction. He came upon several of the bars of gold while looting and harassing the French. Other amounts were discovered through systematic pillaging taken from civilian homes, businesses, and in some instances, banks themselves. It was an effective tactic to keep people in line and the fear of assisting the Resistance very real in their minds. Any infraction was met with execution in as public a manner as possible. He felt justified to do whatever was necessary in the furtherance of the Nazi cause. He had recently intensified his efforts at the direction of the General and collected even more gold. Every soldier expected invasion soon and the window of opportunity was closing daily. The General confided in him that he was in possession of additional gold that was given to him for safekeeping. He had wondered if that had been the General’s biased version of events, but Kampfe didn’t care; he would share in the spoils. Besides, who was going to question the motives of the commander of an entire division with the reputation Das Reich enjoyed? Their real weapons were brutality and fear. He scoffed; this was nothing compared to what had happened in Russia. He wasn’t about to fight every dirty French peasant with a pitchfork that got a dose of bravery once the Allies invaded. He felt contempt for them. They were like sheep, conquered and subject to the will of the Third Reich. He had personally overseen the execution of any who had offered even the slightest resistance. He felt no remorse killing young or old. Fear was his ally and he would exploit it to its greatest advantage.
Sitting in the small room that served as his offi
ce, Kampfe considered what the General had told him. The plan was simple, mark the gold containers as ‘records’ and put them on the convoy headed towards the front, then spirit them away at the opportune moment to a nearby railroad station and put them on a train bound for Zurich. As for his role, a more important part of the plan was to survive the battle and live to enjoy his share. He wondered whether he should tell his friend, Major Diekmann, about the specifics of the general’s plans. No, he thought. If the General wanted Diekmann to know he would tell him personally. Diekmann was his friend and a man of unwavering loyalty to the Reich. He was a member of the elite der Fuhrer regiment. Diekmann was brutal to the enemy, civilian and soldier alike, but brave and resolute when it came to the concerns of the Division. Kampfe had shared with Diekmann many a leave and uncounted bottles of whatever was handy. Perhaps Diekmann liked his drink a little more than was appropriate but it had never interfered with his command duties.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“The der Fuhrer regiment, Horsty? You think they have something to do with stolen gold?” Willi asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette as Stenger drove along the steep winding road.
“Willi, it doesn’t matter who. We are definitely not going to solve this one anyway.” Stenger smiled at his friend.
“Now, that’s an investigation I can sink my teeth into sir,” Willi said as he laughed and threw Stenger a partial salute about waist high.
“We ask a few questions. Demonstrate monumental investigative incompetence and stay out of the damn way when the dough boys hit the beach.”