by Soren Petrek
“How many men do you think are guarding us?”
“I have been listening for arrivals and departures in the home above. I think there are at best three or four men up there. Once we get up the stairs, we go in separate directions. Confusion will be our best ally.”
Three men sat at a table directly above the German officers.
“It’s quiet down there. What do you think they’re doing?”
“Sitting and waiting like us,” another of the men answered.
“I think they should be shot. They’re SS; you know what they’ve been doing around here.”
“We’ve been given specific instructions to hold them. We should be able to do that. Two unarmed men, tied hand and foot. How hard can that be? What do you want to do, shoot them while they’re tied up?” If they are to be shot it won’t be on your say so, Philip.”
The first man simply grunted. He was nervous and not accustomed to holding German officers prisoner. He knew if they were discovered, the penalty would be swift. He had seen more than one Frenchman put against the wall and shot. Everyone knew the risks. He had been involved in Resistance activities for some time but always from the shadows. Their actions had been emboldened by the invasion. Things were becoming much more like open warfare, and that was new territory for him. He was a small town maintenance worker, not a soldier. Neither of the men had any combat experience. They were brave but untested in battle.
“Since you’re so worried, you and Charles can go down and check on them.”
Both men got up and picked up the shotguns leaning against a wall adjacent to the small table they were sitting around. They was a loud scraping of chairs and eventually heavy footsteps as they walked down the narrow staircase into the cellar. The men proceeded through the doorway and saw the two soldiers leaning against opposite walls. The two walked further into the room.
“Check his legs,” Philippe said gesturing to the first man.
Kampfe watched as the first man leaned down and reached out to check the ropes at his feet. The cellar was dark and the man wanted to do a hands-on inspection. As soon as the man’s head was in range, Kampfe struck. He swung the rope that had previously bound his hands around the man’s neck. Gerlach acted just as swiftly. Kampfe knew Gerlach was nervous but so was he. Kampfe pulled his man down, tightening the rope. The man gurgled and clawed desperately at the rope but his efforts were useless. Kampfe glanced over at Gerlach doing the same thing to his man, abruptly twisting the man’s head, breaking his neck. It was over quickly. It had only taken a couple of minutes to finish the job. Kampfe motioned to the weapons and put a finger to his lips. Both men checked the shotguns for ammunition and walked up the stairs as if they were the two men returning. They paused at the top of the stairs and burst into the room both pointing their shotguns at the man sitting at the table, his face erupting in surprise and fear.
“Get up,” Kampfe hissed. “One sound and I’ll cut you in half.”
The man raised his hands and stood up slowly, his shaking legs barely able to hold him up. Kampfe roughly grabbed him from behind and shoved him towards the cellar. At the top of the stairs Kampfe pushed the man as hard as he could down the staircase. The man twisted and struck his head savagely against the wall, falling in a heap at the bottom. Kampfe handed his shotgun to Gerlach and calmly walked down into the cellar. He stood over the unconscious man, reached down and casually gave the man’s neck a vicious twist. Kampfe didn’t bother to check his pulse, having heard the satisfying crunch of the man’s bones. Kampfe walked back up the stairs and into the kitchen.
“I assume we won’t be troubled by the last man, Major,” Gerlach smirked.
“No, he died for France,” Kampfe said contemptuously. “He should have left the fighting to the soldiers. Now, we need to get out of here and find some transportation.”
Kampfe peered out from behind the curtains covering one of the windows that faced the street. There was little activity. They might have a chance, he thought.
“There’s a farm truck parked a short way down the street, and a second vehicle on the other side. You take the truck and I’ll try the car. If we’re seen, get in and get the hell out of here and find help. I’ll do the same. Get word to the troops as quickly as possible.”
“I don’t want to run out on you, sir.”
“Nor me you, Victor, but fate is calling the shots,” he grimaced.
“It has been a pleasure to serve with you, Major.”
“Me too, Victor. Just remember, Das Reich hasn’t been in this new fight yet. Wait until the Americans and British get a taste of our Panzers,” Kampfe smiled encouragingly, clasping the junior officer on the back.
“Let’s go, Victor,” Kampfe said as the two men moved steadily out the door and towards the two vehicles.
Kampfe crossed to the car and looked inside: no keys. Just as he did so a man exiting the cafe saw him and turned to shout back inside. Damn, Kampfe thought, Resistance everywhere. He turned to run across the street just as several men ran out of the cafe. He fired a barrel at the cluster of men and saw one go down. He heard a truck fire up and saw Gerlach stick his head out the window.
“Go Victor, now!” Kampfe yelled, turning as a bullet struck him. He returned fire, the shotgun now empty. He contemptuously threw the weapon at the men, slowly advancing. Seeing him unarmed, they opened fire as one, killing Kampfe instantly. In the rear view mirror Victor saw what happened and careened down the road. He had a sizable head start on the men, unsure whether they would follow or not. He drove at breakneck speed, desperate to find a patrol.
The group of men stood around Kampfe’s body, uncertain what to do.
“Should we give chase?” One man asked.
“No. I think we need to clear out and wait for the Germans to come. There’s no time to chase that man and get ready.”
“Should we wait for orders?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“What do we do?” A third man said nervously, his knuckles white on the stock of his rifle.
“We certainly don’t wait around here to get shot. Put that pig’s body in the back. We’ll dump him down the ravine and join up with the others,” the men’s defacto leader decided.
Kampfe’s body was tossed into the back of a truck and covered with a tarp and some loose hay. Most of the men had a wild look in their eyes as they drove quickly out of town. Combat was upon them, whether they were looking for it or not.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
General Lammerding sat comfortably in a small cafe in the town of Tulle. He was drinking wine and eating pastry. How foolish it had been for the terrorists to attack the garrison stationed in town. It had simply been a matter of a counter attack. His seasoned combat troops had retaken the town, losing only three men.
The owner of the cafe glanced nervously out the window as groups of men were paraded by at gunpoint. He had stayed out of the fighting the night before when the Maquis had taken the German garrison. They executed more than sixty German soldiers in their orgy of violence. He had known that the Germans would retaliate. They couldn’t allow defeat at the hands of a Resistance force. The repercussions would be intolerable. Unfortunately, the Maquis leaders were impatient and acted rashly. He pictured the worst as the General calmly sipped his wine. There was something about his casual air that was frightening. A young soldier entered the room and approached the General.
“Well Sergeant, have the criminals been executed? Remember, I want at least two for every man killed by this rabble. How dare they strike at Das Reich.”
“All but the last group, sir, but there’s a problem.”
“And…”
“We’ve run out of rope, sir. Perhaps we could cut some down and reuse the rope.”
“No, I want a clear warning left, Sergeant. Leave them up there for their friends and families to contemplate. They will learn the penalty for killing my men. Sixty of Germany’s finest, shot like cattle.“
“Shall we shoot the rest, sir?”
The general sipped his wine pondering the fate of the remaining suspects, casually nibbling on a piece of raspberry tart. Many others had been killed by his troops. He had other things to do and was confident that there would be no more trouble here.
“This is quite excellent, monsieur,” Lammerding said to the cafe owner standing nearby, his face ashen with shock, too paralyzed by fear to respond. Lammerding had the cafe to himself. “No Sergeant, release them with strict orders to leave the carcasses where they are. Any man or woman cutting one of the swine down will be killed. I think we’ve made our point.”
Lammerding stood and counted out a few Reich marks and set them on the table. He followed the sergeant out of the cafe and into the street. He sat in the back seat without looking around and motioned for the driver to proceed.
Once the cafe owner was certain the General wasn’t coming back, he ventured outside. He broke down into tears as he wrung his hands and wandered among the townspeople outside in the street now the Germans had moved on. There were men hanging from almost every light post. Some were smaller, obviously young men and boys. Wails of anguish broke out all over as people discovered the fate of their loved ones. In all, ninety-nine people had been hung. The sheer number of bodies was incredible. The cafe owner recognized many that had nothing to do with Resistance activities. They must just have been conveniently available. He sat down on the curb and put his face in his hands and prayed. He knew that it would have been better to wait, but people were rabid with a desire for revenge after so many years of abuse. It had been a mistake. These men were not soldiers. Did they really think they could take on hardened combat troops and win? He wondered silently if this was happening all over France. He hoped that if it was, others were faring better. He knew harassing the enemy was important, but at what cost?
“How can this be?” he whispered. How can this be?”
CHAPTER FORTY
Diekmann walked around the torched truck and staff car. The occupants were burned beyond recognition, the skin on the bodies charred and twisted. He held a handkerchief to his nose and mouth against the roast pig smell rising off the corpses. He saw the insignia of his division on the lapel of a young officer. The man had died with one hand on the door handle, the other still clutching a pistol. He walked to the back of the truck and threw open the canvas and saw that the back was empty. He nodded certain that the true contents of the records boxes had been discovered and removed.
“I want some prisoners brought here to mark and bury these bodies. Anyone not in a German uniform can be tossed into an unmarked grave. This officer and his men will be collected later once the invasion is repelled. We cannot spare the time now.”
Diekmann jumped back into his staff car and motioned the driver ahead. His teeth were clenched in rage as his thoughts focused on the lost gold and the building wrath of his General. He knew he needed information and he knew just how to get it.
Diekmann arrived at Division Headquarters to find Lieutenant Gerlach covered in dust from the road, drinking a large glass of schnapps and recounting his escape to a group of junior officers. He had returned to camp minutes before Diekmann had returned from finding the burned out vehicles.
“You’re sure Kampfe was killed, Victor?” Diekmann asked him in an even voice, keeping his anger at bay, drinking his own large schnapps. The liquor kept his anger piqued and fueled him for the violence he was planning.
“Five or six of them fired into his body at point blank range, Herr Major,” Lieutenant Gerlach said, looking down at the table. He could scarcely believe he was alive after his ordeal. He was a soldier accustomed to combat, not waiting to be shot while tied up.
“Your captors were killed?”
“Yes sir.”
Diekmann grimaced. He needed a plan, and quickly.
“No idea where you were taken?”
“I cannot be positive, but I did see a sign. It read Oradour sur Glane. That’s the best I could do, sir. I caught a quick glimpse of it, but only for a second. I can’t say if we ended up there or elsewhere. They could have driven us around in circles to disorient us. They were clearly amateurs, Major. I wasn’t watching road signs when I drove out of town. All I could concentrate on was getting away. The Major’s orders sir.”
“Don’t worry, Victor, it’s not your fault. We cannot predict the actions of these animals with any certainty. We can only eradicate them when they are located.”
“Now get yourself cleaned up. We’re going to visit our friends in the little town of Oradour. By the end of the day they’ll wish they had gotten off as lightly as the good people of Tuelle!”
“I might be able to recognize a few of them, Major.”
“Don’t worry, Victor. I’m sure the rest of the criminals have fled. The people will know who they are. Some persuasion will loosen their lips if they don’t cooperate.” The expression on Diekmann’s face wasn’t angry; there was a cold glee emanating from him. It was terrifying.
“Yes General… Ouradour sur Glane, I’m quite certain,” Diekmann said into the phone. He wasn’t about to go into any great detail. He was satisfied the town was their best lead. In fact, it was their only lead, and would have to do.
“Get our gold, Diekmann. I don’t care what it takes!” Lammerding shouted as he hung up.
“Oh, I will general, I will!” Diekmann said as he placed the receiver back onto its cradle. He walked over to his dresser and carefully filled his hip flask from his stock of brandy. Now prepared for the day’s festivities, he walked smartly from the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Gabrielle looked out the window as she put the last of the dishes away from lunch. Antoinette was taking a nap in the next room and Gabrielle was planning to sit down and take a little rest herself. She looked at the wall clock: it was around 2:00 pm. Suddenly several trucks rolled by, carrying troops headed towards the town center. They must be going to the front, she thought until she saw them stop in the village square and troops jump out.
“What is this?” She muttered. “German troops in the town?” She dried her hands on a dishtowel and walked to the front door opening it. She looked out to see soldiers going from door to door. People were being herded into the street, young and old alike. From where she was she could see the shock and questions on their faces. Nothing like this had happened in Ouradour during all the years of the war. She was still trying to figure out what was going on when a soldier walked up.
“Everyone is to assemble at the village square for a document check,” he demanded in broken French.
“But my daughter is sleeping,” She replied.
“Bring the brat immediately,” he yelled, clearly not anticipating any response.
Gabrielle felt a tingle of fear dance along her spine as she rushed back to get Antoinette. She was filled with indecision. Perhaps here at the edge of town she might be able to sneak away with her daughter. Should she? She had no idea what to do, never having personally encountered a German soldier before.
As she scooped her up, Antoinette groaned and whimpered. She really had a hard time waking. Maybe she’d sleep through the document check. On the way out the door Gabrielle grabbed their papers. Once outside she glanced around and saw that there were roadblocks set up all around town. There would be no easy escape. She made up her mind and proceeded to the village square. A few older people were being dragged from their homes and pushed out into the street. She felt another twinge of alarm but there was nothing she could do about it. As she approached the square she saw the Mayor talking with a German officer gesticulating and nodding clearly trying to comply.
“Mayor, I want thirty hostages to question,” Diekmann said coldly. “The rest will be separated and confined. The women and children in the church and the men in those garages,” he said, gesturing around casually and waiting for his interpreter to translate. His patience was non-existent and having to wait for the interpreter wasn’t helping his mood.
“Forgive me, Major, but I th
ought this was a document check, but I will be a hostage if necessary,” the Mayor said. He glanced around as a few other men joined him volunteering. Some were older and had looked down the barrel of German guns before, years ago in the trenches.
“We are looking for hidden weapons, Mayor!”
“We have no weapons, Major, except for a few shotguns for birds and rabbits.”
“There are terrorists in this town, Mayor! Perhaps you are one of them,” Diekmann answered, clearly enjoying his power over the man.
“Oh no, Major. We are not Maquis. We are a quiet little town. We have caused no problems for Germany,” the Mayor said, a hint of panic entering his voice.
“Move, Mayor,” Diekmann said, gesturing to a group of men walking towards a nearby garage.
Diekmann followed the group to the old wooden garage watching as forty some odd men were corralled inside. The doors were left open and the men inside faced out towards the street. Diekmann placed men around the exterior to ensure they stayed inside. In several other places through out the town men were herded into similar buildings. No one complained aloud. They simply followed the German’s directives in their confusion. The men whispered among themselves. Most of them were convinced that after a short period of inconvenience the soldiers would see that there were no weapons or Resistance members in the town and then they would be released.