As their breathing slowly subsided Gretchen laughed quietly.
“What’s funny?”
“I come all this way. To another part of the world and I find two things.”
“Yes?”
“How much I hate the Nazis and how much I love you.” He leant down and kissed her briefly.
“Why do you hate the Nazis so much? Is it only because they have stopped freedom among university students?”
She shook her head slowly.
“You can explain in German, if you wish.”
“No, English is your language. I will try to explain and if I get, um----.”
“‘Stuck’”.
“Ja, stuck. Then you will help me.”
“OK.” Again he kissed her lightly. “Tell me.”
“OK. But you must promise not to tell anyone else.”
“Of course.”
She gazed at him steadily. “I am Jewish.”
“Jewish?” he asked incredulously, running his fingers through the blonde tresses spread on the grass.
“Brendan, not every Jewish person has black hair and a large nose. I have a mother and a father and two sisters. My two sisters are fifteen, and Zwillinge.”
“Twins?”
“Ja, twins.”
“Are they OK? I mean---.”
She nodded vigorously. “My father is a doctor of Engineering. The Nazis are not stupid. They need many many engineers to help the army in Russia. They told him he can keep working and my two sisters can still go to school. And me? I must join the army. I have no, um---.”
“Alternative?”
“No alternative. The Nazis tell us what to do and where to go, and if we do not obey their orders we will be sent to a KZ.”
“‘KZ’?”
“Konzentration camp. Same word in English I think.”
“Yes. I have read a little about them. Camps for political prisoners.”
“Yes, but also for Jews-just because they are Jews. No other reason. Many Jews go there and never return.” Her blue eyes flashed with malevolence. “I hate the Nazis!”
Chapter 43
“It’s important that none of us goes wandering off. We need to know where everyone is at all times.”
“Yes, sorry, Dan. I was just trying to improve Gretchen’s vocabulary by----.”
Dan held up his hand. “OK. We just have to be extra careful now. The authorities will be bloody furious at the success of our raid, the rescue of the professor and the killing of their soldiers. They’ll almost certainly be increasing their surveillance of this whole area.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again.”
“What won’t?” demanded Susan, emerging from downstairs into the woolshed.
“Oh, hi, Susan. Just a little misunderstanding. Nothing at all to worry about.” Brendan’s exaggerated brightness caused her to frown suspiciously.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Susan. Nothing at all.”
Susan turned at the sound of Gretchen’s voice and regarded the brightly smiling German girl with undisguised acrimony.
“Huh! If you say so, then clearly I should be worried.” She turned to Dan. “What’s the problem?”
Dan frowned at the developing undercurrent. “Well, it’s just that Brendan and Gretchen went outside for her English lesson ----.”
“It was a nice day and----,” began Brendan.
“And then they disappeared,” continued Dan. “We didn’t know where they were and were about to implement an alert when they turned up.” He looked at Brendan and Gretchen in turn. “They’ve acknowledged the importance of the rules and,” he shrugged, “assured me that it won’t happen again. So, no real harm done.”
“Your turn, Gretchen.” Susan’s voice was ice cold.
“My turn? What do you mean?”
“It’s your turn to look after Professor Sterling. You’re already half an hour late.”
“Yes, of course.”
With a final look at Brendan, Gretchen hurried down the ladder to Sterling’s cubicle.
“And as for you, mister, I’d like a word. If you can spare the time of course.”
“Jesus, mate, you really pick your moments don’t you.”
The sun was going down as Stuart, dropping his cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out, looked at the crestfallen Brendan leaning up against the side of the faded red woolshed wall.
“I know. It’s just that she was all over me and, well, come on, mate, can you really blame me?”
“Susan’s worried sick about her uncle. Jesus, Brendan, don’t you think that under the bloody circumstances….” Stuart shrugged helplessly.
“Susan guessed, of course. Women have an instinct for this sort of thing. Told me we’re no longer sleeping in the same cubicle.” He shrugged. “I suppose I could always suggest to Gretchen----.”
“No bloody way! Dan wouldn’t put up with it. You know how he keeps stressing that we keep our personal problems to a minimum. If you start sleeping with Gretchen it will cause all sorts of problems. What was her motive, anyway?”
Brendan shrugged. “Well, without wishing to sound too egotistical, she fancies me.”
“Maybe,” grunted Stuart. “Did she make the running?”
“Yes, you could say that. She’s also in a dangerous situation and a long way from home. She’s probably seeking some solace.”
“What about Susan? Her position’s not exactly a piece of cake.”
Brendan sighed again. “Yea, you’re right, of course.”
“Yes, I am. Some of the group members are still a bit wary of having two Germans here, so we don’t want to create more trouble.” He looked squarely at his friend. “Best thing you can do tonight is to stay upstairs and snuggle down onto a comfortable wool bale. Forget about women and concentrate on preparing to play your part if there’s any sort of emergency.”
Chapter 44
Driven by a howling westerly wind the rain descended in biting sheets. It was too wet to venture outside for any form of training, so most of the time was spent in strategy meetings in the woolshed. Mindful of the heightened dangers the meetings included a variety of drills and procedures to accommodate a range of emergency situations. Stuart noted with wry amusement that Brendan, having spent the night on a wool bale, threw himself into the drills with a total commitment.
Stuart and Carol had spent part of the night discussing the triangular situation while, like everyone else in the underground hideout, being constantly disturbed by the racking coughs coming from the professor’s cubicle. Brendan had told him about Gretchen being Jewish, and he’d told Carol on the basis that she needed to be kept fully informed, but that she must keep the information to herself. Finally, having decided that both he and Carol would talk to Brendan and Susan in the morning and stress the importance of not letting their personal problems compromise the safety of the camp, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
After the lunch break Stuart and Carol had been assigned to take the dishes to the farmhouse. Sophie and Gretchen, who with Lisa had been rostered to prepare the lunch in the farmhouse kitchen, had remained there.
“Put them in a pile while I have a squizz outside,” said Stuart as they completed gathering up the plates and utensils.
He began to slowly open the door. Immediately it was nearly ripped from his hand by the crosswind. Lowering his head he stood on the top step and, narrowing his eyes against the wet stinging sheets, peered into the sodden gloom. Nothing suspicious was distinguishable and the only sounds were the periodic moaning of the wind and the constant rain tattoo on the corrugated iron woolshed roof.
Stepping back inside he walked over to Carol and scooped up a pile of dishes.
“All clear. Just bloody wet. Come on. Let’s join the drowned rat-race for the farmhouse.”
Hunched up against the elements, they hurried down the steps and began the brief trip across the open ground.
The shout that echoed above the noise of the wind caused the
m to pause in puzzlement. The second shout of “Halt! Don’t move!” froze them in their tracks.
Four helmeted figures carrying Schmeissers were racing towards them from the building’s western side. Half blinded by the rain Stuart strained to make out details of the soldiers as he felt Carol pressing up against him. A further shout caused both of them to turn to see two more armed figures approaching at speed from the opposite direction.
Stuart twisted his head around to where Carol stood pressed up against his shoulder.
“Keep still and we’ll try to bluff our way out!” he said loudly above the noise of the elements.
Aware of the hollowness of the advice he was unable to add anything as the leading soldier slid to an abrupt halt in front of him and peered into his face. Using the rain as an excuse Stuart tried to tuck his head into his hunched shoulders.
“You!” demanded the soldier. “What are you doing?”
What he had hoped would be a relaxed chuckle came out as a nervous laugh. “Carrying dirty dishes to the farmhouse kitchen,” he replied, thrusting the plates towards the solider.
“Watch it!” barked the soldier, taking a step back.
“They’re only dirty dishes. Now, do you mind? We’re getting cold and wet standing here.”
Immediately another soldier positioned himself between the pair and the farmhouse.
“We don’t mind in the least. And if you mind, that’s tough,” he growled. “Now, let’s have a good look at both of you.”
Reaching swiftly forward he thrust his hand under Stuart’s chin forcing it upwards. The unexpectedness of the action caused Stuart to lurch backwards against Carol. The dishes slid from his wet hands and splintered noisily on the ground.
“Too bad,” laughed the soldier. “Saves you washing them.”
The second soldier, following his companion’s example, stepped in front of Carol.
“Let’s have a good look at you, sweetheart,” he said.
The first soldier thrust the barrel of the Schmeisser under Stuart’s chin and peered closely at him.
“I think we’ve got him,” he said loudly to the other soldiers who had now formed a semi-circle around the pair.
“I think we’ve got both of them!” replied his companion. Twisting his head in a half turn he shouted, “Call him, Wilson!”
A tall soldier turned his head, cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted, “Sir! Sir! Over here, sir! We’ve got both of them!”
Stuart, unable to speak or turn his head, strained his ears above the sounds of the wind and rain. The voice that abruptly sounded in his ear caused a shiver to run through him that owed nothing to the elements.
“Got you!” Hamish Beavis’s face appeared inches from his nose. “You poncy little varsity prick. I knew I’d get you in the end.”
Through the driving rain Stuart could see that Hamish was wearing a long black leather coat with a braided SS officer’s cap featuring the death’s head in the centre. The only hope of getting out of the situation was to attract the attention of the others in the woolshed. Drawing his head back slightly to relieve the pressure from the soldier’s weapon he shouted above the noise of the elements.
“Brave little pervert, aren’t you, Beavis. Easy to abuse me when one of your minions has a gun stuck in my face. You wouldn’t be so brave if it was one-on-one.”
“You’ll get your chance, Johnson, don’t you----.”
“Like your flash new cap, Beavis. What’s the death’s head signify? Dead from the neck up?”
Under the circumstances the glancing blow to the side of Stuart’s face was not unexpected. Fortunately, hampered by his heavy leather greatcoat and the driving rain, Hamish was unable to land the blow accurately and its effect was minimal.
Stuart thrust his head towards his antagonist and shouted as loudly as he could.
“You’re a filthy little ratbag, aren’t you, Beavis! Wonderful example to your soldiers! How to hit people when they can’t hit back! Great bloody Nazi hero!”
His adversary’s face contorted briefly and Stuart prepared himself for a second blow. Instead the man hissed, “You little bastard! I’ll hurt you where it hurts the most!”
Beavis’s face disappeared and Stuart heard him take two squelching steps.
“Carol. Sweetheart.” His laugh was loud but devoid of mirth. “Your fiancée has arrived to rescue you. And to take care of you.”
Taking her cue from Stuart, Carol shouted, “Leave us alone! I don’t want you! Get out of our lives!”
Hamish laughed briefly again then barked, “Clay! Turner! Get that terrorist into the truck. Wilson, stay and assist me in looking after this woman.”
The shot that came from the woolshed was followed immediately by the whine of a ricochet as the bullet that hit Wilson’s coalscuttle helmet caused him to reel backwards and drop his Schmeisser.
A second shot was followed by Dan’s shout.
“Stuart! Carol! Back over here!”
The shots had caused Hamish and his soldiers to turn instinctively and crouch down. Stuart, scooping Wilson’s weapon from the ground, seized Carol’s arm and headed in a crouching run towards the woolshed shouting, “Cover us! We’re coming in!”
A detonation of thunder buried all sound for a few seconds as the pair reached the woolshed steps. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the scene as Stuart glancing upwards through the driving rain saw several figures at the woolshed windows firing their Stens.
As they reached the top of the steps the door was flung open. Both of them dived through the doorway and sprawled on the floor. The sound of splintering, a groan and a thud immediately followed the slam of the door. Bullets from behind the fleeing pair had cut through the door and had hit Dan who had been holding it open. He col apsed and lay motionless on the wooden floor.
Above the percussive din of the rain on the corrugated iron roof Tony’s voice shouted, “They’re too well armed. Everybody downstairs! We’ll cover you!”
The machinery whirred and the wool bale tipped backwards to reveal the familiar gap in the floor.
“Go, all of you!” shouted Tony as he leapt up to the window, fired twice and crouched down again.
Stuart immediately joined him at the window and fired a burst from the captured Schmeisser into the driving rain before ducking down.
“Hard to see anything out there,” he shouted at Tony.
“It’ll keep them at bay but not for long.” Tony replied. Turning to the others he shouted, “All of you. Keep moving! Go down now! Quickly! We’ll follow!”
They had all moved to the top of the gap and in response to his shout rapidly began climbing down. Brendan stood at the top of the stairs urging them to hurry. Susan stopped as she drew level with him and seemed about to speak before she abruptly followed the others down the ladder. Carol, the last of the group, paused at the top.
“Come on, Carol!” shouted Brendan impatiently, as another bullet whined through the woolshed and splintered against the back wall.
She hesitated and looked across at Stuart, crouching under the window.
“Stuart, what about---?”
“Do as he says, Carol. I’ll join you shortly. Go!”
Springing upright he thrust his weapon through the broken windowpane, fired a further burst and slid back to his crouching position. He glanced back briefly. Carol had gone. Brendan, clasping a pistol was the last to go. Pausing by the trapdoor, he shouted, “Don’t be long, mate!” and dropped out of sight.
On the final rung Brendan missed his footing and sprawled to the floor. As he twisted round he looked up to hear a burst of firing and to see the trapdoor moving slowly back into place.
“They’re closing the entrance,” gasped Susan who, with Carol, and several other women was crouched against the wall.
“Stuart,” gasped Carol. “What’s he going-----?”
The answer came swiftly. Above them came a loud crash followed by two ferocious discharges.
“Jesus! Grena
des!” muttered Brendan. “Poor bastards. They’ve got no show!”
The woolshed door opened with a splintering crash. A long pause was followed by the slow tread of boots and the sounds of creaking as the soldiers moved cautiously over the wooden floorboards.
“They’ve all copped it,” muttered Brendan.
“No they haven’t,” came Carol’s desperate whisper. There was raw fear in her eyes. Her statement was meant as a question, and she scanned the faces of the others, seeking some form of reassurance. “They can’t have.”
Susan put an arm across her shoulders. “We’ll find out soon. In the meantime we need to keep absolutely quiet.”
The others nodded in agreement, even though, with the noise from the electrical storm, the chances of their being heard were slight.
“Susan?”
“Yes, Carol?”
“What about your uncle?”
“He fell asleep about an hour ago. I suppose he’s OK.”
“Best not disturb him. Wait until the soldiers have gone.”
Seeing the searching look in Carol’s eyes, Susan tried to smile. “Of course. When the soldiers have gone,” she echoed softly.
By an unspoken consensus they had gathered in a group and seated themselves on the earth floor two meters from the bottom of the ladder. The moaning of the wind, the rattling of the windows, the unrelenting rhythm of the rain and the heavy footsteps above created a discord of foreboding that was reflected in the drawn features of the group as they huddled together in the semi darkness.
Above them the tread of the boots became heavier and more confident. The sounds of a shouted order, a crash as some object was splintered or thrown to the floor by the searching soldiers penetrated the noise of the storm. On each occasion the group members instinctively looked upwards but all they could see were dark shadows gliding over the narrow gaps in the floorboards. Even the occasional lighting flash did little more than momentarily illuminate parts of the silhouetted figures. After several minutes the sounds settled into a pattern appearing to indicate that although the soldiers were searching, they had found nothing significant. Some members of the huddled group began to exchange hopeful glances.
Uncommon Enemy Page 28