Dancing with Artie (Thaddeus Hunloke Book 1)

by Pete Heathmoor

  “Who was the Hun?” demanded Hunloke.

  “A guy named Hans-Georg Bonhof, a Grenadier. He was one of a team that regularly worked on the farm at the local village.”

  Hunloke recalled his conversation with the farmer’s wife, Cathy Maxfield. She had mentioned the name Hans, the man who she always called upon. “And our guy?”

  “A Private Etherington from Shropshire.”

  “So how many men are on the loose?”

  “Four.”

  “Are these men on your list of suspect Waffen-SS men?”

  “Two are. They are listed in the camp as Grenadier Helmut Bach and Grenadier Adolf Haas. If I’m correct, I suspect them actually to be SS-Schutze Franz Löhr and SS-Rottenführer Wolfgang Kleff.”

  “What about the other two?”

  “One is Grenadier Christophe Kassel, the other Gefreiter Berti Flohe, regular Wehrmacht men. Of course, we had the late Grenadier Hans-Georg Bonhof making the fifth man.”

  “I can understand why Etherington might be killed but why would Bonhof be murdered as well?”

  “Well, sir, perhaps he didn’t want to go along with the escape and had to be silenced?”

  “I suppose so... Therefore, we have two SS men and two Wehrmacht men. Are we suggesting that this act was planned by the SS and the others, except Bonhof, simply went along with it?”

  “It might have been a knee jerk reaction by Löhr and Kleff after we had taken Breitner into solitary.”

  “Bloody hell, Brian. I’m getting confused with the aliases and real names.”

  “That’s alright, sir, I’ll keep you on track,” smiled Conway. In truth, Conway was surprised that Hunloke was taking such an interest in the escapees. Yesterday, when the news was revealed, he alone in the camp did not appear overly concerned. He wondered what had prompted his superior’s change of heart?

  “Right, I think we’d better get over to the camp. By the way, any trace of the missing four?” enquired Hunloke pensively.

  Before Conway could answer the question, Poppy Gray’s head appeared around the interconnecting door with the music room, which was sandwiched between the more distant morning room and the library.

  “Excuse me, boys,” said Poppy, “I’ve Sergeant Donnagan on the phone from the camp. He would like to speak with Mr Conway.”

  Conway looked for Hunloke’s nod before he left the room to take the call. His news, when it came, was not well received by Hunloke.

  “It looks like we’re down to two escapees,” declared Conway. “The SS men Löhr and Kleff were shot by the Paras looking for them.”

  “Shot?”

  “Apparently they were found holed up in a barn and took pot shots at the Paras with Etherington’s 303.”

  “But I thought the guards were only issued with four rounds?”

  “They were, but the Paras weren’t to know that.”

  “Bloody brainless Paras! So where are the other two?”

  “No sign of them. They must have split up.”

  “So when can we speak to the shot men?”

  “Oh, didn’t I say? They’re dead...,” said Conway sheepishly.

  Hunloke stood up angrily from behind the desk. “Come on, grab your girlfriend, we’re going to the camp!”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, sir.”

  “Well, bloody do something about it then! You round her up. I’m having a fag outside. I can’t think in this bloody gloomy place!”

  Hunloke grabbed his greatcoat and hat and headed for the door. His annoyance was exacerbated by what he knew to be the comical stuttering of his left leg, which appeared anything but authoritative. His brooding mood followed him out through the cloister to the front door.

  He had quite forgotten about the foggy conditions and it came as a sobering jolt when he emerged outside under the stone canopy. Frustratedly, he fought to spark his petrol lighter.

  “Good morning, Thaddeus!”

  A stunned Hunloke looked up from his stubborn lighter towards Carey Gladwin, wheeling her bicycle along the gravel forecourt. Her smiling face acted as a balm upon his temper.

  “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, resting her bike against the wall of the mansion.

  “I could say the same thing,” he declared. His words sounded more confrontational than he would have liked but Carey did not appear to notice the tone of his voice.

  “I do work here,” she said casually.

  “I thought you did cleaning at the chapel?”

  “And the house as well, silly. I’m a bit late this morning because of the fog. I hope Mrs Gray won’t mind. Why are you here?”

  “I, I mean we, are staying here now, to be nearer the camp. You might not have heard but some POW’s escaped.”

  “Oh dear. Are you in trouble?”

  “Me? No... They’ve found three of the five. That just leaves two.”

  “My goodness, does that mean we’re in danger?”

  “No, they’re probably miles away by now...” He stopped speaking abruptly as he considered what he had just said.

  “Are you alright, Thaddeus?” queried a concerned Carey.

  He made no reply as a hundred thoughts coursed through his mind. Whilst indoors, it appeared as if his mental synapses had congealed. Once outside, he thought with much greater fluidity. Or perhaps it was simply the catalytic presence of Carey. Before he could reply, Poppy Gray appeared at the door followed by Conway and Christine.

  “Carey? I quite forgotten in all the excitement that today was your day,” said Poppy with her ever-ready smile.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mrs Gray, the fog and all...,” said Carey.

  “Have you met the major?” asked Poppy.

  “Major?” asked a confused Carey. “You mean Captain Hunloke?”

  “Yes, that’s the chap,” she pointed at Hunloke as if he might be a family pet.

  “Yes..., we have met several times,” declared Carey defensively.

  “Really...?” Poppy glanced up at Hunloke with a questioning look. “Ah, I get the picture....” She giggled. “If you’ll make a start on the drawing room. Hopefully, Hunloke from the Camp and I didn’t make too much mess in there last night.” She offered Carey an exaggerated wink before turning her attention back to Hunloke. “Dinner will be at seven. I’d be grateful if you could be back before then. I don’t fancy having the doors unlocked late with escaped Germans running around the place, especially if they’re shooting at people...”

  Chapter 14 - Where are they?

  Tuesday, 28th November 1944.

  “Don’t rush, corp, in fact I’d like you to pull over by that tree where you almost ran over Mrs Gladwin,” ordered Hunloke.

  “If you say so...” Christine’s failure to address Hunloke as sir once again did not go unnoticed.

  A ghostly silence hung over the Flash Estate. Barren trees lay shrouded in a blanket of grey, the world seemed so much more intimate as any sense of distance and perspective was lost in the wall of swirling vapour.

  “What is it, sir?” asked Conway from his seat beside Hunloke in the rear of the Austin. Christine halted the car by the gravel path that led off to the yet unseen chapel.

  “I think it’s time I came clean with you both. I’m not one for keeping secrets from my team.”

  “You’re going to ask Mrs Gladwin out on a date. That’s no secret, it’s pretty obvious you like her,” declared Christine.

  “No, corporal,” sighed Hunloke. “It actually has something to do with what we were sent here to do.”

  “Is this anything to do with Major Mills?” asked Conway.

  “As it happens, Brian, yes it does. What do you know about him?”

  “Nothing, sir. However, he spoke to you alone yesterday. Even someone like me could tell he wanted to speak to you in confidence.”

  “He’s told me, in the strictest confidence of course, that he works for Military Intelligence, section six. For the corporal’s benefit, I think that makes him a spy of some sort.”<
br />
  “Yes, section five is domestic counter intelligence, section six doing the spying,” added Conway. “We don’t always see eye to eye. To be fair, most intelligence bodies are loath to speak to each other.”

  “What I say is to go no further than the three of us, understood, corporal?”

  “Why are you picking on me?” bristled Christine.

  Hunloke ignored the corporal’s complaint. “I’ve met Major Mills on several occasions before yesterday.”

  “Is that why you went to the village yesterday?” asked Conway.

  “No, that was to see Carey...”

  “I told you he has a thing for her,” grinned Christine.

  “If you don’t shut up about Carey Gladwin, I’ll throw you out the car and get another driver!” threatened Hunloke. He watched Christine fold her arms peevishly and slouch lower in the driver’s seat before continuing.

  “Yesterday, Mills admitted he was privy to some intel about a German operation called Rabe, that’s Raven to you, corporal.” Hunloke noted Christine rise a little higher in the seat after she took the mention of her name as a sign that she was back in the fold following his rebuke. “He seemed to think that the Hun might be planting selected personnel in the country in low security camps under cover so that at a given moment they could escape and cause mischief.”

  “Such as what?” asked Conway.

  “That he didn’t know. Presumably, if there are enough of them, they could cause problems. How many POW’s are there in Britain, Brian?”

  “There has to be getting on for 100,000 or more.”

  “That’s a lot of enemy soldiers behind the front line.”

  “Yes, but most of them don’t want to fight.”

  “That’s as may be. But if there are potentially hundreds of special troops placed in our camps, they could do a lot of damage or even be part of something much bigger.”

  “So what are you saying, our five were part of a special team?” asked Brian.

  “Unlikely after the work you two did. Yet you revealed two of the five were almost certainly in the camp under aliases improvised after capture. The chaps that Mills is worried about are the ones who appear as ordinary troops with false identities set up by the Hun.”

  “We’ve got no chance of finding them, if Jerry had set up their legends before we got them,” admitted Conway.

  “Precisely.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not sure. I suggested to Mills that I talk to Mrs Maxfield.”

  “I sense ‘a but’ coming...,” offered Conway with a grin.

  “I don’t want us ending up chasing our tails or being the plaything of some intelligence rogue. Softly, softly catchy monkey and all that. You and Corporal Baldwin had better finish the paper trail, make sure you’re happy with what you’ve got. I think I’ll have a word with the young boy in solitary after speaking with Feldwebel Grass. It will be interesting to see how long these two last runaways stay illusive. That will tell us a lot.”

  “About what?”

  “I would say that if this was a planned escape then they will know where to head for or where to hide.”

  “You mean they have accomplices or folks willing to hide them?”

  “Bugger if I know. Let’s wait and see, eh? Drive on, corporal. And remember, not a word about this conversation.”

  There was an altogether different feel about Flash Camp. The noise, despite the enforced confinement to camp, was noticeably muted when compared with the pre–escape period. The guards patrolled the perimeter wire with renewed vitality and an eagerness that had been previously absent. Even the truculent Eastern Europeans felt it pertinent to respect the guards’ rekindled ambition.

  Major Beevor remained absent from camp, leaving the running of the facility to Sergeant Donovan.

  “Major Mills is not here, sir,” said the sergeant to Hunloke after they entered the guardroom and he had given them the latest on the futile search for the two missing men. “He’s away checking up on the shooting of the two Jerries.” Hunloke felt a sense of relief that the MI6 man was off camp.

  “Fine, sergeant. Could you spare a man to collect the Lagerführer?” asked Hunloke.

  “Of course, captain.”

  Whilst Christine and Conway stole away to their allocated office, Hunloke retired to wait for Günter Grass in Major Beevor’s empty office.

  It was late morning when Grass finally showed up. Hunloke noted the signs of fatigue and stress etched into the squat man’s features. It wasn’t only the British who lamented the escape along with the killing of the guard and the POW named Bonhof.

  “You look tired, Günter,” stated Hunloke equitably.

  Grass issued a begrudging smile whilst accepting the proffered cigarette and light. “I believe it is far easier to command a Panzer IV than it is to keep this rabble in line,” declared Grass.

  “Tensions running high?”

  “Hah! The majority of the camp just wants to return to work. You know that soldiers are creatures of habit. Despite the grumbles, they prefer the security of routine. A few of the loud mouths are spouting off about mass escapes and such like.”

  “Will there be a problem?”

  “Nah, they’re all piss and wind. Any news on the four men?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard?” Grass cocked his head enquiringly at Hunloke’s question. “Two men were shot by Paratroopers after they took pot shots at them. I’m sorry. They were killed. I’d have preferred them taken alive. They can’t tell us much dead.”

  “Who?” asked Grass bluntly.

  “They were known to you as Hass and Bach.” Hunloke studied Grass’ face for any kind of response.

  “You say ‘known’ to me as. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we think their real identities were SS-Schutze Franz Löhr and SS-Rottenführer Wolfgang Kleff. We believe they switched identities after their initial screening, much like young Breitner in solitary. Does that surprise you?”

  Grass teased a piece of tobacco trapped in a gap between his front teeth. Hunloke was in no hurry to press him for an answer. It appeared to Hunloke as if Grass was engaged in some kind of internal dialogue. He had seen such a response before when interviewing criminals when they were considering making a confession.

  “You might be right...,” responded Grass. “What about Flohe and Kassel?”

  “Still missing. Does that surprise you?”

  “That Haas and Bach offered a fight? No, that figures, certainly Bach.”

  “Are Flohe and Kassel capable of evading capture?”

  Grass shrugged. “Kassel is a moron. I’m surprised that someone like Flohe would put up with him. Kassel always wanted to play with the big boys but I’d have thought he’d be a liability. I wouldn’t want him with me if I was on the run.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, which Hunloke was about to fill but sensibly he let Grass continue. “Now if it was Bonhof and Flohe, then I would say something quite different.”

  “How so?”

  “I suspect Flohe is Waffen-SS. Bonhof most certainly was in my estimation. He lacked any blood type tattoo. I know a lot of them missed having it done. Bonhof was no Grenadier. He smelt of officer.”

  “Why was Bonhof killed?”

  “Just because he was Waffen-SS doesn’t mean he couldn’t make a mistake. Sometimes I think you English overestimate the prowess of the Waffen-SS. The guard might have got to him first and the others killed the guard.”

  Hunloke nodded. Grass had exceeded his expectations; he had been far more forthcoming than anticipated. Henry Mills had at least been correct with regard to winning over the Lagerführer’s confidence. “I’d like you to interpret for me when I talk to the man we suspect as being Gerd Breitner.”

  Grass shrugged his agreement. “Actually, Hauptmann, may I make a suggestion?” Hunloke showed his open palms to invite Grass’ proposal. “I think it might be as well if I ask your questions, he is far
more likely to be open with me than if I’m seen to be relaying your questions second hand. You speak German, don’t you?”

  Hunloke took a moment to consider Grass’ suggestion. “Yes, not brilliantly.”

  “But well enough to follow the gist of what I shall be asking him.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well?”

  Hunloke smiled and tossed another cigarette at the Lagerführer. “Fine, Feldwebel Grass. Just don’t tell my lieutenant...”

  The interrogation of SS-Oberschutze Gerd Breitner, previously known as Grenadier Sepp Overath, lasted no more than thirty minutes. Interrogation was an inapt term, for Hunloke reflected that it was more like a benevolent schoolmaster questioning a pupil over some playground misdemeanour; such was Grass’ sensitive handling of the young soldier.

  Hunloke could follow a good deal of the conversation but parts of it escaped his comprehension. Nevertheless, he was satisfied that Grass had not attempted any form of subversion. With the POW returned to solitary confinement, Hunloke was free to question Grass.

  “So what did he say?” enquired Hunloke.

  “That he is cold.”

  “We’re all cold.”

  “That he knew nothing about any planned escape attempt. That he wasn’t surprised that Kleff, as you now call him, should go down fighting. The man may have been a braggart but he died living up to his words. The youngster shares my low opinion of Kassel. He claimed that if any man was likely to plan the escape it would be Bonhof.”

  “So Bonhof was the brains of the group. He was the man that Mrs Maxfield at Flash Farm always asked for.”

  “Like I said, Hauptmann, he had officer written all over him. He was disciplined enough to play his part as a private soldier but it was clear that in a group of men he would impose his will, albeit surreptitiously. He is a clever man.”

  “Was. He’s dead, Günter.”

  “Indeed he is, Hauptmann.”

  “You did well, Günter. Is there anything you need?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Anything I can get you by way of showing my appreciation? Cigarettes, chocolate...?”

  Grass stared hard at Hunloke. “They would be much appreciated. However, if you are sincere in your offer there is something I miss.” Hunloke silently opened his hands in reply, never a man to waste words. “I would like a few illustrated books,” said Grass.