by Tony Roberts
“He’s unique,” Heidi commented, sipping her white wine.
“I agree with you on that,” Langer said, coming up for air from his stein of beer, froth on his upper lip. God, this was good! Long time since I’ve tasted a good German bier. He watched as Gus pawed two of the women and, despite their protests, dragged them off to a darkened corner, somehow managing to grab a stein of beer as he did so.
For Langer, the evening went well. Heidi was relaxed and they chatted as a man and woman will, while around them people came and went, drinking, talking and in some instances, pairing off. Gus was out of sight and out of mind. Langer got up to visit the conveniences, and while he was away, a figure detached itself from a supporting wooden beam by the bar and wandered up to Heidi. He was dressed in a long belted raincoat, sported round, rimless spectacles and on his head rested a homburg hat.
“Who’s the boyfriend?” he greeted Heidi with.
“A soldier from the camp. I’m allowed some pleasure,” she countered defiantly.
“Of course you are,” the man said soothingly. “Is he important? He’s a sergeant judging by his insignia. Tankman, isn’t he?”
“Yes he is. A common soldier, nothing more. Don’t worry, he won’t get in the way.”
“He’d better not,” the man grunted, “or I may have to eliminate him.”
“No you won’t!” she snapped, “he’s harmless!”
“Like the last one? He got too close. If I think this one is getting too close, I’ll take care of him like I did the last. Remember,” he said turning to go, “to keep work and pleasure separate, sister.”
“Don’t worry, I will, brother,” she said bitterly.
Langer reappeared as the man wandered back to the bar so he didn’t see him with Heidi. But at the back of the room Gus paused in the act of sinking yet another of the endless beers he had quaffed and took note of the man as he seemed to melt back into the background, then he resumed and continued to hold onto the two comely maidens he’d snared. Later he’d take them upstairs and rut them senseless before collecting Langer. No matter he’d sunk plenty of steins, he’d drive just as good and had no worries about getting back safely.
* * *
Farben studied the reports he’d received that day in the harsh light of the lamp on his desk. The Spanish embassy had been very accommodating. Carlos Romano had been one of Franco’s soldiers in the recently finished civil war. There wasn’t much information on the man, but what there was pointed to a very competent killer. He’d been involved in some unsavory incidents with Republican and communist interrogators and in Barcelona in early 1939 there had been a murder or two in which Romano had been suspected, but the man had left Spain before the authorities there had moved. Farben grunted; Franco’s police had probably told him to leave before they had had to grab him. They then could conveniently close their books.
The unknown dead man was one of three possibilities. Descriptions fitted one of them very closely and the two others were being checked out by his men. An Enrique Gutierrez, suspected communist sympathizer, had quickly left Barcelona for Berlin a week before the man had turned up dead in the hotel garbage. The other two were unlikely and if they were found by his men then it was virtually certain the dead man was Gutierrez. It would seem a vendetta spilling over from the civil war.
No matter, Farben mused, the law was the law and foreign nationals just did not come into the Reich and carry on their petty squabbles in his patch. He’d have Romano, one way or the other.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following day brought a couple of surprises. Langer and Gus were summoned by the training sergeant, the gravelly-voiced Feldwebel Forster. “You two, here! Smartly now, eins zwei, eins zwei!”
The two marched to a halt the required five paces and stamped their feet into the concrete of the marching square. “Sergeant?” Langer queried, worried their activity of the previous evening was somehow going to be found out after all. Gus was quiet, nursing a booming hangover. He’d already thrown up in the barrack lavatories and left the resultant devastation for the punishment squad to clean up.
“You are to report to Captain Heidemann by the vehicles lined up over there,” and Forster pointed at a line of neatly parked Panzer IIs. Other men stood patiently by their fronts, smart in black. “Go!”
“Sergeant,” Langer saluted and led a groaning Gus over to the captain, a slim, aristocratic looking individual with a slim nose, blue eyes and fair hair. The very picture of an Aryan poster, Langer thought as they came up and saluted. “Sir! Feldwebel Langer and Private Beidemann reporting as ordered!”
“Relax, men” Heidemann said softly. “This is your new toy, the Panzer II. Standing in front of it is your new loader, Private Carrel. I’ll let him introduce himself properly, and you do the same to him. You’ll then take your turn in the convoy as we go out on a cross-country testing drive. It’ll sort the men from the boys.” Heidemann grinned, then turned to the next pair who had come marching up. It seemed that certain crews from the Panzer Is were being ‘promoted’.
Gus blearily eyed the smartly dressed Carrel waiting with his hands rigidly down by his sides. “Oh, fuck me,” he groaned, “a child.”
Carrel reddened. Langer slapped Gus on the back. “Go get comfortable and familiarize yourself with the controls. I guess they’re not too different from the I.”
Gus grumbled and lurched to the driver hatch, and Carrel dodged aside hastily. Langer came up to him and studied the youthful looking tankman. “Carrel, heh? I’m Langer and the bear is Gus. What’s your first name?”
“S-Stefan, sir.”
Langer nodded. “Mine’s Sergeant, but I wouldn’t worry about that too much. You trained well as a loader?”
Stefan assured Langer he had. With the promise Langer would test the young Carrel out in due course, they mounted up and waited for the column to move off. Gus was sat on the front left position inside the main body, filling that half of the tank. Around him were levers, dials and pedals. Gus was scanning each and every one of them suspiciously. Suddenly he threw open the visor directly ahead of him and leaned forward, vomiting loudly.
Outside, Captain Heidemann was perplexed to see a spout of liquid spurting from the driver’s visor and splashing over the front of the tank. “Is everything alright in there, Feldwebel?” he called up to Langer, sitting on the rim of the hatch.
“Yes, Herr Kapitan!” Langer saluted. “Private Beidemann is just a little nervous but I think he’ll overcome his nerves fairly quickly.”
Heidemann stared in disbelief for a moment, then turned away, wishing to stand elsewhere other than downwind of the steaming accoutrement to Langer’s tank. Langer slipped into the tank and spoke to the back of Gus. “Glad you threw up outside, Gus.”
“So am I, Herr Feldwebel. This looks fine, this little beastie. Six gears forward, one reverse. Unlike Italian tanks which have them the other way round.” He flicked a finger at the instrument panel to the right at head height. “Speedo, rev counter, oil and water temp gauges. This thing’s supposed to go about 40k’s on the road. What’s the armor thickness? Looks like cardboard to me!”
Stefan was standing in the turret, to the right of Langer on a plate that sat on top of the fuel tank. Around him were racks of 20mm shells arranged in magazines of 10. Langer sat in the turret-mounted seat, directly behind and slightly higher than Gus. In front of him were the triggers for the cannon and the 7.92mm machine gun to its right. Also here were wheels to rotate the turret and three levers that controlled the turret gears. “From memory reading the manuals we’ve got 30mm thickness in front of you and 20mm to the sides.”
Gus snorted. “Bah! Not much. Some ugly enemy of the Reich could force their way in here with a can-opener and rape Stefan here. Can’t they get us something decent with a gun bigger than something I can fart better against?”
“Yeah I agree,” Langer patted the cannon thoughtfully. The French had tanks that would laugh at the main armament both the Is and IIs had
, but word was production was going full-on for the III which was bigger and better armed, and even the IV which was just coming off the production line. “How’s the vision?”
“Okay, once I wipe my vomit away from the visor. Dunno about when it’s closed though. That’s for shit.”
Langer got the order through his headphones to move out and he kicked Gus’s seat in response. “Okay, follow the one in front. I’ll be up top; make sure you two can hear each other. Gus, that mouthpiece by your left ear is for talking to me in the turret. The other end is by my seat.”
Langer sat out on top and watched as Gus maneuvered the tank into line and felt a thrill as he was propelled along the road and out of the camp. Behind snaked the line of tanks. They were third in the column, and they rattled out through the trees. The headphones crackled as the other tank commanders hooked themselves in. Langer almost doubled up with laughter as Stefan’s hesitant voice came echoing up to him. “Would-would the French really rape us if they captured us?”
“Don’t worry my boy,” Gus’s reply came through, very loud and clear. “Uncle Gus will keep your bottom free of molestation. We will conquer all through our superior tactics and morale. Sieg Heil!”
“Okay Gus, enough already,” Langer said, trying to keep his voice level. They turned off the road halfway to Zossen and plunged across fields, the huge army HQ to their left. They came eventually to a large field with white painted derelict vans in the distance. Through the earphones Captain Heidemann ordered them to halt along the muddy track that they had used as a route and to swing their turrets to face the targets.
Langer got used to rotating the turret and nodded to Stefan. The youngster flicked open the nearest rack and yanked out a clip. He pressed it into the breech and Langer aimed through the periscope. He squeezed the trigger and the gun bucked as the shells blasted out, flaming through the air to smash into the trees beyond the targets. Langer moved the gun down slightly and the shells began striking the vehicle, shredding it. The gun stopped as the clip ran out and Stefan pulled it out and replaced it with a fresh clip.
And so it went on. They then drove through the countryside and round in a big loop before emerging onto the road a little way to the south and returned to the camp. They were hot, tired and dirty. After the tanks were parked, the crews gratefully emerged from their vehicles like black beetles from dung and made their way slowly to their respective barracks.
Stefan followed the lumbering Gus and stiffly moving Langer. He wasn’t entirely certain where he should go but he had been told prior to meeting the two big men that he would be billeted with them. Hesitantly, he followed in their wake, and Langer turned, realizing the youthful panzer loader was behind them. “Stefan. You look a little lost.”
“Uh – I was ordered to go with you as my billet is to be in the same barracks as yours, Sergeant.”
Langer smiled and waved the boy to join them. “Gus here will show you round, and teach you the rules. Not that I insist on many, just be loyal to us as we would be loyal to you. Follow my orders and everything else will look after itself.”
The young crewman smiled wanly. Gus snaked a friendly arm round his shoulders, almost resembling an anaconda and Langer had a fleeting vision of Gutierrez again and shivered. He dismissed the thought. “I’m off to see Heidi after a wash. Gus, go easy on young Stefan here, I don’t want him physically wrecked before he has a chance to get used to us.”
“Don’t worry, Herr Feldwebel, Uncle Gus will take care of everything! Now, Stefan, my absurdly young hero, have you ever seen the women from the typing pool? I’m sure their commanding officer has put something in their coffee, for they have the largest breasts I’ve ever seen, even bigger than my cousin Siggi; she had a pair of zeppelins big enough to make your eyes water. But these girls, hell!”
Langer watched as a wide-eyed Stefan was dragged off into the barracks, listening to Gus discussing the physical attributes of the women of the camp. He laughed briefly, then made for the showers. After a tidy up and refresh, he felt more human. A change of clothes, then he made a brief check on Gus and Stefan who were sat on Gus’s bunk reading one of the more lurid male magazines banned by the Nazi party for corrupting the German people. Stefan’s eyes were on stalks.
Sighing, Langer left the two to the cultural study of the female anatomy and made for the office block. Heidi was waiting and took his arm as they strolled out onto the grass and walked slowly across towards the distant trees. “I hear you are now in the Panzer II. Is it very different from the I?”
“A bit. We’ve got three in the crew and it’s bigger, better armed and a little slower. It’s just as filthy. Why do you ask?”
Heidi shrugged. “Idle interest in my man’s occupation. I did see orders for more gunnery training. You’re going to be away for a week again.”
Langer grinned. Heidi was an invaluable source of information, giving him sometimes two days advance warning of new orders. The day before Langer was sent for more training Stefan and Gus went with him to the local tavern just outside the camp at Wünsdorf. They were now trusted enough to be allowed passes to the nearer of the two towns.
Gus hijacked a couple of the typists, two exceptionally huge breasted women who giggled a bit too much for Langer’s tastes, but he could appreciate Gus’s choice otherwise. Stefan looked dazed, particularly as the slimmer of the two took to sitting on his lap. Langer enjoyed his beer but wished to be away from Gus and his loudness; he wanted Heidi alone. He was going to miss her for the week and wanted to say goodbye in a way she’d remember.
He paid the innkeeper for a room and took a hesitant Heidi up the stairs, and he glanced back over her head to where Gus was balancing a wine glass on his woman’s chest while Stefan had his face pressed by the other girl deep into hers. He didn’t look like he was going to be coming up for air in a while.
“Carl, we shouldn’t,” Heidi protested softly. She kept on looking about nervously.
“Why not? Your father around?”
“No!” she stood outside the door of the room Langer had opened. “But I don’t think – I don’t want – to get this involved with anyone. With you!”
Langer frowned and wondered what the hell she was talking about. He’d not usually had trouble encouraging women to bed with him. He had a magnetism many found irresistible, even when he wasn’t trying. This was different, a new experience in many ways. Heidi was pretty, and clearly wanted to be with him, but maybe there was something in the background. Maybe that guy Gus had mentioned? What was he? Who was he? “What’s the matter, Heidi?” Langer saw she was a little scared.
“I-I can’t!” she exclaimed and turned and ran down the stairs. Sobbing, she plunged past the surprised clientele in the tavern, including Gus who had given up trying to balance the glass and was telling the girl about the merits of a night of passion with him. He paused in his speech and watched as she slammed the door to the outside behind her. Langer came down slowly a moment later, looking puzzled.
“What did you say to her to scare her so?” Gus demanded.
Langer peered out of the lead-latticed window into the night. “Nothing. She just freaked out.” He saw a car and a man close to the road and Heidi talking to him. The man put out an arm but she angrily brushed it aside and stamped off in the direction of Zossen. She was clearly going home. The man got into the car and drove off after her. “You seen a grey Horch saloon hanging round here before?”
“Our friend.” Gus stroked the girl’s back and she sighed and arched. “If you’re not using the room, then would you mind me taking this pretty maid upstairs? I have an urge.”
Langer nodded and waved at Gus to go ahead. The big driver grinned and, without any effort, picked the girl up and carried her up the stairs, promising her all kinds of delights. Langer looked at Stefan, drunkenly lolling in the lap of the other girl, and decided he was in good hands too. “Take care of the boy, he’s my crewman,” he said to her.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be returned in
good condition,” she replied.
Langer grunted and left the tavern, wandering out to the roadside and staring in the direction of Zossen. There was nothing to see, so he turned and walked back to the camp.
* * *
At about the same time Leutnant Farben received a phone call to go see his superior, a humorless man by the name of Schotten. Farben knocked on his boss’s door and was shown in by the secretary. Schotten sat behind his desk reading a sheaf of papers, and gestured abruptly for his subordinate to be seated. “I understand you’re on the trail of a Spaniard, Carlos Romano. Wanted for murder.”
“Yes sir. My enquiries have come up against a wall of silence, sir.”
“Quite so. Orders have come down from on high,” and he waved the papers in his hand, “to call off the investigation. You are not to pursue this any further.”
“May I ask why, sir?” Farben felt disappointed, but also relieved. His investigation had stalled and nobody was being helpful.
“No. All I can say is that some very influential people are telling us to leave it alone. This indicates something very important – or someone very important – is connected with this situation. The dead man, Gutierrez, is known to be a communist, and this Carlos Romano served the Nationalists in their war, so is regarded as an ally. He is to be left alone. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Farben felt deflated. He prided himself on finding his man but this time he’d been defeated. As he made his way back to his office he resolved to try a new source of information. Even though he’d been warned off the scent and the case officially closed, he was now sufficiently curious to wonder who it was that had ordered the case shut. It had to be someone on high, and he had a friend from his school days working in the Reichspolizeiapparat offices, the shadowy bureau that ran the various police arms of Germany. Maybe he could find out who had interfered with the murder case – and more importantly, why.