by Peter Watt
‘You were ordered to join our battalion at the church,’ he said to Otto in German. ‘Why have you returned?’
Otto was an old soldier and always had a story ready for any situation. ‘We ran into a Nationalist patrol between us and the church. I decided to pull back until it is safe to head out again.’
The Spaniard glared at Otto but appeared to accept his story. ‘Go to your billet and be prepared to leave before dawn,’ he said.
They slung their arms and made their way back to the house where the old widow greeted them with a bowl of rich vegetable soup flavoured with a dash of goat meat. The men were grateful for the hot meal, and Otto kissed her on the forehead. She giggled like a young girl and brushed him away bashfully.
When the meal was over, the four men gathered around the open fireplace in the kitchen.
‘It will only be a matter of time before we are identified as the men who killed those bastards back at the church,’ Otto said. ‘I think we should scrounge as many provisions as we can and get out of here. It is time we made our way back to France.’
He received no argument from the other three and they quickly set about packing the cheese and bread the old lady offered from her meagre larder. Rugged up, they bid the old lady goodbye, and the section slipped into the darkened streets and back alleys of the town. It would be a long journey back to neutral France and they would have to pass between the lines of both sides.
They passed small groups of militiamen sitting around fires in the street but they did not pay them attention. At the edge of the village they came upon the forward defences manned against a sudden night attack, and any defenders seeking to desert.
Otto brought his men to a halt.
‘Once we get past the guards we will split up,’ he said to David. ‘Jaroslav will travel with me, and you and the Englishman will travel together. We will attempt to meet in Madrid at the cathedral in five days’ time. But first we have to get through our defences. When I signal you will rush the guards. The signal will be me lighting a cigar.’
The men acknowledged the plan and Otto approached the four men standing guard, while the other three stayed in the shadows of a building facing the outskirts of the village. They watched as he chatted with the guards in a casual manner. When Otto lit up a cigar the three of them rushed the surprised guards. David used his fists to knock one of the guards unconscious, while the butt of Otto’s rifle knocked another man onto the ground. The remaining two were overwhelmed by the sudden attack, and stared into the barrels of the rifles held by their attackers without any sign of resistance. Otto glanced around and was satisfied that they had not been seen.
‘We take these men with us,’ he said, indicating the two who were still standing. ‘Far enough away we let them go. Good luck.’
David and Archie took one of the guards, while Otto and Jaroslav took the other at gunpoint into the night. They were now deserters and expected no quarter if caught by either side.
Deep in the valley Archie and David told their prisoner to make his own way back to the village, and the grateful Spaniard thanked them for sparing his life. He scuttled away, leaving the Australian and Englishman somewhere between the two lines of trenches.
‘Well, old chap,’ Archie whispered. ‘Time to go and seek out the pleasures of Madrid before Paris offers up its delights.’
‘Yeah, but which way,’ David queried and Archie withdrew a prismatic compass with a luminescent dial.
‘We go north,’ he said, turning the compass to orient them. ‘A souvenir from my brother who served on the Western Front,’ Archie added. ‘Poor chap lost his sight to a Hun artillery round, and he gave me this as a lucky talisman when I told him I was enlisting in the International Brigades.’
The two set off in the dark as a cold wind scattered the clouds across a splatter of stars. By dawn they had made good progress, but when the sun rose everything changed. They found themselves in the middle of the Nationalist army’s front lines. Freshly dug earthworks and the figures of men moving around in trenches on a hillside opposite and behind them indicated the dire predicament they were in. Even from a distance David could see the black and white crosses on the side of German tanks. These were professional soldiers assisting Franco’s forces, and both men knew that the enemy would shoot first and ask questions later.
*
Dr Derik Albrecht had earned his doctorate in archaeology but had also become a dedicated Nazi at the German university where he taught. Membership had ensured rapid promotion and when he had been invited to meet Herr Himmler personally, his aspirations towards chancellorship of the university had soared. The head of all German police forces had asked him to carry out an important mission for the Fatherland. Albrecht would use his cover as a scientist and lead an archaeological team to the Middle East to make contact with Iraqi rebels, and act as a liaison officer for the Third Reich and Himmler himself.
Albrecht was not a professional spy but had accepted the role with a promise that if he was successful he would win an important place in the new government’s scientific section. His two colleagues had also received a similar offer and were also dedicated Nazis.
But Albrecht had received some training in espionage, sabotage and subversion techniques, and one part of that training was in the use of codes. He now sat in his tent on the Iraqi dig, waiting for Diane to return and fly them out to Palestine. The mission to Iraq had proved a failure as the British armed forces had struck at the tribesmen Albrecht’s team had recruited. It had been a costly loss to the German government and they had decided it would be more successful if his team could establish links amongst enemies of the hated Jews in Palestine.
In front of him was a letter he had received from his supposed uncle in Berlin. It was an innocuous letter about fictional family affairs, and the German agent reached for a copy of his English version of a popular Agatha Christie crime novel, flicking open the pages to the one he sought. With the book open beside him he commenced to decode the letter, and as he did so he found himself holding his breath. German counterintelligence had broken the American diplomatic code and learned that the Englishwoman, Diane Hatfield, was a double agent working for the Americans.
Albrecht ensured that he had decoded correctly and, convinced that the information was correct, proceeded to burn the letter on the sandy floor of his tent. As he did he felt sick with the thought of all he had said to the Englishwoman when he had bedded her. Pillow talk, the English called it, and when he looked back on Basra and the times since at the dig he realised that he had said more than he should. If it got out that he had been loose with his information he would no longer bask in the warmth of Himmler’s good graces. In fact, he might find himself being sent to Dachau. The thought chilled Albrecht. The sooner he could silence Diane the better. The message from Berlin had also finished with the instruction eliminate the double agent.
He rose from his camp stool and went in search of his fellow agents. As he trudged against the howling wind he considered his orders and realised that he could not kill her out in British territory, as that would cause the British to carry out an investigation. He would have to ensure that Diane disappeared or had an unfortunate accident that could not be linked to him.
Albrecht had hardly briefed his colleagues on Diane’s treachery when they heard her aircraft in the distance.
‘What do we do?’ Erika asked.
‘Nothing for now,’ Albrecht replied. ‘We continue to Palestine where our mission is of greater importance, and then we must act to silence the traitor.’
20
The sun filtered through low scudding clouds while the wind swirled around David and Archie lying on their stomachs, observing the trench system a mile away on the grass-covered forward slope.
‘German all right,’ David said. ‘Looks like they’re with a Nationalist unit.’
‘We have company,’ Archie added and David turned to see what the Englishman had spotted behind them.
‘Bloody hell,�
� David swore. There was a patrol of Franco’s Spaniards winding its way up their hill, apparently after a night patrol. The enemy patrol, being led by a German NCO, was only around two hundred yards away and it was obvious they could not miss the two hiding at the crest.
‘Well, old chap,’ Archie said. ‘I don’t think we have too many options left.’
David knew what Archie meant. Resigned to discovery, he groaned in despair before rising stiffly to his feet, hands in the air. Archie followed his example and the two men stood, whipped by the cold wind on the crest of the hill, in full sight of the approaching patrol. It came to a sudden halt and the soldiers pointed their weapons at them.
‘Just pray they don’t shoot us down,’ David said, his rifle at his feet.
The German NCO and four men from the ten-man patrol moved towards them cautiously, while the rest of the patrol took up defensive positions, looking outwards for a possible attack. David noted the practised battle tactics and this gave him hope that the men taking them prisoner were well-disciplined soldiers. As they grew closer David recognised the uniforms and insignia of Spanish Foreign Legion troops.
‘We are English,’ Archie shouted, and David grumbled, ‘Speak for yourself. I’m a bloody Australian.’
The German NCO was the first to them with his pistol pointed directly at David.
‘We have surrendered to you because we are deserters from the Republicans,’ David said in German. The NCO was surprised by the young man’s use of his language.
‘You are not German?’ he queried, recognising David had a foreign accent.
‘No, I am an Australian citizen,’ he replied. ‘My comrade is English.’
The German was a man in his late thirties with a hard face. ‘We will search you and take you back for interrogation,’ he said, turning and giving orders in Spanish to one of the men with him.
The Spaniard stepped forward and patted down both Archie and David, going through their pockets and ordering them to remove their boots.
‘You’re a Yank!’ David exclaimed, hearing him deliver an order in English as he searched them.
‘Yeah, I joined the Legion a couple of years ago. My home town is El Paso,’ he replied.
David was reminded that it was not only the French who employed mercenaries from other nations in foreign legions.
‘What will happen to us?’ David asked and the legionnaire shrugged, stepping back.
‘Pick up your boots and do what you are told,’ he said.
Archie and David were marched in silence to the Nationalist lines where the troops hardly glanced at them. They were taken to a barbed-wire compound, which was little more than a tiny enclosed paddock able to hold around twenty men. They were not alone as it was already holding five dispirited prisoners who wore civilian garb and had the appearance of peasant farmers.
Inside the compound David put on his boots, aware that his feet were frozen and praying that he would not get frostbite. The other prisoners, exposed to the elements, huddled together for body warmth and hardly gave the new arrivals a second glance.
David and Archie removed themselves from the prisoners and sat side by side in a corner of the compound. ‘What happens next?’ David asked, his teeth chattering.
‘I suppose we will not be shot outright,’ Archie said pessimistically, blowing into his hands. ‘Our nationality will need a bit of consideration before they execute us. On the other hand, I don’t think Franco’s people care much about that.’
‘You’re a cheerful bastard – full of optimism,’ David said, staring at the German soldiers mixing with the Spanish legionnaires behind the trenches. He could see a mobile field-cooking wagon, and steam rising from a great pot of something he figured was meat stew from the aroma that drifted over to them. Soldiers were lining up with tin mugs and pannikins to receive breakfast, and David realised just how hungry and cold he was. No move was made to feed the prisoners.
They were only in the compound for a couple of hours when the German NCO and two legionnaires came for them. Under guard, David was marched to a tent in the field, surrounded by German light tanks.
He stood waiting outside the tent where the German NCO had disappeared and when he popped out he gestured to David to enter. David did so and found himself standing before a German officer in field grey. The man had a monocle and a duelling scar and David could see from his rank that he was the equivalent of a captain in the British army.
‘I am told that you claim to be an Australian and that you also speak reasonable German,’ the officer said coldly. ‘How is it that you speak German and what is your name?’
‘David Macintosh, and I have German relatives,’ David replied. ‘It has always been a family tradition that we learn German.’
David’s answer seemed to warm the stern German officer, who gestured for the NCO to leave them. When he did so the officer leaned forward and spoke quietly.
‘Who are your German relatives?’ he asked.
‘My family is related to the von Fellmanns from Prussia,’ David replied. ‘I believe that I have distant cousins in your army. Count von Fellmann is highly placed, I gather.’
‘God in heaven!’ the officer exclaimed. ‘Major von Fellmann, the count’s son, is my commanding officer. It is a small world that we should capture one from the International Brigades who is a distant cousin from Australia and yet in this country fighting with the communists. I doubt that the major would approve of your actions, Herr Macintosh.’
The news that Heinrich was the commander of the German unit attached to Franco’s army both made his spirits soar and at the same time brought back the realisation that he was probably still wanted by the Gestapo in Germany as an escapee from Dachau. Heinrich’s involvement in his escape also put him in danger from the Gestapo.
‘Is it possible for me to speak with Major von Fellmann?’ David asked as politely as he could. ‘I am no longer a member of the Republican army – I am a deserter from their ranks.’
‘But you are a communist,’ the German captain countered. ‘That is just as bad as being a member of the Republican movement. I expect you know the fate of any communists taken prisoner.’
David knew that he was alluding to the policy of the Nationalists to execute any persons suspected of being communists. The civil war was as bitter as any ever waged and no quarter was asked or given by either side.
‘I am not a communist. Ask the man I was captured with,’ David pleaded. ‘I foolishly joined for adventure and have now realised the error of fighting with the communists. As a matter of fact, my English comrade and I were involved in the killing of Spanish militiamen who had raped and killed nuns not far from here. It was then that we decided to switch sides.’ David’s story was a desperate effort to save his life, and Archie’s too.
‘Sergeant, come here,’ the officer called through the tent flap, and the NCO stepped inside, snapping off a smart salute.
‘In your patrol report I noticed that you included information from some peasants living near a convent not far from here that some Spanish soldiers killed their comrades over a barbaric massacre of Catholic nuns and priests. What else can you add to the report about the identity of the Spaniards who turned on their Republican comrades?’
‘All the peasants could tell us was that they thought the men were from the International Brigades,’ the sergeant answered.
‘Thank you, sergeant, you are dismissed.’
The German officer leaned back in his camp stool and stared at David. Outside, David heard a ragged volley of rifle shots. It sounded like a firing squad and he felt his stomach knot with fear. Within a minute the German sergeant returned to the tent, saluted and delivered his report.
‘The prisoners have been executed, sir,’ he said.
‘Thank you, sergeant,’ the officer replied. ‘Keep the firing squad on alert for another execution. You may return to your duties, sergeant.’
‘My comrade – the Englishman . . .’ David said hoarsely, his mouth dry.<
br />
‘He has not been executed – yet,’ the officer replied. ‘The decision remains with the commander but I have reservations that he should ever learn a relative was captured supporting the communists. It may be better that I make the decision to dispose of you both without embarrassing him.’
The statement chilled David and any hopes he had that he would see the sun set today rapidly disappeared.
‘Sergeant,’ the officer called loudly and the German NCO appeared in the tent again. ‘Return the prisoner to the compound and guard the two men closely.’
David was marched back and shoved inside the compound. Archie looked up at him with despair.
‘They just shot them,’ he said in a whisper. ‘They were just farmers suspected of harbouring Republican forces.’
David sat down and gazed at the guard left at the barbed-wire gate. It was the American legionnaire. David walked over to him.
‘Hey, Yank, do you have a cigarette for my cobber?’
The American searched his pockets, producing a packet of English cigarettes. He took one, lit it and handed it to David, who passed it to Archie huddled against the wire.
‘My name is David Macintosh,’ he said. ‘I just need a very small favour.’
The legionnaire looked at him suspiciously. ‘I don’t do favours for commies,’ he said.
‘I have a cousin here who is your commander, Major von Fellmann,’ David persisted. ‘If you could just get a message to him that his cousin is currently his prisoner.’
The legionnaire stared at David, blowing smoke into the cold air. ‘He’s not my commander. He is an advisor to assist General Franco’s liberation from the communists.’
David glanced around at the German tanks lined up and the many men wearing German army uniforms. ‘Your Franco seems to have a lot of advisors,’ David said facetiously and the legionnaire did not comment.
Resigned to the fact that he was unable to call on the help of his distant German relative David fell into a conversation with the legionnaire. He learned that the man’s name was Jose and he had enlisted four years earlier after hearing about the Spanish equivalent of the French Foreign Legion, which had been in existence as long as its French counterpart but was less publicised.