Army of Shadows

by John Harris

  They aren’t their paintings either, though Dréo’s great-great-grandfather or something is on one of them. We pull his leg about whether he’s the horse or the groom.’

  Klemens grinned. ‘You will make covers. Unteroffizier Schäffer will find old army blankets for you to tear up. You will make crates. Good crates. Nothing shoddy. To fit the pictures. You can do that? I want them well protecting.’

  ‘Will you be taking them away, monsieur?’ Reinach’s expression was innocent and Klemens frowned.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  Reinach shrugged. ‘In the days when the Baron was alive, if I made a crate for simple storage, it was light. If it was to be sent to a dealer, it was heavy. If it was to go by rail, it was heavier still. They throw things round a bit at the station.’

  ‘Make them very heavy,’ Klemens said. ‘I shall also want the cellar door replacing. Can you do that?’

  ‘I shall need one or two assistants, monsieur. I can’t do it all myself. And there’ll need to be men in the forest cutting and stripping. There’s nothing hi the village we could use. It’s all been burnt as firewood.’

  ‘Enlist anyone you need.’

  Reinach gestured and pulled a face. ‘Well, that raises another point, monsieur. Colonel Marx forbade anyone to go into the woods. It was after that fuss with the Resistance last year. People do go, of course. After rabbits and game. A few of the boys with their girl friends. But that’s unofficial. They won’t go if the soldiers are watching.’ Klemens frowned. ‘I’ve already given permission for wood to be cut for transportation to St Seigneur and on to the Reich for winter relief.’

  ‘Cut, monsieur,’ Reinach said.

  ‘Then cut some more. As of now, you have permission to cut as much as you require and to employ as many men in the forest as you need. What else will you want?’

  Reinach considered, his clown’s face twisted with the effort of thinking. ‘Not much, monsieur. Soft wood for the crates. Harder wood for the door. While we’re at it, we might as well make a good job of it. The Baronne won’t object, I suppose, and it’ll be all right for after.’

  ‘After what?’

  ‘After the war’s over, monsieur.’

  Klemens leaned forward. ‘You talk too much, Reinach,’ he growled. ‘Just do your carpentering and keep your mouth shut. What else do you want ?’

  ‘Petrol for my lorry and the tractor, and for the saw in Dring’s woodyard. You can’t cut trees into planks by hand, monsieur. We shall also need charcoal for Sergeant Dréo’s forge. That means a bit of extra, wood, but we’ve plenty of old iron we can use for the hinges. Théyras’ll seal up the windows and rebuild the pillars for the door.’

  Klemens nodded. ‘Can it be kept quiet?’

  ‘Like the grave, monsieur.’

  ‘Very well, get on with it’

  Reinach nodded and turned, then he stopped and swung back to face Klemens. ‘Just one thing, monsieur,’ he said. ‘Who told you?’

  Klemens was full of food and wine and he was feeling cheerful. He pretended he knew the identity of the informer, ‘So you can go and burn his house down?’ he asked. ‘Oh no! I’m not telling you that.’ He wagged a finger at Reinach. ‘And if I hear of anyone being beaten up, I’ll be holding an enquiry. Understood?’

  Reinach grinned, clicked his great feet together and even had a shot at a salute. ‘Understood, monsieur! Absolutely, completely understood.’

  2

  The grumbling had stopped.

  The invading armies were now beading towards Sens, and in his bones Captain Tarnera knew it wouldn’t be long before the German retreat - already increasing in speed - became a rush and every Frenchman started grabbing for a gun. Allied aircraft were known to be dropping them now in enormous quantities and, despite Vercors and Oradour. these was a mounting resistance in the Dordogne, the Auvergne, the Jura, Savoie and Corrèze. The tactics had also changed from sabotage to straightforward attack, and the reports that came north now indicated that down there no road was safe.

  In Néry there was still no sign of open hostility, but suddenly the village seemed to be on tiptoe. There was no difference and yet there was a difference. The villagers were now watching the Germans as closely as the Germans had watched them in the past. It was as if they were studying every move and timing everything they did. Tarnera guessed they were up to something, but could only suspect it had something to do with the fortuitous discovery of Klemens’ paintings, which they were surely far too hard-headed to enjoy losing. As for the anonymous letter Klemens had received he put that down to some private quarrel - perhaps some father who objected to young de Frager seducing his daughter.

  The village was bright with sunshine that made the old stonework glow. As the German lorries moved past, they threw up dust in a fine cloud that coated the sweating faces of their crews and settled on windows and flowers, dulling their colour. Tarnera sighed. He had an uneasy feeling that somehow, somewhere, Klemens had made a mistake. Yet, going over it all again and again, he couldn’t imagine what it was.

  Reinach appeared from his workshop. He was carrying two large four-handed saws which he tossed into the rear of the ancient lorry he drove. With him were Théyras the mason and Ernouf the quarryman, clutching a bag of hammers and chisels, and several youths who’d been taken on as assistants.

  Reinach waved. ‘Good morning, Monsieur Tarnera,’ he called gaily. ‘How’s everything?’

  Tarnera waved back and Reinach continued, lifting the bonnet of the lorry to prime the carburettor. ‘I’ve heard the allies are planning to land half a million men at Bordeaux. Have you heard that, monsieur?’

  Tarnera smiled. He knew Reinach well by now. ‘No, I’ve not,’ he said. ‘Any more than I’ve hear that the Führer’s about to invade Scotland from Norway and attack them from behind.’

  Reinach grinned, his head half inside the engine. ‘It’d go hard for you if they did land half a million men, though, wouldn’t it, monsieur?’

  ‘Not half as hard as it would for you if Major Klein-Wuttig heard you dispensing such gems of sedition as that one.’

  The lorry was taking some starting and Reinach, who was hitting something with a hammer, lifted his head and gave his wide clown’s grin that Tarnera reckoned wasn’t half as stupid as it looked. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but I wouldn’t dispense gems like that to the major, would I? Not likely. I prefer to stay alive. With you, monsieur, it’s different.’

  He got the lorry’s engine going at last, and the old vehicle rattled and chugged out of the village. Tarnera stared after it, frowning, well aware that Reinach’s cheerfulness didn’t come just from the look of the day. Perhaps, he thought, it was due to the promise of work and wages. Then he frowned again because he suspected Klemens had no intention of paying.

  The gates to the yard behind the chateau were now kept closed and there was a sentry on duty. Unteroffizier Schäffer had instructions that only his most reliable men were to be given the job and he’d set up a special little guard-house in one of the harness rooms, where a corporal spent most of his time sitting outside in the sunshine, watching everything that went on.

  That afternoon Tarnera took the car and two men with machine pistols, in case of an attempt at ambush, and drove out to the forest above the village. He could see nothing unusual. The quarry overhung the Rue des Roches, one of the three roads east from the village, but there was nothing there to worry him. Ernouf and Théyras were busy under the eyes of a sentry measuring up boulders and taking an occasional swipe at them with a hammer. They’d already collected a pile of square stones near the road.

  ‘Everything all right, corporal?’ Tarnera asked the sentry.

  ‘All correct, Herr Hauptmann. Nothing wrong.’

  Tarnera wasn’t so sure, Just over the ridge, Reinach was busy at the saw-mill. They’d already felled one of the big spruces and used the ancient tractor to drag it to the saw. Three men were now manoeuvring it on to the bench with the aid of a purchase fastened to a derrick. As
he watched, Tarnera saw Reinach swing at the handle of the saw’s motor and heard the clatter as it started. Two of the men put then-weight against the end of the log so that it moved on the rollers towards the whirling blade. A cloud of sawdust flew up, golden against the sunshine, and the high scream of the steel teeth biting into the wood filled the forest with sound.

  Klemens was staring at his maps when Tarnera returned. He looked up with a smile. ‘How did it go, Tarnera?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t trust them.’ Tarnera said.

  Klemens sat back. ‘You worry too much, Tarnera. What can they do to harm us? Did you see the Resistance up there?’

  ‘No.’

  Klemens shrugged. ‘Well, they can’t kill German soldiers with hammers and chisels. Tomorrow I’ll take a look myself.’ He bent over the table. ‘At the moment, I’ve got other things to handle. We’ve to prepare an appreciation of the situation round here. When our people finally pull back to the border they’ll be passing east of us to Langres on the N74, or north from Auxerre along the N65 to Chaumont and Nancy. We found those pictures just in time. Which one would you like?’

  ‘I’ve never been much interested in art, Herr Oberst.’

  Klemens’ head jerked round. ‘Who said I was? I’m interested in keeping body and soul together after the débâcle. Fritzi’s accepted one.’

  ‘Managing, no doubt, to reconcile his incorruptible German conscience.’

  Klemen s laughed. ‘If he uses what little brains he possesses, he ought to be able to keep his head above water until Germany’s sorted out her problems. How about the Fragonard?’

  Tarnera nodded non-committedly. He had no intention of accepting anything; not simply because he regarded it as dishonest but because he felt it downright dangerous. He tried Klein-Wuttig on the subject, but he was quite uncompromising in his attitude.

  ‘The French have no understanding of art,’ he said. ‘I’ve chosen the portrait of Countess Matejko by Kucharski.’

  ‘A good choice, Fritzi. A good Aryan painter.’

  Klein-Wuttig glared. ‘And why not? And my name is Friedrich-Johannes Klein-Wuttig. Not Fritzi. Nor Wuttig as the Colonel sometimes calls me. I have to accept insults from him, but nothing from a mere captain.’

  ‘Not even such good advice as Get rid of it ?’ Tarnera said. ‘It’ll be as dangerous as high-explosive when the war’s over.’

  Klein-Wuttig didn’t answer but he didn’t forget either, and that evening Klemens drew Tarnera aside. ‘What have you been saying this time,’ he demanded. ‘Frobinius wants to see you.’

  Tarnera smiled. ‘I’ve been pulling Fritzi’s leg, that’s all.’

  ‘I notice he never laughs,’ Klemens said bluntly. ‘Now go and see Frobinius. And, for God’s sake, don’t be provoked into losing your temper.’

  Frobinius was sitting in Klemens’ chair, his black uniform sombre in the grey light. His cap with its death’s head badge lay on the desk before him. He was only in his twenties with the round face of an eager schoolboy, his uniform well padded to compensate for narrow shoulders and the thin neck that protruded from his collar as if he were an adolescent outgrowing his clothes. His pale face was intent as he stared down at a file in his hands.

  ‘Captain Tarnera,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Our German traitor!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Heir Sturmbannführer?’

  Frobinius gestured. ‘A figure of speech,’ he said. ‘Fritzi Wuttig’s view. Haven’t you noticed that he has his knife into you?’

  Tarnera answered warily. ‘A matter of temperament,’ he said. ‘We just don’t see eye to eye about most things.’

  ‘Especially, it seems, about Germany’s chances of winning the war.’

  Frobinius’ face was cherubic but Tarnera was aware of danger.

  ‘I’ve never refused any duty,’ he said, ‘no matter what it was. But I was a newspaperman and newspapermen see things clearly.’

  ‘Newspapermen have been shot for seeing things too clearly, Tarnera. Sometimes it doesn’t pay.’

  ‘Frederick the Great’s generals didn’t always agree with him,’ Tarnera said, ‘but they continued to do their duty.’

  Frobinius looked up sharply. ‘The Führer’s decisions aren’t expected to leave room for the sort of disagreement Frederick the Great’s generals indulged in. And as for generals, I’m a historian of sorts too, and I know that Napoleon’s generals didn’t always agree with him and continued to do their duty - until they forced him to abdicate. There’s a later example: Witzleben, Stauffenberg and Beck and the July 20 plot. Fortunately, we were too quick for them.’

  There was a long pause then Frobinius leaned forward. ‘Do you consider us ruthless, Captain?’ he asked gently.

  Tarnera swallowed and searched for words. ‘I sometimes think there might be more room for mercy,’ he said.

  ‘No one ever became strong by dispensing mercy.’ Frobinius’ smiling face had changed. ‘We aren’t seeking popularity. You know what Reichsführer-SS Himmler said. ‘We don’t expect to be loved. We’re the black band of brothers.’ If Germany’s position’s in any doubt at the moment, it’s because people have chosen to be merciful. I promise you I shan’t.’

  The realization that he’d not impressed Frobinius confirmed for Tarnera when Klemens called him into office before the evening meal.

  ‘For God’s sake, Tarnera,’ he said. ‘What did you say?’

  Tarnera shrugged. ‘I was careful, Herr Oberst, to say little as possible.’

  ‘You still said enough for him to think you a bad security risk.’

  Tarnera’s shoulders moved. ‘Herr Oberst, at this stage the war, I think I’ve grown tired of trying to impress murderers -’

  ‘Shut up!’ Klemens roared. ‘I won’t have it! I’ve allowed you far too much rope as it is: If I continue, I shall be involved. And I want to get back to Germany in one piece. I’ve not gone in for murder. I’ve not indulged in loot –‘ he -stopped ‘ - except for the pictures, Tarnera. Except for the pictures. And those I mean to have. If we lose this war -‘

  ‘I think, Herr Oberst, it’s now a case of “when we lose”.’

  Klemens’ shoulders sagged. ‘Have it your own way. When it comes, I shall offer my surrender as a soldier. I’m not member of the Party. I’m not even a regular officer, merely a reservist. If they insist, I’ll walk into the prisoner of war camp and close the door with my own hands. They can’t keep me there for ever.’

  He took a turn up and down the room; then, recovering his spirits, he swung round to face Tarnera once more ‘They’ll have to get Germany going again when it’s all settled down,’ he said. ‘And for that they’ll need men who’ve been positions of authority. By that time there’ll have been a change of climate and I don’t intend to starve, believe me. That’s when we shall be glad we’ve got the pictures away.’

  Tarnera said nothing because he had a strong suspicion the people of Néry had no intention of allowing the pictures to leave the village at all.

  They hadn’t, but their chief concern at that moment that Brisson had arrived from Rolandpoint smiling all his face and demanding a share in their ideas.

  ‘I’ve heard of a plan,’ he said.

  Marie-Claude’s face was blank. ‘You must be cleverer in that fly-blown village of yours than we are,’ she said. ‘Do you think we’re stupid enough to try anything with an SS major at the chateau?’

  ‘Ernestine heard something was in the wind.’

  ‘In bed, I suppose,’ Marie-Claude snapped.

  Brisson went away chastened and Urquhart went with him, to see Ernestine Bona.

  Marie-Claude frowned but she didn’t argue. When he returned he was as silent as usual about what he’d been doing and Marie-Claude served his meal with a sullen expression on her face. When he’d finished, he looked up. ‘Someone else’s trying to get in on the act,’ he said.

  No one spoke or moved and he went on after a pause. ‘The radio operator at St Seigneur says they want to send us an
agent to organize us.’

  Marie-Claude turned at last. ‘We are organized,’ she exploded. Tell them to send him elsewhere!’

  Urquhart smiled. ‘I did,’ he said. ‘But that’s not all. It seems they have more weapons in London these days than they know what to do with. They’re giving them away without being asked. We’re to have another drop.’

  3

  When Colonel Klemens visited the forest to see for himself what progress was being made, Ernouf and three assistants with crowbars and ropes were hauling rocks about the quarry. Ernouf beamed as Klemens appeared.

  ‘Only using the best stone, Colonel,’ he announced.

  ‘I don’t give a damn whether it’s the best or the worst,’ Klemens growled, ‘so long as it stops thieving fingers.’

  Escorted by Tarnera, Klein-Wuttig, Unteroffizier Schäffer and a dozen men, all with their weapons at the ready, Klemens marched over the ridge to the saw-mill. The number of Reinach’s assistants had swollen considerably, and with him also were Sergeant Dréo and several youths selecting pieces of wood and burning them on a fire packed with sods.

  ‘Charcoal, monsieur,’ Dréo said with a wide smile. ‘For the forge.’

  Reinach came forward. Behind him, two men were loading planks on his lorry. Further down the hill near the road, four more men with a large saw were staring up at a tree gauging its straightness. ‘Pine for the crates,’ he said. ‘But not so resinous it weeps and spoils the pictures.’ He pointed down the valley. ‘Oak for the doors, of course, so it won’t warp.’

  ‘I don’t need a diatribe,’ Klemens snapped. ‘Just get on with it.’

  ‘Of course, monsieur.’ Reinach paused and coughed. There’s just one thing.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘The crucifix, monsieur.’

  ‘Which crucifix?’

  ‘The statue of Christ in the church, monsieur. Monsieur will understand because no doubt he’s a good Catholic’

  ‘I’m a Lutheran. For God’s sake get on with it.’

  ‘It’s said to be made from the wood of the true cross, monsieur, and we’d like to store it somewhere safe. Two years ago it was damaged - by the soldiers. They were drunk. They had no discipline. Not like monsieur’s soldiers. Perhaps monsieur would permit us, since we’re already up here, to cut wood for a new one.’