by S C Brown
‘I’ll bet he did, the rascal,’ laughed the Admiral. ‘Plenty more ladies for him in Paris, eh?’
‘That may have been on his mind, Sir, certainly.’
‘It’s always on his bloody mind. He should have been Vice Squad, not the Murder Squad in … Hamburg, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right, Sir. Brunswick was Hamburg Police before the war.’ Brunswick lay down his cutlery for a moment to make a point. ‘I have to ask, had you planned this?’
‘Planned what?’
‘My moving to Paris almost immediately.’
‘Yes and no, Walter, is the honest answer. Yes and no. I have been devising the Paris plan in secret over the last few weeks. Last night’s … erm … activities gave me the moment I needed to make the change I wanted for you. Anyway, after what happened to you, you need to get away from Holland for good.’
The Admiral continued: ‘Berner, I need you sharp and active when you get to Paris, not wallowing in disappointment and guilt. So we will eat and then you will sleep. Last night was not your failure, Walter, it was an Abwehr failure.’
‘I appreciate that, Admiral. Thank you again.’
‘My pleasure. More wine and then some dessert, perhaps?’
Berner nodded as a waiter appeared to top up his glass and clear away their plates.
‘The Colonel and I now need to speak in private.’
The waiter nodded and left quietly.
Schneider shifted in his chair to get a little closer to Berner. As the two men spoke, the Admiral’s Dachshund nibbled contentedly at a piece of steak that the Admiral had accidentally on purpose dropped without the waiter noticing.
* * *
The rail-yard had clamoured with banging, sawing and digging since the night Saxon arrived. The remains of the bombed-out houses next door stood grey and untouched. Occasionally a picture would fall from a wall, the shattering of the glass lost amongst the noise of German engineers in a rush.
The French and slave workers at the Fruyer Engineering Works in Paris had done their best to delay and frustrate the manufacture of the new railway points for the Rouen rail-yards. Eventually, threatened with hostages being taken if the work was not finished on time, the factory-workers grudgingly completed their task. Delivery by road was out of the question and so the new railway points would get to Rouen along the railway lines that Saxon, Clement and his deputy, Michel, now surveyed through their binoculars in the wintery afternoon sun.
‘The train carrying the points will cross that viaduct at 0932 hours in two days’ time,’ said Clement, still looking through his binoculars.
‘So sure?’ asked Saxon.
‘Of course! I have a friend in the railway offices and he’s worked out what’s going on. To be honest, a German artillery colonel practically told him the plan whilst boasting that he had managed to get some of his gun barrels on the same train! They’re getting sloppy, the Germans. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining - but one good hit by us might shake them back to their normal selves in no time.’ There was a hint of regret in his voice.
Michel added grimly, ‘As I was saying earlier, this is a factor we cannot ignore. This attack will be easy, but life for everyone will be much harder once the Gestapo realises we are back to ripping up their railways.’
Saxon nodded, sombre, before raising his binoculars back to his eyes to study the ground. They had a panoramic view of the valley stretched out before them. The hillsides cut sharply down to a river that flowed to the Seine, with the railway line running parallel, halfway between where Saxon lay and the river. The railway ran off to Saxon’s left across a high brick viaduct. To his right, the lines disappeared into the trees. Looking into the bottom of the valley, Saxon watched the road running alongside the river, quiet and with no traffic. The valley, like the road, was still. Even the cows on the hill opposite seemed stationary. All Saxon could hear was the distant rippling of the river and the chirping of birds.
It was the perfect position for what Saxon wanted to do. Just beside the tracks below him, small mounds of earth - spoil from when the railway was first cut – gave Saxon what he knew would be the perfect hiding place from which to launch his attack.
‘It’s perfect. How many times have you attacked here before?’
‘Never,’ Clement replied. ‘I have left this site until the right moment come along. If this is the start of our next round of direct action, then I want my men to taste success early and, as you say, here’s the place to do it. Not only that, but we’re a long way from any of the villages, so the Gestapo would struggle to pick one to take hostages. On the plus side, we are close enough to the villages for them to hear the explosion go off when we hit the train. The villagers need to know we are still in business: it does recruiting the world of good and if we are to intensify our work in this area, I’m going to need the extra manpower.’
Saxon lowered his binoculars. ‘That’s settled then.’
‘Good. I am glad we agree,’ smiled Clement.
‘Hang on,’ interrupted Michel tensely. ‘How would you propose we carry out this attack?’
‘Some thirty men up here for protection and the later ambush, a small demolitions team clamber down to the tracks with me, place the charges, with twenty or so men in the woods behind us to protect against any Rumanians on patrol, as well as cover our approach and escape routes,’ recited Saxon. It was like being back at the Commando school again.
‘That is some 50 or 60 men!’ exclaimed Michel. ‘That would mean bringing the men in from their normal jobs, posing Paul a security risk. You know what the young guys are like - they love telling all the girls they are off to war. Why not run a small operation, Clement, led by Saxon and make it look like a British operation? The enemy will conclude they have Brits at work and that may take the heat off us Frenchmen. If the Gestapo go murdering villagers to get information, the people will never forgive us. You can’t recruit dead men.’
Clement looked out onto the valley, thinking before slowly replying. ‘Michel, I don’t want to blood a small handful of men, I want to blood as many as possible…’
‘But…’
Clement raised a hand to stop Michel before he got going again, ‘As I said, I want to blood as many as possible. We can operate in smaller teams after that. The Resistance took a hammering when the Rouen network was rounded up. We need to make a stand and let the local people know the Maquis is still here and active, not reliant solely on the efforts of the British. Frenchmen need to realise we can fight for ourselves. I don’t see this as one attack but the first of many and if this is going to be the easiest of the lot, then I want as many men to see it as possible. Drawing the men in from across the district would make it very difficult for the Germans to pinpoint where this attack was run from. As long as no one talks, we should be fine. I can then disperse the men again quickly before everyone realises that most of the men have been missing.’
‘It’s too risky, Clement. This isn’t all-out war just yet. We need to protect what we have.’
Clement sighed heavily, clearly frustrated but managing to maintain a calm, almost monotonous reply. ‘Michel, one day you may well find yourself leading a resistance network all of your own. Then you can make the decisions and have the final say. But in this instance, I want a big victory, a safe victory. Involve the men in a way that will want them coming back for more. So whilst I take all your points, and I agree with you that it’s going to be risky, it’s about time we retook the initiative and in this case, my friend …’ Clement reached out and grabbed Michel’s shoulder. ‘I am afraid I must over-rule you. We attack here when the railway points are brought through.’
Michel looked away, his pride smarting. ‘And why won’t you blow up the bridge?’
‘Our newly trained demolitions expert had better answer that one. Saxon?’
‘It’s made of brick. We have nowhere near the amount of explosives I would need to bring that down. I had something else in mind for the viaduct to make lif
e difficult but I won’t be able to cut it.’
‘All right?’ Clement asked Michel softly.
Michel’s irascible silence spoke volumes. Clement raised his eyebrows to Saxon, who asked, ‘So we’re in agreement?’
‘We’re in agreement,’ replied Clement and Michel together. Saxon couldn’t help notice that while Clement’s heart was in it, Michel’s most certainly wasn’t.
* * *
With an urbanity matching the grandeur of his office, General der Infantrie Carl von Kettler, the most senior German soldier in France, stepped energetically towards the door to greet an old friend.
‘My dear Wilhelm, how good it is to see you again. Welcome, welcome. Come in, please.’ The General could not have been more congenial if he tried and Berner thought he looked genuine. It fitted the General’s reputation of being one of the Army’s old school: professional, privileged and above politics. Perhaps that is why Schneider seemed to like him so much – a man after his own heart. Peppi the Dachshund bounded in behind his master to start systematically sniffing the General’s carpet – all of it.
Schneider reciprocated. ‘Sir, it is indeed a rare pleasure and Paris looks beautiful this morning,’ looking down kindly and smiling the Admiral continued, ‘Peppi particularly likes the tree-lined avenues – lots of new smells for him to investigate.’
‘Ah yes, Peppi the Dachshund, how could I forget?’ asked Kettler. ‘Thank God your dog cannot talk, Wilhelm; I shudder to think how many of the country’s secrets that dog carries about with him.’ Peppi paused with eyebrows raised inquisitively and then quickly returned to sniffing his way around the room.
‘Yes.’ Schneider smiled fondly. ‘Peppi will need some more outdoor exercise later today, won’t you?’
Von Kettler shifted his glance from the dog to the man accompanying Schneider.
‘Allow me, General,’ said Schneider apologetically, ‘It is my pleasure to introduce to you Colonel Walter Berner of the Abwehr. A man I trust completely.’
Von Kettler looked impressed at that.
The Admiral went on: ‘Colonel Berner here has recently returned from some particularly successful operations elsewhere in Europe and I think he will now begin to work his magic here in France. Berner here is an expert in opening radio links with London and luring the British into all sorts of things.’
One professional soldier soon spots another and none of the men in this room were in this war just for the duration. Their stance and an unwillingness to engage in small talk gave them all away as pre-war professionals. ‘Colonel Berner,’ said the General, ‘you come at a good time. The special equipment that you wanted me to protect is under wraps in the courtyard to the rear, quite out of sight. Although I know what it is, no one else - not even my closest staff - have the faintest idea what it’s for. Frankly, I think the equipment’s arrival was so underplayed that no one actually cares, after all it looks just like any other truck.
‘I have kept your radio interception equipment under a discrete guard as you asked and I have allocated Colonel Berner an office just around the corner, close to my own private office but out of sight. If you want to keep the Abwehr and the SS in Paris ignorant of your presence, then here I think is the safest place to hide you. I thought you could work on the pretence of being my own personal security adviser, which should attract no or little interest. Certainly I will not advertise your presence here unless of course you want me to.’
Berner thanked the General and then shot Schneider a questioning glance. If the Admiral had only decided last night to assign Berner to Paris, how come the radio interception equipment had arrived last week?
As if he knew what Berner must be thinking, Schneider went on: ‘General, the situation has changed little since our last exchange of messages. As Military Governor of Paris, your rank and position allows you to provide Berner here the perfect cover. So Berner will remain based here in the Hotel Majestic until he needs to move closer to the action. Berner and I will inform you only of what you need to know. Berner will be working directly to me. Please understand, General, that you will see very little of what he’s up to and I need to keep it that way. It will preserve our security and yours also – what you don’t know cannot kill you.’ Schneider allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Therefore may I request that, under the cover of being your own security adviser, you kindly authorise Berner’s unrestricted access to your cipher room? That way he can communicate directly with me without having to deal with your own cipher staff. Again, what they do not know cannot hurt them either. The mission will only work if we afford it the highest security possible, which means that Berner’s work and presence here must remain a secret to the Paris Abwehr and SS staff. I may even, if necessary, invent work for the Paris Abwehr and SS to do in order to avert their gaze from the work of Berner. I might need your help in setting up such a distraction.’
‘What a world you live in, Wilhelm.’
‘I’m used to it, don’t worry. However, by far the biggest help you can offer Berner, Sir, will be deflecting the prying eyes of the SS. The SS will want to know everything about him if they get wind of his arrival. For reasons you understand only too well, General, the SS simply must not be allowed to get its claws into this mission.’
The general said nothing; he simply and slowly walked and sat down behind his desk. Thinking hard, the General looked Schneider straight in the eye and nodded. ‘That could make the SS suspicious of me and this is not the time to be considered disloyal. I will do what I can but if my own survival is at stake--’
‘I understand completely. I have the very same problem in Berlin,’ interrupted Schneider. ‘Berner will advise you and if you’re getting concerned, then let either one of us know immediately.’
‘Fine. May I say that your arrival is most fortuitously timed.’ It was the General’s turn to raise a mischievous smile. ‘The SS find themselves a little preoccupied this morning. It seems that the British killed an SS officer in Holland last night. Half of the SS are lusting for vengeance, the other half too scared to move. I hope the British do not intend to assassinate you, Colonel Berner.’
‘Me too,’ replied Berner frankly, still getting used to being called Colonel. ‘I hope to be so invisible that the British, the SS, everyone will miss me completely.’
Peppi the dog, his work on the carpet now complete, began to paw at his master’s knees. ‘Peppi looks hungry!’ beamed the General with sudden enthusiasm, rising to his feet. ‘So we are agreed: we have a good plan and I will give you and your men every assistance in their mission. I will place all my intelligence files at your disposal and I can call on the Abwehr archive if you need me to without any mention of Colonel Berner’s activities. Now, gentlemen,’ said the General changing tone, ‘I took the liberty of arranging some lunch for us all The food here is exquisite. I trust that is agreeable with you?’
The reaction of the other men in the room implied that it was. Peppi, too, was quick to guess that whatever was coming next would somehow involve food.
With that, the General opened the large wooden office door and gestured his guests towards his personal dining room. Berner walked down the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back, head forward, immersed in thought. Glancing out of a window, Berner realised that his lush surroundings would be a self-imposed prison until the British made their next move. But there were worse places in Paris to be holed up in.
* * *
Halfway through his afternoon shift, a waiter spun on his heels. One of his regular customers was suddenly on his feet brushing hot coffee out of his lap, swearing under his breath. The waiter rushed along, fussing, attempting to dab the man with a napkin. Annoyed, the customer pushed the waiter away. Sniffing, the waiter stepped aside slightly before returning undaunted to mop the table. As the waiter fussed, he noticed his customer never once took his eyes off something in the avenue outside. The waiter sneaked a glanced between dabs. What could be so intriguing about an old paunchy man with white hair watching
a dachshund urinate against a tree?
* * *
It was still dark as Saxon rose to his elbows on his makeshift bed, yawned and nodded to himself: today’s the day. He washed and shaved in warmish water, trying hard not to shiver. The smell of strong coffee brought Saxon fully awake as he entered a kitchen busy with the final preparations for breakfast and a raid. Clement, as usual, busied himself with making sure that breakfast was plentiful and sumptuous – rationing had not made its way to the farmhouse yet. Clement’s eyes creased with a smile as he handed Saxon coffee and a hunk of fresh bread. Saxon could hear many footsteps outside as he tucked in. The door cracked open a little and an anonymous voice announce the sentries had been posted, the coast was clear, the men of the cordon were leaving now and, incidentally, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.
Flicking his head towards the door, Clement nodded acknowledgement of the information before glugging back his coffee and walking to the corner of the kitchen where his smock, ammunition belt and rifle lay waiting. With bread still clasped between his teeth, he pulled on his rucksack, shaking the pack into a comfortable position. Saxon watched the kitchen silently empty out.
Their host, Madame Morneau, hurried around her kitchen, tidying and reclaiming it as the men left. Although understandably apprehensive, she quipped and wished the men happy hunting. Saxon kissed her once on each cheek and with one of his most charmingly warm smiles, set off for the door. Madame Morneau had been waving men off to fight since 1915.
A veteran of the same war, Clement clasped her around the shoulders, ‘Now Madame, we won’t be long at all, you will no doubt be glad of some peace and quiet for a few hours. As I say, we won’t be long but you will be well protected.’ She nodded like a child, fiddled with the corner of her apron. As the last of the men left, the kitchen seemed suddenly very empty and quiet.