Initiation

by S C Brown

  Michel heard the music start. It was the same as yesterday, slow and calm. Michel heard Ritter’s boots approaching. Michel hung his head and without realising it, let out a single, dreadful sob. Michel knew he would have to start talking today. Yesterday’s beating was probably to soften him up, show Michel who’s boss. Okay, thought Michel, you have beaten my body but my mind still wants to fight. I must survive this. Michel started to rehearse his opening line in his head but when he heard Ritter enter the room, take his usual chair and light his cigarette, Michel’s mind seemed to stop working.

  The man who had been pacing behind moved around to face Michele. He was wearing a different shirt with the Milice badge on his sleeve: this was a Frenchman working for the Germans. Michel glared at the man, bald-headed and with a thick, pink neck. Michel just had the time to close his eyes when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ritter nod, just as he had done yesterday.

  The first fist landed square onto his left eye socket, which exploded in blood. The second banged into his swollen cheek, the predictable third into his right eye socket.

  Michel couldn’t see but he heard the man shift position slightly before launching another three punches. And another three. And another three. And another three.

  ‘I know where the Resistance live! Stop beating me! Let me talk.’

  Ritter nodded for another three punches.

  Michel spoke directly to his attacker. ‘Listen to me! Stop this! You too are French, why beat-’

  Michel couldn’t finish the sentence. The beatings came harder and more furious. Clearly, thought Michel, the Milice was angry, as the punches were no longer coming in threes.

  ‘Jean, that is enough,’ said Ritter, clearly disapproving of this loss of control.

  The man Jean took a pace back automatically, his breathing heavy and sweat forming in black stains on his shirt.

  Ritter stood up. ‘Michel, something you need to learn is that you will speak when spoken to.’ With that, Ritter bent down and stubbed his cigarette out on Michel’s arm. Michel flew backwards in pain and rage. Contentedly, Ritter stood straight, pulled his jacket back down at the hem, and walked out.

  ‘Same time tomorrow, Jean.’

  * * *

  ‘Colonel’ Brunswick stepped from a highly polished black Mercedes staff car and out onto the crunchy gravel outside Headquarters of the 184th Supply Battalion, near Rouen. Brunswick thanked his driver before turning towards the front door of what looked like a commandeered but crumbling school building, nonchalantly saluting the two sentries after they had snapped to present arms. The Battalion Adjutant stared open mouthed as Brunswick breezed straight past his office, up the corridor and knocked at the open door with ‘Kommandant’ chalked on it. The Battalion Commander, Major Vogel, was still doing up his tunic collar when the flawlessly dress Brunswick appeared at his door.

  ‘I am sorry, Sir, I was not informed that we would be receiving visitors this morning but you must be Colonel Brunswick?’

  ‘I am,’ beamed Brunswick, ‘it seems the message that I would be arriving a little earlier than planned clearly did not arrive. I hope that this does not inconvenience you?’

  The Major paused for just a moment. ‘Not at all, Sir.’ The Adjutant could be heard whispering something urgent about coffee to a bemused corporal behind.

  Brunswick didn’t wait to be invited but instead pulled up a wooden chair, sat down, crossed his legs, perched his cap on his knee and started to take off his gloves.

  ‘As I am sure you know, Major, I have come from the MBF in Paris to ensure that my men and my trucks will be well accommodated here. It was believed that a unit such as yours, and with the record that you have, would be an ideal place to for us to stay. If we have mechanical problems then we are in the right place to get them fixed are we not?’ Brunswick was the very picture of civility, charm and warmth and it was having the desired effect.

  ‘We can accommodate and feed your men of course. We can maintain them, just about, and I hope that the MBF staff would authorise the additional rations and fuel that we have bid for as a result?’

  ‘Of course,’ lied Brunswick. ‘Do you need me to sign anything or take up issue with anyone in Rouen on your behalf?’

  ‘You are going to Rouen today?’

  ‘I hadn’t planned on it but now you mention it, I can call in. See the cathedral before it’s ruined and get some business done. Yes, I think I will go.’

  ‘Well in that case, Sir, there is a favour I could ask of you–’ Brunswick spun his head towards the noise of a coffee jug lid clanging onto the floor. The Adjutant swiped at the hapless corporal trying to balance the rest of the objects on the tray he was carrying.

  Embarrassed, the Major returned to look at Brunswick once again. ‘My staff, amongst other things clearly, are preparing the paperwork required to authorise rations and the like as I mentioned just before … well, before that little distraction there. It would be of real help to me if you would be so kind as to drop one letter at Divisional Headquarters and the other at the Office of Supply in the city.’

  ‘But isn’t this a Supply Regiment?’

  The Major’s embarrassment increased, which is just how Brunswick wanted it. ‘Please understand that even Supply Regiments need supplies. Everything must be accounted for, you know how it can be but without proper authorisation.’

  Brunswick detected more than just embarrassment in the Major’s voice, there was bitterness in there too.

  ‘One good deed deserves another, Major, er-?’

  ‘Vogel.’

  ‘Major Vogel, indeed. In which case I will of course drop these letters off for you. Are they ready now?’

  ‘Not yet, Sir, as I say we were expecting you this afternoon and--’

  ‘No problem. In which case I will go and visit my men and return in - shall we say an hour from now?’

  ‘That would be fine. I could offer you lunch as well if you wish.’

  ‘No need, I will eat in the city, thanks anyway. See you in an hour.’

  Brunswick stood up and walked out, straight past the open-mouthed Corporal who was now holding a fresh pot of coffee with no guest to drink from it.

  Brunswick left his staff car behind and walked breezily along row upon row of trucks under camouflaged netting, until he found his own, picking up soldiers for not saluting properly or having tunic buttons undone on the way. Brunswick’s men were standing about smoking and waiting. Had anyone been looking, they would have noticed that these soldiers did not spring to attention upon the arrival of this particular Colonel.

  ‘Hello boys!’

  ‘It’s true then. Max, you owe me a cigarette. We bet on what rank you would be today and I settled for Colonel. Let’s face it, whatever it was, you had to outrank the CO here. Good outfit, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you, Karl.’

  ‘All is well with the circus in BHQ I take it?’

  ‘Worked a dream. Arrive early, put them on the back foot, look superior, blow smoke up their arse and sound like you understand all their petty difficulties. Poor man, he was embarrassed from the moment I arrived, he would have done anything to spare himself more blushes. This was a better place to come than I originally thought, look at this: hundreds of trucks, identical to ours. No one will notice us here and even if they did, Supply Regiments lack the arrogance to say no when it comes to feeding a few more hungry mouths a day.’

  ‘Whatever works, works for me, Colonel.’

  ‘When do you start?’ asked Brunswick, becoming more businesslike.

  ‘We will be ready to go out tonight, I have studied the map and I think that there are three sites we can set up in that will surround Rouen, electronically speaking that is, and from there we can listen for any outgoing messages. We will be back in by dawn, well before the British and American fighters start strafing the roads. If the British agents working in the field around Rouen are anything like those we had in Holland, they won’t be signalling during the day anyway.’


  ‘Need anything?’

  ‘Chocolate, coffee, the usual.’

  ‘I will see what I can do. I will be in Rouen for the next couple of days to see what I can find out. If I hear anything useful, I will let you know.’

  ‘OK, maybe see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Yes, oh just one thing before I go. If I am dressed like this, and there are other soldiers about, I want you acting like I was a real Colonel, understand?’

  ‘You bloody love it, don’t you?’

  ‘I will take that as a ‘Yes Sir!’’

  Corporal Karl snapped his heels to attention. ‘Jawohl, Herr Oberst!’

  ‘All right Karl, all right. Don’t overdo it.’

  ‘No pleasing some Colonels, is there … Colonel.’

  * * *

  Brunswick, still dressed as Colonel, breezed cool authority as he walked through the streets of Rouen, escorted by the lavish, forthright female clerk the Office of Supply had lent him to show him to Police HQ in town. The clerk, Angelika, clearly enjoyed her task for the day and, having completed her duty, all to quickly agreed to wait for Colonel Brunswick until she could show him a good place for lunch afterwards. Charming Colonels were hard to come by, after all. As were their ration cards.

  Brunswick was disappointed to find that the SD Chief in the area, Hauptsturmführer Ritter, was not at his desk but was instead out conducting an arrest. Never one to waste time, and deciding that he had yet to make plans for somewhere to stay for the night, Brunswick decided to use the time testing out Angelika’s knowledge of the bars and restaurants.

  As luck would have it, the restaurant Angelika selected was not too far from police HQ and, she later hinted, not too far from her lodgings. Brunswick stretched out in his chair, sipped coffee and found his current situation most agreeable.

  Resourceful, Angelika knew exactly where she could get the coffee and chocolate that the Colonel sought for his soldiers, understanding just how tough it could be to get your hands on anything these days.

  Outside, in the square opposite, Brunswick and Angelika noticed a commotion stirring from the right. Following an Army truck with a backwards-facing machine gun fixed to its rear, traipsed a double file of young men in civilian clothes. Prisoners rounded up to go to the slave labour camps.

  ‘The STO raid, must be.’ Angelika said, very matter-of-fact.

  Driving slowly, alongside the trudging men, stood up in an open-topped car, was a proud-looking German officer, smiling.

  ‘That’s Ritter.’

  ‘You know him?’ asked Brunswick.

  ‘Colonel, everyone knows who Ritter is.’ Angelika looked across to Brunswick. ‘He’s … very efficient in what he does.’ She was choosing her words guardedly.

  ‘Is that so.’ Brunswick took a moment to study the young, sleek Nazi, riding steadily through town, the three diamonds on his label badge brilliant white against their black background.

  ‘Certainly not one to hide his light under a bushel, is he.’ It was a statement, rather than a question.

  ‘I see him around town quite a bit. In fact, I see him having lunch here quite a lot. He is no secret about town, comes and goes as he pleases. Rumour is he’s married but he’s been seen a few times with one particular girl from Administration.’

  ‘Well, he certainly cuts a dash, there’s no doubt about that.’ Brunswick was distracted from studying Ritter further by smoke being blown across the table by Angelika.

  ‘Is he the one you are going to meet this afternoon?’

  ‘I certainly think so.’

  ‘Well he looks like he will busy for at least another hour or so, so shall we order more wine?’ she said, beaming.

  ‘What a very good idea.’ Brunswick, being a Colonel today, took no time in getting the eye of a waiter, who approached hurriedly.

  ‘We’ll take another bottle of the…’

  It was Angelika gasping that made Brunswick stop mid order. Following her stare and looking out across the square, Brunswick watched one of the prisoners make a run for it, weaving between the bare, spindly trees that surrounded the square. Soldiers began to shout and cock their rifles. A shot rang out. The running man’s arm was thrown brutally forward, knocking him off balance. He somehow remained on his feet and ran on.

  More of the other prisoners started to run. Some, however, stayed put, taking cover by lying on the ground. Utterly transfixed by what he saw, Brunswick noticed Angelika clasp a hand across her mouth.

  The first man disappeared behind the church and was gone from view. The mêlée random shooting ensued; one prisoner fell, then another. One grappled with a soldier, both men sinking to the floor at each other’s throats.

  Brunswick ignored the others and instead concentrated purely on watching Ritter who was shouting orders and pointing out targets. Ritter was starting to lose his composure as his men failed to hit the running targets. Then, all of a sudden, it was as if something inside Ritter snapped. Swearing, he climbed down onto the street from his car and demanded a machine gun from one of the soldiers. Professionally, he checked how much ammunition was left before asking the soldier for a fresh magazine. The soldier obliged. Ritter loaded, made ready and raised the machine gun to his shoulder and started firing aimed, neat, professional bursts. Running prisoners started to drop. Sirens could be heard approaching from the west. Angelika looked away quickly as Ritter brought down two men only yards from the restaurant window.

  Ritter stood on the same spot, gradually circling to fire lethal bursts into the escapees. A police car approached alongside the church, a man was pushed out of it onto the road and then frog-marched towards those still lying on the ground, towards Ritter.

  ‘Wait!’ called Ritter. ‘Was this man escaping?’

  ‘He was certainly –‘

  Ritter shot the man dead. Blood splattered onto the faces of the soldiers who had been escorting him. Angelika turned away but Brunswick continued to study Ritter. He watched Ritter spin on his heels and walked over to where men who were not trying to escape cowered on the floor. Ritter emptied the rest of his ammunition into them. The men didn’t move, except for arms and legs flinching a little as bullets struck home.

  Ritter looked up through the trees to see another struggling escapee brought back into the square.

  ‘Shoot him. Now.’ Ritter ordered.

  Two soldiers swung their rifles to take aim. Seeing he was cornered, the fugitive raised his arms to surrender. Ritter said something quietly and the rifles made a loud, simultaneous crack. The surrendering man fell dead.

  After a few moments, silence descended over the square. Ritter turned and for a moment, Brunswick and Ritter’s eyes met. Brunswick watched a satisfied-looking Ritter click on the safety catch and hand his gun to a soldier. He looked Brunswick straight in the eye once again, his eyes gleaming, satisfied.

  Ritter barked at a police lieutenant. ‘Clear this mess up. Anyone who may still be on the run went up there.’ He pointed through some trees towards the Cathedral. Ritter then got back into the open-topped car, talking quickly to his driver. The car sped off.

  ‘My God.’ It was Angelika, shaking Brunswick from his trance.

  ‘He doesn’t muck about, does he?’ Brunswick did not mean that as a joke but realised that he had just come across uncommonly frank for a Wehrmacht Colonel. Angelika looked at him through teary eyes, not comprehending.

  The wine went unfinished. Angelika urged Brunswick to let her show him back to Police HQ on the grounds that it was quite likely that Ritter would now be there. But Brunswick wasn’t sure. The sounds of occasional shooting in the distance meant that the hunt for escaping prisoners was not yet complete. If Ritter was not out hunting, then he would probably be busy explaining why the Service du Travail Obligatoire should expect fewer recruits than expected from Rouen today. No, Brunswick said, he would see Ritter in the morning. Until then, Angelika could show him the sights and sounds of Rouen. It took more than a few glasses of wine for Angelika to recover from
what they had both witnessed that day. And all the time, Brunswick thought of Ritter, after all, it was Ritter that he was going to have to beat in getting to the British agent first.

  Chapter Seven

  Paul, more confident after six days had passed with Michel in custody and no raids by the Germans, decided to pay a visit to his father’s farmhouse. He found Saxon and Clement busy planning the next raid.

  Paul was the first to admit that perhaps it was too early to be thinking about getting the men back out on the streets to raise hell once again. Yes, the Germans had been remarkably quiet since the raid on the railway. No reprisals and only one arrest, prompted by a statement from Yvette Lavier. Michel must either be holding out against interrogation, or dead. Paul was dismayed to admit it but he was not sorry to see Michel arrested. He had been nothing but a sore in his side for a long time. Perhaps fate had dealt Paul and Clement a good hand for once.

  Saxon was as determined as ever to take the fight to the Germans but accepted Paul’s argument not to provoke the Germans just yet, or risk massive, murderous reprisals. Clement, however, was of the opinion that keeping the men cooped up for so long would damage morale and dampen their fighting spirit. Saxon, in the middle, wanted to get something underway as soon as Paul felt it safe.

  Paul was tiring of being held responsible for almost everything right now, especially when he himself was on the run. It seemed that no one, including Clement, wanted to do anything without Paul’s say so. Many would have relished the status, the responsibility, but for Paul, this was one burden he could do without. He envied the men whose job it was simply to go out and shoot or blow up Germans: that was the easy bit. Paul’s was the most painstaking, deliberate and demanding of work and this past week had left him exhausted.