by S C Brown
* * *
Impatient and bursting to share the news, Clement decided not to wait any longer for Michel to get back and go ahead with the briefing to his men.
‘So, let’s go through this one more final time,’ carolled Clement as his men groaned. ‘Don’t you grumble at me! Trust me, if you want to get out of all this alive, even you amateurs need to act like professionals. Come on, gather around the model and let’s rehearse this just one more time. That’s the way.’
Paul smiled as he spoke to Saxon quietly. ‘You can take the man out of the army…’
Saxon could see Clement’s men loved him but in the small hours of the morning, they had a funny way of showing it.
‘Comfortable, everyone?’ asked Clement teasingly. ‘Good, because I’m changing the plan.’
A predictable stir went through the men. They never liked sudden switches, and this change was considerable.
‘We have had some new information in from London. They want us to get into the habit of running operations with much fewer men. Much fewer. My problem is that you had all started to converge here before I had the chance to tell you, and I know you didn’t come here to be turned around and sent home empty handed.
‘So, I’ve changed the plan so that we can practice a smaller raid but still give everyone a slice of the fun.’
Saxon watched a stir of excitement pulse through the group.
‘Now that I have your attention, here’s the plan…’
In his inimitable style, Clement went on to explain in detail the new proposal. Saxon would lead a small party up to the railway, set explosives and lay in wait to kill off any survivors. Meanwhile, Clement would take most of the men and set an ambush on the Rouen Road, ready to kill the first German that reacted to the attack on the railway. They would set off at 3am.
The men dispersed for a sleepless night.
* * *
Eve arrived early at the café to have a moment to think. Berner had been right about Rommel and London seemed happy to get rid of Ritter for him. But Berner was too bright, too well-trained to fly by the seat of his pants. He was nothing if not predetermined and strategic. So what was he really up to? If Berner was working for the SD, then why kill someone from the same organization? Was he now part of some small war between the SD and the German Army and Eve his assistant? Or was Berner a died-in-the-wool Abwehr man, intent on avenging his arrested boss? Or – of this were possible - was he genuinely turning and working for London?
Smithens had told Eve how traitors, like criminals, need a motive and an opportunity. The opportunities were obvious – the arrival of Eve and the arrest of Schneider. But what was the motive?
Berner walked in and removed his hat. Eve ordered the coffee.
Once he was settled in his chair, Berner asked if Eve had seen Rommel.
‘I did. He was right where you said he would be, bang on time.’
‘Good, good.’ Berner looked relieved.
‘Walter, why are you doing this?’
Berner didn’t react.
‘What you’re starting to tell me is dangerous but seems to be checking out but I don’t get it – why are you doing this?’
Berner shifted in his chair a little, glancing out the corners of his eyes to see who could be listening. Slowly, he undid his coat to reveal the Nazi party badge on his lapel. Eve felt herself recoil minutely. What came next, however, was a bigger shock.
‘This may be mine,’ said Berner, gesturing to the badge, ‘but it’s not me. I’m not of it.’
Berner let his coat fall back into place. ‘I fought in the last war, we lost and my country was ruined. Now look at us.’
‘Conqueror of almost all of Europe?’ asked Eve provocatively.
‘It’s only temporary. Stalingrad has really changed everything. We’ve lost in Africa and the Italians have surrendered, leaving Germany to fight the slow, inevitable withdrawal home. We’re losing this war. It’s the Nazis who got us into this and it’s the Nazis who will destroy everything. At this rate, Germany will cease to exist. Practically the whole German Army knows it but to say it out loud is tantamount to a death sentence. Eve, Germany is dying before my very eyes and I just can’t stand by and let that happen.’
‘Germany is dying and you want to speed the process up? Kill the ailing patient?’ asked Eve.
‘Yes and no.’
Eve snorted derisively, prompting a little desperation from Berner.
‘Yes, I want this war over as quickly as possible in order to ensure there is a Germany still left at the end of it all. At their current rate, the Soviets will devour Germany whole before you and the Americans get anywhere near the German border. To save Germany from the Russians and from itself, the Nazis must first be defeated. Germany and the Nazis are no longer one and the same. To save Germany, Eve, we need to kill a few Germans.’
Eve wasn’t sure about the Russians but here was a man, it seemed, intent on destroying Nazi Germany. Berner was rapidly turning from enemy to ally. Or was he?
Berner, by continuing to speak, prevented Eve from drawing a full conclusion.
‘This is what I want, Eve. I want the Allies to invade France and Belgium as soon as possible and push their armies as far east as they can stop the Russians from taking it all. I want to help the invasion succeed, really succeed. So don’t ask me to help you to win in Italy. Ask me to help with easing the invasion here.’
Eve could never be certain but the intensity of Berner’s stare, the passion in his voice looked and sounded authentic. ‘How can you prove this, Walter? You’ve shown me you can predict when a Field Marshal will drive by. That’s a long way to helping the war.’
‘A fair question, which I knew you’d ask. So I have a plan to prove my intentions. I accept I have spent this war convincing you British to believe anything but the truth. I accept I need to show you proof of my sincerity and trustworthiness.’
‘Until then, I have to sit and wait, and so does London?’
‘It’ll be worth it.’ Berner grinned.
‘And don’t tell me, Walter, I will get this amazing piece of information once I’ve helped you get your sergeant out of jail in Rouen?’
‘That is exactly what I had in mind.’ Berner’s eyes were back to their playful, intelligent self.
Eve felt cornered. She wanted to believe Berner. Of course she did. He’d just said he wanted to help win the war. But here was a man skilled in the art of deception. He was apparently one of the best in the business. Why go to all this trouble when Berner had the power to compel Eve to send any message to London he wanted to sow confusion? The problem was that Eve had not been trained to be an agent handler – she had been sent here to keep an eye on Berner, not run him as a double agent. Eve wished Smithens was here – the old man would have known instinctively what to do but Eve, acting on her own, was going to have to make her mind up about Berner.
He looked like he was reading Eve’s thoughts and instead of saying something else, he simply let Eve make her mind up. Berner’s silence impressed Eve. It was going to be a lack of words that convinced her, she realised.
‘I always did fancy a trip to Rouen,’ she said. ‘And knowing you, Walter, the car is ready and waiting around a corner somewhere close?’
Berner smiled again, and offered her a hand to help her up from the table. Not entirely reluctantly, she took it.
* * *
Walter Berner showed his pass, bidding the sentry a pleasant hello as he walked into the Hotel Majestic. Everything was a little cleaner and everyone a little smarter than usual. Even the staff at reception seemed somehow shinier.
Berner vaulted up the stairs, his coat bellowing open behind him. Chirpily, he greeted people along the corridors on his way to his office. Flinging his feet onto his desk, Berner picked up a single sheet of paper. He picked up his phone and asked to be put through to the General’s Adjutant.
‘Hello, Berner here. Thank you for the copy of the Field Marshal’s visit programme. Yes, I sho
uld be available for drinks the evening after tomorrow and I’d be happy to give the Field Marshal an intelligence update, as far as I can, of course. Tell me, is the visit going to plan? Is the Field Marshal on time? Sometimes they run late, you know how it is.’
Berner got the response he was hoping for. ‘Excellent, many thanks,’ he said, putting the phone down again.
Berner reached into his drawer to retrieve his own pistol and a smaller one, his reserve, which he thought Eve might need. He collected a few things in a bag and then scanned the office, looking for something and thinking where it might be. Opening another drawer in his desk, he rummaged around and there they were – his lock picks. Berner studied them, almost hypnotically, in the palm of his hand.
Then he snapped out of it. It was time for action.
Dropping his lock picks into his pocket, Berner left his office and walked as nonchalantly as he could, down and along corridors, away from the offices and towards the living accommodation. Having been practically imprisoned in this building for so long, he knew his way around and all the sentries recognised him, greeting him cordially as he went.
Berner was only stopped once, just as he was approaching the Field Marshal’s suite.
‘Colonel Berner, may I ask you for your identification?’
Berner laughed politely but played along.
The guard studied it, trying to look as if he hadn’t seen it before and handed it back. ‘Thank you, Colonel. The Field Marshal is away at the moment, you do know that?’
‘Yes. This is another of my routine security checks. Now, I don’t want anyone coming down this corridor who shouldn’t, understand?’
The soldier’s head moved back a bit. ‘Of course, Sir.’
‘Good lad. I don’t want anyone coming down here, not even the Field Marshal’s batman, you with me? No one comes down here.’
The soldier smiled and let Berner pass.
First hurdle cleared, thought Berner as he approached the Field Marshal’s door. He tried the door and found it locked. He slipped the lock picks from his pocket and got to work, looking casual and with his back to the sentry. In no time, Berner was in.
The room dripped with opulence, with every detail immaculate. Berner recognised the small photographs of Lucia and Manfred Rommel on the desk.
The desk.
Berner walked behind it and tried the drawers. The two that opened immediately contained nothing of consequence. The two top drawers, one on either side, however, were locked. Out came the lock picks again. The drawers took longer to pick - the locks were small and fiddly.
Boots stepped past outside. Berner froze. The boots approached the door, paused for a moment, and then continued on. Berner felt himself physically droop with relief before getting back to the drawer locks.
First one, then the other lock clicked open. Before moving anything, Berner checked the drawers for any hairs stuck with saliva across the gaps – rudimentary tamper alarms. Nothing. Satisfied, Berner opened the drawers and took a moment to memorise how everything was laid out. Then he was in, lifting out notebooks and a map.
Berner stretched out the map and let out a small, low whistle. It was a map of the Normandy coast, with symbols showing troop displacements. Berner reached into his other pocket, pulled out his microfilm camera and started snapping. He then rifled through the notebooks, the Field Marshal’s neat handwriting depicting observations of his recent visits to the defences. Berner went back three days’ worth of notes – the time Rommel had been in the area – and took photos of each page.
Replacing the books and the map exactly as he had found them, he pushed the drawers shut and locked them again.
Berner took a step back from the desk and breathed out. He checked his watch: he had been in the room just under five minutes and it was time to go. Berner walked to the door, listened for anyone outside before swinging out quickly and shutting the door behind him. He fiddled with the lock picks, made sure the door was secure, and left.
‘All is good,’ Berner said to the sentry.
‘Very good, Sir.’
‘And as usual, not a word to anyone about my visits. Security is security, right? I haven’t been here, have I?’
‘And you are again… Colonel?’
‘Exactly. Good lad.’
The many checks on rooms in the hotel by Berner over the last couple of days had paid off.
And that was that, thought Berner to himself as he walked along the corridor, trying not to rush. No matter how he tried to explain the contents of the camera in his pocket, Walter Berner was spying, not spy-catching - and spying on an old friend like Irwin Rommel at that.
* * *
‘Ah, Michel, you’re back! And a bit quicker than I expected. Good, good.’ Clement beamed. ‘Get yourself a drink and I will update you.’
‘Why, what’s the matter?’ Michel seemed cheerful enough.
‘I have had to change the plan a little bit, so you’re going to have to stick with me but instead of going up onto the high ground, you and I are going to be setting up a little ambush.’
Michel stopped pouring coffee. ‘What ambush?’
‘We had a radio message come in. London have told us to expect trouble but to go ahead with the raid anyway, so I am going to set an ambush on the approach route and if the Bosche comes along, they’ll get what’s owed them!’
‘We can’t fight the Germans like that! We aren’t good enough to go fighting regular troops, not even the ones left stationed here. Blowing up a railway line when the Germans aren’t looking is one thing, but fighting them in a battle – we’ll be cut to ribbons.’ Michel certainly was not so cheerful all of a sudden.
‘Have some faith, Michel! I was setting ambushes in the mountains well before you were even born. I know what I’m doing.’
‘That was in the Alps, this is Normandy. It’s different, you can’t go ahead with this.’
Michel was getting more and more agitated. Clement was quite enjoying the display but was careful not to show it.
‘Orders are orders, Michel. The men are briefed, they’re perfectly capable and London wants it done. You said it yourself once: what London wants, London gets. You’ll be in London yourself soon, so you’ll be able to tell them all about it.’
‘I never said that, Clement. I’ll only tell London about this if I get out alive.’
Clement’s eyes shone crimson in the firelight.
A few moments later, Clement led his men out and into the clear, cold night, glad to be getting on again with his part in the war.
Saxon’s demolition team left first as planned, through the woods, across the Rouen Road and straight up over the hill, towards the railway line. The moon was full and bright. Saxon could clearly make out the railway lines as they carved glistening white bars through the twilight. With the exception of the wind blowing gently through the bare trees, and the swirling of the river far below, all was beautifully quiet. It was cold, however, and Saxon had to tuck his fingers into his armpits to keep them warm. Desperate to move and warm up, after a twenty-minute wait, they stood up, slung their rifles and machine guns, and started their way down to the tracks. Saxon posted sentries and then ran back to the rest of his team to start laying the charges.
‘Maurice,’ whispered Saxon, ‘you watched me last time and so you lay the charges over there. I will do the charges here. Don’t worry, I’ll come and check your work.’
Somewhat surprised by Saxon’s sudden trust and wary of his new responsibility, Maurice pulled his hat down resolutely and started laying out the plastic explosive, just as Saxon had taught him. By the end of it, Maurice’s hands were nicked with little cuts where he had struggled to cut wire in the cold.
Saxon ran over the gravel and inspected Maurice’s work quickly. The trainee looked on, nervous about the verdict.
‘That’s bloody good that, Maurice, ten out of ten. Right, you lot get up the hill, I will set the detonators.’
Maurice stood as tall and as proud as h
e had ever done before collecting in the sentries and following his mates up the escarpment.
When the men were all safe above, Saxon measured out 45 large paces and with his boot, scratched at the railway sleeper to make a mark. Saxon’s men watched him look around and select a big stone, laying it down just off the track next to the mark he had made. Clapping the dirt from his hands, Saxon reached into his pocket, fixed the detonators to the charges with the utmost care and then climbed up to meet the others.
Atop the hillside, the men walked over the boulders off to their left. The boulders stood bare and black, solid on a thin, flat shelf in the otherwise steep sides of the valley. Without a word of command, the men unpacked their shovels and dug away to loosen the earth in front of the boulders, creating a rough, short ramp for each one. Meanwhile, Saxon fixed explosives to the rock behind and beneath each boulder, connecting a pencil detonator to each charge.
‘In these temperatures, I think if I set the pencil detonator timers now, they should go off in 3 hours. That should do the trick,’ said Saxon with reassuring smile. The men watched eagerly as Saxon bent the ends of each detonator with his pliers. ‘There, it’s all done. Let’s get ready for the train.’
* * *
Meanwhile, Clement was busy carefully positioning his men in ambush along the Rouen Road. Walking behind the bushes that lined this narrow lane, he placed a man every three paces. He then took separate teams of four men, each with machine guns, further out along the road. Their job was to prevent anyone escaping his ambush. Clement then supervised the laying of a long length of string that passed all the way from the two end groups, back into the centre of the ambush, where Clement was to later established himself. Clement’s men were soon realising how much the boss had to do in setting a good ambush and this looked good. The men seemed confident.
Clement tied the two lengths of string to a small sapling in front of him, looked at his watch and whispered to his men to settle in for a long wait. He was in his element and was loving every minute of it.