Initiation

by S C Brown

  Knowing full well that Michel was watching him. Clement stepped back. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Just nervous. I don’t want be taken prisoner again.’

  ‘Nor I. Yet this is exactly the kind of ambush I used to use in the last war, as I said and every time a victory! Now,’ said Clement, brushing dirt from his hands, ‘I have a special place for you in this ambush, Michel, just towards the back here.’

  A large grin could be seen from behind Clement’s white whiskers. Clement gave a quick signal with his hands and two of Clement’s men pulled their rifles up and pointed them straight at Michel.

  ‘Now what?’ moaned Michel.

  ‘You said you had to go and get ready, didn’t you? But you didn’t. You went straight back to your little fried Ritter to tell him what we were up to tonight. We had you followed, Michel and you’ve played your part perfectly, thank you very much. You see we’ve been banking on you telling Ritter what we were up to. London wants Ritter dead and he’s a difficult man to kill normally. So we figured that encouraging him to drive into an ambush would suit us nicely. It would prove your guilt at the same time. So when Ritter drives down the only road that will get him behind where Saxon will be placing the charges on the railway, we’ll be ready for him.’

  Michel stumbled backwards but a shove from one of the men behind stopped him.

  Clement smiled again. ‘But, Michel, if I’m the old fool you think I am, then Ritter won’t come down that road there to capture Saxon and you won’t be the stinking traitor I think you are. So let’s see what happens, shall we? But if Ritter comes hurtling down that road with half the German Army … well, it won’t look good for you, will it.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘I thought you’d been acting strangely,’ spat Michel.

  Something caught Clement’s attention. He half-turned his head but kept his eyes firmly on Michel. ‘Ambush set,’ came a voice from amongst the trees. Clement smiled widely at Michel.

  ‘Now, Michel, you’re going to sit down here, we’re going to gag you so you don’t shout a warning to your little Bosche friends, and sit this out. You make a false move, young man and…’ Clement dragged a finger across his throat with a deeply menacing glare in his eyes.

  * * *

  Saxon heard the train approaching, minute perfect. He looked out left and right to his men and could see them all, as grim-looking as last time but a little more at ease. It looked like they were starting to get used to raiding and they were already acting more naturally like soldiers. Saxon was proud of them.

  Saxon squinted through the slight mist for his first glimpse of the train.

  There it was: first the locomotive and then a rail flat carrying an anti-aircraft gun, and then another and then … another. Then there was an open-topped rail car, bristling with soldiers, then another the same, packed full of soldiers. This wasn’t what Saxon was expecting. Something was wrong.

  Maurice, next to Saxon, gasped. ‘It’s a trap!’

  Raising his hand and without removing his eyes from his binoculars, Saxon gestured the man to wait and listen. He then turned to look for any sign of trouble behind him. Nothing. The sentries in the woods behind him seemed content enough. Saxon turned to watch the train again. One thing was for certain, the train was slow but not slowing. He licked his dry lips.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Maurice desperately.

  ‘That is a very good question,’ replied Saxon, working hard to exhibit nothing but calm and unflappability. ‘It’s not quite the train we were expecting, is it? This train’s packed with soldiers, as you can see. But it’s a train, chaps, it’s German and it’s heading straight to where we laid our explosives. It will do us nicely.’

  Maurice did not look convinced.

  ‘Anyhow,’ continued Saxon, ‘plenty more Germans to kill with that Bren gun of yours, n'est-ce pas?’

  Maurice looked to the train, back to Saxon and then unconvincingly pulled back the cocking lever of his machine gun.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ smiled Saxon.

  When no one else was looking, Saxon looked a little more nervous.

  Still the train chugged on. Saxon lay down his own gun and took up the control switch. Counting down the seconds until the train went past the marker stone, Saxon flicked the switch.

  Saxon must have slightly mis-timed it: he watched the locomotive hurtle on before the charges went off with an almighty bang. It kept going whilst everything behind it seemed to disappear in a white flash. The shock of the detonation pushed Saxon’s head back a little. Saxon watched the fireman wave frantically at the driver to urge him on and away from the carnage behind.

  And carnage it was.

  The wagons carrying the soldiers erupted, bodies and bits of body flying skyward. Saxon could hear the screams over the reverberating echo of the explosion. Even though he’d mis-timed it, thought Saxon, it might have worked out for the best after all. There would be fewer enemy soldiers to pick off now.

  ‘So far so good, eh?’ asked Saxon.

  * * *

  Clement heard the explosion, looked at his watch, and sniffed appreciatively.

  Dressed and ready in Rouen station, Engineer Lieutenant Schmidt heard the explosion and laughed.

  As he leaned against a car just along the Rouen Road, Ritter heard the explosion, checked his watch and grinned malevolently. Grinding what was left of a cigarette into the dirt, climbed into the passenger seat of his car and gave the signal for the convoy to set off.

  * * *

  In the pitch black of night, three hooded figures crept along the wall of the Rouen police barracks. One of them checked and then doubled-checked behind to make sure they were not being watched or followed.

  ‘Here, this is the place. He’ll be here any moment,’ the leader said in hushed German, looking out across the street opposite.

  Moments later, a German officer, an Obserstleutnant by the look of it, approached the sentry at the gate. The sentry asked for identification and the officer seemed to be taking his time finding it, rummaging through all his pockets, slowly and in turn. The sentry, having been stood in the cold for over an hour, was getting visibly impatient and struggling to remain polite.

  ‘Here, hold this,’ said the Colonel, asking the sentry to hold the large envelope he had been carrying.

  No sooner had the sentry looked down with inevitable curiosity to see who the envelope was addressed to, the night suddenly turned much darker for the sentry, who sagged at the knees and slowly collapsed in a heap.

  Steinseck quickly dragged the unconscious sentry away and hid him in the shadows.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Berner nervously, pulling his tunic down at the edges.

  Berner could clearly see Steinseck’s big, straight white teeth glinting in the moonlight as he grinned.

  One officer and three German soldiers entered the barracks casually.

  The men continued across the courtyard to a door, which opened to reveal a small passageway and a set of stairs descending. The barracks was ghostly and quiet. The men were inside in no time.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Steinseck once the door was shut.

  ‘They’re … busy,’ replied Berner.

  ‘What do you mean, they’re busy?’

  ‘Exactly that, busy. Herr Ritter and his men are busy this evening preventing an attack on the railways at sunrise.’

  ‘How’d you know that?’ asked Steinseck slowly.

  ‘You should know better than to ask me questions like that. Now, let’s go and find our man.’

  Down the stairs they went into another passageway, lined with prison cell doors. Steinseck switched on his torch and peered into each one as the other two men fixed small charges against the cell doors.

  ‘Brunswick! Brunswick, where are you?’ hissed Berner.

  Eventually, Berner saw what looked like Brunswick, folded up like an old laundry bag. ‘Keep back from the door, we’re going to blow it in!’

  The figure turned away from the doo
r, covering his face.

  The German soldiers industriously set about fixing small charges over the hinges, not just on Brunswick’s door but all the cell doors in the corridor, before gathering at the other end of the passageway. They covered their ears and looked away.

  It wasn’t so much a bang but a sharp series of cracks that passed quickly down the corridor. One by one, the cell doors fell open, banging loudly onto the floor.

  ‘Out, out, out!’ The German soldiers shouted in French, herding prisoners into the passageway and towards the stairs.

  Berner ran to what he thought was Brunswick’s cell. The man hadn’t moved. ‘Come on!’

  The figure merely mumbled.

  Berner entered the cell, coughing against the wispy smoke. ‘Come on!’

  ‘I can’t get up!’

  A man who looked like Brunswick sat up. Berner reached down, put his hands around him and lifted. As the man groaned, Berner knew somehow it was Brunswick.

  Aided by Steinseck, Berner dragged Brunswick along the corridor, in amongst all the other prisoners frantically making a run for it. They were all ushered up the stairs and out into the courtyard.

  BOOM! A huge explosion went off, blowing a hole in the courtyard wall.

  Berner and the others wasted no time and ran out into the courtyard, guiding the prisoners out.

  Suddenly, German voices could be heard shouting behind them. Berner’s man crouched down by the hole in the wall, ready to fire, hidden behind the smoke, confusion and rubble of the explosion.

  A lorry pulled up by the hole in the wall. The escapees sprinted through it, needing no encouragement to get up into the truck. It took three men to lift and drag Brunswick up and in.

  Satisfied everyone was in, Berner raced around and clambered into the cab. ‘Let’s go!’

  In the driver’s seat, Eve let the clutch slip and pulled away fast. They were around a corner in no time and long gone before the few remaining police guards could comprehend what had just happened.

  Steinseck pushed Brunswick’s hair away from his face. At least, he was pretty certain it was Brunswick. Whoever it was, he looked like a broken man, bruised and covered in cuts. ‘You okay? Sergeant Brunswick, are you all right?’

  ‘You took your bloody time, didn’t you?’ came the faint reply.

  It was Brunswick alright.

  ‘But you’ve made a mess of my leg.’

  From the cab, Berner reached his hand down and felt warm, wet blood.

  * * *

  Saxon looked behind him. Still nothing. Maybe this was not a trap after all. He had another scan through his binoculars. Dead soldiers lay everywhere. Below, stunned men began to stir.

  ‘Maurice, some bursts into that central wagon, the one with all the troops in, please.’

  Maurice took aim and fired a burst of four shots at the wagon. The rounds thudded into the ground ahead of the wagon.

  ‘Aim up,’ Saxon coaxed in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Maurice’s second burst was accurate. Saxon watched previously startled men start to writhe.

  ‘More like that, please, Maurice, put the whole magazine in.’

  More rounds thudded into timber, metal and flesh. The man next to Maurice changed the Bren gun magazine for him, just as Saxon had trained them to. Maurice waited for new instructions. Saxon observed for a moment.

  ‘We will sit here for a little while longer, pick anyone off who’s silly enough to climb out of those wagons and then we get going, all right? I don’t want to spoil your fun but staying around here too long might not be good for our health. Agreed?’

  The men nodded energetically and took careful aim as Saxon put away the control switch and slung his backpack.

  * * *

  The sapling in front of Clement began to shake violently, and kept shaking. Clement watched it and for a couple of seconds, could not believe his eyes.

  The men, shivering in the gloom, also watched the string vibrating, stirring them back to their senses. The clicking of safety catches broke the silence.

  Clement reached forward to the man in front of him and tapped him on the ankle twice. The man knew what that meant and, looking to his right, began a chain of whispers: ‘They are coming.’

  Clement knelt up to get a better view. In the grey light of dawn, he could see that the road sweeping widely off to his left was empty. His heart beat quickly and he felt a tremendous feeling of excitement. Clement continued to crane his neck, desperate for any sign of trouble. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Michel sat against tree, his expression inscrutable.

  Clement turned and saw a staff car with its roof down speed around the corner. Four trucks full of soldiers followed the car with another Kübelwagen in the middle.

  Clement’s finger tightened around the trigger. ‘Get ready!’ he hissed as the high-pitched whine of the engines drew nearer.

  The string sprung into life again, signalling that the first car had passed Clement’s men on his far left. Clement pulled his rifle to his shoulder and waited, peering over his sights. His men switched from watching the vehicles to nervously checking on Clement for orders. Sensing his men’s anxiety, Clement put on his reassuring and confident look.

  The vehicles begin to pass. First the Kübelwagen, then one truck, and then another…

  Clement fired.

  He knew that his first shot had missed by miles but he didn’t care. The shot had served its purpose: everyone else opened fire on cue, and battle commenced.

  Instead of sending off another round, Clement watched his men pour fire into the convoy, beholding with pride the devastation they caused. Glass shattered, metal ruptured, men cried out. One truck halted; the one behind it slammed into its rear. Soldiers fell out into the road to be quickly cut down.

  The lead car sped up, trying to escape. It move forward a short distance before hitting a spray of machine gun bullets from the team at the far end of the ambush. As the driver slumped over his wheel, the passenger stared to the sky, mouth open, head back.

  A few survivors began to clamber out of vehicles on the far side, trying to escape the relentless, withering fire.

  Clement watched an officer clamber over the body of his dead driver.

  ‘That’s him! That’s him! That’s Ritter!’ he screamed.

  His orders could not be heard above the commotion. Clement took aim and fired but wasn’t certain if he had hit Ritter or not. As Ritter disappeared from view, Clement swore.

  With Clement’s men hidden in the hedgerows on one side of the road and Ritter’s in a shallow ditch on the other, the firing began to slow. Stray rounds ricocheted off trucks and cars.

  ‘Deliberate fire! Deliberate fire! Save your rounds!’

  The men slowed their rate of fire, now shooting only when there was something to fire at. For a few moments, only the occasional shot rang out. Clement tried to count the rifles on the other side. His men knew what was coming next. Instead of shouting, Clement waved both his hands forward as if he was underarm bowling. Fumbling in their pockets, his men pulled out hand grenades.

  A frantic commotion erupted across the road as the grenades began to land around the German soldiers, exploding before they could escape.

  Clement watched the grenades go off and then remembered something. He turned to check on Michel, who was shaking his head furiously. Clement couldn’t hear a word he was saying.

  * * *

  Once Maurice had emptied another magazine into the survivors of the derailed train, Saxon asked him to stop. Even though Saxon’s ears were ringing from the thumping of the Bren gun, he could hear firing from behind. ‘The ambush. It’s on already!’

  Maurice cocked an ear over his shoulder and began to nod slowly. ‘That’s early.’

  So the Germans definitely knew we were coming then, thought Saxon. Which meant this was now a very dangerous place to be. Clement on one side, Saxon on the other, and some pretty desperate Germans in the middle. Best we go and make life a little more desperate for them
, he mused.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Saxon, his voice brimming with confidence and satisfaction.

  Grinning mischievously, Saxon’s men, needed no further encouragement.

  * * *

  Ritter wrestled a sub-machine gun from the arms of a wounded soldier, hissing, ‘Give it to me!’

  In the ditch with his back towards the ambush, Ritter looked up the hill. He spotted a track leading up and away, then glanced sideways into the eyes of dusty and terrified soldiers.

  ‘What’s the matter, never been in an ambush before?’ Ritter ducked as a bullet struck the earth just above him. ‘Don’t shout, Ritter, don’t shout,’ he said quietly to himself.

  ‘We’re going up there,’ he pointed. The soldiers turned to survey the open hill behind them before returning to stare at Ritter again. They did not look convinced.

  ‘It’s stay here and die for certain, or try to escape,’ he said, surprising his men with his calm, resigned tone in such desperate circumstances. ‘Right, you lot will give the first bursts of covering fire. You lot will come with me. Ready?’

  A grenade landed nearby. Once it had blown up, Ritter yelled, ‘Let’s go!’ and sprinted for the track. The noise increased tenfold as wild firing began again. Bullets buzzed all round.

  Ritter ran on, his cap spinning off his head. ‘Come on, come on!’ he yelled, unaware if there was anyone else with him or not.

  He heard an explosion; a man gasp and fall. Shrapnel tinkled against the stones of the track. Still Ritter kept moving, darting from side to side in case anyone was aiming at him.

  Ritter saw a small hollow clearing in the hedge to his left and dived into it. Three other men joined him.

  ‘Is that it? Just three of you?’ asked Ritter, panting hard.

  No one had the energy to reply.

  ‘All right. Our escape starts here, understand?’

  Three heads nodded vigorously.