Warfilm

by Tom Newton

  Very inspiring words, Reichsführer.

  It is to this end that I have established a scientific institute, called the Ahnenerbe, right here in Berlin. It brings together many great minds from different fields, geology, history, linguistics, musicology, and so on. My goal for the Ahnenerbe is to compile a true history of our origins and study the ancient Nordic technology. You could also add, in a more metaphysical way, that I hope to reveal the soul of the New Germany, which the Führer mentioned last week. We have many expeditions underway, all over the globe and we are busy here, analysing and collating the information being sent back. This is where you can be of help, Leis. I know you have your duties and clear directives from the Führer, however, you will be travelling through northern France, an area once populated by our race. So I ask you to keep your eyes and ears open for remnants of this ancient people. You might hear a Germanic-sounding folk melody or see a runic-looking inn sign or even some architectural remains. Observations like these, coming from multiple sources, help us here in the Fatherland to construct a bigger, more detailed image of our past. It is crucially important. Can I consider you on board?

  Most definitely, Reichsführer. I’d be happy to help in any way I can.

  That’s good to hear, Leis. I knew I could count on you. You are dismissed. Good luck.

  The interview ended with the clinking of china.

  10

  After Ariadne had left, Lord Strange took the jar of goat’s milk and poured it down the drain. He returned to his study and sat down at his desk. He took a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked one of the drawers. He fished around with his hand and pulled out a metal container, no larger than a matchbox, which he toyed with between his fingers for a while before setting down. He got up again and went into the kitchen, reaching under the sink for some twine and a scrap of oilcloth. He carefully wrapped the small box with the oilcloth, and tied it securely with the string. Then he locked it back up in the drawer and replaced the key in his pocket. The whole operation took less than ten minutes. He did it in silence, as he was not the kind of person who spoke to himself while alone.

  11

  Franz was beginning to feel excited about his upcoming trip. He had never left the borders of the Fatherland before, except once, when he had accompanied his mother to England. He was very young then and had no memory of it. All he knew was what he had been told, and that was not much. He also anticipated a boost in his career which was bound to come from this opportunity, if he handled it correctly. 1940 was going to be a good year.

  He had been busy since getting his orders. He had activated the expense account and rented a garage in which to make his preparations. He had purchased a new Daimler Benz hearse and coffin, along with oil, petrol and extra tyres. He had stocked up on provisions of beer, cigarettes, water and food. All the receipts had been numbered, pasted on blank paper and submitted to the Ministry of Propaganda and Enlightenment with written explanations, as instructed. He had agreed to donate a small percentage of his salary to go towards building a ’Peoples’ Car’. He would receive one of his own, one day. It was something to look forward to. The Ministry had provided him with a Luger and ammunition. All he had to do now was kill a man. The prisoner was due to be delivered that evening. He was scheduled to depart at dawn the following day.

  He had gone to see his father to say goodbye. His father, Viktor, diligent if slightly bitter, lived above the butcher’s shop he owned. There had always been the distance of unshared experience between them. During Franz’s adolescence Viktor had been away on the Eastern Front and had been taken prisoner. The Revolution had complicated his release and he had finally returned in 1920, minus three fingers. They managed an unspoken love.

  He would have liked to wish his mother farewell but she had died eight years before. He remembered her sitting in her chair, knitting woollens for the troops. She would answer him when he spoke but he knew she wasn’t listening. He proved it to himself by saying nonsensical things and she never noticed. He also remembered her giving him English lessons. He took easily to the language and he knew it pleased her.

  When he left his father’s shop that night, he took with him a bucket of blood and offal. The knock on the door came at eight PM. Two SS men delivered the prisoner and left. It was formal and uneventful. Now alone with his quarry, Franz stared up at him. He was very tall and thin. The prisoner returned his stare and Franz watched his eyes slide over the revolver, on the workbench, to his half-eaten sandwich.

  What’s your name?

  2.71428571 but you can call me Two Point Seven.

  What kind of name is that?

  It’s a number.

  I’ve been ordered to kill you.

  I thought as much.

  Are you hungry?

  Franz gave him the rest of the sandwich and he devoured it quickly though not without difficulty. He was missing some teeth.

  I’ve been instructed to put your body in that coffin over there and drive it to Paris. You’ll be glad to know that I’m going to disobey. I will fake a shooting for the benefit of those outside. You’ll climb into the coffin, though God knows how you’re going to fit. They never told me you would be a fucking giant. I drilled some air holes so you’ll be able to breathe. It will be uncomfortable but better than death. Tomorrow we’ll drive to France and take it from there.

  Franz then picked up the revolver and fired a single shot into the wall, then he dipped a cup into the bucket and splattered the wall and floor with its contents. He spent twenty minutes cleaning up the mess he had just made and then he tossed a blanket to Two Point Seven.

  Get some sleep. We’ll leave at dawn.

  12

  PERSONAL Technical Intelligence Section.

  TECH/INT/VDRPG Headquarters Mediterranean Air Forces

  6 April 1945

  Dear Daniel

  Many thanks for your letter of 31 March. Note time lag now that we are so separated. All your various instructions are being carried out. We are making good the omission of sending report A.D.I.K. No. 231 by enclosing it now. Please return it when you can. We also enclose our file copies of MAPRW photographic reports and photos as you do not seem to have had these although Corporal Feldman assures me that we have forwarded all these to you as they have come in. I sent today 8 X 35 m/m film up to Shilltowe, all that are available at the moment, he will no doubt accommodate you. I sent them all to him before receiving your letter and also assuming that you would all be in touch with one another.

  I have not congratulated you officially on your ’mention’. Many congratulations, old man, it is one which is thoroughly deserved, more power to your elbow. I have enquired as to the supply position of oak leaves for you and found that none are available at present. They are on demand however and as soon as they turn up I will send you a bunch!

  Caserta is I must admit a great improvement on Cairo but some transport would be a great help. At the moment if you need a car, they ask you your rank and name and are somewhat condescending if you are amongst the lower form of animal life as myself. I have had occasion to go into Naples twice very recently in connection with despatch of equipment to A.M. and other duties, and on each occasion had to waste over two hours going to places with other officers. Off the record too, transport would occasionally break the present monotony of spending each evening in the mess (I have some introductions, very nice, which are just out of range of my feet, a great pity). I still retain my M.E. W.A.A.F prejudice, I’m afraid.

  Twenty other bodies of a pioneering nature and myself last Sunday heavily thrust ourselves with much b....y (pardon) sweat and labour up the side of Vesuvius for 2000 feet, to the lip of the crater where we enjoyed the scent of sulphur, and the moisture of mist. There was very little separating me from my final destination on departure from this world. The ground was hot and sulphurous, in fact one type managed to burn his ankle through putting his foot too far in. The descent was mostly sudden, composed largely of what I believe is technically called ’sc
reeing’ which to the laity is just missing sliding down on what is more properly used for sitting. It took 1¾ hours up and ¾ hours down. After our great adventure we partook of plenty much vino, steak, eggs and chips. A good time was had by all. A number of fellows said afterwards that at half way if the blokes in front and behind had not been moving forward they would have turned back. It was certainly more strenuous than I had anticipated. Still there were no ill effects, in fact I felt remarkably fit the next day, it must have been the vino.

  Don’t worry about giving me things to do, I am only too pleased to help in any reasonable way possible. I certainly however have been somewhat hectic lately, what with W/Cdr Colrick’s work which has taken up quite an amount of time, my visit to Sicily, a request from M.E. which Cedric should have attended to before he left. Cedric is away with Hazell and already apparently much improved in health although he was somewhat ropey when he arrived, his leg still being a bit painful.

  He seems to be determined – if he can get out of it – not to return to Cairo and in fact has said all his goodbyes and cleared things up there mostly. This is a matter I wish to discuss with Shilly when I come up. I have also got and propose to bring with me for safety’s sake when I come up and see you soon, a watch for you and one for Hugh.

  They are in process of making an open-air cocktail bar between 1 & 2 messes, a bulldozer has already flattened the ground, though progress is slow, a small stone dance floor is to be included.

  Yours sincerely

  Gilbert

  S/Ldr D. Noyes,

  M.A.A.F. Field Intelligence Unit.

  Please excuse this badly phrased screed but am in haste for mail

  13

  Ariadne lived near the harbour, not far from Mrs Zombanakis’ house. Unlike most people, she had no family. As a newborn baby, she had been left to die at the side of a road in Asia Minor when the Greeks fled from Turkey. She was discovered by a peasant woman who lifted the little girl up with grief and maternal love and held her close. She had lost her own child and husband and recognized that this baby was a gift from God in recompense for what he had taken from her. She raised the child as her own but she too died when the girl was young. Ariadne was thus twice orphaned. She had made her own way and grown up with the deep conviction that she had only herself to rely on. She had not married. Though not unsociable, she had always felt separate from the communities in which she had lived. She had developed many masks. She moved around a lot. It was no great moral obstacle for her to start sleeping first with the Italians and then with the Germans. She usually preferred the Italians. This was not a time of opportunity for anyone, let alone an unmarried woman her age. She needed food and money and stockings. She used what was available to her. It was not about pleasure, though it was not always unpleasant. However, these days she had to be more careful than ever. The partisans in the mountains were killing women like her. This was why she valued her job with Lord Strange so highly. He would protect her and he had never required sexual favours.

  How was she going to find this German man he needed? She started by trawling the bars on the waterfront but that led nowhere. There were just no Germans in the area, they had retreated to the north of the island. Getting up there was a dangerous prospect. If she had to do it, she would contact an English Major she knew, who spread propaganda, ran spies and retrieved deserters from across the lines. It was not an appealing prospect. She would prefer to stay in the liberated zone. She had heard of the two British officers, newly arrived and staying with that hag Zombanakis. They were not German but her intuition told her that they might be a good place to start.

  14

  Squadron Leader Daniel Noyes and Flight Lieutenant Edward Purvis were both intelligence officers of the RAF. Both were members of the Field Intelligence unit, a part of the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces. Noyes worked in the Technical Intelligence Section, which was staffed by British and American specialist officers, and was responsible for the examination and disposal of captured enemy equipment such as aircraft, signals equipment, bombs and enemy ammunition. Purvis worked in C.S.D.I.C., the section that was responsible for the interrogation of enemy prisoners of war and appreciation of all enemy documents and prisoners of war’s personal effects. It was also responsible for the interrogation of individuals who volunteered information.

  There was a third sub-section, the H.Q. Unit, which took care of the briefing of the Intelligence Sections, the dissemination of all reports and the disposal of all captured documents and other material. It would also arrange for the interrogation by C.S.D.I.C. officers of civilians believed to have information of value. Interrogation officers carried a special C.S.D.I.C. pass and interrogation or any other form of contact with prisoners by unauthorised persons, regardless of rank, was strictly prohibited.

  Since the Italians had evacuated and the Germans had withdrawn, they had been sent to Crete to examine what had been left behind. They had known each other for some time and had worked together in North Africa so their relationship was quite informal, though Noyes was superior in rank. It was Purvis who Noyes had railed at, when he kept falling asleep at the wheel of the lorry they had filled with nurses when they made their escape from Cairo.

  They would usually accompany one another on the examination of sites when a report came in. On one occasion in North Africa, Purvis was suffering from malaria and Noyes drove out into the desert alone. His target was a downed JU88, reported to be about seventy miles distant. He had been given the correct pinpoint for once and he did not have much trouble finding the aircraft. It lay on its belly in the wasteland. The blades of one propeller on the port wing were bent at right angles where it had impacted the ground. Noyes gathered his tools and climbed in through a gaping hole in the fuselage. Its metal skin was scalding and the stench of putrefaction overpowering. He crawled through the wreckage and dead crewmen to the cockpit. There had been a fire. The pilot was still strapped into his seat but no longer had a face. The rest of his head was intact, held together by the leather flying helmet, miraculously unburned. Noyes had to sit in his lap in order to reach the control panels. He began to disassemble the instruments, taking meticulous notes in the book he carried for that purpose. He should have taken numerous photographs but his camera had been stolen in Italy and a replacement from England had not reached him yet.

  While he carried out his work he scanned the sky and listened for aircraft. There was no cover in the desert for white men. He worked as quickly as he could under difficult conditions but it still took too long. The loneliness was intense. His mind wandered back to the time he was called up and had appeared at the recruiting office. He had noticed golf paraphernalia. Though he personally hated the game, he knew a lot about it as his father had forced him to caddy on weekends. After several well placed observations about golf, Noyes left the room an officer in the RAF.

  When he felt he could learn no more, he packed up and made his way back down the fuselage. As he climbed out through the hole, he saw to his dismay that he had been surrounded by a large group of Bedouins. He knew they were not overly fond of the British and that his sidearm would be useless against such numbers, except to put a bullet in his own head. One of them stepped forward and greeted him. He replied in the correct fashion. He had learned some Arabic. The others looked on. The man invited him to share food. He understood that if he refused this hospitality he would probably be left dead with his penis sewn into his mouth, so he accepted graciously. He went with them to their camp. It always amazed him how they were able to blend in and out of the desert. Some time later, after managing to swallow goat testicles without retching, he returned the hospitality with a gift of tea. The Bedouin were envious of the British tea ration and he always saved the leaves when he made a brew, drying them on the bonnet of his Jeep and storing them in a small bag. They were satisfied with the gift and he was free to go.

  He climbed back into the Jeep and took off at a brisk pace. He was later than he wanted to be. He drove through silence
occasionally punctuated with inexplicable sounds. The sky was malevolent.

  The monotony was sickening. There were no roads and the landmarks were always changing. He had nothing to rely on but his compass, his map and his resolve. He hated this place.

  He suddenly came across a group of shirtless men playing cricket. He slowed to a stop and saw they were Australians. He was happy to see them. A freckled lieutenant reached out a hand.

  Set your tent up here with us, mate. We’ve got chow and plenty of warm beer. Noyes explained with some awkwardness that on principle he always set his tent at a distance from other encampments.

  Suit yourself. But come and eat with us.

  So he drove a short distance and erected his tent. He unfolded the small camp bed and threw a blanket on it, as nights were cold, then he returned on foot to join the Australians. They were finishing up their game when he arrived. They sat around, sharing their rations and exchanging news of the war. They swapped stories and jokes and, as promised, drank copious amounts of warm beer. Much later he staggered back in the dark and threw himself on his bed. He awoke with a jolt, in the early morning, to the howling of Stuka dive bombers. He crawled under the bed and put his hands over his ears. He shut his eyes tightly. His mouth tasted of copper.

  The attack was over within minutes. He got up and left the tent to survey the damage. The Australians were gone. All that remained were parts of them, scattered around their broken camp. Their blood soaked into the ground. Everything was quiet. Not one person was alive but him. He wept.