by Andrew Wood
“According to Rudi there’s a combination of chaos and incompetence right now. Apparently our reserve units, especially heavy armour, tanks and so forth, haven’t been committed due to our leaders all being away on holiday,” to which Marner shook his head in disbelief. “And now that they’re back from Bavaria or wherever it is they take their floozies, the Allies and Resistance are preventing anything from moving.”
“As we experienced first-hand for ourselves today,” observed Marner before draining the remainder of his beer.
“Yes. This leaves our forces up in Normandy isolated and retreating under a pounding, allowing the enemy to push hard to capture Caen and Cherbourg in particular because they are ports. Once captured, they will be able to bring in materiel on a far larger scale than they can on beaches.”
Marner had nothing to say to this. He entirely ceded to Boris’s superior knowledge and analysis of all things military. So he settled for banging the table with his empty glass to signal for more beers.
“So what do you think the outcome of all this is?” he asked. “Now that we are fighting in France too, we are retreating on all fronts, east, south and west. What would you do?”
Boris stared off into the distance and then dropped his voice, “Consider it this way. It is now Germany fighting against two huge countries – America and Russia, plus a host of others. To state it more bluntly, it is us against everyone else. Ignore Japan, they’re too far away to be of any support or use to us.”
He was interrupted by the arrival of fresh beers and the news that their meal was ready in the restaurant. Boris nodded but remained sitting; the barman shrugged at their indifference to their waiting food and shuffled off again. When he was out of earshot Boris continued, “Us against the rest. Our resources – fuel and steel etcetera – from those territories that we still hold and that haven’t had the shit bombed out of them, versus the combined resources of all of our enemies. Take a look at their domination of the skies as a clear example of their superiority in materiel. But that is not what will be the root cause of our downfall.”
Marner looked at him, nodding his head as a prompt for Boris to go on.
“Men. We only have the human resources of a single country. Minus what we’ve lost already, of course. Compare that to the populations of America and Russia.”
Marner sighed; the conclusion of what Boris was moving towards – defeat –was so overwhelming that it did not need putting into words. He rose, stretched and moved off towards the restaurant with Boris in tow. Once seated in front of their steaming bowls of soup, which smelt delicious, he asked Boris what possible best outcome they could hope for.
“Negotiated surrender. Germany still has considerable fighting strength and, mostly importantly, spirit. If I were in charge, I’d simply decide what we could capably hold with the resources we have. Once you reach a sufficient density of resources, you can dig in and defend and it takes a far, far greater number to defeat or dislodge you. Even if your opponents possess the materiel to do it, it also requires their willingness to accept large scale losses, which I’ll wager they do not have.” Boris took a pause to taste and approve the soup. “So ideally we should withdraw quickly and decisively to that line, faster than the enemy can mobilise and react to pursue you, and then we make a stand. To me, that would logically be the German border; German soldiers will fight harder to hold that symbolic line than any opponent will fight to take it. Then we negotiate for better terms of surrender than we got last time around.”
“But will that happen?”
“Of course not! The stupidity on the eastern front shows that logic won’t prevail. Instead of falling back to a solid and entrenched position that we can hold, our leaders are trying to hang on to each and every metre and we are paying for it dearly in blood. Literally! And yet we’re still losing that ground. We are bleeding away our essential fighting strength due to the pride and obstinacy, call it plain stupidity even, of our leaders.”
Boris was now on his favourite subject; his voice had risen sharply in volume and anger and the few other diners had stopped talking and were staring at them. Marner decided that it was time to change the subject and break the mood. “So what do we think about Loutrel as the culprit for Schull’s murder?”
Boris needed a few moments to drag his attention back to the new subject. He looked at Marner and snorted with derision, “It just does not add up on any level. Loutrel’s objective in shooting the officer here in Toulouse was to make a public display of his ‘dedication’,” Boris snorted with contempt. “Dedication, my great fat posterior!” to which Marner raised his wine glass and mumbled, “I’ll drink to that.”
Boris continued, “His dedication to the resistance movement. But in the case of the Schull shooting, whoever did it went to great lengths to try and cover up their identity. To put it simply, there is no common factor in either murder except for the fact that the victim was a German officer.”
“Quite right,” agreed Marner. “You are absolutely spot-on with what sets the two killings apart: motive. First rule of detective work: find the motive and you’ll find the culprit. In the case of Loutrel, his motive for doing it is saving his own skin, and doing it overtly and publicly. In the case of Schull’s murderer, we are still working on the motive of covering up a theft. Entirely different motives, so logically it is two entirely different perpetrators.”
They both receded back into their thoughts and fell silent. Marner was aware that he had consumed too much beer and wine to be capable of doing his best thinking. He did not have Boris’s years of dedicated practice nor bulk to soak up the alcohol. He was just about to get up and head off to bed when Boris spoke up again, “But you definitely have the Carlingue enmeshed somewhere in Schull’s murder. You can’t ignore that. We should hang around until Loutrel is picked up. If we have him on a hook, then maybe he will give up something important to help you. I’m sure that Hauger and his animals in the basement will be only too happy to help.”
Marner considered this, but it was a big ‘if’; if Loutrel were caught, if Loutrel actually knew anything, if he would give it up.
Boris saw the scepticism in his friend’s face and suggested, “Why don’t you consider following the Gestapo lead?” Marner looked blank, so Boris continued, “As you described it to me, the Gestapo are the only common element to all of the shipments because they were entrusted with organising and running the over-land transportations. It might potentially explain the Carlingue involvement.”
Marner acknowledged his agreement and approval of Boris’s logic. “Very good point and it is not as though I have so many other leads to work on right now. But I need to find whoever is responsible for organising and coordinating the shipments, which are probably managed out of Berlin. I could spend weeks getting the run-around; the information is probably highly classified anyway, so I’ll just get shut out.”
“Go via Odewald?” proposed Boris with a mischievous grin.
Marner saw what he was alluding to. “Oh, sure! First off, he already has Loutrel down for Schull’s murder, so I’ll be really popular when I tell him that I ‘respectfully disagree’. Then I’ll be telling him that I suspect our own organisation, based on nothing but circumstantial evidence and hunches.” Boris picked up his feed line exactly on cue, leaning forward to thump the table and mimic Odewald, “I don’t have hunches, I have dead bodies!” and they both set to laughing.
“Boris, I’ve had far, far too much beer and wine and now it’s time for bed. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
Suddenly Boris fell serious. “Why don’t you just ask your contacts at Kriegsmarine? They must know who the Gestapo contact is, since they have to coordinate the handover.”
Marner smiled with genuine warmth at his friend. “Boris, not only are you smart, but you’re still smart after all that beer. Good idea. But it can wait until the morning. I doubt if any of those sea-rats up in Paris are in their offices at this hour.”
Chapter Eighteen
Boris and Lemele were seated in the restaurant the next morning enjoying a silent breakfast together. They had passed Marner at the reception desk, where he was shouting into the telephone at someone. He had waved them on into the breakfast room and they had found a table in the window bay.
Lemele suddenly became aware of Marner standing silently behind them, apparently entranced by something beyond the windows. “What was your call about? Loutrel?” she asked, looking up at him.
Marner opened his mouth to speak but no noise came out. His hands moved in the air in front of him, as if trying to pluck words from the air to feed his non-functioning mouth.
“Dieter! What on earth is wrong?” snapped Boris, suffering somewhat from an aching head.
Marner’s mouth slowly spluttered into life, “I.... he....” Rage suddenly enveloped his face. “That, that, fucker Graf! He’s been playing me for a fool!” he bellowed, drawing looks and gasps of alarm from the others in the restaurant.
“Well. If the cap fits, Dieter,” laughed Boris, reassured that nothing serious was wrong. Lemele smiled and relaxed back into her chair. Marner continued to stand, still waving his arms about, trying to marshal his thoughts. Finally he slumped down into a chair, wincing at the beam of sunlight that was now shining directly into his face, amplifying the thumping in his head. He gulped down the coffee that Lemele poured for him and then explained that he had been on the telephone to Kriegsmarine headquarters in Paris and had made a startling discovery. He had requested to be put through to Graf, but been informed that Graf was out of town. Whoever it was that he had spoken to had given him the standard response about not being authorised to tell him where Graf had gone or on what business, also being unauthorised to provide the answer to Marner’s enquiry regarding their transportation contact in the Gestapo. So Marner had then spoken to Lesemann, insisting on the urgency of the matter and had been put through to Hoffman who, when he heard that Marner was now taking the Gestapo lead seriously, was only too happy to grease the wheels. So Marner had been redirected back to Graf’s office and the same minion, who was now far more forthcoming. And thus Marner learned something that amazed him: that Graf always went to Bordeaux whenever one of the spook boats docked, because these shipments were one of Graf’s primary responsibilities and projects.
Therefore Graf had lied; he was not responsible for general logistics, he was actually responsible for special activities such as these shipments. Yet the most interesting discovery was a throw away comment made at the end of the conversation: did Herr Marner not know that Captain Willi Graf had been the first officer aboard the U-180? Graf had been posted to Paris to head the logistical organisation when the boats had been converted and cargo carrying became their major operational objective.
Boris whistled. “So he lied to you. Smells very fishy.”
“More than that,” added Lemele, since Marner was silent, still caught somewhere between his rage and the need to assimilate the news and the ramifications. “Graf is a common factor to all of the shipments, not forgetting that if Graf served on the U-180, he knows the crews and they are his friends. But most importantly, we can link him directly to Schull.”
This last sparked Marner into life. “Oh my god, you are right on the mark. Graf is possibly the only other person in France, with the exception of Hoffman, who knew why Schull was here. So if Graf is involved and became aware that whole game was blown....”
“So let me get this clear,” interposed Boris, the disbelief heavy in his voice. “You are proposing that Graf killed Schull to shut him up? I’m not sure I can believe that. It’s a big step to take, from theft to murder and it will not end the investigation. Graf must realise that it will only be a matter of weeks at most before Berlin sends out someone else to pick up where Schull left off. Not only a big step, but a big risk, since it would actually increase suspicion if their investigator was murdered.”
“Which would explain why Schull’s murder turned into such a complex charade,” suggested Lemele. “It only helped if it bought some time, and it bought more time if they could sew confusion and distraction by making it appear as random or politically motivated. Otherwise it risked to bring down a huge amount of heat and attention if Berlin thought that Schull was killed because he was onto something.”
“Well, whatever,” exclaimed Marner, jumping up decisively from his chair, “Graf is in Bordeaux and that is where I am going.”
Lemele coughed politely. “I think that what you meant to say is: That is where we are going.”
Marner hesitated; he looked meaningfully at Boris for help but Boris was either playing dumb or his sore and foggy brain really was numb. He sat back down. “I think that it would be better if you stay here with Boris.”
Lemele clattered her coffee cup down, anger rapidly rising along with the colour in her face. “What do you...”
Marner rode gently over her. “Please listen! I’m working on the assumption that Graf will be somewhere in the military docks, meeting one of the submarines. Or if he really is implicated in this, he may now have gotten completely rattled and have gone to ground in Bordeaux, perhaps with some help. Either way, it will be simpler, safer and quicker if I go alone.”
Lemele was already on her feet and moving to leave the table. “No way! I’ve been followed, beaten and shot,” Boris snickered at this, but she ignored him and continued, “and I am not letting this go now. I’m going upstairs to pack my bag and will be ready to go in ten minutes and you had better wait for me!” And with that she wheeled around and stamped out of the restaurant, nearly colliding with a startled, elderly waiter.
“And while we’re on the subject,” growled Boris, “What is it with this ‘stay here with Boris’ nonsense? I’m coming too!”
Marner’s head sank in frustration at having not one, but two recalcitrant partners to deal with, in addition to the pain in his head. “Absolutely not. You must stay here and stick to the orders that Odewald gave us. If Loutrel actually turns up and neither of us is here, Odewald will personally fly us to the eastern front and eject us out of the plane with his own boot. Without parachutes.”
Boris laughed at this vision. “So what do I say if he contacts the hotel or the garrison here and wants to speak to you?”
“Tell him.... tell him that we received a tip that Loutrel had possibly moved on to Bordeaux and so we decided to split up and cover both possibilities.”
Boris agreed that this would be plausible and would at least buy Marner a couple of days of absence from Toulouse. He suggested that Marner take the StG44 with him, but only on the condition that he submit to a quick crash-course on how it worked. Marner considered this, conceding that if Graf were now on the run and hostile it could be useful. Boris was going to be sitting idle waiting for the local SD to round up Loutrel, so he was unlikely to have any need for it.
Chapter Nineteen
When Lemele finally descended the stairs fifteen minutes later, Marner was already waiting, irritated and impatient to be moving. He had telephoned to Hauger and explained that he had an urgent need to travel to Bordeaux on another case, requesting help with transport to get there. Hauger had been surprisingly helpful and had proposed a solution if Marner could be ready to go in ten minutes. Marner had willingly accepted and had grown increasingly agitated waiting for Lemele, having just telephoned to her room to hurry her out.
“Sorry about the delay,” she apologised. “I got distracted because I heard gun fire at the back of the hotel. Did you hear it too?”
“Probably just someone shooting at pigeons,” suggested Boris. “But I don’t think that they were in any danger of actually being hit, eh Dieter?” with another of his conspiratorial winks towards Lemele, who graced him with a smile, even though she had no clue what he was talking about.
Marner brusquely grabbed Lemele’s bag out of her hand and hurried off towards the door without a backward glance or goodbye to Boris. “What about my bill?” she called to his retreating back.
“It is already paid. Now would you please get a move on! We have a car waiting,” he snapped over his shoulder without stopping or turning.
Confused by this sudden urgency, Lemele shrugged and gave Boris another smile, a handshake goodbye and then hurried out in pursuit. Moments later, just as Boris was starting up the stairs, she came clacking back through the door in a hurry. “Forgot to leave my key!” she shouted to him, waving the offending article as if proof were needed as she skittered across the tiled lobby on her high heels.
“Come on!” came Marner’s roar through the doorway.
----
Once in the waiting car, she had barely settled into the back seat before it set off. As they were driven at breakneck speed by a young woman in Wehrmacht uniform, Marner shouted over the roar of the car engine and the wind whistling through the open windows that Hauger had secured them a place on a plane that was leaving for Bordeaux in fifteen minutes. He saw the colour drain out of her face and assumed that it was the sudden lurch that the driver had made to avoid a horse and cart in the road, setting the car up onto three wheels as it swerved left, missing the cart by centimetres and then crashing back down onto its fourth wheel as she righted the car again in a straight line.
“Flying?” squeaked Lemele, placing a hand to her throat in panic as her breakfast threatened to erupt and make a reappearance. “I can’t fly!”
“Why not?” he shouted over the noise of the protesting car tyres, having to hang onto the door handle to avoid being thrown across her as they rounded a turn, the driver sawing expertly at the steering wheel to correct the trajectory of the car as the tyres alternately slithered and gripped on the damp cobbles. He noted with relief that they were now out of town and onto what seemed to be a straight road heading towards the airport.
Lemele’s pallor had now turned from yellow to something paler, almost entirely without colour. “I...I just can’t.”