by Andrew Wood
“Please, call me Andrei. Will you require a weapon? Can you fire one?” he asked.
The question, so out of the blue, made her stop. She looked at him, blinked, and saw that he was serious. “I suppose that it would be a good idea,” she mused. “What do you think?”
He smiled again but chose his words carefully, business-like, an efficient soldier in a hostile environment. “For you, the risk of carrying a gun is that if we are captured, your cover as our captive will not hold up. Possession of a gun automatically marks you as Resistance and therefore, well, a firing squad is inevitable. The German standing order is to treat all Resistance as ‘Rücksichtslos’, which translates as....”
“‘Without consideration,’” she finished for him.
He laughed. “So you speak German too. What is your first name, I don’t...”
Lemele had to credit him with boyish good looks and charm, especially that smile and those sweet blue eyes. She was sure that he did not lack for female companions. To cut off his sudden switch towards familiarity she trumped him with yet another change of direction, “Are you planning to be taken alive?”
“Hah, no! The Germans have made it known that Special Forces will not be treated as prisoners of war.” He mimed a gun held to his head and pulled the imaginary trigger. He was referring to a direct order from Hitler dating from 1942 to the effect that commandos and paramilitary troops were to be executed immediately. Hitler had referred to them as "terror and sabotage troops" who acted outside of the accords of the Geneva Convention and thus had no right to be accepted as prisoners of war nor treated accordingly. “So we will go down firing, taking as many of them with us as we can.”
This boy spoke of death and killing in such a business like way. How could this gentle Jewish charmer share the same body and mind as the efficient killing machine that he had been trained to be? “In that case I’ll take the gun. It seems to me that if I am anywhere near you when things turn nasty, my chances of coming out alive are not that great anyway. So I would rather go down fighting too.”
Slowikowski grinned in appreciation of her warrior spirit. He instructed her to remain there and ambled off, returning a few minutes later with an assortment of weapons. He laid them carefully on a groundsheet that he had brought along, the trained soldier in him automatically avoiding getting dirt into the mechanisms. Lemele immediately spotted the Walther, the same model as Marner’s, and reached for it. “I’ve fired one of these before. Can I take this one?”
Slowikowski congratulated her on a good choice. “Who did you fire it at?”
Lemele sighted along the barrel, thumbed the safety off. “The rat that we are chasing.”
“Well, do not miss next time, eh?” Slowikowski chuckled.
Lemele turned to laugh too, caught herself staring into those eyes. Damn, he was good, she admitted.
Slowikowski let her handle a few of the machine guns, including some captured German machine pistols. They eventually settled on the Mk2 Sten gun in addition to the Walther, primarily because it was one of the lightest, a full kilo lighter than an MP40. He instructed her to use her left hand to steady it by the barrel and not by the magazine that protruded from the left. “It feels more natural and instinctive to hold the magazine, but the problem is that it causes the magazine to flex in the lock, causing jams.” She was also shown how to eject two bullets from the magazine prior to use. “Just that little bit less weight in the magazine will reduce the number of jams too.”
She was permitted to fire off a few practice rounds. With the increasingly louder and more frequent gunshots coming from the surrounding forest, there were no remaining concerns about giving away the position of the camp to the Germans. Lemele was pleased at how easy the gun was to control, but the biggest surprise was how good it felt feeling the bullets pump out, shredding bark chips from the target trees. She flashed back to the moment when she had fired the Walther at Graf. Perhaps due to the stress of the situation she had not reflected on it at the time, but now the memory felt illicitly good; this was power, this was how to make bullies cringe and run. A shiver ran down her back, as if she had experienced a hit of a powerful but addictive narcotic. She knew that she liked it, but also that destruction and misery were its companions, the dark sides of the beast that were more difficult to resist once released and tasted.
Slowikowski complimented on her skills, finishing with some instruction on reloading and how to deal with jams in both of her selected weapons. By the time that they had completed her induction, the skilful Pole had also elicited from Lemele her first name, approximate age and the fact that she was married. By the way that he grinned at her, she knew that this latter fact was not going to be a deterrent.
----
In the thirty minutes since she had left it, the camp had descended into controlled chaos. Groups of soldiers were being briefed and then would go plunging off down the hill towards whatever destination they had been despatched. Everyone seemed to know what they should be doing and was going about it calmly, despite the close proximity of the exchanges of gunfire in the forest. The only problem seemed to be in the corner where the munitions and supplies were stored. There were not enough people to carry it all and there was now a heated debate underway as to whether the remainder should be blown up or even booby-trapped to prevent it falling into enemy hands.
Slowikowski explained that the materiel had been dropped primarily to arm the local resistance groups. They had succeeded in distributing some of it; unfortunately, the discovery of the camp by the Germans earlier than anticipated meant that there was too much remaining.
“So is that your objective here – to arm the Maquis?” she asked.
“Sorry, I cannot disclose our operational objectives to you,” he stated in an officious tone, but with a smile that indicated he was teasing her.
Lemele was content to drop the subject rather than play games with him. Dubus had now joined them and provided the answer. “We are SAS; Special Air Service. Our primary mission is direct action, destroying things that the Germans rely on to communicate and move around. Which is why we brought along kids like Andrei here, lunatics who like playing with explosives and making big bangs,” Dubus gestured with a nod of his head towards Slowikowski. “We don’t have sufficient numbers yet for direct fighting with the Fritz, but we don’t mind mixing it up with them a bit when the odds are more in our favour.”
From the way that he grinned, Lemele could tell that ‘direct action’ was something that he relished. “So why are there so many Maquis here collecting guns?”
“This was actually our camp but the bloody SOE have more or less taken it over. It’s their job to organise and arm the locals, not ours. And now, with all of these damned peasants tramping in and out of the woods, they’ve revealed the location of the camp and we have to abandon it.” He clearly was not enamoured with the SOE or the Maquis. “They have been armed up and keyed up by the SOE and told the time is nigh to rise up and overthrow the Germans. But there is no discipline. These people want to get into action, fight back and even settle some old scores. We can’t blame them for that, but they wade into trouble without thinking about it. They don’t seem to understand that a gun doesn’t make them invincible. The Germans still outnumber and outgun them, and the Germans are trained and competent soldiers. The Maquis are motivated but they are still just angry amateurs; volatile too. Now that they have got guns in their hands and apparent authority to act, they are just as interested in settling old scores with local collaborators and milice as in tackling the Germans. All of which is made worse by the innumerable factions.”
Dubus was referring to the wide political and ideological spectrum spanning the global mass of French resistantes. These included the FFI – Forces Françaises de l'Intérieur – who were being organised as a formal army of resistance with a nominal allegiance to Charles de Gaulle, as well as the FTP – Francs Tireurs et Partisans – who were predominantly communist. Within and without these two politically o
pposed groups there were numerous sub-factions. “Even if you get ten local Maquis commanders in a room, it is impossible to get them to agree on the priorities or to work together due to their political differences. Add in their lack of training and it means that they are a bloody liability, so we try to avoid them and work alone.”
Delaune had now joined them, with Marner in tow. Marner did a brief double-take at seeing Lemele with her new military rucksack and Sten hanging from a harness, but said nothing and would not meet her eye.
“Everyone ready?” he asked. “Then let’s go.”
Lemele looked around. “Where is the rest of your team?”
Delaune grunted with amusement. “This is it. Small but deadly, just like Dubus here.”
Unlike the other groups that Lemele had observed leaving, Dubus and Delaune were only carrying rucksacks of similar size to hers. The exception was Slowikowski who had heaved an enormous pack onto his back and was being aided by Dubus to get it settled and comfortable. In addition to this and his rifle, he picked up a tubular device that was a metre long. “Are you really going to drag that thing along?” asked Delaune sceptically. “It will only slow you down and we’re unlikely to get close enough to the submarine to use it.”
Slowikowski grinned; it seemed to be his standard facial expression. “This is the only thing that we have got that might punch a hole in that tin can. So I am willing to carry it if it gives me a chance to have a pop at the sub’.”
“What is it?” asked Lemele.
“A PIAT, an anti-tank weapon. The shaped charge in the projectile that it fires is designed to pierce the thick armour of tanks. You can only be certain to be effective against tanks at a range of under a hundred metres, but it should be capable of piercing the pressure hull of a submarine at double that. We may not sink it, but if we hit the exposed structure of the submarine whilst it is on the surface, we’ll make a big enough hole that they won’t be able to dive. That will leave them as a sitting duck for the navy boys.”
Lemele did not see Marner’s murderous look aimed in her direction; she was trying to follow Slowikowski who was warming to his subject, comparing the technical merits of the PIAT to the American Bazooka. He was brought up short by Dubus emitting a loud mock-yawn of boredom. Slowikowski laughed. “Dub’ there prefers the precision of his sniper rifle.” Lemele noted the scoped rifle slung across Dubus’ back, in addition to the machine gun that he carried.
“The PIAT is not especially accurate at long ranges but I have got plenty of spare shells in the rucksack. I’m dying to have a go at that submarine.”
Again the grin and the enthusiasm; Lemele reflected that Dubus’ description of Slowikowski as a kid that liked bangs and explosions was perfectly apt. Delaune brought the discussion to a halt. “Okay, bring it along if you must, but we need to get moving.”
Delaune turned to move but this time it was Marner who spoke, “What happened to the other soldiers who were being held prisoner with me? They were taken away this morning.”
Lemele recalled the young prisoners who had being sitting close by when she had spoken with Marner earlier that morning. Delaune was momentarily silent and confusion showed on his face. Dubus replied for him, “Not your problem Fritz. Now, move!”
The animosity of Dubus towards Marner was palpable. Lemele could see that Dubus would capitalise on any and all opportunities to antagonise his captive, and violence was never far below the surface. Marner refused to be intimidated. “As the ranking officer amongst those men it is my duty to assure their welfare under the terms of the Geneva Convention.”
Delaune stepped in to defuse the rising tension. “They were handed over to the Maquis for safe keeping. Our troops are too few and have to disperse quickly; we don’t have the capability to manage prisoners.” Delaune turned again and moved off, leaving Marner no opportunity to question or object. As soon as Delaune’s back was turned, Dubus gestured silently to Marner by raising a finger and drawing it across his throat, no doubt inferring the fate of the prisoners in the hands of their new captors. “Welcome to your war, Fritz,” he grinned and then shoved Marner to follow Delaune.
Marner yanked his arm away from Dubus grip and turned to square up to him. Marner’s face was a mask of rage and hatred and Lemele feared that he was going attack Dubus. She knew that this was what Dubus was trying to provoke and she had no doubt that Dubus would enjoy the opportunity. She touched Marner gently on the arm. “Come on Dieter, there’s nothing that we can do.”
Marner flinched from her touch as though stung. He maintained his eye contact with Dubus for a few more seconds and then to Lemele’s relief turned and followed Delaune. As they crossed the encampment there were numerous exchanges and calls of good luck from the other soldiers. The major emerged from the tent and called to Delaune, “Happy hunting.”
Chapter Forty Seven
Had Lemele been in charge, she would have moved the group as quickly as possible away from the encampment and from the sounds of gunfire that were echoing around them in the forest. Delaune, however, who was leading and setting the pace, appeared to be in no hurry, preferring to move carefully with frequent pauses to evaluate the terrain ahead. The fact that they were descending from the promontory on which the camp had been established gave them a height advantage; the rocky ground and trees gave them cover.
A single gunshot cracked from close by, causing Lemele to duck instinctively. “Relax,” soothed Slowikowski. “Most of the gunfire is our own people creeping around in the forest, trying to confuse the enemy and draw them away from the camp.”
They were heading directly north, which would gave them the benefit of the cover of the forest for the maximum distance. After an hour of stop-start progress, the sound of gunfire had diminished in volume but Delaune was concerned by the sound of German voices that were becoming increasingly loud on their left side. He instructed them to stay in position whilst he crept off towards the source of the noise; he was back only a minute later. “We need to turn east. There is a company-sized group moving into the forest and they are only a hundred metres away. They may be planning to come in here and then turn south to flank the camp from the direction that we have come from. Whatever, we need to move quickly.”
Delaune led the way again, this time striding with less caution through the trees. Dubus switched from his position in the middle of the file, between Marner and Lemele, to hang back with Slowikowski. Now that she was directly behind Marner, Lemele could hear his ragged breathing as they were forced to keep up the near jogging pace that Delaune had set. She realised that she had forgotten to consult the camp medic about something for his chest infection; too late now. Lemele resolved to try to ensure that there were frequent stops, opportunities for Marner to drink and eat. The antagonism of the soldiers towards him would not endear them to this suggestion, so it would be necessary to make the breaks seem to be for her benefit, not his.
At the eastern edge of the forest, Delaune turned again to the north and they followed a zigzag route that permitted them to keep under the cover of the forest where possible, emerging to walk along the edge of the bordering fields or grass and crops only where their route was blocked by brambles or rocky bluffs.
When the trees ran out, they squatted in a ditch and took a quick break to drink and eat crackers that Dubus distributed from his rucksack. Delaune spoke to Lemele and Marner, explaining that they would move at a trot across the field of hay in front of them; that it was important that they keep up. From the corner of her eye, Lemele caught Dubus grinning at Marner, as if to challenge him or to infer the consequences if he did not do as instructed. Marner made no indication that he was even aware of Dubus.
Slowikowski went first and alone, running as fast as he could under the weight of his equipment. He reached the middle of the field and hunkered down in the long grass. Lemele could see only his head and the tip of the PIAT launcher as he made a slow rotation with his rifle levelled in front of him, checking the landscape from his slightly ele
vated position for threats. When he had completed a full turn and signalled no danger, it was the turn of Delaune. The Captain moved faster under his lighter load and he ran straight on past Slowikowski to the far side of the field. Dubus now stood up and motioned his two charges to go. Marner and Lemele moved as fast as they could and both were panting and sweating when they reached the far side.
In this way they moved across the countryside, crossing fields and woodland at a fast pace. They saw no sign of any German troops until the end of the afternoon, and when they did, Lemele was certain that they were going to die.
----
They were crossing a ragged copse of gorse and trees when Delaune, this time bringing up the rear, hissed that they should run. The warning was too late; no sooner had he called than gunfire started up from behind them, bullets snapping through the grass and whining over their heads. From the number of guns that she could hear, Lemele knew that there must be a sizeable number of Germans at their heels.
She observed that these trained SAS soldiers did not instinctively try to flee or duck and hide as she wanted too. Instead they calmly turned to face the threat, the better to understand it and deal with it. Dubus and Slowikowski each moved to the nearest tree and turned to return fire whilst Delaune scuttled the last twenty metres to catch up with them. Lemele willed her trembling rubber body to follow their example, rising up from her prone position to take up cover behind an outcrop of rock. She could see figures flitting amongst the trees and gorse bushes, muzzle flashes from the guns being fired at them. Flinching and cringing as bullets began to impact closer and closer, the enemy gunfire now being attracted and focussed on the fire from the SAS, she forced her arms to bring the Sten up and began shooting. It was not well directed, but she knew from what Slowikowski had taught her that the Sten was ineffective from this range anyway. She just hoped that the added noise would have some impact, make their attackers think that they were facing a larger and more formidable force.