by Julian Noyce
“Well everything seems satisfactory Captain. I know….”
Von Brockhorst stopped talking when he heard the Fiesler’s engine splutter into life. Schwann was watching Kahler who was sprinting for the watch tower.
“What is that man doing?” Von Brockhorst asked as Kahler reached the ladder and rapidly began climbing it shouting at the top of his voice. Kahler reached the platform, elbowed the guard out of the way and swung the barrel of the MG42 in the direction of the plane and opened fire. The first burst of bullets raced across the desert floor. The second kicked up around Johnny’s legs. He ran around and climbed inside the plane.
“Bloody hell Alf that was close.”
Von Brockhorst couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Why the hell is that idiot shooting at my pilot?”
At the first sound of the gunfire the British P.O.W.’s had dived for the dirt.
“Stay down all of you!” Schwann ordered between Kahler’s firing. Suddenly the MG42 jammed. Schwann was about to shout at Kahler when the plane began to move forward. Von Brockhorst was still staring at Kahler.
“I demand to know why that man is shooting at my pilot.”
Schwann saw the body of Kleber laying on the ground.
“I think sir that may be your pilot.”
Von Brockhorst’s eyes widened. Suddenly he jumped into action.
“Stop them!” he shouted “They’re stealing my plane.”
“After them,” Schwann ordered every German in earshot. Some armed, some not. They ran as ordered but the attempt would be futile. The aeroplane was already bouncing along the desert floor gaining speed.
Kleber was coming round. He sat up holding his chin and turned his head towards the sound of his aeroplane. It was moving away from him. Then he realised what had happened.
“The bastard!” he said out loud.
Then the Storch turned and was lumbering back towards him. He got to his feet and waited. Alf had straightened the plane up and now pushed forward on the throttle. Johnny beside him was punching the air in delight. Alf looked out of the window and saw what looked like the whole of the German army descending upon them trying to cut them off. On foot!
“Johnny we’re not out of this yet.”
Kahler was too busy trying to free the jammed machine gun. Suddenly it freed and he opened fire without looking. Several Germans were hit in the back and killed, others writhed in agony. Horrified Kahler stopped firing.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Schwann shouted.
Some of the British started to cheer when they saw but Burroughs shut them up. Schwann ran down the stairs. He crossed quickly to Wilf and yanked him to his feet and put his Luger to the side of Burroughs head. Beyond the running Germans Johnny could see it.
“Alf.”
Alf looked across. He could see it was Burroughs. He eased back on the throttle and then committed himself.
“Sorry Wilf,” he said and pushed the throttle all the way forward.
Schwann angrily withdrew his pistol and fired it into the air.
“They saw and they didn’t care,” he said.
“Why would they. They take off I’m dead. They stop, we’re all dead.”
“Who are they?”
Wilf smiled.
“Never mind, a roll call will reveal them. They will not get away.”
“My dear Captain I fear that they already have,” Burroughs pointed at the aeroplane as it left the ground.
As they had increased speed on the ground Alf had realised that the pilot was standing directly in his way.
“What is he doing.”
Johnny had just found a loaded handgun in a pouch.
“Want me to shoot him Alf?”
Alf shook his head.
“He’ll move.”
Kleber did.
Right at the last moment. Or so Alf thought. Kleber actually rolled out of the way, came up onto his feet, ran after the plane and grabbed onto the wheel struts and was now hanging on for dear life as the plane gained height. Kleber slipped once, regained his hand hold, climbed up and opened the passenger door on a surprised Johnny Larder. Johnny recovered quickly to lash out but missed. Kleber tried to grab him as Johnny brought the hand holding the gun around. Kleber was the quicker of the two, however, and he slammed the door on Johnny’s arm. The gun flew from Johnny’s hand and it clattered across the cockpit floor and under Alf’s feet. The small aeroplane was barely a hundred feet from the ground and Alf dipped its wings to try to eject the unwanted passenger. Kleber was having none of it. After all this was his plane. He wasn’t about to give it up without a fight. The next time the door opened he grabbed Johnny and tried to pull him out. Johnny panicked and grabbed hold of Alf who had just managed to get hold of the gun. Alf levelled it at Kleber’s head who instantly stopped what he was doing. He hung on with all his strength. He looked down at the ground, certain death whichever way you looked at it. He was tempted to jump. To be in control of his demise and not someone else. Then kleber looked into Alf’s eyes.
“Do it Alf! Do it! Kill him!”
Johnny couldn’t understand what the old ’un was waiting for.
Kleber started to laugh. Alf was glancing from the German to where he was going.
“What’s so funny? Alf Ask him.”
Alf spoke in poor German, slowly he lowered the gun. Johnny couldn’t believe his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Johnny pull him in.”
“What?”
“Help him. Quick before he falls.”
Johnny just stared open mouthed.
“Larder I gave you an order.”
Johnny sprung into action. He grabbed Kleber and started to haul him in. Johnny had to move back to get him inside. The two men lay on the floor of the plane panting. Alf passed the gun back to Johnny.
“Keep this on him.”
Kleber shook his head and said something to Alf. The Englishman understood only the words “Not necessary.”
“Just cover him with the gun. You don’t have to put it in his face just keep it in his general direction.”
Larder did as he was told. Kleber motioned that he wished to sit in the passenger seat. Alf agreed, explaining that if the German tried anything Larder would shoot him dead. Kleber nodded that he understand. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered them. Both Englishmen declined so he shrugged and put them away. They flew in silence for a few minutes. Then Johnny asked.
“Ask him what was so funny back there!”
Alf spoke to Kleber while continuing to look ahead. The German words making him sound so funny as usual.
“He says he was laughing at the absurdity of him acting the hero and jumping onto his plane. So far he has seen no action of any kind in this war and now this, trying to stop someone from stealing his plane. He just thought it was funny.”
Johnny nodded to Kleber who spoke to Alf again.
“He wants to know why I didn’t shoot him. When I had the chance with him hanging on helplessly as he was.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That it would be murder. That I wasn’t a murderer and couldn’t kill him in cold blood.”
Then Alf said something else in German. Kleber looked at him for a moment. Then suddenly he burst out laughing and then Alf joined him. Johnny was grinning like people who watch other people laugh without understanding the joke.
“What did you say Alf?”
Alf tried to stop laughing but tittered between words.
“I asked him if he thought the General would be cross.”
They all laughed together. Alf had tears in his eyes.
Von Brockhorst watched the small aeroplane as it got smaller and smaller in the sky. Finally he could see it no more. He looked around the camp. The captured British watched silently but he could see that they were restless. They wanted to leap and shout. The Germans stood by in embarrassed silence like guilty school children standing before their headmaster. Von Brockh
orst looked up at the tower. Kahler was looming over the sentry. He was more worried about the trouble he was in than the fact that he’d just shot some of his countrymen in the back. Finally Von Brockhorst looked at Schwann who was standing nervously to one side. Schwann stared back. He was sure that the next words the General spoke would be to order his execution. The General just coldly stared at him. The younger man tried to read what was behind the eyes. What thoughts were going through that brilliant brain, but he couldn’t, there was no emotion there at all. Von Brockhorst opened his mouth to speak but closed it again instantly as Schwann panicked and began blurting out an explanation.
“Herr General we’ll do everything in our power to see that these men are punished. They’ll not get far….” he continued feeling his courage build now that he had spoken to the General “….I’ll have their corpses brought to you by sundown. With your permission I’ll personally lead a team to find them. They will not make a mockery of General Hans Von Brockhorst.”
Schwann clicked his heels and delivered the best salute of his military life.
Von Brockhorst just glared at him. Finally he said.
“Have you finished?”
Schwann nodded nervously and lowered the salute.
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“I won’t sir?”
“No. It’s a big desert. You’ll never find them. What you will do is as I’ve already instructed.”
“Yes sir.”
Now Von Brockhorst returned the salute.
“Dismissed!” he said loudly to the rest of the camp.
The Germans relaxed. The P.O.W.’s began to disperse.
“Captain Schwann.”
“Yes Herr General.”
“I need to use your telephone.”
“Yes of course Herr General. If I may….” Schwann said opening the door for Von Brockhorst .
“In private Captain,” Von Brockhorst said as Schwann tried to follow him in. Schwann had almost got the door shut.
“Oh and Captain.”
“Herr General?”
“Perhaps you would be good enough to arrange some transport for me.”
Schwann closed the door with a little click.
Von Brockhorst stepped around Schwann’s desk and sat slowly in the chair. He took his hat off and placed it neatly on the desk in front of him. He reached forward for the telephone, picked up the receiver and listened to the dial tone. Then very slowly he replaced the receiver. He thought about the morning’s events. His stolen aeroplane and the escaped prisoners.
Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Life for the fighter pilots of 225 squadron was like any other day for the men stationed in Thelepte, Tunisia. They flew an average of six sorties a day attacking enemy vehicle convoys, enemy aircraft and sometimes shipping. Some times they flew early in the mornings, sometimes at night, sometimes alone. But for the men, thankfully, it was very rare that they didn’t come back. They hadn’t lost a plane for nearly a month, a comrade, a friend.
Currently they had no planes out. The pilots taking a well earned rest. They had been out today already.
Bill Smith and his squadron had encountered the small unarmed German Fiesler Storch that very morning and it was a very embarrassed Bill who’d had to explain to his C.O. that he’d observed it and then let it go. Standing before Wing Commander Kenneth Wigmore he didn’t tell him that he’d actually waved to it. Not that the C.O. would have taken much of a view on that but Bill would never live it down with his mates.
Four of them were sat at a rickety wooden table playing stud poker. Bill, his brother, Don Foster and Tommy Burke. The other two of their close circle were brewing tea in an old petrol can. They served up the tea. Bill thanked them and took a swig, it was hot and tasted strongly of petrol. No matter what they did to the tea you couldn’t get rid of the taste of the fuel. After a while you got used to it.
Bill grimaced and held the tin cup away from his lips, frowning at it.
“Did you bother to wash the petrol can out first?”
Tommy Hurst who had served the tea looked offended.
“Of course we did. What do you think we’re trying to do, poison you?”
“It would be a good guess,” Bill said to the sniggering of the others.
The other tea brewer Jack Meadows looked up.
“If you don’t like it mate make it yourself.”
Bill looked at the others and took another swig.
“It tastes absolutely wonderful,” he said swilling it around his teeth.
They all chuckled at his sarcasm.
Meadows held up the petrol can to pour the rest of the tea. It trickled from holes in the can. It was a known fact that fifty percent of the British fuel was lost in this way.
“Now if only we could find ourselves a nice German ’Jerry’ can,” Meadows said “They don’t bloody leak.”
“Would the tea taste any better?” Don enquired.
“It couldn’t taste any worse,” Bill replied.
Don picked the cards up and began shuffling.
“Right if you’re ready,” he said with a cigarette clenched between his teeth.
“Here I wouldn’t smoke near that tea if I were you,” Bill said.
“Right mate you’ve bloody asked for it,” Meadows jumped to his feet and as Bill leaped from his chair Meadows chased him around the table, all the while laughing. The others got to their feet. Part of the game as well.
“Run Bill run!” they shouted “Get him Don get him!”
They chased each other until finally the table and chairs went over. Jack Meadows caught Bill Smith and rugby tackled him to the sand. They rolled around laughing and Bill grabbed hold of Jack’s head as Jack playfully punched Bill in the ribs. Finally exhausted jack rolled off and they both lay on their backs staring at the sky. Don and the others watching. For these men play time was all important. Don dropped his cigarette butt to the sand and buried it with his boot.
“Now if you two ladies have finished playing ring-a-ring a roses perhaps we can play cards.”
Jack and Bill turned their heads to him. Don showed them the pack of cards he’d been holding the whole time.
“Seeing as you two knocked the table over you can set it up,” Don continued.
Bill and Jack turned to each other now.
“I will if you will,” Jack said.
Bill got to his feet and held out a hand and pulled his friend up.
“I need to do something to take my mind off that tea,” Bill said.
“Hey watch it!” Jack bunched his fist under his friends nose.
Bill threw his arm around Jack’s shoulder.
“Come on before he starts moaning,” he said quietly gesturing to Don who now had his back to them, “You know what he’s like with his poker.”
“Time’s a wasting,” Jack said quietly so only Bill could hear.
They both chuckled. Don turned round.
“Come on you two. Time’s a wasting.”
They quickly set the table back upright and positioned the seating. A lucky few actually got chairs, the others had to make do with a variety of items including empty ammunition boxes. Soon the six men were seated.
We’ll play seven card stud poker,” Don began shuffling the cards “No limits but please let’s keep it friendly ladies.”
He struggled to shuffle the cards, they were an old pack, yellowed by the sun and age and sticky from so much use. Don finished his shuffling, took the top card and placed it on the bottom in case anyone had seen it and dealt. First each player received a card face down. Then he went round the table again. Another card face down each. Then the next four cards were dealt face up and then finally each player received their last card face down. Don put the remainder of the pack in the middle of the table.
“Whoever has the highest hand goes first,” he said for the players who had not long been playing poker. Jimmy Smith, Bill’s brother was the le
ast experienced player. For weeks he had watched the others playing, trying to pick it up, then finally Bill had persuaded him to play.
“It’s the only way you’ll learn,” his older brother had said.
Now Jimmy was hooked. It was all he ever talked about.
“Can you quickly tell me the hands again,” he asked.
Bill opened his mouth to speak but an irritated, impatient Don got in first.
“High card, one pair, two pairs, three of a kind, a straight, flush, full house, four of a kind, straight flush, royal flush.”
“Aces can be high or low?”
“Yes!”
“O.k. I was only asking.”
“You’ve got a pair of nines. What are you doing?”
Jimmy looked at the agitated Don.
“All right keep your hair on.”
Some of the others were trying not to laugh. Don got so wound up over slow play.
“He’s not been playing long,” Bill said defending his brother.
“You’ve got a pair of nines,” Don said to Jimmy, ignoring Bill and the others who sat embarrassed into silence, “It’s you to go first.”
Jimmy looked at all the other hands. No one else had a pair. He looked at his stake money. It wasn’t much. They hadn’t received any pay for weeks. He took two coins of small value and put them in the middle with the ante’s. Bill looked at his cards and folded. Don went once calling the bet. The two Tommy’s both folded. Jack went once, open, he’d looked at his cards. Jimmy looked at the growing pile of coins in the pot. He touched more coins, trying to decide what to do. He looked at his brother for help.
“If I were you I’d look. They’ve both looked,” Bill said looking at jack who was watching the cards. Don was staring at Jimmy, a slight smug expression on his face. He was a master at bluffing. At calling other peoples bluff.
“Look, “ Bill continued “If you improve go. If not well it’s up to you.”
Jimmy picked his three other cards up.
‘A six and two Kings’
Kings and nines!
He put the cards back down and pushed his coins in. Don jutted his chin out but his eyes were giving away nothing. He quickly pushed more coins in, trying to appear hasty to put Jimmy off. Jack shook his head and threw his cards in. Jimmy looked at his small, remaining, stake money. He was annoyed at his brother for advising him to go on improvement. Don obviously had him beat and Jimmy couldn’t afford to lose much. He reached for his cards to stack them.