by Robert Wise
‘Never mind, just get him in that truck, let’s move.’
Kern dragged the boy along the floor and hauled him onto the tailgate before nudging him inside with the heel of his boot. He swiped away his helmet and chuckled.
‘Drive.’
‘What?’ Blankenburg said as his colleague climbed back into the cabin and strapped himself with a seat belt.
‘Drive, quickly.’
Blankenburg obliged, almost unwillingly and sped off, leaving the crowds of spectators to distend into the narrow streets. They came to a standstill at a junction on the border of the city and Kern continued his laughter.
‘Take a look at this,’ he said, signalling for his companion to join him and trudge along the dusty path towards the wagon’s back end. With a deep huff Blankenburg leapt down and kicked at the dirt until he reached the shoulder rocking chortle of his colleague.
‘I’ll be damned,’ he grinned.
‘Looks like we’ve bagged ourselves the most wanted men in Paris.
‘How did they get here?’
‘Listen, I’m not going to argue with someone if they drove off with our truck and left this.’
‘Here, what’s under this tarpaulin?’
The sheet came away under Blankenburg’s sharp pinch and the two soldiers looked at one another.
‘Wunderbar.’
Gerard swigged at the sampled whiskey and clenched his lips as it soured the back of his throat. A cigarette burned slowly within his fingers and he set it over the ashtray before pouring himself another drink.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he whispered, ‘you expect me to just hand over the whereabouts of my friends?’
Klaus nodded.
‘It’s as simple as that.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Believe it or not, in a little under an hour that front door will come crashing through and the men that enter will take you and your family and send them off to concentration camps. Now, if you chose to collaborate I can guarantee your safety, along with the remaining four members.’
Gerard breathed deeply and felt the fire of whiskey rise from his stomach.
‘Say I do trust you, what’s the next move.’
‘We gather the others and begin the next phase. But we need him.’
Gerard laughed.
‘You have no idea do you?’
Klaus looked on, mystified.
‘The German military see us as ghouls who move only by night, sabotaging vehicles and plotting attacks and planting bombs. It’s all lies. We attack in dark alleyways and cut tyres of cars parked in the midst of a packed lot. We’re no professionals.’
Klaus leaned forwards.
‘We’re not looking for a saboteur. We’re looking for a carpenter.’
Gerard crept upstairs and pulled a jacket and trousers away from his wardrobe. A pistol and blunting knife sat at the bottom beside a row of tatty shoes and he tucked both into either side of his socks. He could hear the German’s circling footsteps downstairs. The pistol threatened to jiggle out from his trouser leg as he stepped down each step.
‘There’s one more thing. Ludivine, we have to get her too. She works a morning shift in a cafe just up the road from Stefan’s store.’
Klaus nodded.
‘Funny you should mention that, we’re heading that way. We just have to make a few stops beforehand.’
Michel hit the ground and found his feet. His face was hot and his wet hair fell at his brow. A pistol slipped into his palm and he began to edge along the lightless passage. He could barely see the spouts of cloudy air that seethed through his panting lips. A bright gleam blasted at the back of his eyes, causing him to stumble and then carelessly aim the gun up at the approaching engine.
They’ve found me, he thought. The truck screeched to a halt and then sat there, like a bull taunting the fighter that carried the red flag. He contemplated emptying the chamber into the windshield but turned instead, sprinting away towards the blurry gloom.
‘Michel wait,’ snapped a familiar voice. He spun into the beam once more and covered his eyes, trying to visualise the shadow standing over the cabin doors.
‘Gerard?’
‘Yes, come quickly.’
Michel went to climb into the front but stopped as soon as he caught sight of Klaus.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Just get in,’ hurried Gerard, ‘I’ll explain on the way.’
Snatching at his friends offered hand Michel swung himself into the cabin and shut the door.
‘T-The Germans,’ he looked across the seat, ‘I saw them pull up on the drive, I was able to get out over the back gate.’
‘Are your family inside?’
Michel glanced at Gerard, questioning if it was alright to answer.
‘Are they?’ Gerard repeated.
‘No, they’re staying with friends in Lyon, Callie too.’
‘Good,’ Klaus said.
‘Good?’ Gerard spat, ‘I thought you said they wouldn’t start rounding up for another hour?’
‘They must have had a tip off,’ Klaus said, concerned, ‘Who’s the closest from here?’
Gerard shook his head and looked at Michel.
‘Quickly,’ Klaus yelled.’
‘Jacques then Patrice, Stefan will be setting up at the store.’
‘Show the way,’ Klaus said hastily, ‘we haven’t got much time.’
After the other stallers had joined them (rather defiantly) Klaus sped towards Mr Morel’s furniture store in search of the final and most important member.
Klaus wrenched up the handbrake and stopped at the edge of the street, his eyes wide and quick to flick around the crowded road.
‘What’s going on?’ Gerard said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Head round the back,’ Michel said, ‘there’s a loading bay, we can get into the store from there.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.’
A figure was thrown into the back of a halting truck. Klaus cranked the gears and headed up the street, following the red brake lights as they sped off into the distance. The brick and stone of the city lasted for another ten minutes until it was replaced by a stretch of tall pine trees. They had entered the countryside with great speed, chasing the blur of trailing red. There was a carpet of silver mist that hovered at bumper level and left the road barely visible. A voice came from the back cabin.
‘What’s happening out there?’
‘Calm down,’ Michel said.
‘You see the shelf of machine guns back there?’ Klaus called.
‘Yes,’ replied the voice.
‘Grab them, you might need them in a moment.’
A deer sprang into the middle of the road and Klaus swerved to one side, bumping up a grassy bank and stalling at the foot of an ageing sign post.
‘Merde!’ Michel cried, shaking off the shuddering aftershock of the bumpy stop, ‘hurry get after them.’
Scowling, Klaus thumped at the pedals and the wheels span out with no movement. He tried again and the cabin lunged forwards, whirling back onto the road.
‘Where are they?’ Michel growled.
‘Quiet,’ Gerard hissed, ‘turn down the lights.’
The fog lamps twitched and they continued blindly through the mist. Klaus lowered his window and Michel did the same. Small, deceiving junctions lined the road and the trio glanced down each murky path.
‘There!’
Behind a rise of tall trees there were two smudges of luminous red. Klaus switched off the lights entirely and veered onto the dirt path. The truck was parked not twenty feet away. The wind pinched at their cheeks. Five short blasts filled the air and each man looked at one another, measuring each other’s fear by the widening white of their eyes. Michel began to scramble at the door.
‘Wait.’
From the back of the cabin up ahead a figure leapt down onto the muddy track and jogged off into the darkness. Klaus frowned and rel
eased his grip on Michel’s arm, pedalling forwards with gentle care. They came to a steep knoll and he flicked at the lights, revealing two dazed Nazi’s and five motionless bodies.
‘Stay here.’
Klaus unclipped the button on his holster and closed the cab door.
‘Who’s there?’
They watched Klaus approach as if he were a ghostly apparition, their eyes wide with confusing revulsion.
‘I’ll ask you to lower your weapon, private.’
Klaus didn’t recognise either of them but it came abundantly clear that they knew him.
‘Forgive me, Sir,’ stuttered the pistol bearer, ‘I-I did not realise it was you.’
‘That’s absolutely fine. Would either you like to tell me what’s going on here?’
Blankenburg seemed to abandon his distrust and he tucked the Luger back into this belt before turning to the scatter of fallen bodies, a wide grin perched across his lips.
‘It’s those stallers Sir, we were ordered by Colonel Hermann...’ He was interrupted.
‘And what have become of these stallers, private?’
The tension became as thick as the travelling fog. The two soldiers standing at the foot of the knoll glanced at one another. Blankenburg snatched at his belt and Klaus riddled his chest with a quick draw of sharp blasts and turned to the other soldier. The point of his Luger found the man on his back, his ribs smoking. Klaus looked behind him. A band of silhouettes stood atop the truck, their machine guns sizzling with the aftermath of hot gunfire. He strode towards Blankenburg who lay against the bloodied grass. A whimper began to slip through his blood choked lips but Klaus fired a final shot, silencing him instantly. He turned to the beams of warm yellow light.
‘Get looking, we don’t have long.’
Michel, Gerard, Jacques and Patrice snatched the hood away from each limp body leaving Klaus to stand alone, scratching his forehead with the tip of his Luger.
‘We’re missing one.’
‘He’s not here.’
Michel flung a hood down onto the grass, studying the Aryan faces of the fallen with intense befuddlement. Klaus moved from body to body and finally shook his head. The dense shadowed form of a forest lingered in the remoteness up above.
‘He can’t have gone far. Split up.’
A truck sped past and then another. Hugo walked towards the commotion. The girl was bundled over the tailgate and a guard stayed with her as another two climbed into the cabin. Hugo hid the pistol behind his back and flagged the driver down from the mirror.
‘Can I help you Captain?’
‘Apologies, private but it appears as though someone has taken my truck, could I trouble you for a ride back to the barracks?’
The soldier nodded nervously and snapped at the man sitting beside him to go and open the door for the Captain.
‘Many thanks,’ Hugo said, tucking the pistol slyly back into it’s sheath.
He slid in between the two men and the truck growled and kicked off the curb and towards the end of the street. A signpost trailed by. Hugo followed it until it passed the window and vanished, his frown growing tighter.
‘Forgive me, gentlemen but isn’t the barracks in that direction.’
‘It is,’ sniggered the driver, ‘we just have to a quick detour. Colonel Herman was very clear on what we should do with the girl.’
‘And what was that?’ Hugo asked, his fingers leaving his lap and sliding down towards the crest of his holster.
‘To take her to Drancy...’ The driver spoke as though Hugo hadn’t understood a hilarious joke.
‘I see,’ Hugo grinned, ‘you should have said.’ All three men began an orchestra of laughter.
The driver nodded and chortled until something sharp poked his ribcage. He glanced down to see the nub of a pistol lodged into his gut. Hugo looked across the bench.
‘I suggest you take a leap of faith, brother.’
The soldier looked at Hugo and then at the driver but he didn’t budge. The driver gently placed his foot over the brakes, much to Hugo’s annoyance.
‘I don’t remember saying slow down.’
He glared back at the cowering man in the corner.
‘Place your hand around that handle, open the door and jump out.’
Seeing that his words were wasted on his dumbfounded opponent, Hugo removed the gun from the driver’s ribs and jabbed it into his neck.
‘You fall into a ditch or land there with a bullet in your head brother, decide.’
The soldier unlatched the door and hurled himself through the breezy frame, landing amidst a drum of tyre spun dirt. Hearing the upheaval, the soldier in the back of the cabin released Ludivine and peered out past the shuddering tailgate. His eyes widened as he watched one of his colleagues barrel sharply across the road and he was just about to fetch up his rifle when the shutter from the front cabin slid over, revealing the slender nose of a Luger. Three shots fired and he fell backwards and tumbled over the rail, crashing onto the path below.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ sneered the driver. Hugo reloaded and pushed the chamber back into the gun.
‘Pull over.’
The truck murmured to the side of the road and merged onto a bank of shallow grass. Hugo yanked the keys from the engine and cracked the driver around the head with the butt of his handgun He headed around to the back of the truck and climbed into the cabin. Ludivine shrunk into the corner, her hands bound and eyes wide with fear and tears.
‘It’s alright,’ Hugo assured, ‘I’m here to help you.’
She let out an overwhelming scream, a cry of relief and clung at Hugo’s shoulders, grappling and nestling her head into his chest. Her tears were hot against his fingers.
‘You’re okay,’ Hugo repeated. Her fear had been trembling within her thin arms for some time.
‘I need you to do something for me,’ he handed her a key, ‘I need you to take this handcuffs and go and sit in the cabin.’ She nodded and Hugo held the tailgate cover down for her as she walked gingerly towards the cab. Hugo skipped round to the driver’s seat and pulled away the unconscious soldier, dragging his limp body out onto the dirt path.
‘Aren’t you going to shoot him?’ Fear spoke for Ludivine.
‘No,’ replied Hugo, ‘we won’t be around when he wakes.’
He climbed into the truck and snapped at the ignition.
‘Let’s get you back.’
THE LANDING
Private Schulze glanced through the window. Paris sat below. He thought of it as some sort of masterpiece, an unfinished canvas that the artist had dotted with golden paint, mapping out his next sketch. The spots of darkness were scarily beautiful, empty spaces, lost within a city of glinting beauty.
‘Everything okay Private?’
He looked across the seat to find the Major studying him.
‘Yes, Major. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen something so mesmerising.’
‘It is beautiful isn’t it, but then I suppose everything is, at first glance.’
‘If you don’t mind me asking Major, what’s the plan?’
‘Then plan is find Tobias Vilsmaier. At any cost. We’ll check into the hotel he was staying at and take it from there. The troops will stay in the lobby and wait for further orders.’
Private Schulze nodded. He felt the plane veer beneath his feet and his stomach trembled. It wouldn’t be long until they landed. He peeked down the gangway. Twelve seats were taken. Twelve storm troopers, personally selected by the Major himself. The aircraft touched down with a sharp jolt and backed into a bunker at the end of the runway. Two cars waited for them. Private Schulze and the Major climbed into the nearest leaving the troupe of black trench coats to follow closely behind.
The hotel could have been ten minutes away, maybe more. It was a huge building, decorated with golden angels lying atop the entrance canopy and tea light tinted trees. A valet came and collected the car and the doorman led the pair inside, showing them straight to the elevator
shaft, no check in needed.
‘We have you in our two finest rooms, Sir.’
The elevator stopped at the eighteenth floor and they were led through a hallway of crimson and blue decor, arriving at room 1709.
‘Your room is next door, private.’
The usher left them and vanished behind the elevator doors.
‘Allow yourself twenty minutes to clean up, and then meet back here.’
Private Schulze saluted and marched down the corridor.
Major Anaheim rattled the door handle and crept inside. The room was vast and had been showered in flattering ornaments and spouts of colourful flowers. Schulze undressed and stepped into the shower. The cold water cooled his warming face. He stepped out and wrapped himself with a towel and ruffled away the chill. The night lingered at the balcony windows as he padded into the lounge. He poured himself a drink to calm himself. He felt slightly uneasy though he wasn’t entirely sure why. After unzipping a suit bag that hung over the sofa he admired the uniform inside and peeled away the crisp white shirt before curling it over the arch of his back. It was a perfect fit and he tightened the cuffs with two swastika shaped cufflinks. The dark olive green trousers slinked against his legs and the shoes slipped on next, sparkling brown with a ladder of black lacing. His jacket was a platform for the measured stretch of glinting medals and pins. A knock shook the door.
THE ELEVATOR SHAFT
He blew at the arm rest and wiped away any lingering dust. His hands were scorched, so red that they itched. Gerard came to his side and handed him a damp cloth.
‘Have you ever seen anything like that?’
Stefan took the cloth and began swathing at the brass frame.
‘No, they didn’t say what it was for?’
‘No,’ replied Gerard, ‘I must have missed that part.’
‘Do you trust them?’
‘All I know is, if it wasn’t for them, we would be dead, our family, everyone.’
Stefan couldn’t help but think about his wound and gave it away with a quick glance.
‘How is-you know?’
‘Fine,’ Stefan said sullenly.
‘Hey,’ persisted Gerard, ‘you need to see someone, a doctor.’