Stile Maus

by Robert Wise

  ‘We’ve got them here,’ Patrice said, unleashing another shot.

  ‘Ha!’ Tobias cried as he leapt away from his cover. In a sudden blaze of flashing white the entrance exploded sending a shower of glass and smoke Tobias’ way. Jacques recovered first, swiping at the ash that desperately clung to his eyes. He saw Patrice, writhing about in the rubble and scrambled towards him.

  ‘Patrice, get up come on.’

  There was a horrendous noise that came from outside, like the churning of an enormous oven. One of Anaheim’s men began to emerge from beneath a heap of splintered stone and got to his feet only for Jacques to rise and fire a shot into his chest. The guard fell backwards and clattered against the ground.

  ‘Hey!’

  Jacques called at Tobias,

  ‘Hey! Are you alive?’

  There was no answer, only another thunderous stir from outside. Jacques dragged Patrice behind the reception desk and went in search of Tobias, still wary of the last remaining trooper.

  The foyer was cased in darkness, all but for the entrance which was now just a gaping hole. As Jacques flipped at the shallow heaps of stone and rubble the entire entrance wall collapsed and the hefty steel body of a Panzer tank emerged within the bands of rare light. The turret snapped at any dangling bricks and they plummeted down onto its hard shell as it grumbled into the foyer. It was as though the metal bulk was led by a colossal snout, sniffing out its prey. Jacques hurdled himself behind a mountainous stack of gathered stone and watched in disbelief as the tank crushed everything in its monstrous path and came to a screeching halt at the centre of the lobby. At that moment around two dozen foot soldiers burst through the hole in the wall and they filed rapidly into the smoky foyer. Jacques glared at them in panic. From the corner of his eye he caught a scatter of debris fall away from a slab of fallen rock. A hand, the cuff and fingers bloodied, sat beneath a tower of wreckage.

  Tobias, he mouthed. The soldiers had at this point dispersed and Jacques couldn’t see but he expected more than a few of them to be heading upstairs. The latch of the Panzer clunked open and an officer wearing a heavy headset appeared. Unsheathing a pistol he ordered the soldiers to search the rubble and kill any survivors.

  ‘Over here!’

  A handful of guards dashed across the foyer and Jacques observed as they reached the hot yell of a lone officer. They had found something. Jacques gambled a few steps to the left and stole a clinch of broken marble from the ground. From what he could see, there were around fourteen officers on the lobby floor, four or five hovering around the stalling tank. He considered their position and knew it wouldn’t be long until they found Patrice lying behind the reception. With a snappy thrust he launched the stone towards the stairwell and it licked at the first few steps before settling. The scuffle attracted three guards and they climbed over a platter of cracked wall, rifles in hand. Jacques leapt up and began hunkering carefully along the glass covered ground, his hand quaking as he aimed his pistol at the backs of the preoccupied officers. There was a guard, different to the others, his uniform black like the ones that had been sent to protect the Major. He was on his own, vulnerable. He opted to go for the cluster, if he could isolate three or four at a time then he might have a chance of picking them all off or at least commandeering the Panzer. His strides were slow and the bottom of his boots crunched at the shards of littered glass with every slight print. He locked his fingers together, securing the handle within a trembling clasp.

  ‘There!!’

  Jacques turned into the shot and fell to the ground, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, tears spilling across his cheeks.

  ‘That’ll be the cavalry.’

  Klaus found his feet and snatched up his pistol from the dusting rug.

  ‘What was that?’ he said, glaring at Schulze.

  The Private was rendered speechless,

  ‘There were only twelve, I gave the order...’

  ‘Do you really think the Gestapo Major would come to Paris guarded only by twelve guns?’

  ‘That didn’t sound like twelve guns, brother.’

  Private Schulze stepped forward, his eyes riddled with anger.

  ‘What’s down there?’

  The guard chortled and Schulze fired two shots into his chest causing him to break through the balcony window and collapse against a web of shattering glass.

  ‘What’s down there?’

  He repeated this time to the dumbfounded bystander.

  ‘I don’t know...’

  Schulze yanked back the hammer.

  ‘Wait!’ The Nazi protested, ‘all I know is, Colonel Hermann overlooked the itinerary and made some upgrades to the firepower, he thought it was odd that the Major was planning to travel so lightly, that’s all we were told I swear to you.’

  ‘Good,’ Schulze said, ‘what’s your name, soldier?’

  ‘Ferber, Sir.’

  ‘Very well, Ferber. I want you to slowly walk over to me and sit in this chair here, my colleague will then tie you down, do you understand?’

  Ferber nodded and sat, allowing Michel to begin wrapping him within a tornado of corded wire. Once he was entirely restrained Michel ripped at a pillow case and stuffed the formed rag into his captive’s mouth.

  Stefan hopped down from the hallway, throwing a crisp white shirt and a pair of neatly polished shoes down on the floor.

  ‘We’re all set.’

  Schulze nodded.

  ‘Good day, Ferber.’

  The lighting in the corridor had dimmed and they moved straight towards the second elevator which sat at the far end of the corridor. Michel and Stefan wheeled the cart inside and punched at the button that would take them to the basement while Klaus and Private Schulze stayed in the hall.

  ‘You’re not coming?’ Stefan asked.

  ‘Not yet, we can’t risk all of us in such a confined space, we’ll stay here and hold them off until you send the lift back up. Head straight to the airstrip, do not wait for us.’

  Stefan nodded.

  ‘Best of luck.’

  Klaus watched the shaft doors close, his eyes latched onto the sheet covering the Gestapo Major. There was an urge that tingled at his fingertips, a gush of panic that told him Heinrich Anaheim would somehow get away and stay lost and hidden forever. For a brief moment he became lost and a chorus of quiet words filled the pictures within his mind. His Grandfather crouched at a burning fire, stoking at the ochre coal. He turned away from the flames and his face was alight with tears.

  ‘I am grateful,’ he whispered, ‘I am grateful that I have you here to remember her too. For if you were not, I fear that I would lose my mind with grief and I would forget.’

  He choked on his tears and Klaus stared at him, wide eyed, wondering what on earth he could do to bring back his Grandfather’s love.

  ‘Klaus.’

  Private Schulze stood before him.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He poked the pistol back into the leather seams of its holster and took a rifle from the Private’s offered reach. He patted him on the shoulder but said nothing, well aware that this may be the last time they ever stood beside one another.

  The lift doors opened and they hauled the trolley out onto the concrete. Stefan observed the crisscrossed passage and thought for a second. From what Hugo had told him, there was a way up to the street through a small corridor at the far end of the chamber. A grumble sounded from the floor above and a cloud of dust drifted down from the ceiling.

  ‘What do you thinks going on up there?’ Michel whispered, fearing his echo might travel.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Stefan replied, ‘but it can’t be good.’

  They passed through a doorway and found themselves within a small and damp room that had been stuffed and crammed with wooden crates that were full to the brim with dusty wine bottles and unopened food tins. A power box hummed loudly on the wall and Michel passed it with an inquisitive glare. There was a spindle frame gate just b
eyond a collection of beer drums and Michel cranked back the lock, inviting Stefan to wheel the trolley through. A low stairwell blocked the way and Michel moved to the front of the cart, carefully lifting the brass enclosure up until they reached the landing. Another door stood before them and the pair looked at one another in the dim, gloomy light.

  ‘This is it...’

  They agreed and Michel knocked against the steel door with the butt of his rifle, hoping that the face on the other side would be a friend and not a gun bearing Nazi. A tweak nipped at Stefan’s stomach and he pushed a threesome of fingers underneath his jacket only for them to return drenched in blood. Michel stood at the door, huffing with anxiousness. Wiping his hand against the inside of his blazer, Stefan swallowed the lump in his throat and waited.

  When the lift finally reached the bottom floor Klaus’ finger had started to ache. It had hovered over the trigger for some time, wanting and hoping that a barrage of German officers would come bundling through the doorway down the hall. Schulze punched at the button panel and the waited for the lift to reach the second level before returning to his position. Distant voices could be heard, clambering up each step with such a racket that it echoed throughout the dimming corridor. Private Schulze hugged the wall and poked his machine gun around the flowery decor.

  ‘Come on you bastards,’ he muttered, ‘come on.’

  Klaus looked over his shoulder, desperate to see the lift nearing the eighteenth floor. It wasn’t, in fact it lingered around the seventh and he cursed under his breath.

  ‘Step back, squire.’

  ‘What?’ questioned Klaus, ‘why?’

  ‘Step behind the wall.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there’s always a plan B,’ grinned Schulze. He grabbed Klaus by the shoulder and yanked him out of sight and then pressed his back up against the wall, holding his breath. They faced the lift and watched the golden numbered scale as it climbed towards them. A choir of raging boots stormed into the corridor and Schulze smiled nervously,

  ‘This is it. Wait for my count.’

  They filed into the Major’s suite, turning over sofas and searching the rooms with surging force. There were still footsteps that thundered across the hallway carpet, advancing closer and closer toward the elevator shaft. Schulze had anticipated that.

  Colonel Hermann sat in a booth towards the back of a small cafe, enjoying a frothy cappuccino when his ashen faced assistant burst through the pleasantly decorated doorway and stooped with relief as he caught sight of his frowning superior.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Very s-sorry to interrupt you Colonel, Sir but I’m afraid Field Marshall Von Maier requires your assistance immediately.’

  Colonel Hermann sighed and wiped a corner of coffee away from his lips.

  ‘What is this regarding, boy?’

  The private, choked with exhaustion took a moment before replying.

  ‘It’s those stallers, Sir. They’re back.’

  ‘What information do you have, Roderick?’

  Field Marshall Von Maier flicked a band of gloved fingers through his hair and took a deep breath before settling a cigarette against his lips.

  ‘Very little. Our man here believes that the stallers have resurfaced from the dead and are now taunting our men in the lobby of the grand hotel.’

  An employee of the hotel was sat at the curb side with an officer stood over him. He looked scared and his face was marred in thick clumps of ash.

  Hermann smiled unconvincingly and let Von Maier hand him a cigarette. And then something pricked at his ears, the short, scratchy cries of a young baby. He glanced over the bobbing helmets that scaled the roads and saw that a woman was being comforted by an officer. She cradled a baby within her trembling arms.

  ‘Interesting,’ he muttered.

  They approached the hotel and Von Maier watched his colleague with a smile, waiting for him to pick up on the obvious sign that something wasn’t entirely as it seemed. It didn’t take long.

  ‘Roderick,’ he said, looking around quickly to make sure he wasn’t going to embarrass himself, ‘why is there an SS officer standing over there, by the wall?’

  Von Maier smirked, plugging the cigarette away from his lips.

  ‘That’s exactly what I said.’

  ‘Have you questioned him?’

  Throwing down the stubby butt of the cigarette Von Maier held opened up his palms and welcomed the rain.

  ‘Why do you think I called for you?’

  Hot blushes of black smoke had begun to seep through the entrance doors, barely visible as it rose toward the night time sky. The SS soldier crouched at the curb while a medic touched at his bloody face. Colonel Hermann intruded with great impatience.

  ‘Why are you here, soldier?’

  The soldier merely stared up at him, his eyes squinted in suspicion.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ Hermann repeated in a softer tone.

  ‘We are at war, Sir. What better reason is there?’

  Colonel Hermann gestured for the medic to leave and stooped down, staring at the yellow haired officer with deep distrust.

  ‘Tell me why you are here, and be quick, you wouldn’t want to be the reason more men die in there would you.’

  The soldier touched beneath his bruised eyes and nodded sheepishly.

  ‘We arrived just this evening, with Major Anaheim.’

  Colonel Hermann stared at him as if he had entered some sort of trance.

  ‘Major Anaheim is here? In that very hotel?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘On what business?’

  ‘We weren’t told.’

  Colonel Hermann believed him and rose, stroking his chin.

  ‘Where are the rest of your company?’

  ‘Dead.’

  This agitated Hermann and he stared up at the towering hotel, with a look of sheer malice.

  ‘There’s something else,’ the soldier murmured.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘The Frenchmen, there in there, there’s no doubt about that. But there are others. There are Germans.’

  With a sour grimace Hermann scratched irritably at his chin and grappled with the flow of thoughts running through his mind.

  ‘What did you say your name was, soldier?’

  ‘Drezner Sir, my name is Til Drezner.’

  It was called in to every barracks. The message relayed time after time. A coup is being staged at the grand hotel, central Paris. There were hundreds of patrolling units, rolling to a stop just beyond the puddle drowned shadows of the hotel. Von Maier stood beside the Colonel and ordered troops to move into position at the entrance, Til Drezner among them.

  ‘Your man is going back in?’

  ‘Can’t question his loyalty can you. Some son of a bitch in there wiped out his entire squadron.’

  Von Maier plucked another cigarette out from his inside pocket and waved his arms, summoning the services of a sea-green Panzer that suddenly began trundling across the rain swept streets.

  ‘Gentlemen if you would be so kind.’

  The formation of gathering soldiers stepped away from the entrance while the tank’s giant snout took aim.

  ‘Open fire!’

  The loud crump shook the streets, rippling the vast scatter of shallow puddles to the point where they jolted away from the grooves in which they lay. The entrance wall fell and crumbled down in a sort of broken stairwell fashion. The tank grunted and whirred as it trailed slowly towards the musky haze and clunked up the crumbling slope before vanishing entirely. The troops followed it inside, eager to join the action. Von Maier noticed that the Colonel had left his side.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he called through cupped hands.

  ‘To take down the stallers and their accomplices, you’re welcome to join me, Roderick!’

  Von Maier shook his head and smiled,

  ‘You haven’t changed! Stay safe, my friend.’

  Til kicked weakly at a heap of rubble an
d nudged the nose of his rifle into the ashy aftermath. Where were they? He watched on as three soldiers passed him, muttering something about the fugitives being ghouls who have risen only to taunt the Nazi’s. He shook his head and continued his search. He didn’t want to rush but then he couldn’t allow any other guard to catch them. The tank sat, purring beside a blown chute which was once the elevator shaft. The foyer was measureless and a considerable amount of damage had been dealt. Cracks licked at the walls. Grades of marble and stone plagued the floor. The main pillars stood tall though were tormented in bullet holes and jagged tears as a result of the explosions. Til rounded a sculpture that had fallen from the ceiling and squatted, casting a gaze over the sheer volume of shattered brick and rock. It was at that moment he saw him. He offered a quick nod and the Frenchman agreed and scooped at dash of pebbles and thrust them across the lobby. He then got to his feet and turned away from Til who had now taken aim.

  ‘There!!’

  Til shot just below the boys elbow and his target fell to the ground instantaneously. He made sure he was first over to him and yelled,

  ‘This one’s dead.’ Before any other soldier could get close he dragged Jacques across the floor where he propped him up against the wall. He pretended to search him and forced a quiet whisper into the boy’s ear.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘By the reception,’ Jacques murmured, ‘I can’t be sure about the German.’

  ‘We’re heading upstairs,’ said a voice from behind them, ‘are you coming?’

  Til glanced up at the staircase and found it riddled with advancing guards.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, standing and letting the soldier lead the way. He peered at the landing and waited for the last guard to step out of sight. With a quick grasp Til grabbed the soldier from behind and jabbed a fist into his ribs before choking him into a submission that rendered him unconscious.

  ‘Go and get your friend and head for the alleyway,’ Til ordered, ‘join the others.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  Til glanced at the stairwell.

  ‘I need to make sure that everything went smoothly upstairs.’