‘Watch your flank,’ Schneider screamed at him. He was right. The Poles had set light to some haystacks and they were winding their way towards them, half obscured by tall sunflowers and curling smoke. As if in slow motion, Louis brought his weapon to his right hip and pressed the trigger. It started to chatter at his side. 9mm slugs hissed flatly through the haze. The leading Pole went down and then others and he heard the thwack-thwack of his bullets striking flesh. More Poles came rushing clumsily through the smoke screen.
Louis crouched there, legs spread, his body slightly tensed, spraying lead from left to right in a frenzy of fear as more and still more Poles came rushing towards him. Wegener spun round, a dazed, bewildered look on his face and crumpled on to his shoulder. Louis shoved him to the ground. He was dead. A neat purple hole in his forehead was oozing blood. As he crouched over him, a ricochet zipped against Louis’ helmet. Louis shook his head to ward off his dizziness.
He raised himself on one knee, rammed in another magazine and rejoined the firing. On his left, a soldier groaned softly and keeled over. Louis kept firing. I’m next, he thought.
His gun chattered to a stop. Louis fumbled for another magazine. The Poles gave a wild cry of triumph. They were only fifty metres away and coming on fast.
‘For fuck’s sake fire,’ Schneider screamed. They were thirty metres away and gaining speed. He rammed home the magazine and his gun erupted into vicious action. Screaming obscenely and mad with fear, Louis obeyed. The Poles seemed to vanish. One minute they were there, and now they were gone. Louis stood up and stared in horror at the writhing men, their faces contorted with agony.
A blinding pain shot up Louis’ arm, as a scream pierced his eardrums. Mud and blood showered around him, blinding him. He blinked his eyes and wiped his hand over his face. Now he could see the gunner on his right. Blood was streaming from the man’s scorched, tattered sleeve, a piece of shrapnel had torn off his arm to the elbow. He stared at the ragged gory stump as if he could not believe it had happened to him, and he began to howl.
Louis looked down at his own arm. It was numbed by a blow from the shrapnel. Nothing more.
‘Keep firing,’ Schneider yelled.
A shell fell nearby and the blast knocked Louis headlong against a tree. Now Louis could hardly see through the black and yellow dots dancing in front of his eyes. He blinked, but couldn’t clear his vision. He had the impression that there was a large black shape before him and he crouched behind it. Leaning his sub-machine gun on the shape, he began firing. After a while, he saw that he was sheltering behind the corpse of a comrade. His helmet had been driven into his skull, his mouth was half-open, his eyes staring.
Louis crouched lower and closer. A huge shell screamed past. With a hellish crump it exploded a hundred metres away. Flames spurted high, the earth belched mud and branches and the sky rained pebbles on them. Nearby trees caught alight and the smoked drifted over Louis, choking him. He kept firing, although he couldn’t see the enemy.
After a while he became aware of whistles blowing. ‘Stop firing!’ The cry went from tree to tree. ‘Advance!’
Like packs of wild animals, the troops surged forward behind Schneider, screaming in triumph. They slammed into the retreating Poles and flung themselves on them. Bayonets flashed, tools came cleaving down on skulls, blood spurted over them. Pole after Pole were hacked to death amongst the sunflowers. Suddenly the field was a mass of mutilated bodies and there was no one left to kill.
The silence that followed seemed like a pulsating roar. Wearily the troops stared at each other, noting their bloodshot eyes, blood spattered tunics, faces grimy with smoke, lips cracked and bleeding. Louis’ head ached intolerably. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. His chest felt ready to burst and he could taste the smoke and blood.
The weary men stumbled into the forest to sleep, but Louis was detailed for guard duty. He stood in the forest, watching the moon rise over the tree tops. Suddenly he remembered the evening when he first saw Andrea. The moonlight had been shining through the open window. Even now he could picture the scene so clearly. Her image was so real, he felt he could reach out and touch her, smell her perfume and the aroma of her skin and hair. ‘Oh God, Andrea, I love you,’ he whispered. Tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks, hidden by the night.
*
It was September 3, 1939. The Count paced his study, unable to sit at his desk he was so fired with tension. He was sick with worry for Marietta, and frantic with anxiety for his son. He also feared for the Fatherland, for this morning, Britain, France, New Zealand and Australia had declared war on Germany.
Looking back, he thought how badly he had failed in his ambitions. After the invasion of Czechoslovakia, he and the Mayor had battled to keep the conspiracy alive as the generals dropped out one by one. Hitler had proved to be a master strategist, not a madman. First the Rhineland, then Austria, Sudetenland, followed by the rump of Czechoslovakia, had fallen to the Germans without bloodshed.
Shortly afterwards the Count heard the door open and the Mayor was shown in. He looked haggard, clearly the declaration of war had hit him hard. ‘It’s not for nothing that I’m late,’ he said. ‘We have a new and distinguished member, the Chief of the General Staff.’
The Count gasped with pleasure. Then he clapped his friend on the back. ‘Well done, Doctor.’
‘He’s strictly an army man and he feels that Hitler is pushing the army into certain defeat. He’s bringing the new army Commander-in-Chief with him.
The Count could hardly believe the good news. With these men how could they fail? All those who had dropped out would return to help devise Hitler’s destruction.
The generals arrived at last. After the introductions, the four men sat down to discuss their strategy. After five hours of discussion, they decided on a way to arrest Hitler before he could order his armies to attack Western Europe. They would then force him to sign a truce with Britain and France.
*
Three weeks after the invasion of Poland, the German High Command claimed that the Polish Campaign was over. Half a million prisoners were in German hands and had been sent as slave labour to Germany. In a battle of extermination, the Polish army had been annihilated. Warsaw was blitzed to ruins.
Louis’ relief at the battle’s end and his promised leave, was dampened by the horrors inflicted on the Poles. Guilt gnawed at his soul as he saw the scorched earth and flattened homes; the starving women digging amongst the refuse, the orphans crying by the roadside as they begged for bread, and the Polish men, their eyes filled with hatred, being herded on to slave trains for transportation to the Third Reich.
The train ride was terrible. There were corpses hanging from gibbets at every station, the Polish countryside was destroyed, crops burned, entire towns obliterated. It was a relief to cross the border into Czechoslovakia, until he saw the gangs of slave labour in the fields, the armed troops guarding them, the old chateaux commandeered as hospitals for German soldiers, and the pitiful stretcher cases being loaded off the trains into waiting ambulances.
Prague looked the same as ever, despite the multitude of German troops and the hostility of the Czechs. Louis was granted leave from Friday afternoon until early Monday morning. Two and a half days – with luck he would find Andrea.
At dawn on Friday morning, Konrad and Louis were summoned to Schneider’s office. Schneider wanted them to help round up Czech labour for the camps.
‘You two know the districts here. You’ll direct us to the places where we’re most likely to find the youths hanging around. I’ve just heard from headquarters that if we don’t fulfil our quota, all leave will be cancelled. Heil Hitler!’
Louis returned the salute automatically, rebellion in his heart. ‘Wipe that look off your face,’ Konrad said when they were outside. ‘We’re soldiers. We obey orders. That’s all.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was 3 p.m. Louis was sitting in the back of a half-truck, behind Schneider and Konrad. They h
ad been partially successful in rounding up youths from the beerhalls, the streets, the stations and the bus shelters.
So far, one hundred and fifty Czechs had been sent back to headquarters, en route to Germany’s labour camps, but this was not enough. Konrad suggested they should move towards the poorer, older areas. They began a systematic search, starting in Slovenskra Street. Slowly they moved eastwards. There was a sudden, unexpected burst of shots from the end of Moravska Street. Seconds later the house was surrounded. Shortly afterwards the troops were manhandling the occupants as they dragged them on to the pavement. One youth had barricaded himself into the attic and was firing wildly from the door. A smoke bomb, lobbed through the window by Schneider, soon settled his defiance. The youth stumbled out with his hands on his head, his eyes streaming. His mother, an old grey-haired lady, stood trembling in the doorway. In her eyes was mirrored all the sorrow of the war. Louis cringed inwardly as he stood guard over her. Her husband was openly crying, the tears taking a zig-zag course down his leathery cheeks, while the family spaniel whimpered and shook between the old man’s legs.
As two young brothers were pushed towards the truck, one of them made a break for it. Schneider lifted his handgun and took aim. ‘Get him or I’ll shoot,’ Schneider said. Louis lunged forward and grabbed the youth, knocking him hard against the wall. He hit his head and fell unconscious. Konrad picked him up and shouldered him into the truck, but without warning the dog flung itself at Louis’ ankles and hung on hard. Louis tried to kick it away, but failed. The pain was agonising. He called to the old man, but he was rooted with shock. He could not move, nor speak, but only stand and cry.
The scene was pitiful. Louis knew that it would be imprinted on his mind forever. The moaning of the mother, the squeals of the two daughters locked in a front room, the spaniel’s frenzied snarling, the blood on his trouser leg. Louis took out his gun and shot the dog through the head.
‘I’m sorry,’ Louis tried to say. He swallowed, but there was no saliva and the words came out as a croak that no one heard. Louis thanked God for that. He backed away painfully and stumbled against the railings that led down to the basement.
Turning his back on the family in their grief, he climbed into the half-truck.
‘Let’s go back,’ Schneider snarled. ‘That’s enough punishment for one day.’
They were all sweating, although it was almost freezing.
*
Louis kept his foot hard on the accelerator as he sped northward He was determined to put as much space between himself and Prague as he could. He was going home to Andrea.
After a five-hour journey, he turned off the main highway and saw Lidhaky nestling amongst the hop fields and the orchards. There was a cluster of houses, a river and a church. Andrea had written to tell him that she had moved to the country for safety’s sake and was living in her late aunt’s house which she had inherited. He prayed that she would still be there.
It was dark when he drove into the cobbled courtyard and parked under an oak tree. He could see Andrea faintly silhouetted against the lamp in an upstairs room. He sighed with relief and climbed wearily out of the car.
Andrea pushed up the sash window and leaned out. He heard a sudden wail of joy. Seconds later she rushed out of the door and flung herself into his arms.
‘Oh . . . Louis . . . darling . . . thank God you’re safe . . .’
She burst into tears of happiness and relief. ‘All my prayers are answered,’ she sobbed. She hugged him and kissed him, laughing and crying at the same time, dragging him into the warmth of the house.
‘I’ve been so scared . . . listening to the news, worrying . . .’ She clutched him tightly against her and then pushed him away and examined him carefully. ‘You look so different, older, tougher, but your eyes are the same . . . they’ll never change. Oh my love, I thought this day would never come.’
They held each other for a long time. Louis tasted the salty tears as he kissed her cheeks and eyes and lips. Then, overcome with desire, they collapsed on to the floor, lips on lips, arms around each other.
‘I won’t make love to you in this uniform. No, never.’
Louis was amazed at Andrea’s strength as she hauled his tunic off him. His cap was flung across the room, she tugged at his boots. She looked like a wild woman with her hair hanging over her face, her skin damp with perspiration, her brow creased with frowns. When she had hurled every piece of his uniform across the room, she threw herself over him, spread one leg over his hips, nuzzled her head on his shoulder and burst into tears again.
‘Darling. Don’t cry darling. We’re together now. I love you, darling. Please don’t cry.’
They clung to each other and made love feverishly, trying to blot out the past and the future.
After a while, Louis picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. They made love fiercely again and later more tenderly, for Louis had a deep need to lose himself in Andrea.
In the early hours of the morning, as Andrea lay on his shoulder, they talked about Marietta and their fears for her. Then he told her what it was like in the punishment squad. The words came pouring out of him . . . all his shock, his despair, his degradation and all the time his fight for survival and the terrible knowledge of the fact that he would kill to survive. It seemed to Louis that Andrea alone could purify him with her forgiveness. When she cried, he tried to quell the flood of words by making love again.
At noon, Louis got out of bed, showered, and dressed in his army uniform, since he had nothing else. He sat at the table and watched Andrea moving round the kitchen in calm, sensuous movements. She slid a cup over the table towards him, and began to butter some bread.
Watching her, he felt soiled and contaminated with evil. She cared for beauty, for honesty, for music, for love and, miraculously, for him. She hated cruelty and pain and war and soldiers, yet she still loved him, although he had killed and maimed and experienced the sickening thrill of battle.
He caught hold of her hand. ‘We’re going into Kladno to get a special licence from the registry office, and tomorrow morning we’ll be married. We’ll have to pay extra, but I have some cash with me. In future you must always keep your marriage papers with you. Whatever happens while I’m away, you will be the Countess Andrea von Burgheim, and you will have a right to claim German protection. You must take your marriage papers to headquarters and apply for permission to return to Austria. Then you can go to Father and look after him until I return.’
Andrea slowly put down the knife she was using. ‘Louis, we can’t marry. When Hugo released me from the camp and had me sent back to Prague, he re-classified me as a German-speaking Czech. My German passport was revoked and I can’t return to Austria. My papers state that I’m of mixed blood, part Slav because my mother was Czech, and quarter gypsy from my grandmother.’
Louis looked shocked. Then he laughed. ‘Maybe not according to Nazi law, but I know a priest who will marry us as Catholics. He’s an old friend, retired now, but once he was the parish priest at Sokol Castle We’ll go there this afternoon.’ He stood up, caught hold of her and hugged her tightly. ‘It’s not the sort of wedding we had planned, but we may never get another chance. Unfortunately, the marriage won’t protect you because we’ll be breaking the law.’
Andrea began to laugh through her tears.
‘We have two days, Andrea. Two good days. We’ll see the priest, and I’ll buy some different clothes. God forbid you should marry a German soldier. I’ll take you out to dinner, in some romantic place, with candles and music. You’d like that. We can dance if you like. I have to be back at base first thing Monday morning, but we have all Sunday. We’ll make enough love to last us for the next year or so. Cheer up, darling. Keep your tears for after I’m gone.’
She put one finger over his mouth. ‘You must survive for us, Louis,’ she pleaded urgently. ‘Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Don’t let them brutalise you. Find the strength to stay as you are. Come back to me, Lo
uis.’
She persisted until he promised.
Chapter Forty
Stadelheim Prison was a grim place where enemies of the Third Reich were held prior to their trials and despatch to the camps, the gallows, the firing squad or the gas chambers. There were many ways to die, Marietta had discovered, but for the living, conditions were identical, deprived of companionship, adequate food, fresh air and hope, the inmates slowly but inevitably succumbed to despair and sickness.
As far as she could work out she had been alone in the cell for two hundred and forty-eight days and nights. It was, therefore, March 6. From the fading light coming from behind the small pane, she gathered that it was close to 6 p.m. Sure enough a few minutes later she heard the rumble of a trolley and the rattle of a key in the lock. Her door opened and Toadie came in, so named for her muddy, blotched complexion and hanging jowls.
‘Hold your bowl,’ she croaked.
Marietta held out the cracked enamel bowl and the woman half-filled it with brown liquid. She thrust one slice of black bread towards Marietta and went out. Slowly the trolley squeaked its way along the corridor.
There were twelve women in this block. From their whispered nightly communication, Marietta knew all their tragic stories and their names. She wondered if she would ever see any of their faces. Her cell was darkening, she had chewed every morsel of bread and drunk her soup, and now came the hours Marietta dreaded the most . . . the long and lonely night.
A new woman had come into the adjacent cell early that morning. Using her shoe, Marietta began to tap against the wall. ‘Hello! Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’ She could hear coughing and sobbing, but nothing else. ‘Please answer.’
It took a long time before the woman replied by tapping in return. Marietta pulled her chair to the wall, rolled up her blanket and put it on the chair. In this way she was almost able to reach the air vents. ‘I am Marie,’ she whispered. ‘What is your name?’
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