Henrik didn’t step any further into the room; it was already dangerous him just being here. It was bad enough that the man had committed suicide, but if Henrik was found near the body, there would no doubt be questions. Suicide may be hard to prove, and Henrik would become a suspect. Gerhart was a soldier, and the Wehrmacht hierarchy would be interested in why one of their soldiers had taken his own life. Henrik did not wish to be caught up in all that, but what could he do?
He would have to report the death; it would be better that way. However, he couldn’t leave his friend like that, sprawled out in that dingy bedsit. He deserved better. He was a good man, a caring man, even if life had proven too much for him. He stared long and hard at the body of his friend, trying to remember him in life. Henrik had lost many friends since the war had started, but this one seemed to cut the deepest.
He turned and left the room. He couldn’t shift the image from his mind, but he was a soldier. He had seen death before, countless times, but this was different. He went to find the housekeeper to see if he could use her telephone, but there was no one else to be found in the building. That would explain why no one had heard the gunshot. Perhaps it was better if he left Gerhart for someone else to find. It felt callous, but even as a military policeman, Henrik was not above suspicion. In the Reich, and even here on this island far from the administration of the Reich, it was best to avoid suspicion at all costs.
*
‘Ahh, Leutnant. There you are.’
Henrik had only just entered Grange Lodge when the Hauptmann spotted him. He clicked his heels together and Heil Hitlered in response to the Hauptmann’s attention. There was a slight slip as he incorrectly saluted in his haste, but he hoped his senior officer wouldn’t notice. Hauptmann Hofmann was a Party man, constantly trying to find ways to elevate himself above the other soldiers. Naturally he was suspicious of everyone, including Henrik, but unusually he was also capable of reason.
‘Ja, ja. Heil Hitler. Where have you been? No matter. I have some news for you.’
‘News, Herr Hauptmann?’
‘Ja. The notification you received detailing your reposting to the Russian front was delivered in error. You are part of the vital troops needed for the occupation of this island.’
Henrik almost collapsed, but years of Prussian heritage kept him upright. Damn them all, he thought. I didn’t ask for this. He forced himself to respond. ‘Danke, Hauptmann.’
‘Thank you? What for? One would expect every man to want to represent his Fatherland in the war, Leutnant. Remember that, these orders can change at any time. Glory awaits on the front line, glory in the name of the Reich!’
Henrik hadn’t forgotten that the Hauptmann considered him to be a true Aryan, one of the so-called master race of the German people. But his ancestors would be rolling in their graves at the state of the German nation. Henrik just wanted to see the war out and return to his home.
‘Of course, sir. I merely wanted to thank you for keeping me informed.’
The Hauptmann looked at Henrik with narrowed eyes, then nodded and returned to his work.
‘Gut. Then you’ll have work to do I expect. Report to your station immediately.’
Henrik was glad for the respite, even if that was all it was. The situation on the Eastern Front could change rapidly. He considered telling the Hauptmann about Gerhart, but changed his mind instantly. Someone else would find his friend. Henrik didn’t want to end up on the Eastern Front after all. He clicked his heels together saluted and left. He had some thinking to do while he attempted to work. The only thought that kept him going was the possibility of seeing Beth. He would need a strong drink to calm his nerves.
Chapter 32
Jack had responded to reports of strange noises coming from one of the boat huts by the beach in Grand Havre. In peacetime it wasn’t unusual for the bay to be used for fishing boats, but these days, as the Germans had stopped overnight fishing, there were only a few boats left. The locals jumped at anything in the quiet waters, suspecting foul play. Early on in the occupation there had been sightings of mysterious U-boats that had never materialised. Jack didn’t give the call much weight, but it was still his duty to investigate.
He found the hut in question with ease. It sat next to three fishing boats of various sizes, pulled up onto the sands. The wood of both the hut and the boats was green and rotting in places, but they still looked seaworthy. Jack tried the thick iron padlock that held the hut’s door shut, but it was locked. There was a waxed sheet covering a small storage space around the back. He presumed that was where the sounds had come from.
Jack pulled the sheet aside, not knowing what he would see. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the gloom, but before they did a shape huddled back into the crevice, eliciting a low moan much like that of a trapped animal. Jack could see that it wasn’t an animal, but an adult man curled up on the floor in the hole. He was dishevelled, his pale skin blackened and bruised in parts, and his bones poked through his flesh, giving him the appearance of a skeleton. There was a smell somewhere between that of the public urinals in Market Street and a compost heap, and Jack had to resist closing his nostrils with his fingers. If Jack hadn’t seen him move, then he would have wondered whether the man was alive at all. His eyes were sunken in their sockets, but wide with fear. Jack didn’t know how he had got there, but he must have been one of the Operation Todt men who had come to the island, and had been hoping to sneak aboard one of the fishing boats when it set sail. Unfortunately it wouldn’t have got him very far.
Jack reached out a hand to help the man, but he recoiled further into the hole. He rolled into a foetal shape but kept his hands free so that he could repel the intruder if needed. Jack felt a wave of something wash over him and he pulled his hands back, raising the palms to show he meant no harm.
‘Whoa, whoa,’ he said, forcing softness into his voice as if talking to a disturbed horse, or frightened dog. ‘Let me help you out.’
Jack wasn’t sure whether the other man understood him, but his eyes bored into Jack’s, white dots in the dark hole. He looked away from that gaze, hoping it would make him feel more at ease. The smell grew more pungent the longer Jack stayed there squatting down near the man. He wanted to recoil, to breathe some fresh air and get as far away as possible, but something deep inside him told him that he had to help this man, no matter what. Whoever he was, Jack could not leave him in this state.
He thought about what had happened to Henry and his family, to the French sailors and the rest. He remembered David’s face in court and the way his wife had looked as he was taken away. Jack had vowed that he would never shy away from helping someone in need again. He had forgotten why he had signed up for the police force in the first place. Because of his father’s death, he had wanted to help others.
He thought of the only way he could communicate with the man. ‘Ich helfe dir,’ I want to help you, he said in broken German, with as best an approximation of the accent. ‘Bitte. Ist ordnung.’ Please, it’s okay. It sounded ridiculous, and it didn’t help at all as the man started to shake where he lay, rocking back and forth.
‘Ne Nemetskiy,’ he replied in his own language, but Jack didn’t understand.
‘Sorry,’ Jack said, switching back to English. He doubted that he would understand the only other language Jack spoke, the Guernesiais of the island. He pointed to himself, ‘Jack,’ he said a few times, emphasising the point with a jab of his finger. The man blinked, and Jack wondered if it was a show of understanding.
‘British,’ Jack said in the same calm tone, but still the man stared. He changed his tack, opting for something that might make more sense. ‘English.’ Again he pointed to himself. ‘English.’
This time the other man nodded. It was shallow, apparently all the energy he could muster in his rotten state. He had stopped shaking, but he still pushed himself into the hole. Jack hoped he realised he wasn’t a threat. It occurred to Jack that he hadn’t checked to see if anyone had spotted
him, but it was too late for that now. If he was caught not returning the man then he could perhaps claim that he had only just spotted him and he was trying to work out what he was doing here, but he couldn’t leave him now. His duty was to help people, all people, no matter who they were. This man may have committed some crime in the Reich, but now he was a human in need.
‘I want to help,’ he said, using both hands to gently beckon the man towards him. ‘Help.’
The man just looked from Jack’s hands to his face. His lethargic gaze swept back and forth a few times before he reached out a hand. Jack thought that the man was going to push him away again, but he grabbed hold of Jack’s hand with a strength that he never would have imagined. He nodded to Jack. It only took a moment of hesitation before Jack remembered himself and pulled the man out from the hole. They scrabbled together as they had to work the man out of the awkward space and Jack almost slipped over. The smell was worse now that he was closer, but he tried to push it from his thoughts.
Eventually he came free. As the man uncurled, Jack could see that he was tall, over half a head taller than Jack, had he been able to straighten his back. Jack couldn’t tell whether the curve of the man’s spine was from being trapped in the hiding hole, or the hard work he had been forced to do as one of the Todt workers. Despite the hunch, the man’s large eyes still looked into Jack’s, filled with a sadness that Jack could never appreciate.
Jack turned to lead the man away, to where he wasn’t yet sure, but he had to get him away from here and as far from the Germans as possible. The figure behind him didn’t move, and Jack looked over his shoulder to see why. He stood by the hole, his lips moved as if trying to form words. When Jack stared blankly back, the other man gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and then screwed his eyes shut. Jack felt an odd sense of relief that he was no longer under scrutiny. The man took a deep breath, then mumbled something that sounded vaguely familiar. It was like an electric light going on in Jack’s mind.
‘Help,’ the man mumbled, remembering the word that Jack had used. He said the word again, and then pointed a long, bony finger back to the hole.
Jack thought quickly. The man couldn’t have any possessions. ‘The hole?’ he said, moving back to the man. ‘What are you trying to show me?’
Jack stopped dead. There was another shadow inside. It moved as he got closer, as the man had done before. Jack rushed closer and found a younger man inside, barely older than a boy, curled at the back. Jack hadn’t realised that such young men were being used as part of the workforce on the island, although it was difficult to guess his age. He was severely malnourished and dirty, his ribs poking through his skin and his cheeks sunken and hollow. It gave the youth an ageless quality that placed him anywhere between adolescence and death, and Jack thought he wasn’t far from the latter. He was struggling to pull himself out of the hole. Jack knelt down again and reached out a hand to steady him. Like the older man, the youth pulled back, uncertain, but took less time to come to terms with the idea that Jack was trying to help him.
He allowed Jack to gently drag him out of the hole. Jack expected it to be like dragging a sack of potatoes, but as the young man weighed very little at all, it was much more like lifting a small dog or a cat. Once the youth was on his feet he swayed, unsteady, as if standing on the deck of a ship.
Jack had no idea what he was going to do with them. He couldn’t hand them over to the Germans. He could take them home, but then it was more likely that they would be found. If they were in his home, then there would be no doubt about who was responsible for giving them shelter and not returning them straight to the German authorities.
Jack needed help, and there was only one person left on the island he could turn to.
‘I know just the place,’ he said, hoping the sound of his voice would calm the men. ‘An old farm up in the Vale. No one would find you there.’
Thankfully the Vale wasn’t far, but they would have to walk. The safest route was over the fields away from the roads. That way they could try and avoid any German patrols that might be in the area. They didn’t have time to lose and he started giving them directions. He was gentle with them, but the longer they took the more likely they would be caught.
Jack didn’t know how Frederic would react when he saw them. Perhaps it was better not to tell him, keep him away from any blame should the Germans find them. He could hide them in one of the barns that was no longer used, but Jack trusted the man implicitly. Frederic hated the Germans more than anyone, and he would keep these men safe even if it cost him his life.
Chapter 33
19 August 1942
Peter’s bicycle squeaked along the road, the tyres long since worn down or traded for something else. Like Jack’s own bicycle it must have been uncomfortable, but what else could they do? The Germans had taken all the cars and it was still preferable to walking. Jack waved as Peter cycled past, but rather than continuing his journey he reined in next to Jack. He sighed heavily and checked the makeshift tyre of his bike to make sure that nothing was wrong with it.
‘Why do you look so glum?’ Jack asked, trying to inject some humour into his voice and apparently failing.
‘Haven’t you heard the news?’ Jack knew that Peter was one of the men who printed the Guernsey Underground News Service, but neither of them would talk about that in public. Peter had contacts in all the major services on the island, and Jack supposed that he was Peter’s police contact, though he had never willingly told the man anything.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Another sorry excuse for a raid. This one was in Dieppe and the British have only gone and buggered it up again. You’d think by now they’d know what they were doing, but clearly not.’
Peter waved an apology at Jack.
‘How do you know about that? Surely the BBC—’
‘No, they didn’t mention it,’ Peter cut Jack off. It was the way they all talked on the island now, in clipped sentences just long enough for each other to know the meaning, but not enough to give anything away. ‘Except in some kind of passing cypher, but they wouldn’t talk about it anyway. It was a complete disaster.’
‘Then, how do you know?’
‘You know better than to ask questions like that. How do you think I know? Keep your ear to the ground and you’ll find out things. But the less you know the better, right?’
Jack nodded. If the Germans caught them talking about British operations they would be taken in for questioning by the secret police. The less they knew, the more difficult it would be for the secret police to get anything out of them. Jack had already been questioned more times than he liked. He wasn’t eager to end up in a locked room again.
‘Have you heard the rest?’ Peter asked, tilting his head in a way that was almost condescending.
‘Go on then. We haven’t got all day.’
‘They’re deporting the English. Well, they call it “evacuating”, but you know full well what they mean. Only the English, mind. They’re doing it as retaliation for someone killing some German prisoners in Turkey or something. The Germans are making lists of all the people who weren’t born on the island now. No word on exactly who’s going, but I thought you’d like to know.’
Jack nodded, the only reaction he could muster as he weighed up Peter’s words. Jack’s father was English, and he had not been born on the island; as far as he knew that put him on the Germans’ list. He wondered about his family in England, and what they were like but, apart from the letter they had received, his mother had never told him about them. If the Germans sent him to Germany, then what would happen to Johanna?
Jack wasn’t sure what to do, but the first thing he thought of was speaking to the inspector. He was the person best placed to help Jack. He thanked Peter, sending him on his way, and went to fetch his own bicycle. The rubber hosepipe he’d used for a tyre was perishing, but he needed to get to the station quickly.
*
He climbed the stairs outside
the police station, practising the words he was going to say to the acting inspector every step of the way. When he got to the new chief’s office, silently noting the way the electric lighting no longer worked upstairs, he knocked politely and waited.
A moment later the chief called ‘come’ through the door, and Jack turned the handle to enter. The room smelled of polish as if he had been polishing his immaculate uniform, and the candlelight cast everything in an orange hue. The new inspector was taking just as much pride in his position as the old man. Jack closed the door behind him and stood to attention the other side of the chief’s desk. He threw a salute as the old man would have expected and waited until he was invited to speak. The Guernsey police force wasn’t like the military, but they had their own code of practice. The new chief was a patient man, and he expected the same of his officers, as long as they were doing their jobs and not drawing the attention of the Germans. They couldn’t allow that to happen again. Jack silently chastised himself for acting as if the old man was dead. There was still a chance he could return to lead the police force.
All these thoughts rushed through Jack’s head while he waited for the chief to finish what he was doing. Eventually he pushed some paperwork to one side into a neat orderly pile.
‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ he asked, looking up at Jack. He was a younger man than the old inspector, but that also meant that he was less experienced. Unlike the old man, he had not spent any time at Scotland Yard, and his entire service record was in the Guernsey police.
‘Well, sir,’ he said, still standing to attention and holding his helmet in front of him in both hands. ‘It’s about the evacuations, sir.’
‘Hmmm?’ The inspector shifted a pair of reading glasses on the table in front of him, first moving them one way and then another. He then linked the fingers of each hand, leaning on his elbows, and looked Jack straight in the eye. ‘I am aware of them, Sergeant. Our German counterparts tell me that they have decided to limit the influence of the English on the island. I can’t say that we’ve had any trouble so far to warrant such a course of action but, well, they make the rules.’
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