Authors: Douglas Reeman
‘
Hände hoch!
’ The fat German gestured with the carbine towards Jervis’s pistol. A smile played across the fat lips with something like pity, but the eyes which peered through the broken glass were hard and devoid of all compassion.
Almost unconsciously, Jervis let the gun fall from his nerveless fingers and immediately hated himself for giving in so easily. As if reading his thoughts, the German pointed the carbine unwaveringly at the boy’s stomach, and shook his head briefly.
‘Still! Stand still!’ The clumsy words were filled with menace.
The door jerked back on its hinges as a well-delivered kick brought the sunlight pouring into the hut, lighting the scene, and seeming to lay bare Jervis’s shame.
The officer nodded curtly to the face at the window, and
picked
up Jervis’s pistol. He tossed it to someone outside the door, and regarded Jervis with cold curiosity.
‘You are a British officer?’ The voice was as hard as the eyes, but the accent was almost flawless.
Jervis shrugged. ‘Yes. Sub-Lieutenant Jervis, Royal Navy!’ As he answered, he lifted his head and looked the other man straight in the face. A feeling of pride or despair made him draw himself to attention and lift his chin defiantly.
‘Please spare me the heroics! You will need all those later!’ He waved the pistol sharply. ‘Outside! And do not be tempted to do anything stupid!’
Jervis blundered out into the sunlight and blinked at the circle of watching faces. At the bottom of the hill the soldiers raised their rifles threateningly, and drove the villagers away from the road and clear of the lorries.
Jervis walked down the hill to where the scout car stood, and where the idiot sat in the dust, rubbing his chin and moaning gently. Jervis stopped dead at the sight of him, and turned back to the officer. ‘That man there,’ he pointed, and the idiot caught his eye and smiled pitifully, ‘he knows nothing about me. He’s deaf and dumb!’
The German eyed him thoughtfully, his face in shadow. ‘Then he will be no loss, will he?’ He barked an order, and the Italian corporal sprang to attention, his little beard pointing out at a ridiculous angle, but his eyes fixed on the seated prisoner.
‘He’s mad!’ continued Jervis, suddenly frantic. He had seen the look of hatred on the corporal’s face. It was as if the man had been looking for someone to vent his temper on, and to clear the air of his own humiliation.
The German smiled. ‘He was assisting you to escape. What does it matter who or what he is?’ The smile faded. ‘An example must be made; these people are swine, without backbone, they have to be taught a lesson!’ He pushed Jervis’s shoulder. ‘Now, into the car, we have a journey to make!’
The driver slid into his seat without even a glance at his prisoner, and waited for his orders. Jervis gripped the armoured side of the car, and turned back to the hut. Over the officer’s
shoulder
he saw the corporal beating at a writhing shape on the ground, whose wordless mouth twisted and mouthed in horrible contortions as the soldier stood astride him, a heavy steel rod in his fat hands. The other soldiers laughed and jeered, and one of them tore the old smock from the broken body, and waved it like a flag over his head. The movements ceased with awful suddenness, and the corporal looked down at the German, his streaming face split in an ingratiating smile. Jervis stumbled blindly into the car, heedless of the watching soldiers, and conscious only of the pathetic ragged heap at the corporal’s feet.
The German officer nodded to his driver and the car began to move. ‘Carrion!’ he said, half to himself, and then settled down comfortably in his seat, the Luger resting in his lap.
Jervis drew his legs together and bunched himself into a tight ball in the corner of the open car. The very idea of bodily contact with the officer who sat so calmly at his side seemed at that moment to be unclean, and he felt his tight limbs trembling with helpless rage, and a new feeling, previously unbeknown to him, but which he now recognized as hatred.
He only half noticed the last of the white cottages slide past in a cloud of dust, and the crouching hills close in to blot out the laughing sea. He kept remembering his strange friend and helper, and seeing his awful silent pleas for kindness and mercy. And the British wounded; his mind vaulted painfully back to the sun-baked lorries and their loads of human suffering. What would happen to them? He forced himself to look sideways at his captor. He saw that the man was watching him quietly, his eyes darkened by the soft peak of his cap.
‘You are no doubt wondering where we are going? What is going to happen to you,
ja
?’
Jervis shrugged with an indifference he no longer enjoyed. ‘I suppose you intend to shoot me, isn’t that the general idea?’
The German frowned, and then sighed with mock sadness. ‘You are a prisoner, you will be treated accordingly. However, if you intend to co-operate with my superior officer, I have little doubt that you might be given more,’ he paused significantly, ‘preferential treatment!’
Jervis clenched his fists. ‘Why did you let your men kill that poor creature? He didn’t know or understand anything!’ The words burst from him. ‘Now I understand what is meant by German cruelty!’
‘Silence! How can you understand anything?’ His face was tight with rage. ‘You are a mere boy, masquerading as an officer! I suppose you are going to tell me that when you blew up the dock at Vigoria, you did not know you blew up many innocent persons also, is that not so?’ His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Civilians, dockyard workers, all blown to hell!’
‘The dock was a military objective, it was part of the war!’ Jervis leaned forward until the muzzle of the Luger rested against his side.
‘War! Of course it was war, and so was that business back in the village, so do not try to make black white!’
They both glared angrily at each other in silence, and Jervis became aware that the driver was whistling softly, his massive head sunk indifferently into his shoulders.
‘What will happen to those wounded?’ Jervis’s voice was quiet and flat, the angry outburst had sapped away his strength.
‘The wounded?’ He appeared to ponder on the matter, but he, too, seemed to be regretting his sudden flare of temper. ‘They will be looked after. At the moment we are a little short of medical staff, but never fear, they will be cared for. The Third Reich never abandons those who have fought bravely!’ There was an imperceptible sneer in his tone.
Jervis ignored the implication, and stared down at his knees. ‘How is the battle going in the south?’ He tried to appear calm, but his heart was pounding with sudden eagerness to hear news of the outer world,
his
world.
The German laughed shortly. ‘It is being won.’ For a moment a smile passed across his cold features, and the years seemed to drop away. ‘No doubt I shall be able to find out for myself very soon.’ He stared past Jervis at the green hills. ‘For four years I have been fighting the British, and always people ask, how goes the battle! But it still goes on. France,
Holland
, Egypt, and now Italy.’ He shrugged, irritable with himself. ‘It will be over one day. That is all I can say!’
The car halted at the side of the main road, and their voices were drowned by the thunder of vehicles. Jervis watched as lorry after lorry rumbled past, each jammed with stony, set faces and nodding coal-scuttle helmets. More lorries carrying tanks and guns thundered along the narrow road, shepherded by military police on motor cycles. To Jervis it was like a film. This was part of the enemy war machine, and next to him was a German officer. It was more like a nightmare. He glanced up at the sun and back to the road. They were going south. To the front. A cold thrill ran through him, and he remembered the wounded in the village. How many of these German soldiers would live to see the sun rise in a few more days? He pressed his lips together in a tight line.
I hope you rot in hell! It was like a prayer.
The car started again and swung into a tiny narrow lane between two crumbling white gateposts.
A German soldier saluted, and then they were speeding up a long gravel drive towards a proud rambling house on the top of a slope. As the car swung past a pair of gentle fountains and topped the rise, Jervis swallowed and bit his lip. Beyond and below the house lay the sea. He wished he could not see it. Each diadem of glittering green light seemed to mock him, as the smooth surface caught the last brilliance of the sun.
I shall never see it again, he thought. The car had stopped in front of the house, and the officer pointed to the entrance. ‘The end of the road,
ja
?’
As he climbed wearily up the wide steps at the entrance to the house, the smell of fresh flowers and the cool cleanliness of the dark interior only added to the feeling of unreality, and he stood uncertainly in the majestic, marble-pillared hallway, only half taking in the ornate, gilt-encrusted decorations and the single chandelier, which hung like a huge ear-ring from the domed ceiling.
Tall doors of dark seasoned wood opened off from each side of the hall, and he stepped back involuntarily as two soldiers, hatless and with their sleeves rolled above their elbows,
staggered
past him, panting beneath the weight of a large metal trunk. He noticed, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, that the place seemed littered with pieces of luggage and packed equipment, and on a magnificently carved chest he saw an upended steel helmet and a pair of goggles perched incongruously alongside a tall, flower-filled vase.
The German officer grunted, and tapped Jervis under the elbow. ‘Wait here. I will inform the colonel of your arrival.’
Jervis watched the thin, brisk figure cross the polished floor, his high boots clicking on the wood blocks, and pass through one of the doors. Jervis did not have to turn his head to know that the driver was standing close beside him, and he felt his spirit draining from him, leaving him in a daze of miserable uncertainty.
Somewhere in the house a telephone buzzed like a trapped fly, while from the sun-dappled drive came the staccato roar of motor cycles. The two soldiers returned and picked up more of the baggage from the floor.
One of them, a short, red-faced man, stopped for a moment and stared at Jervis in surprise. For a moment, a slow smile crossed his face, but immediately it vanished, and he hurried away with his burden, as the officer returned.
He stopped directly in front of Jervis and ran his eyes sharply over his crumpled trousers and stained jersey, as if he was carrying out an inspection.
Jervis coloured. ‘Satisfied?’ he asked with sudden anger. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t find time to change!’
The German’s face remained impassive. ‘The colonel will see you now. He has not much time. The regiment is leaving immediately.’ He rubbed his sharp chin, his eyes thoughtful. ‘The colonel speaks no English. I will translate the information you have to give.’ He turned on his heel before Jervis could answer, but as he opened the door he said softly over his shoulder, ‘Do not irritate the colonel, he is not in the mood for insolence!’
Jervis followed the officer into the wide, comfortable room, his heart pounding painfully, and his fingers clenched tightly against his sides. His captor halted, his boots coming together
with
a sharp click, which jerked Jervis’s racing thoughts into readiness in spite of his misery, and made him glance round with chilled anticipation.
The long windows which looked out across the lawns to where the sea sparkled so invitingly covered the complete side of the room, while the other walls were lined with books and hung with large military maps.
The desk which dominated the room was also littered with maps, and several field telephones, which hung in their leather cases, ugly and out-of-place.
A tall, stooped officer stood behind the desk, whilst to one side, and sitting with his legs crossed in a comfortable chair, was a dapper, quietly dressed civilian.
The colonel straightened his back slowly, as if it was both an effort to tear his eyes from the maps and to find time for this interruption.
He listened to the short, barking sentences from Jervis’s captor, his pale eyes moving restlessly around the room, and his long slender fingers beating a gentle tattoo on the top of the desk. Jervis wanted to scream as the voice droned on, while the colonel listened, and the civilian’s head nodded slowly in either agreement or understanding.
The colonel held up his hand, his voice, which was surprisingly low and soft, was directed to the officer, although the pale eyes were now fixed on Jervis in a flat, unwavering stare.
‘Herr Colonel wishes to know how your raid was carried out. Answer please!’
Jervis swallowed hard, and met the colonel eyes. ‘I am not obliged to answer. According to the Geneva Convention, I——’ he got no further.
The colonel slammed his fist on to the desk, so that a pencil rattled noisily across the floor, and his voice, although still under control, was harsh.
‘Herr Colonel says that you are not to be stubborn. You are not making it easy for yourself!’
The civilian spoke for the first time, and Jervis wrenched his gaze from the tall figure by the desk to the other man, who
nodded
encouragingly, his grey, clipped hair catching the reflections from the dying sun.
‘I am Guilio Zecchi.’ He dropped his dark eyes to study the pointed toe of his show. ‘I am the Mayor and political liaison officer to the colonel here. Please do not disregard the colonel’s warning, he is a dangerous man, and,’ he shrugged eloquently, ‘he has much to do!’ He wriggled his plump shoulders more comfortably into the chair, and smiled gently. ‘We know that you were responsible for the crime in Vigoria.’ He waved a well-manicured hand, as if dismissing the whole incident as some unfortunate lapse of sanity. ‘The Colonel wishes to know how you did it. Tell him!’
Jervis was thinking furiously. They had not caught Curtis or the others. They did not know about the submarine. He spread his hands in a movement of resignation.
‘I was landed by submarine some days ago.’ The lie came easily. ‘I placed the charges beneath the dock, and went back to rendezvous with the boat before the explosion was due. My rubber dinghy sank, and I had to swim ashore. I struck my head….’