‘Stop.’
‘What was that noise?’
‘The wind.’
‘Not that, there was a noise, a sound.’
Michel burst into the room, panting with exhaustion. One of the soldiers squinted at the newcomer and huffed a shallow, sceptical laugh.
‘You are working with them, the saboteurs?’
He spat at the ground and left a corner of spittle at the side of his lips.
‘Last time, guns down or we fire.’
The rifles clattered to the ground and Michel strode into the room and patted the brass framework of the cart, grinning as he did so.
‘You want your bastard Major..?’
‘Enough,’ Klaus said gently, ‘we will keep this simple. How many are left, downstairs.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘How many of your men are still alive?’
The guards began to chortle.
‘Something funny, brothers?’
‘Yes,’ one of them sniggered, ‘if you think this is all of us... you have no idea.’
Klaus glared at Schulze.
‘He’s lying.’
The soldier chuckled once more,
‘Hold on tight my friends. You won’t be leaving this hotel tonight.’
Bullets clipped into the column and Tobias wrenched away. Segments of stone lashed at his face and he bowed, checking the ammo inside the pistol. He considered moving towards Patrice and Jacques but the constant shrill rattle of machine gun bullets persuaded him not to. Patrice had taken shelter behind the fallen pigeon
hole shelf and covered Jacques as he scuttled at the floor until he reached a pillar closer to Tobias. The three of them now had the two Nazi’s outflanked and took turns in firing short blasts in their direction.
‘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 beyond 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.