Authors: Andrew Mackay
“Or if the Huns aren’t forcing you to guide them?” Alan added.
Ansett thought for a moment. “I’ll whistle the tune to ‘I’ll take the high road and you’ll take the low road…
“‘…And I’ll be in Scotland before you,” Sam finished.
“How appropriate,” Alan commented dryly.
“But if I’m not whistling that tune then I want you to burst out of that bunker with all guns blazing.”
“Yes, sir,” both boys answered in unison.
“And boys. One more thing.”
“Yes, sir?” Alan said.
“Don’t let them take you alive. Save the last bullet for yourselves.”
“Alan. Wake up.” Sam shook him by the shoulder. “Footsteps,” he whispered.
“Make ready.” Sam checked that he’d loaded his magazine correctly and attached it to his Schmeisser. He cocked the weapon and lined his forefinger alongside the trigger guard. “Ready?”
“I was born ready,” Alan answered with a wolfish grin as he cocked his weapon.
“Let’s go,” Sam whispered. He quickly moved to the base of the ladder and began to climb.
“How close is he?”
“Close.” Sam said as he switched off his safety catch. “Any second now he should start whistling…”
“Because if he doesn’t, he’ll start dying…”
And then it came. Not whistling, not humming, but singing. Echoing eerily and bouncing from wall to wall of the Crypt “I’ll take the high road and you’ll take the low road and I’ll be in Scotland before you…”
The boys breathed out a collective sigh of relief, switched on their safety catches, looked at each other and grinned. Ansett.
“MacDonald mentioned an interesting thing,” Ansett said slowly. “He said that two Army A.P.C.s crashed into the river at the Fairfax Road Bridge.”
“Oh, which bridge is that?” Sam asked innocently.
Alan would’ve kicked him if he’d been able to reach him. Sam knew fine well where the bridge was. He had lived in Hereward for the last eleven years and Ansett was all too aware of that.
“You know the one, Sam. The humped back bridge,” Ansett answered. He was playing with Sam like a cat plays with a mouse.
“Oh yes,” Sam said. “Now I remember.”
“So you should,” Ansett said testily. “It’s only five minutes walk from the school gates. Ivanhoe may have turned up early in need of help and you two weren’t there. You weren’t there when he needed you,” Ansett said gravely. His voice sounded like rumbling thunder. “You two were too busy carrying out your own private little war.” He sneered as he said the words. “Your lack of discipline may have led to Ivanhoe’s capture, torture and death. Your recklessness may well result in us suffering the same fate and the destruction of all Resistance in Hereward.” Ansett’s voice had been gradually building in terms of both volume and intensity and the final words exploded from his lips like a volcano erupting.
“Now, wait a minute,” Sam protested. “That’s not fair!” He was not prepared to take this amount of flak from anyone and especially not from Ansett. “We were there twenty minutes early and he never showed up!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about the half-tracks?” Ansett asked. Sam’s face turned the colour of a beetroot as his cheeks blushed with embarrassment at the discovery of their deception.
“Because on a need to know basis you didn’t need to know,” Sam threw Ansett’s oft repeated mantra back in his face. Ansett reacted as if a bowl of cold water had just been thrown at him.
“I see,” Ansett said slowly. Through a supreme effort of will and self control he managed to begin his temper back under control. He noticed for the first time that Alan had remained silent through out the whole exchange. That was not a good sign. “What about you, Alan?” Ansett asked his house captain.
“I agree with everything that Sam has said, sir. What about the Army and the S.S.? They could still have him.” Alan tried to defuse the situation by changing the subject. He also knew that if the argument continued he might be tempted to say something rash. He realized that he must continue to play the role of peacemaker and mediator.
“The S.S. doesn’t have him,” Ansett said bluntly.
Sam was about to ask ‘how do you know?’ but thought better of it. This was perhaps not the most appropriate time to ask how Ansett got his information.
“And what about the Army?” Alan asked.
“The Army doesn’t have him either,” Ansett answered.
“But the question remains: if the Police, the S.S. and the Army don’t have him…?” Ansett started.
“…Then who does?” Sam finished.
Sam and Alan left the Police station after they had had a look at the corpse which the German Navy had fished out of the River Ouse. They talked to each other as they walked.
“That was definitely Hook,” Sam said to Alan in hushed tones.
“Yes, it was.” Alan nodded his head. “And you know what that means?”
“Hook was not killed by a Policeman or a Special or a German.”
“Hook was killed by someone he knew. Did you get a look at the bullet wound?”
“Yes. Dr. Caruthers said that he was shot at point blank range. Probably at a distance of less than three yards…”
“Hook was executed. But why?” Alan asked.
“Not so much ‘why?’ but by whom?”
Senior Leutnant Alfonin, Schellenberg the driver and another soldier had survived the machine gun attack on their A.P.C.s. They had dived underwater when the bullets had started flying and they had allowed the current to carry them out of the killing zone. They had not been able to climb out of the fast flowing river and they had been swept down river until they had bumped against boats moored against the pier at Ely. Alfonin and his men had spent two days so far in hospital because they were suffering from severe hypothermia. Unfortunately, Schellenberg never recovered and died.
Generalmajor von Schnakenberg came to visit his men on their third day in hospital. “How are you feeling, Nicky?”
“I feel like a drowned rat, sir,” Alfonin answered. “But I feel far better than Schellenberg,” he said bitterly.
“I know, Nicky.” Von Schnakenberg put his hand on Alfonin’s shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. “Damned bad luck.”
“It wasn’t his fault, sir.” Alfonin tried to raise himself to a better sitting position in bed. “Schellenberg was exhausted. The men were exhausted and I was exhausted.”
“I know.” If Alfonin was inferring that von Schnakenberg was at fault for issuing the orders in the first place, then he was prepared to accept the criticism with good grace. After all, Alfonin was right. Von Schnakenberg’s punishing work schedule had sent those men to their deaths and he was painfully aware of it. He was also prepared to take full responsibility for their deaths.
“Have they found any of the others, sir?”
“No, Nicky.” Von Schnakenberg shook his head sadly. “The three of you were the only ones that the Navy found. The remaining twenty men of your platoon are still missing, presumed drowned. They’ll be in the middle of the North Sea by now.”
“I see, sir.” Alfonin shrugged with resignation. Then his eyebrows furrowed. “Wait a minute, sir. I must have misheard you: you said that ‘twenty men’ were missing and that they were ‘presumed drowned?’”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Von Schnakenberg was confused. “The crew of your half-track plus the crew of Feldwebel Kaiser’s A.P.C.”
“What do you mean Kaiser and his crew?” Alfonin was sitting bolt upright in his bed.
“The S.S. reported that when they arrived two half-tracks were in the river and there was absolutely no sight or sound of either your crew or Kaiser’s.”
“I don’t understand, sir.” Alfonin had thrown his legs off the bed. “We drove into the Ouse, but Kaiser didn’t. He stopped his half-track and he and his men jumped out to give us a hand.”
“So how did his A.P.C. end up in the river and what happened to Kaiser and his men?”
“The Partisans must’ve killed them.”
“What Partisans?” Von Schnakenberg asked in confusion.
“The Partisans who massacred me and my men in the water!”
“‘Massacred?’” Von Schnakenberg repeated incredulously. “I thought that your men had drowned.”
“No, sir.” Alfonin slumped back into his bed. He suddenly felt sick. Nausea was attacking his head and stomach in waves. “I thought that you knew that partisans had attacked us. I thought that you were going to tell me that you had caught or killed them. In fact, I expected to see Kaiser here today to report to me in person.”
“Neither you nor your men had any gunshot wounds…”
“And those of my men who did die from gunshot wounds will be at the bottom of the sea by now,” Alfonin said. He suddenly sat upright like a jack-in-the-box. “What about the A.P.C.s, sir? They’ll have empty shell cases in them and they might have clues which would lead us to our attackers!”
“The S.S. has them,” Von Schnakenberg said bitterly.
“What!”
“When Army patrols turned up at the scene of the crime the following morning the half-tracks had gone.”
“I don’t believe it,” Alfonin was completely gob smacked.
“Well, you’d better believe it.” Von Schnakenberg shook his head in sympathy. He could remember exactly how he felt when he was told. “Disappeared. Neither sign nor trace of them. The S.S. maintain that our two A.P.C.s were still there when they left the scene at midnight.” Von Schnakenberg punched his thigh in frustration. “We know that they have them and they know that we know that they have them. The infuriating thing is that we don’t have any proof that they have them. And the bastards know it! They will have repainted them by now and removed all Army identification that would link them to the Potsdam Grenadiers.”
“Does Schuster know?”
“What do you think, Nicky?” Von Schnakenberg said. “It was probably his idea! Or his lapdog, Zorn’s. It doesn’t really matter. The question is: What are we going to do about it?”
“I’ve told Edinburgh about the death of Ivanhoe and I’ve told them that there’s a very strong possibility that he was betrayed and killed by someone that he contacted,” Ansett said to the boys. They were all sitting and standing in their customary positions in his classroom.
“More than a very strong possibility.” Sam emphasized. “More like a definite, one hundred percent, water tight, possibility.”
“Anyway,” Ansett continued, ignoring Sam’s attempt to correct him. “Edinburgh has ordered us to keep a low profile and that means you boys,” he pointed his pipe at Alan and Sam. “No more personal vendettas, alright? That’s an order. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the boys answered in unison.
“Edinburgh has also confirmed what we had already suspected,” Ansett carried on, “something big is brewing. What day is April 23rd?”
“Shakespeare’s birthday,” Alan answered.
“Correct, Alan.” Ansett was genuinely impressed. “We’ll make a scholar of you yet. What else?” Ansett pressed.
“St. George’s Day,” Alan said.
“Correct again!” Ansett laughed. “Give the man a coconut! And guess who’s coming to dinner?”
Ansett’s question was met with blank faces and shrugged shoulders.
“Reichsstatthalter Scheimann, head of the German Occupation Authority and Prime Minister Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the Government of National Unity.” Ansett announced the news like a butler announcing their arrival at a ball.
“Blimey! The Leader himself!” Sam was thunder-struck.
“Il Duce,” Alan added in a daze.
“They will be visiting Hereward on April 23rd, St.George’s Day.”
“And what are our orders?” Alan asked.
“We are to stand by and await further instructions,” Ansett answered. “So we’ll do just that,” he said with pursed lips. Ansett looked as if he had been sucking a lemon. “No hell raising of your own, boys, alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam saluted. “Message received and understood.”
“I hope so, lads.” And Ansett really did hope so. Sam was a loose cannon. He didn’t trust Sam as far as he could throw him. There was no way of knowing if Sam’s promise was sincere. No way of knowing, that is, until his next wanton act of death and destruction. “Dismissed.”
Ansett watched the two boys leave. He had work to do. Ivanhoe had come to Hereward specifically to set up another fighting group for the express purpose of helping to deal with the proposed visit on April 23rd. Ansett now had to step into dead man’s shoes and complete Ivanhoe’s mission of recruiting and setting up another cell.
Sam and Alan carried on with their studies at school five days per week and with their duties with the Specials one night per week. They followed Ansett’s orders to keep a low profile. Sam carried out his instructions under duress with much mumbling and grumbling. Alan noticed how Sam always put his hand on the butt of his revolver whenever Germans approached. He knew that Sam had an itchy trigger finger and it was only through an immense effort of will and self control that he was able to suppress the urge to whip out his six shooter and blaze away like Wyatt Earp at the OK Corral. Alan, on the other side, was positively relieved to receive the order to stand down. He welcomed the chance to have a breather and relax. He was glad that he did not have to constantly worry about being dragged into some ill conceived, spontaneous life threatening caper thought up on the spur of the moment by Sam. Although the Uprising continued with further incidents throughout the day and night, Sam and Alan played no further part in them.
Ansett started recruiting immediately. He remembered that the boys had recommended the services of Sergeant Jock MacDonald. He also remembered that the boys had said that MacDonald had killed a wounded German on what they referred to as their own ‘Private Guy Fawkes Party’ on the evening prior to ‘Bloody Wednesday.’ They had also told him that MacDonald had won a Military Cross during the Great War whilst serving in the Ross shire Highlanders. He sounded like a useful man to have around.
Ansett approached him at home and matter of factly asked him whether he would like to join. He couldn’t see the point of beating around the bush. When MacDonald asked Ansett how he could prove that his offer was genuine Ansett replied that he should choose a message that Ansett would arrange to have played on the B.B.C MacDonald chose “Campbelltown Loch I wish you were whiskey.”