El Alamein

by Jack Murray

  ‘Stan,’ said Kate, arriving at the doorway of the barn that doubled as a forge. Her eyes were red and tears were streaming down her face.

  ‘Tobruk. They say it’s fallen.’

  Stan dropped the hammer. It hit the ground with a thud. He went to Kate and they hugged one another tightly. How long they stayed like that he didn’t know. Kate clung to him in quiet desperation. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but his own heart felt as if it had been smashed into pieces. Then he heard a voice behind him call his name.

  -

  Sarah Cavendish tore off her black riding hat and let light reddish hair fall freely over her shoulders. Watching her was Jeffrey, the young stable lad. He was younger by a couple of years and obviously in love with her. She smiled to him but made sure not to encourage anything beyond a feeling that was always likely to remain unrequited. Jeffrey took the reins of the horse and told her that it was good to have her back again.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’

  Sarah wandered along the path to the kitchen entrance of Cavendish Hall. Curtis, the butler and his wife, Sarah’s old governess, stood up as she entered. Their faces were anguished. Sarah turned to Elsie. There were tears in her eyes. In the background the radio announcer was talking but Sarah’s ignored what he was saying.

  ‘Good Lord, what’s wrong?’

  Curtis glanced at his wife and then answered her.

  ‘They’ve taken Tobruk. The Germans have taken Tobruk.’

  Sarah felt her chest tighten. A cold fear gripped her and she nodded mutely. She left the kitchen and ran upstairs to the library. Her father, Henry, was on the phone. Standing beside him was her mother, Jane. Henry put the phone down when she entered.

  ‘You’ve heard?’

  ‘Yes, is it true?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’ve just been trying to find out more from Chubby at the War Office. He doesn’t know the full story yet,’ replied her father.

  ‘We should go into the village. To the Shaw’s and the Gissing’s,’ said Sarah.

  Henry looked at his daughter and felt a swell of pride and something else. Fear. She was no longer the spoilt little girl that he’d once feared she would be. Instead, she was growing more like her mother each day. As role models went, Jane Cavendish was without equal. His fear was the fear of every parent in the land. What would happen if they lost? It was unthinkable and yet, at that moment, nothing else preoccupied him more than the thought of his son growing up and going off to war or his daughter being exposed to Nazi invaders. Irrational, perhaps, but the effort required to stop his mind spiralling downwards was immense.

  ‘Yes, Sarah’s quite right,’ said Jane looking at Henry. ‘We should go.’

  They set off immediately towards the village. It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun brightened the green yet all they saw was grey.

  The walk to the village was only a matter of minutes. The first stop would be the Shaw household. Jane gripped Henry’s arm when they came within sight. At the entrance to the forge were Stan and Kate hugging one another. There could be no question that they’d heard the news. Henry stepped forward through the gate.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Shaw.

  Stan released Kate and turned to greet the visitor. He recognised the voice. Kate’s eyes were glistening with tears and Jane went immediately to her. No words were spoken. They embraced one another.

  ‘You’ve heard the news then,’ said Henry. It wasn’t a question.

  ‘Aye, sir. It’s bad news all right.’

  Henry nodded. It was bad news. Bad for the morale of the country. And bad for the village. Poor Lottie had already lost one of her boys, Hugh Gissing. Now they faced the horrible prospect that one or even two had been killed, wounded or captured. At least they knew that Danny had made it out of ‘the Caldron’ safely. Stan looked hopefully at Henry and asked, ‘Have you heard anything, sir?’

  ‘No. I was on the phone just now. My friend at the War Office has no news yet. I gather the best we may hope for is that he’s been taken prisoner.

  ‘Aye, that’s what I was thinking.’

  The two men nodded to each other. There seemed little else to say. Sarah joined her mother and embraced Kate. Henry felt oddly moved by the gesture. It was so natural and yet so strange to see. Life was moving so fast now. He felt the fear return. It tightened his chest like a tourniquet. He could barely breathe with the pride and anguish of it all.

  22

  Ladenburg, Germany, 21st June 1942

  It was when they started to sing the Horst Wessel song that Peter Brehme returned to his office. His office? No longer. He shared it with Ernst Keller. In a moment of madness, that he regretted bitterly now, he’d given up his desk for the young Gestapo officer. Of course, he knew the real reason why he’d offered to do so.

  Fear.

  Despite having a son on the front line, despite decades of service to the community, these were changed times. The values that had formed him as a child had been the model for his own parenting. These had become corrupted. Perhaps, it had always been so. Perhaps the very severity of the discipline that had formed the characters of generation after generation of young men in his country was in itself, to blame for the disintegration of decency and respect. The rule of law had been usurped by criminals. Villains were running the show now. The body politic was rotting from the head down.

  He looked at the desk that had once been his. A brown folder lay there. Temptation. He glanced at the door and then back to the folder. He leaned over the desk and picked it up. Inside was a thick sheaf of papers. On each was a small biography of key townsfolk. He flicked through it but could not see his own name. It wasn’t just adults either. He recognised the faces of some adolescents. Beside the names of the young adults was the phrase – ‘possible Edelweiss Pirate’. Brehme almost snorted at this.

  -

  Ernst Keller had his arm around young Jost Graf as they sang. Graf had just joined the police force. He disliked the boy. No, that wasn’t quite what he felt, he realised. He liked him but felt nothing but contempt for what he was. Chubby, bespectacled and balding. There was little about him that proclaimed either Aryan or superman. He was like a puppy. Eager to please, fearful and responsive to discipline as well as praise.

  He was useful, though. Graf nominally reported to Brehme, but they both knew who his real boss was. Graf’s appointment a month previously had, at last, allowed Keller a chance to keep a watch on the one person he, paradoxically, knew least about. Graf had immediately understood what his role was to be and went about it with enthusiasm.

  The file on Brehme had yielded nothing so far and as yet Keller had no reason to believe it would. However, the project he’d been given required absolute certainty about the uprightness and, importantly, the confidence in the zeal with which public officials represented the Party and the Government. In this regard there were question marks over the Chief of Police.

  It had not gone unnoticed by Keller that Brehme had not joined in with the singing of the Horst Wessel song. It was almost as if he felt that because his son was out there, he was above them all. A wave of anger rushed through Keller. Then another thought struck him.

  The file.

  He’d left the file on the desk. Brehme would not have been aware of the project. If he looked at the file, he would know the true nature of his work in Ladenburg – documenting the names, activities and opinions of all its key citizens. The song finished and he flung the arm of Graf from his shoulder and rushed straight for his office. He opened the door.

  Brehme was sitting at the desk to the side of the room. He was on the phone. Seeing Keller enter the office he nodded. He thanked the person at the other end of the line and put the phone down.

  ‘No news about Manfred,’ said Brehme.

  Keller nodded and glanced towards his desk. The file was there, just where he’d left it. He walked over to the file and lifted it. There was no obvious sign that it had been read but Keller could not be sure. He looked over towards
Brehme. The policeman was looking at a file which related to a recent spate of shop lifting. Keller glanced down at folder in his hands. Had Brehme had enough time to see what was in the file? Unquestionably, the answer was yes.

  ‘You must be very proud,’ said Keller in the soft voice that Brehme detested. He looked up from the file.

  ‘Naturally. But I’m proud of the whole army. They are magnificent. It’s a great victory for them. For Rommel.’

  ‘And for National Socialism.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t join our spontaneous celebration.’

  Brehme felt his nerve endings tighten. The thought of singing any Nazi song sickened him. He realised with each passing day just how much he hated everything and everyone connected with this movement.

  ‘I wanted to hear if there was any news of my son,’ explained Brehme after a few moments. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the meaning was all too clear. He is there. He is serving his country. He is putting his life on the line every day.

  ‘We each of us serve in our own way, Peter,’ replied Keller with that soulless smile.

  ‘True,’ said Brehme. His ability to lie so convincingly was an asset that would have made him as good a politician as a policeman. In an effort to close down the current topic, he opened the file in his hands and showed it to Keller.

  ‘I’m going to speak to the store again about this.’

  Keller, sensing that he’d taken the conversation as far as he could, nodded.

  ‘It’s probably young people, Peter. You should send Graf into the store undercover. Tell him to keep an eye on these kids.’

  Brehme had to stop himself choking with laughter. Graf was an idiot and could barely catch a cold without instruction. He looked at Keller as if he was seriously considering this idea.

  ‘I’ll look at that, Ernst. You may be onto something there.’

  In fact, at the same moment Brehme realised that this was an excellent idea just as the thought occurred to Keller that he would no longer have someone to spy on Brehme. Brehme was thinking this, too. He decided to strike act immediately. He rose to his feet and went to the door.

  ‘Graf, will you join us please?’

  A moment later Graf stumbled into the room. If he’d had a tail it would have been wagging. He saw Brehme beaming at him.

  ‘Lieutenant Keller has just made a most excellent suggestion. One that I am fully in accord with.’

  Brehme looked from Graf to Keller. He could see the eyes of Keller burning with anger. He, meanwhile, was enjoying the spectacle immensely. However, he cautioned himself not to lay it on too thick. Turning back to Graf he allowed an air of gravity to descend on him. Then he explained the plan to Graf who was almost overcome with emotion at the prospect of going undercover. It was the very stuff of the books he enjoyed reading so much. Although he would never admit this to anyone outside his family, he’d grown up reading the books of John Buchan. Richard Hannay was a hero to him. Now, at last, he, Jost Graf, would have an opportunity to join the Fatherland’s struggle against fifth columnists and the enemy within.

  -

  The late afternoon sunshine was warm enough to make Brehme wish he could remove his tie. But he was still on duty. It would not do to be seen so unkempt. He envied the youngsters he saw with their shirts open, able to run around without a care in the world. It made him wonder if the war would still be on when they grew up. He hoped not. Surely the world would see sense.

  His destination was Geschäft Ladenburg. He would explain to Arnold Weber that the best way of investigating the recent spate of shop lifting would be to plant a man in the shop. As Graf was still relatively new and unknown, he would fit that particular role perfectly. It would also get him away from the police station for a while. He didn’t trust Graf. His artlessness made him the worst of spies. He was so obvious that it rather endeared him to Brehme although he remained on his guard. He had little doubt that Keller would have been aware that he would see through this subterfuge. The fact that he didn’t care if Brehme did was a worry.

  He entered the shop and waited for a couple of customers to leave before speaking with the owner.

  ‘Your usual?’ asked Weber. A smile was never very far away from his face. ‘Or perhaps something a bit stronger? It was great news earlier about Tobruk.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Brehme, trying to look pleased. And failing. This communicated itself to Weber and the smile left the shop keeper’s face. Brehme added, ‘I’ll be happier when I know Manfred is safe and well.’

  Weber nodded. Then he said, ‘You’re here on business?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Brehme. ‘We, that is Herr Keller, has had an idea that I hope you will be amenable to.’ As he said this, he looked out of the shop doorway. He could see a young man standing in the square looking in his direction. Further behind the young man was Keller. So, the Gestapo man had followed him.

  He pretended not to notice and returned his attention to Weber. It didn’t take long to explain the idea and Weber immediately assented. Graf would start work the next morning. Brehme was relieved that this had not been a problem and he came away with something approaching a lightness of heart. If only he knew more about Manfred, however. He could manage the problems here comfortably. Not knowing his son’s fate was agony. For all Keller’s suspicions, Brehme had nothing to hide. His opinion was his own. Perhaps he just needed to play the game more; fit in better with the Party men. It wouldn’t be easy, but it just required him to lie. He was good at that.

  Brehme left the shop. As he exited through the doors, the young man turned away and began walking towards a group of his friends who were congregated in the square. His name was Robert Sauer. He was in his final year at school. The file belonging to Keller had identified him as a potential member of the Edelweiss Pirates. Sauer stopped to stroke a golden Labrador that looked very much like Felix, Otto Becker’s dog. This was confirmed a few moments later when Becker appeared and exchanged a few words with Sauer, no doubt about the dog. He led Felix away.

  Brehme ignored both Sauer and Keller and headed in the opposite direction. His mind was racing, however.

  -

  The next morning Brehme rose early and made his way towards the school that Manfred had once attended. The sight of it made his heart lurch. He used to take Manfred to school until the boy had reached the point when he no longer wanted his father to accompany him. It was too embarrassing. A crashing sadness descended on him when he realised how relieved he’d been by Manfred’s request. He’d actually been happy to no longer have to walk with his own son. He remembered how bored he’d been. The constant stream of questions the boy would come out with. The constant need to demonstrate to his father what he’d learned. The coldness he’d shown his own boy. The inability to think of anything to say to him. Resentment, even, that he had to drop the boy off in the morning.

  Tears stung his eyes as he recalled the mornings when he’d seen him off. Often there was no ‘goodbye’. Just two strangers. What he would have given to have that time back again. He watched school children walking along in groups or singly towards the school. They looked so young and full of life. How many of their fathers were out in North Africa? Or worse, Russia?

  He waited on a bench. His eyes scanned the road along which so many of the pupils were streaming. Finally, he caught sight of the person he’d come to see. Robert Sauer was walking with a couple of his friends. Holding his hand was a girl, perhaps around fifteen and chocolate-box pretty. Brehme recalled how he’d never had much of a way with the opposite sex. He feared Manfred had inherited the same gaucheness that women could so easily see. Then they would disregard you. Brehme shook his head at the memory.

  As Sauer neared the school someone must have said something for he glanced in the direction of Brehme. A look of fear crossed Sauer’s face which as good as confirmed what was on Brehme’s mind. He motioned with his head for Sauer to cross over the road and join him.

  The group
stopped and for a moment it looked like they would all come over. Brehme shook his head and looked Sauer directly in the eye. Then Brehme rose from his seat and moved behind one of the large trees lining the road. Less than a minute later, he was joined by Sauer. Brehme held out a cigarette.

  ‘Light me,’ ordered the policeman.

  Sauer said nothing but did as he was asked. He looked into the eyes of Brehme. A certain amount of confidence had returned to the young man. Not quite arrogance but he’d regained the composure briefly lost when he’d first seen Brehme.

  ‘They’re on to you,’ said Brehme. There was little point in pleasantries.

  ‘Who?’ asked Sauer, evidently confused. ‘they’ in his eyes was anyone old, who worked in a government job.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, son. The Gestapo. They know about you and your friends. The Pirates or whatever ridiculous name you all go under here.’

  Sauer’s body stiffened into a defensive pose. A denial was sure to follow. Brehme had no time for this. He held a hand up which silenced Sauers’ protest before it had a chance to begin.

  ‘They have a file on you. Stop meeting with your friends, you will put them in danger and,’ added Brehme, standing very close to Sauer and looking him directly in the eye, ‘stop robbing the store. As of this morning there is a policeman working undercover there. You or friends will get caught. Stop now. Do you understand?’

  Fear returned to the blue eyes of Sauer. Fear and surprise. Like a deer startled moments before the hunter pulls the trigger. Brehme was pleased that he’d caught the boy out. His suspicion had been correct. He and his friends were the ones responsible for the shop lifting. Sauer nodded sullenly. Not so proud-looking now, are you, thought Brehme with some satisfaction. He was rooted to the spot now and unsure of what he should say or do.

  ‘Go,’ ordered Brehme. ‘Remember, stop stealing. I can’t help you any more than this. They’re watching me too.’