The contents of the parcel, opened behind Stuart’s locked study door, were anticlimactic. They consisted of a short letter and a hand-drawn map.
“Thought there’d be a Luger or at least a dagger or two,” Stuart muttered.
“Or a couple of suicide pills,” responded Brendan darkly.
The map provided details of a rendezvous point near the village of Albany, well north of the city environs, and a brief set of instructions. Stuart read them aloud to the others.
“If you wish to fight back against the German occupiers and their collaborators, follow these instructions.
Make your way to Albany.
Follow the map’s instructions until you arrive at the rendezvous point.
Be prepared to wait patiently, as the area will need to be checked carefully before contact is made.
Do not travel as part of a large group.
Dress as if for a tramping trip.
Bring a small amount of food and clothing with you. Large amounts will arouse suspicion.
If questioned, explain that you are going tramping in the hills.
On no account bring weapons.
Only come if you are prepared to undergo intensive training.
Tell no one of your intentions to avoid implicating them.
Commit the enclosed map and instructions to memory then destroy them.
We of Fightback look forward to welcoming you as a comrade in arms.”
Stuart put the instructions on his desk and gazed around the group.
“Sounds like something out of a war novel,” said Carol after a pause.
“Trouble is,” muttered Susan, “it’s no novel. It’s going to be our war story.”
“If we go ahead,” said Brendan. “it’s not going to be a jolly jaunt in the country. We’re going to be leaving here, discarding our careers, turning our backs on our family and friends and throwing in our lot with a group of people we’ve never met. It will be hard, dangerous and if we’re captured we could be tortured or killed.”
“You backing out?” Stuart’s voice was quiet but he looked his friend straight in the face.
“You know my views on war,” replied Brendan quietly. “But this is my home, my country, my fellow citizens. These people have come here and, despite their smooth propaganda, have resorted to terror and intimidation to establish a fascist government. And anyway, Stuart, what choice have we got? That Beavis character is out to get you and if either of us stays here at university we’ll suffer the same fate as Prof. Sterling unless we agree to collaborate.” His look was hard. “As things stand you and I have no alternative.”
Stuart nodded slowly and then turned to the two women. “But, it’s different for you two. I’m not sure if the partisan group wants women and if you do join you’ll run the risk of capture and God knows what from the German troops and their collaborators.”
They looked at each other. Carol nodded and Susan, after a brief smile, spoke in a low voice.
“We’ve talked about it and decided the situation has given us two choices - collaborate or escape. My relationship with Uncle David, my work here, Carol’s vengeful boyfriend who has now joined the Nazis…” Her voice tailed off and she shrugged.
“The whole situation makes it impossible for us,” continued Carol. “Both of us have been horrified at the way the Professor and the students have been treated. We can’t stand around and do nothing and we’d never collaborate. And in any case the whole system is threatening our lives and our plans. Even at work I’m surrounded by it. The Germans and their cronies have now completely taken over the Northern Club. All Germans of officer rank or senior bureaucrats have been given a ‘Privileged Membership’ status. The place is full of them. The original members hardly ever come in any more.”
“Do they bother you?”
“Not so far. Most of them are excessively polite. But I can feel their eyes on me. Probably regard me as part of the spoils of victory.” Seeing that Brendan was about to speak, she held up her hand. “When this war started, women were called on to do their bit, join the forces and learn to assemble weapons, drive trucks, that sort of thing. The war didn’t last long but what it showed was that women are capable of far more than we’re given credit for.” She breathed in deeply and spoke again, more softly. “Two days ago the Nazis shot university students. Yesterday they beat up an elderly university professor. Several months ago they killed my brother. We have to fight back and ‘we’ means women as well as men.”
“Women as well as men,” echoed Susan softly.
There was a moment’s silence and then Brendan nodding his approval, slowly mimed a handclap.
Chapter 27
“I’m going fishing, tomorrow,” announced Stuart at the family meal table immediately after grace had been said.
“Oh, that’s nice dear,” responded his mother. “Sit up straight please, Claire.”
“Who with?” asked Stephen.
“With whom, dear,” corrected his mother.
“Oh, a couple of mates from varsity. One of them has a small launch that his Dad said we could borrow for the day. Going out off Rangitoto Island to catch snapper.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” asked his father.
Stuart was about to use Brendan’s name but immediately had second thoughts. “Oh, D’Arcy. He was in my History class.”
“Fresh fish would be very welcome. Hope you have plenty of luck, son,” said his father.
“Yes, so do I,” responded Stuart, relieved that he was not going to have to answer any more questions. As the family members commenced their meal his eyes flicked around the table at each of them. The reality of his decision was starting to dawn on him. They were his family and although at times it wasn’t a particularly harmonious home, the possibly that he might never see them again caused him to sharply catch his breath.
His mother looked up. “Are you feeling alright, dear?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks, Mum. I was just thinking that it would be nice to, um----.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Well, how about we have a game of Monopoly after dinner?”
His parents exchanged glances.
“Yes dear,” said his mother uncertainly. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Time we did more things together as a family.”
“Yes,” said Claire excitedly. “Last time I got Mayfair and nearly beat Stephen---.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t win,” responded her brother. “You wound up in jail and couldn’t collect your rents and I won.”
“That’s enough, Stephen,” reprimanded his father. He turned to Stuart. “What’s brought this on, all of a sudden?” asked his father.
Stuart shrugged. “No particular reason. Just sort of felt like it.”
Although a little puzzled his parents agreed and once the dining room table was cleared and the dishes washed and dried the family sat around the table, spread out the board and selected the pieces.
As soon as the game began Stuart saw the usual family alliances forming. He, as the oldest was supposed to set the example and play the game without becoming involved in the petty family tussles that so easily developed in such situations, particularly between himself and Stephen. His brother had immediately ‘bagsed’ the role of banker. Although an allegedly impartial role, Stuart suspected that, as in the past, Stephen would, if necessary, use the position to replenish his dwindling funds. However, aware that it was his last night for who knows how long he was determined to do his best to maintain a positive atmosphere.
As always he played his game in support of Claire. He laughed with her when she bought a string of properties and commiserated with her when, once again, a spell in jail resulted in her losing them. When Stephen was finally declared the outright winner Stuart was the first to congratulate him, which had the advantage of taking the wind out of the boy’s sails and reducing the usual boastful recounting of his success.
The result was that the family, particularly his parents, enjo
yed the game more than usual. The reduction in sniping between the brothers enabled both parents to gradually relinquish their roles as monitors of acceptable behaviour and simply join with their three children in an enjoyable family activity.
Stuart slept badly that night. The success of the Monopoly game had added to the complexities of the decision that he had come to. Outside of the family he had found a new level of maturity, particularly in his relationship with Carol. Yet he was aware of the security that home gave him. Even the parental reprimands provided him with the comfort of familiarity. Several times during the evening he had wanted to share his plans with the rest of the family but each time he realized that the knowledge, however slight could severely compromise them in the future. Once again he reconsidered the wisdom of his decision to join the Fightback group. Once again he concluded that his association with the university college and Professor Sterling, and Hamish Beavis’s new position of power left him very little choice. If he stayed he would almost certainly be arrested and his family would suffer by association. Simply disappearing therefore seemed to be the lesser of two evils.
The next morning he rose early in order to pack his canvas rucksack with as much as possible without having to answer too many questions. His father and brother called out their good-byes to him and left. Although he wanted to say something to them, he wasn’t sure what, and in any case he didn’t want to rouse their suspicions.
As he pulled the rucksack’s leather straps through the buckles to tighten the top flap he noticed that both his hands were trembling. He sat down heavily on the side of his bed and forced himself to breathe slowly. His thoughts were a vortex of contradictions. With Carol he was forsaking his home, his family and his career and embarking on a journey which, although causing his blood to quicken, was riddled with uncertainties. For the umpteenth time he asked himself, “Was this the only option? Was there a better, safer way for him and for Carol? Could he be certain of her support?”
The gentle hand on his shoulder made him spin round.
“Have a good day’s fishing, you lucky thing,” said Clare.
“Oh, Clare. Yes. Thanks, I will,” he replied.
“Stuart,” she said, smiling up at him, “will you promise me something?”
“What?” he asked uncertainly, his suspicions aroused.
“Take me with you, next time. I’d love to go fishing.” His laughter of relief was tinged with a sharp sadness. He reached out and hugged her to him.
“Of course. Love to.”
“Good. Thanks. I knew you’d say yes.” She hugged him back. “I’m really lucky to have a big brother like you.”
His eyes stung and he had to make a conscious effort to reply in a normal tone.
“OK. Now behave yourself at school today.”
The grin that she gave him turned to a frown.
“Stuart, is something the matter?”
He tossed his head and laughed as best he could.
“Yes, I’m desperately unhappy because I have to go fishing instead of going to varsity today.”
She studied him for a moment and then laughed.
“Stuart, you really are silly sometimes.”
And she ran off down the stairs.
He stood listening to the sound of her receding footsteps.
“Maybe you’re right, Sunshine,” he muttered to himself.
His mother as usual, had made lunch for him and, as an unspoken reward for the previous evening, had “included a few other nice little goodies to share with your friends, dear”.
He accepted the well-filled brown paper bag and smiled at her.
“Thanks, Mum. You’re a good mum, you know.”
“Am I, dear? You’ve never said so before.”
“Well, maybe I should have.” He put his arm around her and gripped her shoulder. “I love you, mum,” he said quietly and before she could reply he walked out the front door with a renewed stinging in his eyes.
Chapter 28
The trip to Albany took most of the morning. They had agreed to travel as separate pairs but to catch the same bus in order to keep watch for each other. They’d also agreed to write a short note to their families to be posted the same morning – a note that would provide almost no information but would at least prevent their parents from assuming their children had met with an accident and calling the police.
Earlier in the morning they had boarded the yellow North Shore Transport bus near the blacksmith’s shop in central Takapuna and headed to Northcote where they had then caught the bus for Albany. It was a warm Saturday morning and the bus, which was half full, was soon winding up the gravel roads towards its destination. The rural scenery, with sheep, cows and small houses drifted slowly by as the vehicle made its ponderous way northwards, pausing from time to time to pick up or set down its assortment of passengers.
Initially Stuart, along with the other three, had been keyed up at the prospect of joining the resistance group. However the familiar tranquillity of the countryside had resulted in its becoming somewhat anticlimactic. Nevertheless the occasional military vehicles with the swastika and the silver fern painted on the side, was a sharp reminder that rural New Zealand life was not the same. A further and unrelenting reminder of the New Order came from large billboards that now dotted the roadside at regular intervals. Stuart had seen most of them before but as the bus pulled up at a stop Carol nudged and pointed to a new billboard alongside the bus shelter. It featured a Maori soldier, dressed in New Order military uniform leaning forward with his bayoneted rifle thrust in front of him. Ghostlike, in the background, a traditional tattooed Maori warrior brandished his long-handled taiaha in an identical pose. The poster caption read, “Fight the Communist enemies of the Maori people! Join up now!”
“That’s the second one that I’ve seen targeting Maori men,” muttered Carol. “That young soldier on the motorbike wasn’t an isolated example.”
“More’s the pity,” sighed Stuart. “The Maori Battalion mauled Rommel’s troops in the Western Desert, and the Germans are smart enough to recognize good soldiers when they see them.”
With a lurch the bus moved away from the stop and headed towards a long hill, the heat mixing with the occasional petrol fumes as it ground its way upward. Stuart felt Carol’s head fall onto his shoulders and, comforted by her nearness, closed his eyes and drifted into a light sleep.
He awoke with a start to the sound of shouting. The bus had ground to a halt behind an army truck at the top of the hill. The bus driver was standing outside on the grass verge next to several armed New Order soldiers who were lined up beside a man with sergeant’s stripes. The shouting that had awoken Stuart was coming from a man standing in the aisle at the front of the bus. In spite of the heat he was dressed in a dark suit, black tie and Homburg hat. Behind him stood an officer and two soldiers.
“Passengers!” The special police official’s accented voice was unnecessarily loud. “We have stopped this bus to carry out a search.” He paused. No sound came from the passengers. “We apologize for any inconvenience but there has been some unpatriotic activity in this area. Therefore it is necessary for us to take precautions to ensure that you can continue your journey in safety. You will please take all your belongings, exit from the bus and stand where the soldiers tell you.”
Stuart felt Carol’s fingers dig into his arm. “It’s OK,” he said softly. “Keep calm. We’ve got nothing incriminating on us. We’re just going to visit friends and then go hiking in the country. Just do as they say.”
The pair slowly made their way down the narrow aisle. Stuart was thankful that the authorities had not yet had sufficient time to implement a system of identity cards for all New Zealand’s citizens. As they passed Brendan and Susan who were standing by their seats, his eyes briefly met those of his friend’s but neither man showed any sign of recognition.
Descending the steps the passengers were instructed to stand in a line by the roadside. Stuart noticed that the army officer, two sold
iers and the special police officer were moving slowly down the aisle of the bus, checking under the seats and on the luggage racks.
“If you have any possessions, ladies and gentlemen, please place them on the ground in front of you,” said the sergeant, whose accent was also Germanic. There was a rustle of noise as the passengers complied. “Thank you. Now, from your possessions, take two steps backwards.”
“And keep your thumbs down the seams of your trousers,” muttered a male voice in the middle of the line.
“No talking!” barked a soldier standing on the left-hand side of the sergeant. His accent was local.
“OK, mate, take it easy,” responded the male voice. “We’re just bloody bus passengers. What are you going to do? Shoot us with your big new gun?”
At the murmur of mirth the soldier blushed and shifted uncomfortably.
Stuart, turning his head sideways, saw that the comments were coming from a tall, slightly dishevelled dark haired man.
“Your co-operation is -,” began the sergeant when the dark haired man interrupted him.
“Hey, Brownie! I didn’t recognize you! What are you doing in that uniform?”
The soldier looked sharply in the direction of the speaker.
“It’s me, mate,” continued the dark haired man. “Last thing I heard was that you’d joined up and gone overseas to fight the Germans. S’truth, Brownie, what the hell are you doing now?”
The soldier cleared his throat. “Er, g’day, Eric. Didn’t recognize you. Er, how would you be?”
At this point the army and the special police officer stepped off the bus. The army officer glared at the soldier. “What is going on, here, Brown?” His accent was local.
“Christ! Another one. What’s the matter with you jokers?” Eric addressed the officer directly. “You an ex-digger too, mate? If so, have you no bloody shame?”
Uncommon Enemy Page 18
