Uncommon Enemy

by Reynolds, John

  She lay still without replying for a long moment. Then she replied softly, “You’re right. Under the circumstances, that’s the best thing that we can do. Promise that we’ll look after each other.”

  “You have my promise.”

  “Mine too.”

  She began to run her fingernails down the centre of his chest. “Hmmm, you delicious man.”

  “Carol,” he murmured, “they said breakfast was in 20 minutes and that was 10 minutes ago.”

  “That gives us another 10 minutes to work up an appetite,” she replied her mouth closing on his.

  Chapter 32

  “That’s it! Over on his back! Use his weight not your strength! Now, let’s try it again! Steve, go!”

  Stuart took a moment to respond to the new name he had chosen for himself. Then in obedience to the order he moved quickly forward with his right arm upraised, carrying the wooden knife. Suddenly he was off balance and the thud with which he hit the ground expelled his breath from his body. Carol was immediately kneeling by his side.

  “Darling, I’m sorry. You OK?”

  “No ‘darlings’ in this business, Jacquie. He’s OK and you’ve done well. Hopefully you’ll never have to use the technique but if you do, don’t forget the follow up. Immediately!”

  “Oh, sorry, Ian.” Embarrassed, she scrambled to her feet and looked at the wooden knife in her hand. She crouched over Stuart again but this time held the knife to his throat.

  He grinned. “No need for that,” he murmured. “I surrender.”

  “Right, you two, on your feet.” Ian was smiling at Carol. “I have to confess that when Dan told me that I’d have to train two women I had grave doubts. But you’ve made me change my mind. And, in our situation, the more the better.” His smile faded and he looked at her seriously. “In a combat situation, do you think you could go through with it? Actually kill your enemy?”

  “Yes, Ian.” She wiped the streak of sweat from her brow and looked him straight in the eye. “The Nazis killed my brother. The vilest man I’ve ever met has become one of them. I saw with my own eyes what they did to the university students and I know what they did to Professor Sterling. Yes, Ian, I believe I could go through with it.”

  The unarmed combat session had been the first of their training programmes. The former Blitzkrieg Boys having already served in two armies had a good command of the necessary skills, thus giving Ian plenty of time to concentrate on Stuart, Carol, Brendan and Susan. Like Carol, each of them was motivated by their recent experiences and had proved to be apt pupils.

  “That’s it for the day, chaps,” he grinned, “and ladies. We’ll knock off for an hour and have lunch back at the farm. Have plenty to eat and drink as we’ve got a long afternoon ahead of us. Weapons training is always held well away from the main buildings in order to minimize any repercussions from curious visitors.”

  Strong tea, chunky sandwiches and apples were set up in the woolshed. The previous day each one of them had been extensively questioned about their background, their motivation for joining the partisan group, and their commitment level. At the end of the evening meal the whole group were informed that Fightback had accepted them on a three-month probation period, resulting in an increased atmosphere of camaraderie.

  The sound of the Bedford truck pulling up outside the woolshed reminded them of the job in hand and in response to Ian’s orders they clambered onto the flatbed tray at the back. The trip took about thirty minutes, through a variety of small hills and valleys until they arrived at what appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse. The truck stopped and they were instructed to get down. Ian explained that the farmhouse was deliberately maintained in a dilapidated state to allay any suspicion. However, cleverly concealed in one corner was the entrance to an underground cellar that housed weaponry gleaned from a variety of ‘unnamed sources’.

  “How did you get these weapons here?” asked Brendan, viewing the arsenal in the cellar. “Surely any large truck runs the risk of being randomly searched?”

  Ian grinned. “That’s the advantage of Albany. As well as a few roads it also has water transport. All this stuff is brought up here at night on small barges, using Lucas Creek.”

  “Lucas Creek?” asked Susan.

  “Yes. It winds its way through heavy bush, past this part of the farm. It’s tidal so navigation is tricky. But,” Dan tapped the side of his nose, “if you know your way it’s relatively easy, and well away from prying eyes.”

  Their first afternoon session was spent in practising with the British bolt-action 303 rifles. Although firing only one bullet at a time the weapon could be loaded with a small magazine and was very accurate. They were also taught to load and fire the newly acquired hand-held Sten gun. Its accuracy was limited to close range engagements - particularly useful to a group like Fightback as it could also be fired using German 9mm ammunition. Aware of the weapon’s tendency to jam, Ian had them repeatedly practice the procedures for stripping and assembling it until they could do it with their eyes closed.

  For several hours they practised loading and firing from various positions and simulated situations. By the end of the afternoon their ears were ringing and their hands trembling. Although the two women had found it difficult to cope with the weight of some of the weapons, they had proved adept at being part of a captured German MG 34 machine gun crew, feeding the belts of ammunition through the breech of each gun. It was difficult, noisy work and particularly after the unarmed combat practice, exhausting. Again, the experience of the former Blitzkrieg Boys proved invaluable. They were familiar with nearly all the weapons and willingly supplied support.

  Finally their instructor called a halt. “That’s enough for one day. You’ve all done very well.” He smiled and without any trace of condescension added, “Particularly the girls. You’ve handled three different weapons today. Tomorrow we’ll revise what we’ve done and in the afternoon I’ll let you have a go at the Bren gun – stripping, assembling and firing. It’s a machine gun but like the rifle it uses 303 ammunition and is very accurate when fired off a tripod.” He looked around the group. “Now, like me I bet you’re all looking forward to a good meal and a relaxing evening.”

  The men and women needed no further encouragement to scramble on the back of the truck and relax against the wooden sides as it bounced its way steadily along the dirt road. After twenty minutes the truck suddenly slowed. Looking over the sides they saw Tony standing in the centre of the track holding a bicycle and waving them to a halt.

  “They sent me to alert you. There’s a bit of a flap on.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “The authorities have discovered the soldiers’ bodies and they’re swarming over this district in droves. So far they haven’t reached our farm but obviously we’re on their maps and they could turn up any time. Dan’s orders are for Ian to drive the truck back to the house and, if anyone asks, just say he was taking hay to one of the back paddocks. You others are to come with me. I’ll take you back in a roundabout way that will enable us to recee the house before we finally approach it. We should be OK but the situation calls for caution.”

  The seven reluctantly climbed down. Although they had been looking forward to some food and relaxation they realized that under the circumstances erring on the side of caution made sense. Tony concealed his bike in a clump of roadside bushes and as the truck moved off he beckoned the others to follow him. Climbing up a sharp incline they reached an area of native bush growing thickly across the tops of the hills. Once inside the bush he paused and beckoned for them to gather round.

  “The interior’s pretty dry so our footprints won’t be too obvious. It’s fairly thick so try to avoid breaking off any twigs, branches, or fern fronds. It’s a dead giveaway for anyone following us or trying to work out if this area is in regular use.”

  They nodded and Tony, with the ease of familiarity, moved quickly along a barely discernable path.

  The dim interior of the bush was cool and pro
vided a welcome relief from the heat so that although Tony’s pace was brisk, the walk was not unpleasant. For a while a pair of fantails provided light entertainment as they flitted and darted alongside the group, casting tiny shadows in the small beams of sunlight that penetrated the thick green canopy.

  After about fifteen minutes Tony stopped and beckoned them forward.

  “OK. We now approach with caution. If there are any problems there’ll be a signal from the farmhouse. Even so we look for anything unusual, such as strangers or strange vehicles, prolonged barking by the dogs and suchlike.”

  “What’s the signal from the farmhouse?” asked Brendan.

  “If the curtains in the kitchen are opened, it’s OK to approach. If they’re drawn we are to wait here. Similarly, if the exterior light on the woolshed is turned on we are to wait. However, we’re always mindful that if we have unexpected and unannounced visitors it may not provide enough time to draw the curtains or turn on the light - hence the extra precautions. Now, as we’re coming near the edge of the clearing overlooking the farm buildings, I’ll lead and the rest of you stay close and follow my movements.”

  The bush in front of Tony was beginning to thin and soon the reddish-tinged late afternoon sky was clearly visible through the leaves and branches. Tony slowed and then dropped down behind some fallen punga logs on the bush’s edge. He motioned the others to do the same and, pulling out a pair of Zeiss binoculars from his pack, scanned the farmhouse and surrounding buildings in the distance.

  “Curtains are pulled back,” he muttered half to himself, “now let’s check the rest of the area.”

  His binoculars panned slowly from left to right and then in reverse order. Satisfied, he turned to the group.

  “Everything looks fine. Now, three at a time, I want you to head quickly towards the woolshed where someone will be waiting to greet you, hopefully with food and drink. When you’ve arrived, the rest of us will follow if it’s all clear. Once inside the woolshed, if there’s any problem you must follow the procedure that we’ve rehearsed and instantly go down into your quarters. Is that clear?”

  They all nodded.

  “Good. The two women and Steve are to go first. The others and I will follow once you’ve arrived safely. Go now.”

  Quickly Stuart, Carol and Susan stood up and headed down the gentle slope towards the shearing shed. In spite of Tony’s reassurance, the recent news and the open space filled each of them with a sense of vulnerability. Consequently it was with considerable relief that they moved past the last of the sheep pens and up the woolshed steps where Dan, with Lisa and Barbara the other two women in the group, greeted them.

  “Welcome home,” Dan grinned. “All clear, so I guess you could murder a cup of tea and some food.”

  “Too right,” responded Stuart. “Any problems so far?”

  “Not that we’re aware of,” said Lisa. “The so-called Albany incident has been given particular prominence on the radio news – the deaths of the soldiers have been blamed on,” she paused, “let me get it right, ‘a tiny group of terrorist fanatics who will be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly by the authorities’.”

  “‘So that honest, law abiding citizens can feel safe and enjoy the prosperity that comes with the New Order’,” added Barbara.

  “It’s not that we’ve got good memories, it’s just that after awhile the news broadcasts have an inevitable predictably.”

  “Yes,” smiled Stuart wryly, “Nazi propaganda is not necessarily synonymous with originality and creativity.”

  As they sipped their hot mugs of tea, from the window they watched the rest of the party making their way across the paddocks and past the sheep pens without incident. Soon they were all gathered round the wool-sorting table eating plates of food that they had fetched from the farmhouse kitchen. Tea-making facilities were standard in many woolsheds, but a fully equipped kitchen capable of making large meals would immediately arouse suspicion.

  The meal provided an opportunity to relax. The woolshed was warm and dry and the existence of the ‘Albany Ritz’ was a welcome security.

  “Cards, anyone?” asked Barbara.

  “Yeah, good idea,” replied Dan. “However, first things first.” He looked at Stuart. “Now, as you know, we make it a priority to get rid of any evidence of extra guests. Therefore, every night as soon as dinner is finished, two people are assigned to take the dirty dishes back to the farmhouse, clean them and put them away. Mugs are OK but dirty dinner dishes are not. You and Jacquie can do it tonight, please.”

  “Fine,” responded Carol. She grinned at Stuart. “Come on ‘Steve’ a little domestic duty will do you the world of good.”

  It was a five-minute walk from the woolshed to the farmhouse. “Careful, not to stumble,” warned Carol, “if you break the plates we’ll all be eating off newspapers.”

  “As long as it’s not the New Order Herald. That’s enough to give all of us indigestion.”

  The dishes were quickly washed, dried and cleared away with the help of Jason and Tom the two Fightback members who lived permanently in the farmhouse. Stuart and Carol enjoyed the opportunity of getting to know the other two even though, because the rules did not allow group members to reveal their personal details, small talk was somewhat stilted.

  Just as the last of the dishes were being put away the lights in the farmhouse suddenly dimmed twice.

  “Jesus!” snapped Tom. “A vehicle has crossed the cattle stop.”

  “Bugger,” said Jason. “I suppose it had to happen sometime.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Carol nervously.

  “We try to keep the occupants of the house to the minimum necessary to operate the farm legitimately. Anyone else could lead to awkward explanations. Don’t know who our visitors are but you two won’t have time to reach the woolshed without being spotted. We do have an emergency procedure. You’ll have to use it, up in the ceiling, entrance next room. Tom will get you up there while I answer the door. Quickly now!”

  The sound of a vehicle was heard crunching up the gravelled driveway as Stuart and Carol followed Tom through the dining room into a small bedroom. Standing on the bed he reached up and touched the ceiling. Immediately a panel opened to reveal a small ladder lying across the gap. “Tony’s magic,” muttered Tom. He grasped the bottom rung and pulled. The ladder immediately came down at right angles to the ceiling.

  “Both of you, quickly! Up! The ceiling’s reinforced so it’s quite safe. But lie absolutely still and don’t make a sound until we give the all clear.”

  The pair quickly climbed up the short ladder. As soon as they were clear of the gap Tom pushed it back up and closed the tight-fitting ceiling door. Stuart and Carol found themselves on a wooden floor from which the sounds of the house could be heard below. Quietly they moved to a side-by-side position and lay still.

  Underneath they heard a loud, sustained banging on the front door followed by the sound of footsteps and the door being opened.

  “Good evening.” The accent was heavily Germanic.

  “Good evening.” The voice was Tom’s. “Is there something wrong?”

  “We would like to come in. We have questions.”

  Clearly it was an order rather than a request, as footsteps were heard entering the house.

  Tom’s voice asked, “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Thank you. I am Franz Schroeder, Special Police.”

  Stuart silently caught his breath. Schroeder was the German who’d arrested him at the Auckland railway station. He listened more intently.

  More footsteps, a scraping of chairs, and then Schroeder’s voice continued. “I introduce my two colleagues, Detective Sergeant James Wallace and Special Agent Hamish Beavis.”

  Stuart felt Carol stiffen as a cold shiver sweep over him. He squeezed her arm tightly and with his mouth close to her ear, whispered, “It’s OK. Keep still and listen.”

  There was a scraping of chairs and then a moment’s silence before Schroeder�
�s voice resumed.

  “My other men will stay outside. Now, you know about the attack on the Albany road.”

  “Yes.” It was Tom’s voice. “We heard about it on the radio news broadcast.”

  “So. We have questioned the er…”

  “Passengers, Mr. Schroeder.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wallace. Ja, we have questioned passengers, from the bus. Two people - a man and a woman. They have disappeared.”

  “We are searching this part of the country. Have you seen any strangers?”

  “No. We haven’t.”

  A new and local accent was added to the conversation. “We are particularly interested in the missing man and woman. Their names are Stuart Johnson and Carol Peterson. Have you seen either of them before?”

  There was a slight shuffling and a long pause.

  “No. Never seen them.”

  “Why are you looking for them?”

  Stuart and Carol tensed at the sound of Hamish’s voice.

  “They are associated with the university where there was an, er, unfortunate occurrence a few days ago. They have both disappeared and we have cause to believe they may have been directly involved in the incident on the Albany Road.”

  There was a silence. Clearly Tom and Jason had decided to say nothing further.

  “Their families do not know where they are. However we have reason to believe that they may have been passengers on the bus that was involved in the incident,” said Wallace.

  “Well, we haven’t seen them, have we Tom?”

  “No. But we’ll be on our guard. Do you think they’re armed or anything like that?”

  “Very likely.” Hamish’s voice sounded angry. “They may have teamed up with some New Order deserters and-----.”

  “Herr Beavis! Enough! To speak of this thing is forbidden. The information is….”.

  “Classified,” prompted Wallace.

  “Ja, classified. You will remember that, Beavis.”

  Although he could feel a layer of sweat forming over him, Stuart enjoyed a fleeting moment of satisfaction at the contriteness in Hamish’s reply.