A New Kind of War dda-17

by Anthony Price

  But Amos . . . Amos blundered in. So now I have him on my conscience for my stupidity – is that what you want me to say, Fred?’

  Clinton was always full of surprises. ‘On your conscience?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ The old blank stare was back. ‘Schild was there to see that everything went according to plan.

  But . . . you’re probably right: once de Souza was dead . . . Levin probably would have shot you, too.’

  ‘Schild was your man.’ Fred frowned. ‘But it was Colbourne who took him on, surely.’

  ‘He thought he did, yes.’

  ‘So . . . where did Schild come from?’

  Stocker stirred again. ‘I really don’t see how that is important to you, major.’

  ‘No.’ Clinton raised his hand. ‘In the circumstances, it’s a fair question. And poor Amos de Souza put two and two together, and made them five because he didn’t know enough . . . which is a burden I must bear, dummy4

  because of my incompetence. So we’ll start right now, anyway.’ He nodded at Fred. ‘My man – yes: Schild is my man.’

  ‘Acting on your orders?’

  ‘Not to kill. I wanted our traitor alive. Though . . .

  perhaps Schild has saved us more trouble than he’s caused, at that.’

  Now another instalment of the debt could be paid. So he shrugged. ‘He said he went for a head-shot because the RSM was wearing ammunition pouches, so he couldn’t be sure his bullet wouldn’t be deflected. It was almost the only thing he said – apart from wanting to be taken into custody.’

  Clinton shook his head. ‘Thin, Major Fattorini, thin.

  Gehrd Schild liked Amos de Souza, he once told me so. He said Amos would have made a good German officer –he had the Wehrmacht touch with his men, Gehrd said. And he liked young Audley too, oddly enough. So ... he disobeyed orders, anyway.’

  Fred stared at him. ‘ Gehrd- ?’

  ‘Oh yes. Gehrd Schild is his real name. Otto the pork-butcher from Minden was his elder brother. Gehrd used to help in the shop when he was on leave, so he knew all about the family business. And so when Otto was killed at the very end – killed by one of our delayed action bombs while digging survivors out, actually . . .

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  when he was killed, Gehrd quietly took over his identity as he mingled with the refugees. Quietly and prudently . . . and, of course, he was well-placed to doctor the necessary documents, even apart from his acquired pig-butchering skills, you see.’

  Fred didn’t see, but waited nevertheless.

  ‘Gehrd was an Abwehr man.’ Clinton nodded. ‘Same rank as you, major. Division II – anti-sabotage and

  “special tasks”, stationed in Northern France until the Hitler bomb-plot. And then the Sicherheitsdienst and the Gestapo moved in on the German military intelligence, of course, when they went for his boss, Admiral Canaris . . . Not that Canaris was really in on the Hitler plot. But the Nazis had been gunning for him for a long time. But . . . but our Major Schild was in the clear, having run his particular “special tasks”

  efficiently – ’

  ‘What special tasks?’ Fred could understand very well why a German major of intelligence might want to swop identities with his civilian brother, whatever his tasks might have been. But if Brigadier Clinton was turning a blind eye to the imposture for his own purpose, and now he, Major Fattorini, was being admitted to the secret, he needed to know how deep the water was under such thin ice. ‘What was his job?’

  Clinton lifted a hand again. ‘Fortunately nothing too embarrassing – nothing worse than Majors dummy4

  McCorquodale and Macallister might have pleaded guilty to if things had gone the other way, let’s say.

  But . . . since Herr Major Gehrd Schild no longer exists, for our purposes, that is a hypothetical question.

  And, in any case, our concern is only with what Otto Schild did next, Fred – eh?’

  Now he was being tested. But he didn’t know enough yet. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He was seconded to co-ordinate Abwehr Division III personnel, in support of the Gestapo and the civil police in certain investigations in Germany,’ Clinton answered him suavely. ‘So what do you think that involved, then?’

  With teacher’s help, suddenly the test wasn’t so difficult. ‘He drew Professor Schmidt’s name from the hat – ?’ Even as he asked the question it became unnecessary. ‘How did you get on to him, sir?’

  ‘I didn’t. Gehrd Schild – I beg your pardon! Otto Schild now . . . he got on to me – ’ Clinton watched him ‘ – now are you beginning to add two and two, eh?’

  ‘Yes – ’ That wasn’t quite true, because the information was coming to him too fast now, as he tried to marry it to what David Audley had told him.

  And already, as he thought about it, there was a bone sticking in his throat; but he couldn’t work out the dates and the timing ‘ – he didn’t go to Colonel Colbourne – ’

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  ‘Precisely.’ Clinton almost looked pleased. ‘The truth is that the Abwehr knew about Professor Schmidt’s little game from way back, is what he told me. But Canaris sat on the information. Or, rather, he didn’t sit on it, we have reason to suspect – he fed it to a man named Rosseler – Rudolf Rosseler . . . who worked for the Russians. And that’s how the Russians got on to Professor Schmidt – this is what Schild came to tell me: that Moscow had been after Number 16 for months, you see?’

  Fred saw. And saw also that once Clinton had known that, after Schild had learnt that the British were also hot on the trail of Professor Schmidt’s Romano-German archaeologists, then Schild had a new master.

  And then the Brigadier would have realized at last that TRR-2’s misfortunes weren’t just bad luck, but treason.

  But all this brought him to what he still couldn’t quite believe, even though it must be true. ‘The Colonel, sir –

  Colonel Colbourne? Levin was his man – ?’

  ‘Gus Colbourne?’ The nuances of the Brigadier’s range of facial expressions were as indiscernible as ever. But this time he almost looked sad. ‘Gus Colbourne is another of our casualties, I’m afraid. Maybe not as final as poor de Souza . . . but, for our purposes . . .

  final, I’m afraid – ’ he took the responsibility to the gunner colonel quickly. ‘ – Gus belongs to you, Tommy – ?’

  dummy4

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Colonel Stocker took his dismissed predecessor on the chin, for the benefit of his newly-appointed adjutant. ‘These are early days yet, major.

  We’ve got a lot of checking still to do. But for my money, Colonel Colbourne is no traitor.’

  ‘Sir – ?’ It galled Fred that a gunner was bemusing a sapper.

  ‘Of course, we shall never be able to clear him absolutely. And, for this war ... of the Brigadier’s – ’

  Stocker steadfastly didn’t look at Clinton ‘ – we can only use men who have no mark against them – who are utterly above suspicion, major. So he has to go. But it’s a pity, all the same.’ Stocker watched him digest this ultimate disqualification, until all its implications had been assimilated. ‘We don’t know the full story yet, major . . . although Colonel Colbourne has been very frank with us, so we do have the beginings of it, I think. And we have to talk to our people in Palestine before we can draw the picture with any certainty . . .

  from Bum-Titty Bay in ’43.‘

  Bum-Titty – ? Suddenly Fred was hideously back in the Teutoburg Forest, gaping at RSM Levin, not at the gunner colonel. ‘ P-P-Palestine, sir?’

  ‘Haifa. On the beach at Haifa, major.’ The fact that Stocker understood his astonishment, and sympathized with it, didn’t make his slow smile more acceptable.

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  ‘Colbourne and RSM Levin went up there – Major Colbourne and CSM Levin then – to a leave-camp, after El Alamein . . . which was well-deserved, after what they’d achieved in the desert, between them.’ He gave Fred a slow nod. ‘“Bum-Titty Bay” – all those pretty Jewish girls in swim-suits on the be
ach . . . and most of them were already in the Haganah, of course.

  And some of them were in the Irgun Tzvai Leumi – in the ETZEL . . . which is already killing our men out there, in the cause of an independent Jewish state.’ The nod steadied. ‘And ... it seems possible that one particularly beautiful girl named Rachel may have picked up Company Sergeant-Major Levin, as she picked up other Jewish officers and senior NCOs. And, if she did, then it’s tolerably certain that she introduced him to a man whom we know as “Ze’ev”, who is a link-man between ETZEL and the Soviet Union. Because the Russians are strong supporters of what is already being called “The State of Israel”. Not because they like Jews, but because they see us as supporting all the Arab states, against the Jews.’ His lips twisted as he spoke, but he watched Fred just as sharply as Clinton had ever done as he did so. ‘What ETZEL thinks

  “Ze’ev” is doing is getting them arms and ammunition.

  But what we think is that he’s also taking orders from Moscow. And in ’43 Colbourne was marked down for special assignments in Europe, because of his record in the desert. And Levin had been his right hand, through dummy4

  thick and thin, in operations in Syria and Iraq, long before El Alamein. So they were a winning team already.‘

  God! thought Fred. Syria and Iraq . . . and Palestine –

  they were all a far cry from the Teutoburg Forest!

  Almost the only thing which united them was that they had all once been parts of the Roman Empire, almost –

  almost two thousand years ago, when both were trouble-spots!

  ‘We know that “Ze’ev” has made other deals, you see, major: Russian arms in exchange for treason – and the promise of air-lifted material, from Czechoslovakia and Bulgaria, through an airfield somewhere in Syria, where the locals have been bought off – Druse, probably ... we don’t know for sure.’ Nod. ‘But once Levin was committed ... because “Ze’ev” would have fed him with true horror stories of what was happening in Germany and Poland – even before he arrived here in Germany Stocker looked sidelong at Clinton as he spoke.

  ‘Yes.’ Clinton accepted the look. ‘Levin was a damn good warrant officer – almost the perfect warrant officer, I would have said: brave and intelligent. And he knew King’s Regs to the last letter of the small print.’ He threw the look at Fred. ‘So maybe he argued himself into splitting what belonged to the King of England from what he thought was due to the Promised dummy4

  Land . . . But, thanks to Gehrd Schild, that’s one thing we’ll never know now, Fred.’

  And perhaps there were some things it was better not to know? thought Fred. But then he remembered Amos de Souza. ‘So what do we know?’

  The wind gusted between them, smelling only very slightly of hot engine oil and aircraft fuel. And he knew that it had been blowing over them fitfully all the time while they had been testing him, even though he hadn’t noticed it until now . . . just as he knew, beyond certainty, that they were both relaxing as he hardened his heart, as they had both long ago hardened theirs to the loss of all those simplicities of their old war, which Professor Schmidt and Number 16 had tried in vain to avoid, and which had killed Amos de Souza and Number 21 in failing to do so. And RSM Levin, too.

  Clinton caught his glance down the runway, across grey concrete to the grey sky. ‘We know that it’s going to be a bad time, for all of us. Because nothing is going to be easy for us any more – not when good men like Levin betray us for reasons which seem honourable to them . . . reasons which may even be honourable. Apart from others who are already working for the Russians

  – ’

  All this was only what Kyri had said, showing his teeth under his brigand’s moustache. Long ago, thought Fred. So ... he couldn’t say that he hadn’t been warned, dummy4

  anyway. But what he missed now was the Greek’s cheerful sense of good-and-evil, and his trust that the first would always outweigh the second in some final reckoning.

  ‘More to the point – we have to get back to Germany, major,’ snapped Stocker. ‘Because we have work to do.’

  ‘Sir – ?’ He felt the man take command. But he also felt Clinton’s envelope in his pocket. ‘You don’t want me to find the exact site of the battle of the Teutoburgerwald, I hope?’

  ‘No.’ Stocker’s face hardened. ‘I shall be going on to Berlin with Major McCorquodale tomorrow. You will be staying behind, ostensibly to pull the rest of them together before they follow me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ It hadn’t been a very good joke, at that. But the thought of Sergeant Devenish at his side raised his spirits. Also, reaching Berlin finally had always been the height of his military ambition, ever since 1939.

  For then the war would be truly ended, he had foolishly believed. ‘I’ll do my best to get them to you as quickly as possible.’

  ‘No you won’t. You’ll make a hash of it, major.

  Including, among other things, allowing Gehrd Schild to escape.’ Stocker drew a deep breath, and then looked down the runway towards the Dakota. ‘I’ll fill in the details during the flight, major. But . . . you dummy4

  won’t be going to Berlin, anyway.’

  Fred felt the blood flare in his cheeks. ‘What – ?’

  ‘Colonel Stocker will be back from Berlin in ten days.

  That should give you time to put everyone’s back up.’

  Clinton nodded at him. ‘Then you will have a public stand-up quarrel with him in the mess. And then you will use the contents of the envelope I gave you, and become a civilian.’

  The wind felt cold on his cheeks. Becoming a civilian was something he’d dreamed of all these years. But now the thought of it was as desolate as the airfield around him.

  ‘You will, of course, rejoin your family firm then –

  your Uncle Luke will put you in the right place. But in three months’ time there will be a civilian vacancy on the British Control Commission in Germany, in the economic section. And the circumstances of your departure from TRR-2 as well as your name and qualifications, plus the influence I will arrange, will get you the job. So then you will be where I want you to be. Because, although this new bomb has given us a breathing space, I foresee trouble in Germany first.

  And I must have someone right inside the commission to keep an eye on things, Fred.’

  For a moment all Fred could think of, almost irrelevantly, was so I’m not going to get to see Berlin dummy4

  after all. But then it occurred to him that this was a properly symbolic failure if his war wasn’t ending, but just beginning. The only question was . . . did he still want to continue fighting?

  ‘You aren’t leaving me much choice, it seems.’ He stared at Clinton.

  ‘On the contrary. The choice is all yours. I told you that you were a free man, and you are. And in a fortnight’s time you will be altogether beyond my reach, if that’s where you want to be. It’ll be entirely up to you then to decide your own right and wrong, and whether you want to serve undercover.’

  One of the Dakota’s engines coughed, and then came explosively to life. Colonel Stocker was already a dozen yards away, striding towards the plane as though Major Fattorini’s decision was a foregone conclusion.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Because there didn’t seem much else either to say or to do, he saluted Clinton. Which meant that Stocker was right – at least for the time being, anyway.

  The Brigadier returned his salute. ‘Well then . . . you’d better be starting, Major Fattorini,’ he said.

  The End

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  Anthony Price

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