War Clouds Gather

by Peter Watt

  Sean knew that the von Fellmann family were distantly related to David. He’d also heard that General Kurt von Fellmann had been the prisoner of Brigadier Patrick Duffy – David’s grandfather – during the Great War. Kurt von Fellmann also had a twin brother, a Lutheran pastor who had ministered to the Aboriginal people at the Glen View mission station. Sean hoped these links might be enough to encourage General von Fellmann to help find David.

  Sean walked across the long cobbled stoneway that spanned what was once a medieval moat but was now filled with swans and ducks gliding on the brackish water. He was met by an army officer whose uniform was decorated with braid that identified him as an aide-de-camp.

  ‘Welcome, Mr Duffy,’ the junior officer said, extending his hand in a warm fashion. He spoke English and Sean was pleased that he would not have to stumble by in his broken German. ‘After your telephone call the General said he would be pleased to meet with you. Please enter.’

  Sean shifted his weight on his walking stick and followed the smartly dressed officer through a maze of large, beautifully decorated rooms adorned with valuable paintings, suits of armour and deer heads resplendent with antlers. Eventually they reached an open reception area where medieval maces, swords, lances and gorgets hung on the walls. Modern lounge suites appeared a little out of place among this antique weaponry. In one corner stood a tall dignified man in the full dress uniform of a German army general. Sean had met the general’s twin brother many times and was struck by their similarity. Kurt von Fellmann turned to Sean with a grim smile; his crop of white hair was cut short in military style and he, too, walked with a limp.

  ‘It is good to meet you, Herr Duffy,’ Kurt said in excellent English, extending his hand. Sean could feel the strong grip. ‘I believe that you were once a favoured officer in Brigadier Duffy’s regiment.’ Kurt glanced at his aide hovering in the background. ‘You are dismissed, Lieutenant,’ he said in German and the officer clicked his heels together, raising his arm in the traditional Nazi salute. When the aide had left the room the general turned to Sean.

  ‘It is good to meet you also,’ Sean replied, extracting his hand and hoping the circulation would return quickly.

  ‘I knew your brother Karl very well.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Karl,’ Kurt said in an almost faraway voice. ‘I was

  saddened to hear of his death. He was a good man and I believe God will reward him in heaven. But you have not asked to see me to discuss family matters,’ the German general continued in his brusque manner.

  ‘No, General,’ Sean said, leaning on his cane. ‘I have come seeking your help to find a young man distantly related to you – David Macintosh. His father was the son of Patrick Duffy. Matthew disappeared in Berlin during our tour of the country.’

  ‘Patrick’s grandson,’ Kurt echoed. ‘Patrick was a fine man and officer. If I can be of assistance, I will do all that is humanly possible to find his grandson. How did he disappear?’

  Sean did not know whether the general had political leanings towards the Hitler regime. His journey would likely be a waste of time if Fellmann was a member of the Nazi Party. ‘David was taken by the SS in Berlin to God knows where,’ he said, almost holding his breath. He saw a dark look cloud the general’s face.

  ‘Those swine,’ Kurt said. ‘If the SS have taken Patrick’s grandson, I suspect they would have sent him to Dachau.’

  Sean breathed a little easier: the general was clearly a Prussian army officer of the old school and had no loyalty to the SS. ‘Is it possible for you to use your influence to have David returned?’ Sean asked.

  ‘I will do all that is possible,’ the general frowned. ‘But first we must ascertain why David was arrested. I presume that he is not a German citizen, and even the SS must realise that such an arrest could be bad for Germany’s reputation. Taking him into custody would require a strong case to counter any international protests. Do you know why he was arrested?’

  Now it was Sean’s turn to frown. ‘I do not have a clue,’ he sighed. ‘David is a fine young lad with no political affiliations. I should know as I have been his guardian all these years. His grandmother was a patriot to Germany in the Great War and I suspect she worked with German intelligence at great risk to her life. David is only nineteen and too young to be involved in any political intrigue.’

  ‘You must realise, Mr Duffy, that I and the rest of the army have sworn a personal oath to Adolf Hitler,’ Kurt cautioned. ‘I may not agree with all of the Führer’s policies but I am a professional soldier. You Allies imposed on us restrictions at Versailles that led to the deaths of thousands of German men, women and children. When I returned to Germany after the Armistice in 1918, I returned to a country starving to death because the British continued the naval blockade after the war was over to deliberately starve us. The Austrian corporal may not be the best man for the task of our recovery, but my industrial friends assure me they have control of him, although I am beginning to doubt that. I will attempt to find David and have him released, but you must understand that my first duty is to the Fatherland.’

  ‘Any assistance you are able to render is valued, General,’ Sean replied. ‘I know that your brother Karl was very fond of David when he was a toddler at Glen View.’

  ‘I have also heard rumours that my brother was very fond of David’s grandmother, too,’ Kurt said with the hint of a smile on his stern, aristocratic face. ‘Who, I believe, is a Jewess. Would that not make David a Jew?’

  ‘Does it concern you?’ Sean asked, ‘I doubt that David even thinks about his Jewish legacy.’

  ‘Some of my finest officers in the Great War were Jewish,’ Kurt replied and Sean gave a small sigh of relief. ‘David’s religious beliefs are of no concern to me.’

  Sean understood the delicate tightrope the senior officer had to negotiate in the current atmosphere of vilification against the Jews in Germany.

  ‘I must caution you,’ said the general, ‘that finding David will not be easy. At the moment Hitler needs me – he is sending me to Spain to help fight against the communists and I am one of his favoured generals. I do not know how long that will last; he can change his mind on a whim.’

  ‘Thank you, General von Fellmann,’ Sean said. He did not want to pursue the subject of German intervention in the civil war raging in Spain. Britain and France seemed to have turned a blind eye to Italian and German involvement in a war being fought between the Nationalists led by Franco and the legitimate socialist government of Spain.

  ‘You must stay as my guest and join my family for dinner tonight,’ Kurt said warmly. ‘My two sons, Heinrich and Roland, have leave from the army and will join us. Heinrich is being posted to Spain as an advisor in armoured warfare to gain some combat experience.’

  ‘I was going to stay at a small inn in the village,’ Sean said. ‘But I would be honoured to meet your family.’

  ‘I will arrange for your luggage to be brought here,’ Kurt replied and called for his aide.

  *

  That evening Sean joined the von Fellmann men in the dining hall. He was introduced to Kurt’s eldest son, Heinrich, who wore the uniform equivalent of a major, and to Roland, who wore an army uniform with the rank of captain. Both men were of medium height but very much alike in their appearance, sporting cropped blond hair and both handsome in a straight-backed Teutonic way. Sean was pleasantly surprised to hear that both sons spoke perfect English. At dinner he was seated beside Heinrich. Roland sat opposite and Kurt assumed the place at the top of the table.

  A rather bland vegetable soup was delivered by an older man wearing what could have been interpreted as a military uniform. Kurt explained that the man had been one of his soldiers in the past war.

  It was Roland who stood, raised his crystal goblet of wine and said in a loud voice, ‘Heil Hitler.’

  Sean raised his goblet of wine but said nothing, and when he glanced down the table he noticed that the general had not responded either. Heinrich also remained silent, and Sean
sensed a strain descend on the table. Roland sat down, staring for a moment at the bowl of soup.

  ‘It will not be Herr Hitler who will one day re-establish Germany’s place among the leading nations, but the military shedding their blood,’ Kurt said.

  ‘I trust that Herr Hitler is not considering starting another war,’ Sean said, hoping that his comment would not cause any more tension.

  ‘My younger son believes that one day we will confront the Bolshevik Russians and rid the western world of their threat,’ Kurt said, sipping his wine. ‘He believes that when that time comes Britain and France will support us. Our leader has outlined this plan to destroy communism in his autobiography, Mein Kampf, which I found rather boring.’

  ‘I hope we do not see another war,’ Sean said. ‘Anyone who lived through the horror of the Great War would agree with me.’ But when he looked across the table he could see in Roland’s eyes no concern for what had gone before.

  ‘I have to agree with my son’s observation on the communist threat,’ Kurt said. ‘We civilised nations must face them one day and only Germany appears to have the will to do so.’

  When the soup dishes were cleared away, a haunch of venison was brought to the table, along with steaming vegetables and a variety of mustards. The old soldier carved the meat and placed the plates in front of the von Fellmanns and their guest. Dinner was eaten mainly in silence, and afterwards the four men retired to the large living area to partake of port and cigars. As the evening drew on, the two sons excused themselves.

  Roland came to attention and gave his father a salute before leaving the room. Heinrich followed behind to bid his father goodnight but held out his hand instead. Sean could see a restrained warmth between the two men and suddenly he missed David desperately. He hoped against hope that the young man was safe.

  When they were alone, the general turned to Sean. ‘Are you married?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Sean replied. ‘I never seemed to get around to it.’ He knew that the general’s wife had died in the influenza epidemic and he had never remarried.

  The German general sipped his cognac from the balloon-like goblet. ‘As you may have observed, my two sons are very different. I think that Heinrich might have chosen a path in the Lutheran church if he had had a choice. Roland is one of the generation that has fallen under the spell of the Nazi Party, with its nationalistic beliefs in Germany’s supremacy.’

  ‘Did you join the Nazi Party?’ Sean asked a little too bluntly and Kurt looked away.

  ‘No, I am a soldier and do not bother myself with politics.’

  ‘Let us hope that our two countries never find themselves facing each other on the battlefield ever again. It was a bloody affair.’

  Kurt raised his glass in a toast. ‘That we never experience another war between our nations,’ he said with passion and Sean responded by raising his glass.

  ‘But, my friend, you have a busy day tomorrow, as do I, so I will excuse myself for the evening,’ Kurt said, swilling down the last of his cognac.

  The two men parted and Sean made his way up the wide steps to his bedroom. The old soldier who had acted as a waiter helped Sean into bed and bid him goodnight. Sean lay beneath the warm eiderdown as the chill of the night became more apparent. He feared that David would be lying on a hard bed with no blankets to keep him warm; if he was in Dachau, as Sean feared, he only hoped David had strength enough to survive.

  4

  ‘Thought you would fly back with the girl,’ Cyril Blacksmith growled as he and Matthew watched the Junkers disappear into the clear blue skies over Basra. ‘Those Hun crates need a second pilot for best performance.’

  Matthew wondered if his chief engineer was right and he should have flown back to Germany with Diane, although his reasons were different.

  Diane had shared Matthew’s little mudbrick villa for the past week while Cyril worked on an oil leak on the Junkers. His house sat on the banks of the Tigris River and had a small but cool courtyard bordered by wildflowers, with a water fountain at the centre. At night he and Diane sat in the courtyard with a flute of chilled French champagne and they talked about aviation. Gradually Matthew came to realise that his feelings for her were more than two old friends sharing a common interest. He dreamed of taking her into his arms and expressing the passion he felt for her, but she was young, beautiful and successful in her career as an aviatrix. What interest could she have in him?

  On the last evening they’d spent together under a night sky of brilliant stars, Diane had asked Matthew the one question he did not want to answer.

  ‘Do you ever see your son and daughter?’ she asked. ‘James and Olivia. They would be in their late teens by now, wouldn’t they?’

  Matthew leaned back in his chair and stared at the constellations above them. ‘I have only seen them once since they were born,’ he answered quietly. ‘They live with their grandfather in the States.’

  Diane frowned. ‘What has stopped you from seeing them more often?’

  Matthew slumped down in his seat. ‘When I travelled to the States I arranged to meet them. They were about ten and total strangers to me. They were polite, but I had the feeling my visit only caused them pain and confusion. It was as if I was forcing my way into their lives. I was never married to their mother, and old James Barrington has given them everything money could possibly buy.

  I could sense the embarrassment in my children at meeting me, a stranger with a funny accent. I wanted to hug them but that just didn’t seem right. When I walked away I knew that I was little more in their lives than the man who had sired them. That must have been around nine or ten years ago.’

  ‘Have you written to them?’ Diane persisted

  ‘I have sat down at my desk and tried,’ Matthew said, ‘but what do I say to them? That today I was lucky to survive a desert storm and forced to ditch the aircraft until it passed? You know life out here can be cut short very quickly.

  I suppose it is better that I let my children forget me and get on with their lives. I have lived most of my life on the razor edge of war and frontier flying.’

  ‘That is what makes you such a fascinating man, Matthew Duffy,’ Diane said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  ‘No, it makes me a fool,’ he dismissed. ‘I inherited a fortune when my wonderful mother passed on. But all I have to show for it now is the company. One pilot, one engineer and one aeroplane.’

  ‘And two children,’ Diane reminded.

  ‘At least my mother got to see the children often enough over the years,’ Matthew said with a sigh. ‘I believe they adored her, and she was forever chiding me to try to make more contact. I guess I was not cut out to be a good father.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that your mother has passed away,’ Diane said. ‘From what I heard about her she must have been an incredible woman.’

  ‘The Aboriginal housemaid said that she died peacefully on the verandah of her house in Townsville,’ Matthew said, staring again at the stars overhead. ‘Before she died some surveyors working out west near the Julia Creek area found scattered human and horse bones. They also found a leather pouch and a letter carefully wrapped in wax paper inside an old saddlebag. It was a letter written by my father just before he died. The team who found his remains sent the letter to my mother. They were his last words of love for Mother and me. The housemaid found it in my mother’s hands when they discovered she’d passed on.’ Matthew paused, staring into the stars above. ‘If you don’t mind, I think I should turn in early tonight. I have a run to an oil field.’

  Matthew eased himself from the chair, hoping that Diane did not see the tears welling in his eyes. When Diane had raised the question about his children she had unlocked a door to his past and he had been unexpectedly swamped by a wave of sad memories.

  Now he stood beside Cyril until the Junkers became a mere dot in the sky and felt the pang of jealousy again.

  ‘They’ll be back soon enough,’ Cyril said reassuringly, as if sensing his boss’s
mood. ‘And when they do we will finally be making enough money to buy one of those Hun aircraft for ourselves. Maybe even give me a pay rise for looking after two kites.’

  Matthew turned to his Canadian engineer. ‘You get overpaid as it is,’ he said with a broad grin. ‘And I even throw in the flies, heat and dust for nothing.’

  As both men turned to retreat to the shade of the cavernous hangar, Matthew noticed a man wearing khaki shorts and shirt dismounting from a car that had pulled up nearby. Matthew lifted his hand to his eyes to shade the morning sun shimmering on the dry, hard earth of the airfield.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaimed softly and walked towards the car. Cyril followed.

  When Matthew was within a handshake of the man he broke into a broad smile.

  ‘Ben Rosenblum,’ he laughed, taking the man’s extended hand. ‘Anyone ever tell you that you’re a chip off the old block? How is your old man?’

  In his mid-thirties, Benjamin Rosenblum had the same features and solid build as his father Saul, who was a lifelong friend of Matthew’s. Benjamin had the same appealing face as his father and his grip was as strong.

  ‘My father sends his good wishes,’ Benjamin answered in his accented English. ‘He says you should fly to our settlement and have a cold beer with him soon.’

  The two men stood facing each other and Matthew introduced Cyril to the Jewish Palestinian. Introductions over, Cyril excused himself. ‘Got to order some parts for the crate,’ he mumbled and walked away. Matthew invited Benjamin into his office for tea. Ben sat down in the old leather chair and Matthew called his Iraqi servant Ibrahim to fetch tea for his guest.