Hearts of Stone

by Scarrow, Simon

  Most of the men were young like himself, fit and cheerful, with seemingly few cares in the world. But he knew there was a difference between them and himself. While he had spent all his time in the army stationed in France, the men of the 98th had been fighting on the Russian front before being sent to fight partisans in the mountains of the Balkans. That had been a bitter campaign against a cruel enemy and the Germans had responded in kind. Many villages had been burned to the ground and their populations slaughtered in response to attacks and atrocities carried out by the partisans. For all their youth and good humour, these men were seasoned veterans who had seen much action, and who had carried out brutal acts, and would do so again if necessary, with little compunction. He hoped that could be avoided here on Lefkas.

  The convoy droned into the town and a military policeman waved the officers’ cars into the narrow street while the trucks were directed along the harbour front to the vast enclosure on the outskirts of Lefkada prepared for the regiment’s camp. Hundreds of tents had already been erected in neat lines and a vehicle park stood a short distance away. The whole was surrounded by two lines of staked barbed wire. As his truck reached the harbour front, Peter rapped sharply on the roof of the cab and the driver’s mate leaned out of the window and looked up.

  ‘Let me off here,’ Peter ordered.

  The vehicle slowed and juddered to a halt at the side of the road to allow those behind to pass. Peter hefted his kitbag and helmet and made his farewells to his travelling companions before dropping down from the rear of the truck. A moment later it roared away. He looked along the buildings that lined the harbour, once so familiar to him. It seemed different now and he felt conscious of the cold looks of the local people. As before, the fishermen sat cross-legged as they mended their nets at the water’s edge. But the cheerful banter Peter remembered from before was absent and instead the men looked sullen, their expressions pinched from hunger. It was the same with the women and children who passed by; they did not meet his eye and offered no greeting in return to his friendly, ‘Kalimera!’

  Peter took his cap out of his pocket and pressed it on to his head before picking up his kitbag and slinging it over his shoulder with a grunt. Turning into a narrow street he entered the town and made his way towards the prefecture. The smell of woodsmoke and fish filled his nostrils and he smiled at the memories they evoked. He had strode down this same street with Andreas and Eleni on the way to the market to buy fruit, cured sausage and bread for the meal on the last boating trip they took. He knew that on the far side of the square was the lane where Eleni’s father lived. Even though circumstances were difficult he had resolved to pay Inspector Thesskoudis a visit very soon, and enquire after his friends, even if Eleni was no longer living there. It was the familiar yearning of all those who have returned to a place and people they once knew well. And yet, he knew that everything had changed. This was not how he had wanted to return to the island and he knew that he could expect resentment in place of the warm welcome he had known before.

  The old part of the town seemed to have changed very little wearing the presence of its occupiers lightly, until Peter emerged into the square that fronted the prefecture. Several Kübelwagen and trucks were parked outside the building and the entrance was guarded by a section of mountain troops. Two long red banners bearing the swastika hung from second-floor balconies and a large flag flew from the staff rising above the weathered tiles of the prefecture. Peter presented his papers to the sergeant in charge of the sentries and was admitted to the building. Inside the smell of floor polish and mustiness felt welcoming as he reported to the woman in grey uniform at the reception desk.

  ‘Leutnant Muller, reporting to Oberstleutnant Salminger.’

  She studied his identity card and orders briefly before handing them back with a pleasant smile. Picking up the phone she dialled an extension and there was a brief exchange as she announced his arrival and then replaced the handset. ‘Welcome to Lefkas, Leutnant. You can leave your kitbag here. The Oberstleutnant is making a call at present, but I’ll take you up to his office. You can wait outside.’

  She led him up two flights of worn stone stairs and along the corridor behind the offices looking out over the square. Wooden benches stood outside most of the doors and the woman gestured to the seating outside the last office. ‘I’m sure he won’t be long.’

  Peter nodded and sat down, removing his cap and holding it in both hands. He began to knead the felt material lightly as he reflected on the reasoning behind his new posting. It was more than likely that it had to do with his familiarity with the island and its people and his grasp of their tongue. Translation duties then, he surmised. Not the most important service he could provide for the fatherland but he was not going to complain if it meant a return to Lefkas and a break from the tedium of life at the coastal battery in Normandy.

  The corridor was adorned with the usual posters exhorting duty, courage and sacrifice as stridently Aryan soldiers gazed out at the viewer or stared off in the direction of some inspiring sight beyond the frame of the image. He saw a copy of Signal magazine on the bench opposite and crossed to pick it up before resuming his seat and flicking through the heavily illustrated pages. Despite the defeats at Stalingrad and Kursk, and the collapse of the front in North Africa, the magazine continued to proclaim that German forces were regrouping, ready for fresh offensives that would sweep the overconfident Allies aside. Ultimate victory was assured.

  Peter was not convinced. He had met fellow officers who had returned from Russia who had discreetly told him of the horrors of the winter, the sprawling plains and the endless numbers of men and tanks possessed by the enemy. Victory on the eastern front would be a miracle, they said.

  The door beside him clicked open and a corporal stepped into the corridor and saluted.

  ‘Sir, if you would follow me?’

  Peter stood, quickly eased the creases from his jacket and entered the small anteroom where two more headquarters clerks and another female sat at their desks dealing with paperwork. A frosted glass partition separated them from their commanding officer, whose name had been painted on the wooden door in white gothic script. The corporal rapped on the door.

  ‘Come in!’ a voice called.

  The corporal opened the door and leaned in. ‘Leutnant Muller, sir.’

  ‘Ah yes! Good. Send him in and fetch some coffee.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The corporal stepped aside and waved Peter forward. Oberstleutnant Salminger’s office was bright and airy thanks to the tall windows on two walls. It was also impressively large and a red carpet covered most of the floor, stretching across the room to the oak desk behind which Salminger sat in his unbuttoned jacket. He was thick-necked with cropped hair around the sides of his head and a dark wave across the crown. A neatly trimmed beard graced his jowls and his moustache was waxed into a slender line above his lips. To one side of the room hung a detailed map of the island. Behind Salminger, on the wall, was a large framed portrait of the Führer. Peter felt conscious of both sets of eyes scrutinising him as he strode up to the desk, saluted, and laid his papers in front of his superior officer.

  ‘Leutnant Peter Muller of the Hundred and First Artillery Regiment, reporting as ordered, sir.’

  Salminger looked him up and down before nodding a curt greeting and drawing the documents towards him. He gave them a quick glance then leaned back in his chair.

  ‘You’re a day early, Muller. I like a man who makes an effort to be efficient.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘I expect you’ve already guessed part of the reason why you have been sent to Lefkas. I need translators and you come with the advantage of knowing the ground. You’ll be very useful. I dare say you also know some of the more influential of the local people, given your father’s role on the island before the war. That will also be useful since I would rather have the cooperation of the islanders than have to use force to keep order. Though that is work for the
future given the current situation.’ He paused, just long enough for Peter to grasp he was being prompted. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Situation, sir?’

  ‘I doubt it will come as much of a surprise to learn that the islanders resent our occupation of Lefkas, just as they resented the Italians before us. A considerable number of them have taken up arms to form a resistance movement. The Italians made a poor show of dealing with these insurgents. Aside from a few half-hearted sweeps through the mountains which yielded paltry rewards – no more than a handful of the enemy killed or captured – they kept to the larger towns and coastline and left the resistance in control of the mountains. Which meant that they were able to get air drops of supplies from the British without much trouble. They’ve been putting them to good use harassing the Italians, and now it’s our turn.’

  His expression darkened as he continued. ‘Within a week of taking over, the German garrison was being attacked every day. It was as if the insurgents were keen to make a point that they hated us even more than the Italians. We know that their leader is called Mahos – at least, that’s his nom de guerre. The Italians and my predecessor posted rewards for anyone coming forward with information that would lead to his capture, but they’re a tight-lipped bunch, these Greeks. Mahos has been leading us a merry dance. He’s sabotaged several trucks in the vehicle park, shot at and wounded three of my men this week. Before that he ambushed a patrol and killed two men. We took reprisals of course, and went to shoot some of the local villagers. Stood ’em up against the cemetary wall, but before the machine gunner could open fire, he too was killed. Shot through the head. The rest of the squad came under fire and the prisoners managed to escape in the confusion. Our men managed to beat a hasty retreat, but not before they had lost another and three more were wounded. I went back in strength to destroy the village, but the people had fled, so we burned the place down.’

  He paused to collect his thoughts. ‘The previous commander had completely failed to bring the island under control and lasted only two months in the job before I was called in to replace him. He fell down on the job, Muller. He lacked the ruthlessness to do what was necessary to bring these Greek dogs to heel. I will succeed where he failed. My mountain troops will be more than a match for the andartes, as they call themselves. And your knowledge of the island will be most helpful in permitting my regiment to crush them.’

  Peter nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my duty.’

  Salminger paused a moment. ‘I understand that the work may not be to your taste, Muller. After all, I am sure that you counted some of the islanders as friends when you used to live here.’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Then it is a pity that you must consider them enemies now. But perhaps you may be of service to them, if only you can persuade them to use their influence to encourage others to accept our presence and not cause any trouble. I would prefer that we and the islanders treated each other as well as we can under the circumstances. However, if they persist in taking pot shots at my men, then I will do whatever is necessary to capture the culprits and make an example of them. I have also let it be known that for every German soldier they kill, I will take ten people off the streets of Lefkada and shoot them. I know it’s a harsh reaction, but sometimes the hardest lesson is the one that is taken to heart. Is that not so?’

  Peter swallowed and nodded. ‘I understand the thinking behind such reprisals, yes, sir.’

  ‘But you do not agree with it?’

  ‘I think it hardens the will to resist the occupying forces, sir. But if those are the orders, then they must be obeyed.’

  ‘Good!’ The Oberstleutnant clapped his hands together. ‘Then we shall look forward to a peaceful posting on this fine island when the locals have got the message. My adjutant has arranged accommodation for you in the town. You’ll be shown to it after we’re finished here. There’ll be a desk found for you in the prefecture. When you are sent into the field you will be a supernumerary under the command of the local officer. Clear?’

  ‘Clear, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Salminger rested his hands on the desk and regarded Peter curiously for a moment. ‘Your presence here is not confined to the duties I have outlined. There is another, somewhat more exotic purpose.’

  ‘Sir?’

  Salminger smiled, enjoying the younger officer’s discomfort. ‘As it happens, you are not the only officer on the island who speaks Greek and has some knowledge of the area.’ He leaned forward and picked up the phone and tapped the receiver. ‘Schumann? Send for the Sturmbannführer at once.’

  Peter’s ears pricked up at the mention of the SS rank, equivalent to a major in the Wehrmacht. What could Himmler’s organisation have to do with his posting to Lefkas?

  ‘And once you have sent for him, I want that damned coffee brought in here without any more delay. For three of us. See to it!’

  Salminger replaced the phone and gestured towards the chairs lining one side of his office. ‘Bring two of those over here and take a seat.’

  Peter nodded and did as he was instructed, hardly feeling any more comfortable sitting stiff-backed on the chair than on his feet under the gaze of his prickly superior. They were not kept waiting long before there was a knock at the door and the corporal opened it to reveal a smartly dressed officer with the green piping of the mountain troops on his shoulder boards and the SS runes on his collar label. His hair was short without being cropped and Peter started as he recognised the man.

  ‘Heinrich . . .’ He smiled spontaneously, rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  His father’s former assistant returned the smile hesitantly and then strode across the room to take his hand. His grip was firm and the shake was brisk. Peter quickly recovered his wits and tried to make up for his breach of military etiquette. ‘Sturmbannführer Steiner, it is a pleasure to see you again.’

  ‘And you too, Peter.’ Steiner stood back to look him up and down. ‘So different from the young boy I remember. A man now, and a soldier too. But then, who isn’t these days?’ His smile faded. ‘I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man, and a fine scholar.’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘I know it will be of little consolation, but I am sure his death would have been quick and painless. His home took a direct hit, so I understand.’

  Peter found it hard to take much comfort from the manner of his father’s death but felt some gratitude to Steiner for expressing his sympathy.

  The door opened again and the corporal entered carrying a tray with three cups and a pot on it. He set the tray down on the table and left the room. The distraction ended the awkwardness of a moment earlier and Peter and Steiner took their seats opposite their superior as he poured them each a cup.

  ‘I was explaining to Muller that the purpose of his posting to the island went beyond the services of acting as an interpreter. But I think you’re better placed to say why. If you would be so good.’ He held out a cup and Steiner took it carefully and settled back and looked at Peter.

  ‘It would be pleasant to spend some time catching up on each other’s news, but the Oberstleutnant is a busy man and it would intrude on his time. We can leave such things to a later time and talk over a bottle of wine. Just like the old days, eh?’

  Peter nodded amiably.

  ‘You will recall the purpose of our excavations on the island?’ Steiner continued in a more serious tone.

  ‘Of course. My father was looking for the palace and tomb of Odysseus. Not that he ever found conclusive evidence of the former. His work was cut short when we were recalled to Germany.’

  ‘Sadly, the needs of the fatherland outweigh all else at such times. But your father’s work, and mine, was not in vain, even if we were not able to complete it.’

  Peter nodded. ‘It is true. There were a number of finds of archaeological value but nothing of great significance.’

  A thin smile appeared on Steiner’s l
ips. ‘That remains to be seen. I think your father was on the cusp of a very great discovery, something of immeasurable historic significance, as it happens. Something he was not prepared to share with me at the time.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe, Herr Sturmbannführer. He never said anything to me about it.’

  ‘Which is a tribute to his discretion. However, he did reveal something shortly before his death.’

  Salminger slid Peter’s coffee across the desk carefully. Nodding his thanks, Peter took his cup and saucer and turned his attention back to Steiner. ‘In Berlin?’

  ‘Yes. I was on leave and I called in to see the doctor at the university,’ Steiner said in a casual tone. ‘We agreed to have dinner the same night and began to talk about our work over the meal and for some hours afterwards.’ He smiled. ‘I’m afraid we had more wine than was good for us, and that is probably why your father’s tongue loosened a bit. He revealed that he had made a discovery in those last few days. I eventually managed to coax something out of him.’ He fixed Peter with a steady gaze. ‘He implied that it was the tomb of Odysseus. The very tomb itself.’

  ‘Implied?’

  ‘It seemed clear enough to me that is what he meant. He went on to say that it was close to the site where we had been digging. He did not want to say more at that stage but invited me to his house the following evening to show me the evidence of his find. I agreed. I cannot express how excited I was to learn more. However, the morning after, the American bombers raided the city. Your father was killed in his house, along with hundreds of others. I was fortunate enough to be on the outskirts of Berlin. I saw it all from a distance. Terrible . . . Quite terrible that the enemy should strike at our civilians so ruthlessly.’