Shadow Of The Wolf

by Michael Parker

  Schafer took his group in the opposite direction, leading them down the winding track towards the whaling station. He was depressed, feeling an instinctive sense of futility. It had touched him the moment he had set foot on the island. He had an overpowering feeling that Ziegel had been discovered, and if that was the case, he would no longer be on the island. He felt the futility with a certainty that compounded his sense of failure.

  They spread out in pairs, each pair taking a separate building. Schafer had gone to the harbour and now stood at the top of the flensing plane: a long, angular slipway of concrete on which the whales were stripped, or flensed, of their blubber. He wrinkled his nose. The smell of grax, the waste and muck that are the natural harvest of such butchery was no longer as potent as it might have been, but it was still evident and pervasive.

  The search was perfunctory and quick, the swiftness being encouraged by the clinging odour. But there was something else that had drawn Schafer’s attention. He moved along the quay with his eyes fixed on a small ship. She had the appearance of an old navy corvette. From his knowledge of ships and maritime history, Schafer knew it was a 'catcher'; the workhorses of pelagic whaling fleets. The catchers were the small boats that roamed the northern and southern oceans in search of the whale, spitting out their deadly harpoons in an explosive fury to feed the demanding jaws of the factory ships that followed them like voracious seabirds.

  He knew the catcher had probably seen better days and would no longer have sailed with the larger fleets to southern waters. The island's own catcher would no doubt have sailed the closer Atlantic waters, bringing the small whales back to the industrious community in Mullach Bay.

  As he got closer he could see the rust creeping over its grey superstructure. There was not as much decay as he might have expected though. He signalled to his troop corporal to follow him on board and trod cautiously on the canting gangplank that sloped up severely from the quayside to the wooden deck.

  The name on the lifeboat that hung from the davits proclaimed this ship to be the Nordcaper. Schafer remembered Ziegel telling him that the name of the island, North Cape, had been anglicised from the Norwegian. The ship, like the whaling station, was lifeless.

  He examined the ship thoroughly and carefully, hoping he might find Ziegel there. He wondered if perhaps the islanders had imprisoned him without declaring him to the authorities. The ship was cramped and uninteresting and yielded nothing. Curiously there was no smell of grax here and everywhere was clean. The longer he remained on the Nordcaper, the more convinced he became that she was being made ready for sea. It crossed his mind that a ship like this would have been commandeered by the Royal Navy if it had been seaworthy. It would have explained why the catcher was being revived. Not on a grand scale one might associate with a shipyard, but certainly it was being restored.

  He thought, with some amusement, that the islanders were probably digging their heels in over the renovation. The British would soon tow her to a suitable dockyard, he decided if they suspected some lack of patriotic cooperation. He smiled at the prospect of Celtic indignation and wondered how much of that he would see while he was on the island.

  He continued with his inspection, climbing the ladder to the open bridge. The wheel was tethered and green canvas shrouds covered the engine room telegraph and binnacle compass. From there he looked forward to the snub bow and gun platform. He leaned on the canvas dodger and studied the harpoon gun wondering how on earth the gunner managed to keep his feet as the catcher charged through the ocean in pursuit of the whale.

  "There's nothing on board sir. And the whaling station is deserted."

  Schafer looked round as the corporal stepped on to the bridge. "What? Oh, yes, thank you, Holbach."

  He stood quietly for a moment tapping the canvas dodger. Then he said, "I want the ship provisioned. See if there is fuel on board. She is to be made ready for sea. Place a guard on her." He walked across the narrow bridge to the ladder.

  Holbach frowned. "Hauptsturmfürhrer, surely you do not intend ...?"

  Schafer paused on the ladder. "No scharführer, I do not. We are going back by submarine as planned. Having this ship ready is simply a contingency plan. Pray God we do not have to use it."

  The search for Ziegel and the documents continued but took longer than Schafer had expected. Kretschmer had extended his area to the point on the northwest of the island known as Rubha Gorm. He had located some isolated cottages there and decided to search them thoroughly to obviate the need to go back.

  The order to destroy all boats had been carried out, but not without difficulty and loss of time. All small coves were carefully examined from hazardous positions high above the sea until they were satisfied they had allowed nothing to escape them. Schafer's instructions had been followed to the letter.

  They rendered all boats useless by wrecking the motors, removing the sails and smashing the bottom boards of any craft they found beached. They were so thorough that any escaping islander would have found it impossible to locate a boat that was safe enough to take to sea.

  Schafer went back to Reevel Anderson’s house, eager to complete the task of securing the island. Brenneke reported that the transmission to Wrath Kyle had been completed successfully. Schafer had Reevel taken to the schoolhouse but he kept Maura back. They dismantled the radio before leaving the house, hiding the components in several places. Maura made no comment when he informed her he would be using her cottage as his headquarters because it was in a better position than Anderson’s house, but she refused when he told her she would act as his housekeeper.

  "Your cooperation is necessary for the wellbeing of the islanders," he explained.

  Maura was staggered. "Do you honestly mean to punish those people because I refuse to say yes?"

  Schafer found himself looking at a woman of quality and freshness. The defiance and anger in her face made her attractive. He wished he could have met her under different circumstances. "By their wellbeing, I meant their nourishment. You will prepare one basic meal each day for all of us."

  Maura wondered if he understood anything about cooking for eighty people using only a few utensils. She decided he didn't, but realised he had some compassion. "I will need help," she said.

  "Of course," he replied. "One of the young ones."

  Schafer had chosen Maura's cottage because it commanded a view of the schoolhouse, the whaling station and the big house. He walked down the path to the cottage and preceded her into her own home to begin an inspection while she sat impassively beneath Brenneke's disinterested gaze.

  Schafer made a cursory inspection of the house and found two bedrooms, a small lounge, kitchen and a small utility room. The smallest of the bedrooms contained the obvious possessions of a youth. The wall had many, many photographs of the island, the whaling ships and their laughing crews. He scanned them with some interest. The books in the room were mostly of sailing and fishing.

  A framed photograph of the woman took pride of place on the tall dresser. Beside it was a smaller picture of a very handsome boy. Propped against the wall in the corner was a shotgun. He picked it up and broke it, shoving the butt under his arm. He went back into the main room.

  "I will sleep in there," he said. "Your son's room, I presume?"

  Maura nodded. "Aye, that's my Billy's room. He's not on the island." She moved, bringing herself upright. It was an unconscious gesture. "He's serving with the Royal Navy. I've not seen him for a twelve month."

  Schafer's head bobbed up and down in a sympathetic gesture. Despite being on opposite sides of this war, he could empathise with her. "I see." There was a moment's silence. They exchanged glances. Brenneke watched them.

  "We must go," Schafer said suddenly. "There is much to do." He turned abruptly and left Maura standing alone in the kitchen, but her loneliness was momentary as one of Schafer’s men came into the cottage and made himself comfortable in one of Maura’s easy chairs.

  Inside the schoolhouse, Schafer found the te
mperament of the islanders had degenerated. It didn’t surprise him. He had the guards remove their gags and immediately there were loud expressions of discontent. He walked to the front of the room and stood before them, arms behind his back and his legs planted firmly.

  "You will shortly be allowed to return to your homes in small groups once my men have completed their search. While you are in your homes you will be allowed to wash and put on more sensible clothing. You will surrender any weapons that have not been found and will cooperate fully during the search. Failure to do this will result in serious consequences, both to your dwellings and yourselves. Once you have completed this task, you will be brought back here. It is in your own interest to cooperate fully; that way you will ensure our swift departure from this island and a return to normality for you all." He pointed at Callum Macdonald. "You will come with me, the girl too." He signalled to Brenneke to take over. The corporal, Holbach, and another storm trooper escorted Callum and Ailie from the schoolroom.

  In Callum's cottage Schafer produced a photograph from his pocket and handed it to the old man. It was coloured and of an object neither Callum nor Ailie recognised. It looked like a rectangular box covered in a cloth. It had been photographed from different angles so in fact there were three views of the same object. A ruler had been laid against one of the views to give it scale. It was small enough to be carried under a man's arm but there was no indication of its weight. It was about the size of a large dictionary or encyclopaedia. It meant nothing to Callum.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  Schafer took the photograph from him. "You don't recognise it?"

  Callum shook his head. "No."

  He asked the girl. She looked nervously at her father then she, too, shook her head.

  "It is what we are searching for," he told them. He didn't want to say they were looking for Ziegel yet, that would come later. He pushed the photograph back into his pocket and ordered his men to begin the search of Callum’s cottage.

  It was callous and extremely thorough. They searched everything and everywhere. They opened the access to the small roof spaces and crawled through the mouldering beams, throwing down anything that might contain the papers for Schafer to inspect in the better light below. They tore up books and scattered the pages without thought. They ripped mattresses open, tore the pillows apart and destroyed the hand sewn quilts. They lifted rugs, carpets, furniture and searched amongst the soot of the stone chimneys. When they had finished inside the cottage they began outside in the garden. They looked in the sheep pens, the goat sheds and outhouses. They even flattened and scattered a small wood pile.

  When it was over, Callum looked at the devastation with anger burning in his face. The emotion he felt was too much for his old body and he sank to his knees, his hands buried in his face. Ailie tried to comfort him but she had no words. Schafer stood towering above them unsympathetically. Ailie looked at him. He waited for the screams of abuse but instead she simply shook her head and turned her attention back to her distraught father.

  Schafer beckoned to the guards and walked away from the cottage, striding vigorously towards the school. He summoned Kretschmer who appeared at the doorway and came down the steps.

  "I think Leutnant Ziegel would have shown himself by now," he said to Kretschmer. "So now we must begin the search for the documents," He paused, then nodded towards the front door of the schoolhouse. "Make sure they see Macdonald's cottage." He flicked his hand up in a Nazi salute and walked up the track towards Maura's place.

  He thought about Kretschmer as he walked along the ascending track. He had chosen him for this mission because of his almost total lack of compassion. It was for this reason that Schafer had only allowed Kretschmer to conduct the search for Ziegel and not the documents while he contented himself with another inspection of the Nordcaper and whaling station before settling on a period of rest in the cottage. But the moment he gave Kretschmer free reign, he knew the man would stop at nothing to achieve their objective.

  The search for Ziegel's package went on through the remainder of the day. Showing the islanders the havoc wreaked on Callum's possessions did nothing to soften their resolve. It did little for Kretschmer's temperament either.

  Schafer was asleep on the small bed in Billy's room when the staff sergeant returned with Brenneke. Schafer sat up and swung his legs off the bed, reaching for his jacket at the same time.

  "We found nothing, Herr Hauptsturmführer," Brenneke reported.

  Schafer permitted himself a grim smile. "Neither did we expect to, eh Jochen?" He stood up and slipped the jacket on. "I want this cottage searched but left intact, do you understand? We must show some feeling, eh?" He laughed. "Was any food prepared?"

  Earlier that day Schafer had instructed the islanders to prepare some food so that Maura could cook a meal for them all. Brenneke shook his head. "They refused."

  "Pig-headed. Their bellies will soon persuade their hearts." He pulled a comb from his pocket and ran it through his hair. Then he placed his cap carefully on his head. "Arrange something for the men. You and I will eat here." He tugged at the edges of the jacket. "Now I suppose I must go and speak to these imbeciles."

  The atmosphere of hostility in the schoolroom was almost tangible. Schafer felt its invisible hand clutch at him as he opened the door and stepped into the room. Their grief at seeing a lifetime's possessions vandalised and destroyed welded their spirits together in an omnipotent force. Its pressure closed in on him as he turned and faced them.

  "You will be aware of the fact that we are looking for something which is of considerable importance to us," he began. "To refuse knowledge of its whereabouts or its existence is foolish in the extreme. My men will continue to search until we have what we came for." He placed his hands carefully behind his back and spread his legs apart. "¨Lieutenant Brenneke informs me you have refused to eat."

  Callum stood up suddenly. "We refuse to lift a finger to feed men who violate our homes."

  One of the guards took a step towards Callum. Schafer put up his hand to prevent an incident, warning the storm trooper off. He lowered his hand and spoke to Callum again. "You have refused to eat, so be it. Until you change your minds no food will be brought to you."

  "So you will see our young children starve?" Callum shouted angrily.

  "It is not I that chooses to deprive the small children of food," Schafer retorted. "It is your own choice."

  "You treat us like criminals in our own country, destroy our homes and expect us to demean ourselves to you," Callum spat out. "For that you are quite happy to see our children suffer." His eyes were wide and full of fire. "But we must expect this from thugs like you. You are nothing but Satan's disciples, strutting like that jack-booted dwarf you call Führer." His anger boiled over. It had been simmering inside him since the devastation rained on his cottage. His sense of caution evaporated and he went for Schafer like a wild animal.

  Before he could reach Schafer however, the guard leapt forward and struck him a punishing blow to the side of the head. Callum fell poleaxed to the floor.

  Ailie jumped up from her chair, crying out in a curiously, strained voice. She went for the guard, bringing swinging blows down on his arms and chest. He parried her blows effortlessly. She kicked at him. Suddenly he laughed and caught her arms. He drew them in close to her body and slowly forced her to the floor.

  In that moment Ailie changed from a wildcat to a frightened animal. Schafer saw a mortal dread pass over her face and her anger became terror. The girl was frightened out of her life.

  "Halt!"

  The snapped word of command brought the brief struggle to an end. The storm trooper let Ailie go and she crawled to Callum, who was beginning to stir. She flung her arms around him and together they comforted each other.

  Schafer was puzzled by the girl's sudden change. Her spirit had been broken almost immediately by what was really just a brief struggle.

  "What is your name?" he asked.

  She did
n't answer but kept her face turned down, avoiding his eyes. He asked again.

  "She doesn't speak." The voice was that of Reevel Anderson. He was standing on the far side of the room. Schafer looked over at him.

  Reevel looked like a man who had spoken out of turn without thinking. He glanced around the room, his eyes moving quickly. "She's a mute," he said, and sat down.

  Schafer looked at the girl. She was nursing her father in her arms, rocking him back and forth gently. Her face had a sweetness that reminded him of an Irish colleen; a simple, fragile beauty that no artist could capture in a lifetime.

  Her auburn hair was tied with two ribbons to match the coloured frock she was wearing. She looked up at him and in her eyes was a plea not to hurt them. He waved them back to their seats and returned to the front of the room.

  "There will be no more foolishness," he said firmly. "I nominated the old man as your spokesman but he is no longer capable of clear judgement." He glanced at Reevel, "Herr Anderson will resume his normal responsibilities.' He returned to the business of spelling out to them what their prospects were. "The island will be searched and all homes entered again. All buildings will also be checked again. You have chosen not to eat and I have no wish to persuade you. However, you will all remain here, under guard, until I am satisfied that our visit has not been in vain."

  Schafer's display of arrogance might have had some effect on the islanders but it did little to convince him they might be coerced or intimidated by it. In truth he was concerned that they had been on the island over eighteen hours but had seen no sign of Ziegel. He knew the submarine commander had landed, but it was as though he had disappeared off the face of the earth. If he had been discovered and handed over to the British, the Red Cross would have known and inevitably so would have Admiral Dönitz.