Secret in the Clouds

by Christopher Cummings

  Graham spoke first. “How could you be sure we wouldn’t talk once we are free?”

  “Because we have many friends and we would know. Then we would take action against you,” Potts replied.

  “What sort of action?” Graham asked.

  The fat man answered then, speaking in a soft, silky voice that sent shivers up Stephen’s spine. “We should arrange for you to die - horribly.”

  “How would we be sure that you wouldn’t do that anyway once we have handed over the evidence?” Peter asked.

  A smile flitted across the fat man’s face. “You must trust in our sense of honour.”

  At that Tom burst out indignantly, “You mean like the Kaiser’s promise never to invade Belgium? ‘A scrap of paper’!”

  At that a savage blow by the man standing behind them felled Tom. That enraged Stephen. Unable to control his tongue he cried out, “The German Fuhrer has given me his promise- peace in our time!”

  Even though he was expecting it the blow was a shocking surprise in its intensity. It struck his kidneys and he crumpled on the floor in agony. Even as he fell he heard Graham say, “Today the Sudetenland, tomorrow the world!”

  Whack! Graham fell heavily on top of him. Stephen writhed in agony but now pretending to be more hurt than he was. He had just spotted his glasses, knocked off earlier and now lying unnoticed under the table near the glossy black jackboots of the fat man. ‘I need glasses if we are to escape,’ he thought, wriggling around to try to get them.

  As he did he heard the fat man ask dryly of Peter, “And you? Have you no witty little insult to offer?”

  “Of course,” Peter replied. At the top of his voice he burst into song, “Hitler has only got one ball...” He got no further before a savage blow felled him as well.

  By then Stephen had rolled over and was groping desperately for his glasses. Just as his fingers touched them he saw the heavy jackboot near his face flash forward to slam into his chest. “Lie still you pigs!” snarled the corporal.

  Stephen made a convulsive twitch and touched the glasses with his hand. As he closed his fingers around them he heard the fat man say, “Teach the swine a few manners hauptgefreiter.”

  There were more kicks and several times a rifle butt slammed into Stephen’s back and side. All he could do was grit his teeth and whimper. The beating went on for several minutes before Potts said, “That is enough I think Herr Doktor List.”

  ‘Doktor List,’ Stephen thought. ‘I’ll get even with you, you bastard!’

  The boys were dragged to their feet. Stephen could barely stand as waves of pain swept through him. He noted that blood was streaming from a cut over Tom’s left eye. Graham was doubled over and gasping in pain, holding his lower ribs.

  “Now,” said Potts softly, “Are you prepared to be reasonable.”

  Tom answered. “No. We don’t trust you.”

  Potts and Dr List exchanged glances and List nodded. Potts stared hard at them. “Then I regret to inform you that we have no option but to have you executed to protect our organization. You are to be shot at dawn.”

  Even though he heard it quite clearly Stephen was unable to believe it. ‘This isn’t true,’ he thought. ‘This is Australia seventy five years after the Nazis were defeated. It is just a nightmare and I will wake up soon.’

  “Take them away,” Potts ordered. To the boys he said, “And if any of you change your mind do not hesitate to call out. Your co-operation will then be rewarded. You will live.”

  “In a pig’s eye!” Graham commented when they were back in their ‘cell’. “Those ruthless mongrels will just use us and then shoot us anyway.”

  The friends spent twenty minutes untying each other and then cleaning up. Stephen was glad to wash his face and very relieved to find his glasses unbroken. Placing them on he slumped down and began to brood. For the next four hours he sat there alternating between bouts of sickening terror and frantic thinking about possible ways to escape. He also noted the reactions of his friends.

  ‘I wish I could sit there as calm as Pete,’ he thought, ‘Or making the odd wry joke like Tom.’ Graham was the one who surprised him the most. Stephen had always thought of Graham as physically the bravest of the Hiking Team. Now Graham seemed very moody and depressed. He said, “What I regret the most is that I have never really made love to a woman.”

  It was a surprising confession. “What about Amanda?” Stephen asked, referring to a girl in their class four years earlier.

  “That was just a quick, inexperienced fumble,” Graham replied. “I’ve never actually loved a woman properly.”

  Stephen, who had several times, asked, “Is she the only girl you’ve had?”

  “Yes,” Graham admitted.

  “What about little Margaret?” Stephen asked.

  “No. We are just friends,” Graham replied.

  “She’d let you any time you liked,” Stephen replied, mildly annoyed at Graham’s puritan morality.

  “She might! But I was talking about real love, not just sex!” Graham retorted.

  That got them arguing for a while and it took their minds off the steady march of time and the dreadful fate that then awaited them. Stephen fell back into his morbid and terrifying thoughts of death. ‘What will it be like when I drop down after being hit?’ he wondered. ‘Can your eyes still see but you can’t say anything?’ What really upset him was the thought of his body rotting, and of being tossed into a hole and dirt shovelled over him. The thought of the sand forcing its way up his nostrils, under eye lids, and into his mouth caused him to break into a cold sweat.

  He became so ill he thought he would throw up. His thoughts also briefly focused on the possibility of saving himself by giving in to the men’s demands. Regretfully he set that idea aside. ‘As Graham said they would just shoot you afterwards.’ The thought of trying to save himself at the expense of his friends also troubled him. ‘I’d never be able to sleep comfortably again,’ he thought.

  Several times he glanced at the others. ‘How can they sit there so cool and calm?’ he wondered. ‘Or is that just a front? Are they just as scared as me?’ The one thing he began to cling to was a comment he had read once about dying like a man. ‘You only have to put on a bold front for a few minutes, and you are going to die anyway, so why earn the contempt of others by begging and crying?’ He began to consciously steel himself to die like a man.

  During those dark hours of hopelessness Stephen also discovered that his professed disbelief in all religion wasn’t quite as strong although pride forced him not to pray for help. ‘If there is a God then he won’t be impressed if I only cry for help when I need it,’ he told himself. ‘And if there truly is a God he won’t let this happen.’

  Stephen did not sleep at all. Very slowly the time passed. He became more and more nervous as the hours passed and dawn crept closer. ‘What time is dawn?’ he wondered. ‘What the army calls First Light is at about 0445 at this time of year. The sun comes up about half an hour later. Is that dawn?’ he wondered.

  At 0400 he got his answer. The sound of voices upstairs woke him from a fitful slumber. The friends looked at each other, their faces drawn taut as masks to their feelings and fear. Ten minutes later boots sounded on the steps and Stephen felt his stomach tighten up. ‘This is it,’ he thought.

  The door was unbolted and swung open. “One of you, out!” snapped the hauptgefrieter.

  “Don’t you mean ‘Raus!’?” challenged Graham angrily.

  The man, Robert Stephen remembered, just grinned wickedly. “Have your joke. Now come out you.”

  He pointed at Stephen, who had difficulty in getting his legs to function. ‘Come on!’ he up-braided himself. ‘Act like a man!’ He was so stiff, sore and cramped that he had to lean on the wall for support as he made his way up the steps. The guardroom was full of men, all dressed in the old Wermacht uniforms. All wore the World War 2 style German steel helmet. The sight of these sent a chill through Stephen. From seeing numerous movies and
photos in history books those helmets represented to him the ‘enemy’ and evil.

  Five of them, Stephen counted. He recognised them all now: Young Hans, Rolf, Theo, Henry and the older man who was now wearing the silver edged epaulets of a feldwebel.

  Rolf and Theo seized Stephen and tied his hands behind his back, then stood him to one side while the next was called up. It was Peter. As he reached the top Peter looked insolently at the men and sneered. “What’s this, a fancy dress party?”

  That earned him a half-hearted clip over the ear. As Peter was placed next to him Stephen whispered, “You don’t have to stir them up!”

  “Why not?” Peter queried. “Why should we make it easy for them?”

  By then Tom had come up. He also scowled at the men. As they tied his hands he said, “Don’t we even get the traditional last meal? I’d like fried eggs with sausages.”

  At that several of the men laughed, but not, Stephen thought, as though they actually thought the comment funny. ‘These blokes are scared,’ he thought.

  Henry turned and called up the tunnel, “Hey Karl! The prisoners want their breakfast Bring them something.”

  There was no answer. Henry called again, his voice echoing in the gallery. “Karl! Hey Karl you old bugger! Bring us some coffee.”

  There was still no response. “Silly old bugger! I wonder where he’s got to this time?” Henry said.

  Stephen had been watching the men’s faces and he noted that they looked very strained. ‘Young Hans doesn’t look at all happy,’ he thought, noting the man’s drawn, white face. To further disconcert them he called out, “You blokes should let us go. You can’t possibly get away with this. It is just murder. We have left letters and too many people know. The place will be swarming with coppers soon.”

  Theo strode over and smacked him hard on the face. “Shut up kid!” he shouted. Once again Stephen’s glasses were knocked awry and he had to nudge them back into place by using Peter’s shoulder. Graham had been brought up by then. As he was being bound Peter murmured, “Why do they have to dress up like this?”

  Tom answered that, loudly enough for the men to hear, “I suppose if they shoot us while wearing a uniform it will feel less like cold blooded murder.”

  Stephen saw that shaft go home. Anxiety flickered across several of the men’s faces. ‘Particularly young Hans there. I wonder if we can somehow use this to get free?’

  But his hopes were almost immediately dashed by the arrival of Jorgenson. The man still wore his black SS uniform and had a pistol holster on his hip. He began issuing rapid, crisp orders. The men still looked unhappy but they obeyed.

  “They are more scared of him than of the police,” Peter commented.

  The friends were then hustled out. The men grabbed their Mauser rifles or sub machine guns and each prisoner was pushed along by one of them. At the steel ladder in the pump room Theo and the older man, called George by someone, seized each boy by the shirt and hoisted him out. That hurt as they took no particular care and Stephen’s knees and ankles banged hard on the steel rim of the trapdoor opening.

  Outside it was cool and just starting to get light. The boys were led across to the south side of the turning circle so that the low ridge with the pill boxes on it was behind them. Four canvas tarpaulins lay on the ground and the boys were placed one to each. Graham was placed on the right, then Tom, Stephen and Peter. They stood in a line facing towards the creek. The men then stood in a nervous group over near the end of the dam, except Jorgenson, who kept striding up and down, glancing at his watch and smoking a cigarette, and young Hans who, with a Schmeisser, was detailed to guard the prisoners.

  Peter grunted. “Huh! Don’t we have to dig our own graves first?” he asked sarcastically.

  Young Hans shook his head and licked his lips nervously. “No. Your bodies are to be flown out over the sea and dumped.”

  ‘That’s what the tarpaulins are for,’ Stephen thought. It was such a shocking thought he had trouble standing, his legs feeling terribly weak. He was still having trouble accepting the reality of the situation and could only shake his head in disbelief and hope. He lifted his head to look at the sky, noted it was paling to light blue and shivered with fear. ‘Not long now!’ he thought miserably. The upper slopes of the mountain were already changing from a black-grey mass to take on pale browns and traces of green.

  The sound of a car came to them on the still morning air. Jorgenson threw down his cigarette and ground the butt under his boot heel. Tom murmured, “That bastard is enjoying this!”

  Jorgenson gave a crisp command and the men lined up. Young Hans trotted down to join them. They were called to attention and ordered to ‘slope arms’, then given ‘quick march’. When they were opposite the four boys Jorgenson ordered ‘halt’, ‘right turn’ and ‘order arms’.

  Graham forced a jeering laugh. “Their drill needs a bit more work!” he said loudly, the bitter sarcasm clear in his voice. As he had been the Sergeant Major of the cadet company the year before he was qualified to make the comment. Stephen noted several of the men look embarrassed as they carried out a ‘right dress’. Despite this he was impressed. In the half-light the uniforms and particularly the old style German steel helmets, gave them a sinister and efficient appearance.

  By then the vehicle, a white Mercedes, had come into sight around the end of the low ridge. It parked over near the creek and Potts and Dr List got out. Both still wore their uniforms. Jorgenson snapped orders and the guard ‘presented arms’. Potts and List both saluted, giving the raised right arm Nazi salute. Jorgenson then ordered the guard back down to attention. After an exchange of salutes with Jorgenson Potts moved over and inspected the firing squad. Dr List walked over to near the trapdoor and stared at the boys, his face a cynical mask.

  After the inspection was completed Potts and Jorgenson saluted again. “Carry on,” Potts ordered. He then walked over to stand at the side with Dr List. Jorgenson called Young Hans who trotted over with a cloth.

  “This one first,” Jorgenson said, pointing to Graham. The two men quickly blindfolded Graham.

  “They are going to shoot us one at a time,” Peter muttered.

  ‘Oh Christ!’ Stephen thought in anguish. ‘They are really going to do it!’ Now his knees began to knock together and nausea almost overwhelmed him.

  “They blindfold you so that the firing squad don’t have to look into your eyes,” Peter said loudly. Stephen saw all the men’s eyes flicker to Peter. He took that as his cue. He glared at the men and snarled, “Then I’ll come back and haunt the bastards so that they all go mad like old Karl.”

  “Shut up!” Snapped Jorgenson, slashing him across the face with the back of his hand, and again knocking his glasses awry.

  “Particularly you,” Stephen hissed.

  Jorgenson signalled to Young Hans and strode away to stand at the other end of the firing squad from Potts and Dr List. Stephen saw Potts nod and Jorgenson rapped out an order. The squad tossed their rifles up to the ‘port arms’ and worked the bolts to insert bullets into the breeches.

  ‘Oh God!’ Stephen thought, ‘this is it!’ He looked up and noted the first rays of sunlight lighting up the top of the mountain, edging it in pink and gold. The sheer beauty of it helped calm him. ‘Die like a man!’ he told himself as the next order brought the rifles up to aim at Graham.

  CHAPTER 36

  SUNRISE

  “Take aim!” Jorgenson cried.

  Stephen flinched and almost gagged with terror, even though the rifles were not yet aimed at him. At that moment the morning stillness was disturbed by the totally incongruous ringing of a mobile phone.

  As the familiar sound rang out Graham called, “That’ll be the phone!”

  Stephen glanced at him in total admiration. Graham stood straight, chin up and chest out, the only signs of nervousness being his fingers tightly gripped behind his back. Jorgenson growled, “Rest!” to the firing squad while he groped in his pocket for the offending phone. S
tephen saw a look of relief cross the faces of the firing squad as they lowered their rifles.

  Jorgenson placed the phone to his ear. “Jorgenson, what is it?”

  Stephen saw him nod and scowl, then he called across to Potts. “It’s Walters. He says that your father and Old Karl are coming up and to wait.”

  Potts swore and then shook his head. “Tell them to go back.”

  Jorgenson spoke on the phone, then shook his head again. “They have already left. They would not listen to him.”

  “Blast!” Potts swore. “Alright, we wait.”

  Jorgenson ordered the firing squad to put their safety catches on and to order arms. Stephen heard Graham mutter, “Bloody hell!” He glanced along and saw that Graham had begun to tremble. ‘Poor bugger!’ he thought. The tension was now so palpable that Stephen quivered and his mind raced.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle came to them and everyone glanced that way. Into sight through the scattered trees came an old half-ton utility. It was being driven very fast for the road conditions and Stephen saw and heard it bump heavily over several washouts and potholes. The vehicle came skidding to a halt on the track near the end of the firing squad.

  The following dust came swirling across the clearing, causing them all to mutter curses and to close their eyes. Through half-closed lids Stephen saw the doors open. From the driver’s side appeared Annalisa. She ran around the front of the utility and across past a startled Jorgenson.

  “Oh stop this!” she shouted. Her face registered horror and disbelief.

  Potts gaped in shocked surprise, then called, “Annalisa! Go back!”

  Annalisa ignored him and ran across the clearing to stand in front of Tom. “No! Stop this! You can’t do it! It is wrong!”

  “Annalisa! Get back from there,” Potts thundered.

  Annalisa was sobbing now. “No! Oh Daddy, how could you? I know the whole story now. Grandad told me.”

  She gestured towards the utility and Stephen saw that Old Karl, still in his Wermacht uniform but minus helmet, had climbed out and was helping Grandfather Potts to step down.