Opposite Sides (45 page)

“
Son?”

“
Your father
did serve near Bethune? Early seventeen?”

“
Yes, Herr
Herschel.” Hans was perplexed. It puzzled him as to how Herschel
had obtained such accurate information but then he realised his own
department was in a similar business.
Higher authorities had ways and methods of knowing
everything, about everything and everybody and the files in this
building must be very extensive
, Hans
thought as he only half-listened to what Herschel was
saying
.
He found
that he was beginning to lose the drift of the conversation,
especially as the Oberst mumbled to himself again and then just
sitting there, grinning and nodding over several silent
minutes.

“
Your father
. . . I may presume to address you as Erwin, Leutnant?” Hans did
not reply and Herschel did not expect such. He sucked in his
cheeks, then continued. “Your father was my commanding officer,”
Herschel explained. “We were both on the front together. Did you
know that?” Hans did not answer again. There was no point. Besides,
who was he to contradict this old soldier? Hans was only a boy at
the time and he knew very little of that war. The other continued,
“We were on a night attack when we were pinned down by enemy fire.
That was the night I ended up with this confounded back of mine.”
The old soldier massaged the stiff muscles either side of his
backbone. “The shelling was terrific that night. Hell on earth for
us, it was. When it stopped found that we were surrounded by
Tommies. Most of our immediate group had been killed but eight of
us survived in that trench. We were trapped just like rats. The
enemy had infiltrated our defences and there was nowhere to go. We
could have fought. We were willing to die for our Emperor but so
many bodies, blood and mud. We were half starving and exhausted.
Your father was a brave man, Resmel. Tried to give us hope when
there was none. We would have eaten our own bullets had they been
eatable.”

“
It must have
been terrible, Herr Oberst Herschel.”

Herschel’s eyes clouded
over, first with remembrance and then turning to anger, revenge and
full of hate. He picked up his pipe and banged it upside down but
it smoked no longer so he put it back.

“
Some bugger
shot your father. A sniper. We had surrendered. It was murder.
Anyone could see we had surrendered. It was murder. I saw
it!”

“
We were
never told. It only said killed in action. That was
all.”

“
Killed in
action!” Herschel spat the words out with disdain. “No. He was
walking forward and was demanding treatment for those who had been
badly wounded. No-one seemed to be listening. Didn’t want to. Don’t
think they knew what he was getting at. There was all this
shouting. Guns in hands. All the fear of the enemy as we looked him
in the eye. Then, your father reached for a note pad. Out of his
top pocket. A shot rang out and he fell. One of those bastards had
pulled the trigger. Just like that!”

Hans was stunned. If he
could believe what he had just heard, it came as a bitter blow. He
did not know how he should react in Herschel’s presence. A man like
him and with his connections, could prove to be dangerous if one
reacted in an unexpected way that cast doubt on his story. Hans
decided to remain silent and hope not to betray his thoughts.
Herschel face smiled but the staring eyes looked back into that
distant trench.

“
Don’t trust
the buggers, Erwin. Never trust them! And always look after your
back.”

He shook his head and
struggled with his stiff back to get out of his chair. As he walked
around the long edge of the table, Hans noted the man used a stick
and walked with a limp.

Herschel patted Hans on
his shoulder in a familiar way.

“
Sorry, to
have told you like that. But now you know. Your father was a good
soldier. Always thought of his men first. Not like some of the
officers we have round here. They’d not only let the common soldier
down but would sell their own grandmother for Reichsmarks if it
meant saving their own skin. Trust in no-one.” Oberst Herschel
sifted quickly through a pile of folders that had been piled up on
the table. He pulled one out and turned around on his cane. “Your
dossier. From what I’ve read, you are your father’s son. Respectful
in duty. That pleases me. I think you will be a perfect candidate
for SS Sturmbannführer Ott’s consideration. It may be to your
advantage to be introduced.”

“
But he’s an
SS officer. What would I have to do with him?” Hans thought it
strange that only a minute ago Herschel was warning him to be
vigilant and now, well, he wanted him to meet with a man from the
Secret Police.

Herschel did not answer
Hans’s question. Instead, he produced a small card and handed it
over. “That’s where to go. You can easily reach the building from
the U-Bahn.” He pointed to the card. “At that time: 10 hundred
hours. Be on time. Sturmbannführer Ott expects
punctuality.”

He raised himself up with
some difficulty and gave a military salute which, in turn, gave a
clear indication to Hans that the meeting was
terminated.

Hans returned the salute
with precision and then left. He wondered if Renard had anything to
do with his meeting with Ott but decided, probably not as his
brother was too far away. He was somewhere Mid-Atlantic in a U-boat
hunting for British ships. His job was to sink the ships before
they could replenish the Mother Country with food and
ammunition.

No
, Dr Goebbles told them,
Britain could never win with such odds stacked
against her, and she would be strangled her into submission as ship
after ship was sent to the depths of the Atlantic. All the might of
the German
armed forces, with their
excellent-trained and well-equipped troops, would soon be marching
all across Europe
.
This was to be Germany’s finest hour.

Hans had enough time time
left to pay a quick visit to his uncle and aunt. On his way, he
bought a newspaper not far from the corner of Friederichstrasse.
The headlines blazoned over the front page talked of a defiant
Britain. Hans began reading the article as he waited for a tram. It
was full of stories telling about the Luftwaffe attacks over
London.

Britain had
constantly disregarded the
Führer’s
continued offers of peace and now it was time for the British to
see how foolish they had been to ignore such offers . .
.

He heard the whine of the
tram come nearer and the clang just prior to winding its engine
down as it came closer the stop. As usual, it was crowded. There
was a mixture of people on board: some in uniforms, a few in town
coats and black hats, most likely bankers or those in reserved
occupations, elderly people too old to have been sent to the front
or drafted into the forces. He noticed a number of young mothers
who were still standing in the isle, their gloved fingers wrapped
tightly around the bars on the backs of seats together with one or
two shy children who were valiantly hanging on to their mother’s
coat hems for safety.

Hans validated his ticket
and elbowed a path part way down the compacted isle. There was
already a mixture of uniforms: mainly army but some from the
Kriegmarine. Just as the tram was about to move off, several men
who had not been enlisted, stood and proffered their seat to those
mothers with the youngest children. The tram lurched forward and
gathered speed like a gallopping horse, forcing Hans to make a grab
for the back of a seat before he lost his balance. He noticed that
the baby-faced young man in the smart SS uniform who had been
standing beside him was now sitting. Someone had given up their
seat for him. That was the way things were now. He rolled the
newspaper and stuffed it into his deep coat pocket. Twenty minutes
to reach the stop nearest Uncle Karl.

“
That
Propaganda Minister has been on the radio for hours.” Uncle Karl
sounded disgruntled. “Damn them for interrupting the football
finals. I will never know the result now.”

“
Sorry about
that,” Hans mumbled.

Aunt Laura came in to the
room with a pile of plates.

“
Hello Erwin.
I did not know you were coming.” She was pleased to see her nephew
again. “Pass that mat would you, Karl. You should have telegraphed
or sent a note, Erwin.”

“
No time,
aunty.”

“
Could you
put out the cutlery, Karl. Need not bother about Axel. He won’t be
in until later. Busy at the office. Oh, put the breadboard over
there.” As Uncle Karl reached round for the dresser drawer, Aunt
Laura spoke once more to Hans. “Would you like to join us? I do
have spare today.”

“
Thank you
but no. I have a train to catch shortly and I can get a bite at the
station.”

“
You will
need to show your food ticket. Nothing is as easy these days. There
are some things that are becoming difficult to buy. Sure I can’t
tempt you?”

“
No,
really,
Tante
. I
will be fine.”

Aunt Laura went back into
the kitchen. He could hear the banging of pots and pans.

“
That man can
talk!” Uncle Karl slammed each knife and fork down on to the table.
“Now he says that the Führer has agreed to send bombers over to
Britain. Have you heard anything about that?”

Hans took the rolled up
newspaper out of his pocket and laid it on the table just in front
of his uncle.

“
I don’t need
to tell you. Read about it. It’s all in there. If you can believe
what you read.”

Uncle Karl lowered his
voice and leant across the table. Even though they were the only
two in the room, he spoke just above a whisper so that Hans could
barely hear.

“
Careful what
you say, Erwin. Careless talk. Too many ears listening for any
indiscretions. The stooges are everywhere and even with Renard’s
connections you may not be safe. Keep your thoughts to yourself if
you want to survive this war. The authorities are very touchy and
as you are someone who has lived overseas, you are likely to be
watched more closely. So, I say again and again: always be on your
guard.”

“
I have
already realised that, uncle. I’ll say no more.”

The conversation ended as
quickly as it had started. Uncle Karl picked up the newspaper and
put it on the middle of his chair cushion.

“
I will read
that later.”

Aunt Laura brought in a
pot of steaming food. She looked quizzically at her husband and the
to Hans.

“
What were
you talking about just then?” She began to spoon out the contents
of the pot. Uncle Karl smiled and picked up his fork.

“
Nothing of
interest, my dear. Erwin was just remarking how cold it has been
today. He said the trams and trains were crowded today when he came
in to the station. Other than that, everything is exactly as it
should be.”

Uncle Karl winked at
Hans. His aunt saw nothing. As the pair began to eat, Hans replaced
his hat and bid them farewell. He did not know when he would be
able to call in next.

The
hostilities had been going on for almost a year. There had been no
more letters from across the Channel so Hans had no idea how the
Turner household was faring. Every day over the airwaves came
reports of wave after wave of bombers crossing the Channel in the
attempt to destroy the fighting capabilities of the British nation.
When daytime bombing had little effect, Goering switched his
bombers to making night raids and targeting London. Night after
night, planes thundered out into the dark skies and headed
north-west to deliver their devastating cargoes. The wireless
broadcasts as well as the
Berliner
Zeitung
constantly
reported how effective the Luftwaffe’s nightly raids on Mr
Churchill’s war-making factories were and how, very soon, probably
by the end of the year, England would be so weakened that she would
have to give in. During one of the army briefings, officers were
told that an invasion could easily take place within the next few
months.

However, during the night
of August 23rd, the Luftwaffe missed their factory targets and
dropped their bombs on a row of sleeping houses.

The following evening, a
low-pitched hum announced, not the return of their own aircraft,
but the arrival of the retaliation. For several successive nights,
the sirens sounded in Berlin as frightened people sat in cellars or
sought refuge in some of the close underground stations. All
through the night, the noise of anti-aircraft fire and exploding
bombs resounded across the city. The unthinkable had happened. The
citizens of Berlin found they were just as vulnerable as those in
London. On that first night several important buildings had been
destroyed and several hundred people had lost their houses. The war
had come to Germany.

After a
terrifying night listening to the constant whine and renting
explosions around them, Karl and Laura Kl
ö
n crawled out of their cellar and
tried to carry on as usual. When Uncle Karl switched on the radio,
the angry voice of his Führer screamed out his message for
revenge: