The Invasion of 1950 (22 page)

“I know what you are thinking,” Skorzeny said, calmly. Philby jumped as the commando’s face came closer to this own. “You’re wondering if you can take us to the nearest army post and betray us, hoping to save your neck from the hangman’s noose. I don’t think that that would be a very good idea, Philby; your actions ensured the deaths of thousands of people in the Royal Navy and cleared the way for our invasion. You spied for us; once they finish laughing at you, you’ll be hung from the neck until you are dead.”

His hand stroked Philby’s neck; Philby flinched away, but didn’t dare lift a hand to brush Skorzeny away. “And that would be a great shame,” Skorzeny said. The touch of his hand was somehow soft yet threatening, crushing Philby’s soul as it moved around his vulnerable neck, reminding him that he could be killed by a single blow. “You have nowhere to go now, nowhere but the
Reich
. Your services have earned you a place in Germany, if you are prepared to help us now.”

Philby struggled, looking for an escape, but he couldn’t see one – apart from suicide. Skorzeny was right; if he were caught, the enormity of his crimes would ensure that he was tried in a secret session, then hung and his body buried somewhere without a marker. He
hated
the
Reich
, detested it and all it stood for, and he had worked faithfully to bring about its end…unaware that he had really been helping his ideological enemy. Hot tears stung his eyes as he started to shake; Skorzeny snorted in disgust and half-turned away, sparing Philby the sight of his smile.

He finally forced himself to speak, blinking away tears. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, for the moment, I want you to play host to us,” Skorzeny said, easily. “There are six of us, but this house has quite enough room for us all, and I’m sure someone as well-connected as yourself can get enough ration cards to get the food to feed us without problems.”

Philby shuddered. “I can’t…”

“Of course you can,” Skorzeny said. “You’ve lived a double-life for so long that you don’t even remember how to be a normal person. How much did you enjoy the feeling of having put one over your employers? You were the perfect loyal British citizen in the daytime, but at night, you spied for the
Reich
, thinking you were serving the
Rodina
. You will have no problems at all feeding us.”

He leaned closer and produced a knife, holding it to Philby’s throat. “You may still be thinking of betraying us,” he warned, his voice darkening. “You could, I admit, run to the barracks and call out the militia. But believe me, if you did that, you would be hung by your own people or killed by me personally.”

Skorzeny said, “Your choice, if you want to remain alive, is no choice at all; you will help me and support us in our operations.”

“Fine,” Philby burst out, bitterly. The sense of submission was too bitter for him to taste. Skorzeny’s jeering face pushed at him in truly terrifying ways. He was starting to wonder if Skorzeny was even human; he’d heard strange tales of experimentations and disgusting medical procedures from the east, supervised by the eerie figure of Doctor Josef Mengele. “I’ll do what you say, provided I get something in Berlin.”

Skorzeny smiled, cat-like. “And what do you want in Berlin?”

“I want a place to live, some freedom, and no more work,” Philby said. He’d surrendered, he realised grimly; all he could do now was sell out for the best price he could get. The Germans would be able to compensate him for his woes; the other Cambridge Spies could take care of themselves. “I need something in return for my efforts.”

Skorzeny nodded. “That won’t be a problem,” he said. He managed a reassuring smile that somehow managed to be the most terrifying facial expression he had yet produced, unsettling and somehow mocking at the same time. “Once you get to Berlin, your usefulness will come to an end, one way or the other.”

Felixstowe, England

The knock on the door made Gregory Davall
’s blood run cold; he’d been half-expecting it since the Germans had occupied the town an hour ago. He had watched through the windows as German soldiers, their uniforms and rank tabs identifying them as SS paramilitary occupation forces, marched through the town, showing a terrifying amount of discipline. The young men, physically perfect, all bearing the same expressionless face, had shown themselves to the townspeople, in what Davall knew to be an attempt to intimidate the British into submission.

“Stay here,” he hissed at Kate, wondering if he should try and make his escape. The Grey Wolves had been ordered to remain undercover for the first hours of the invasion, but he had a particular instruction he needed to carry out, one that would depend on remaining unsuspected by the Germans. He hadn’t been too impressed with what he’d seen of the British Eastern Command during his training; he wouldn’t have put it past them for the files containing his name and details to have fallen into German hands. They would certainly want to round the Grey Wolves up before they could cause trouble.

The knock was repeated as he reached the door and opened it, revealing the face of one of the town’s policemen, not the one who knew about the Grey Wolves. It would be difficult to carry out his orders without being detected by the Germans. It all depended on how much supervision they intended to develop over the town; the police would have orders to cooperate on a limited basis, in hopes of avoiding a direct German occupation. The Germans would be far harsher than anything the British could do.

“Mr Davall,” the policeman said, his voice strange in his ears. He was trying to remain firm and controlled, but Davall could hear the sick note of fear and desperate concern under his voice. “You and your family are ordered to present themselves at the Town Square at noon to hear a proclamation from the occupation authorities. I must warn you that failing to show yourself may result in arrest and possible detention.”

“I understand,” Davall said, keeping his voice calm. The Germans would want to ensure that everyone got the message. “We’ll see you there.”

He closed the door in the policeman’s face and walked back into the kitchen. “It doesn’t look as if we have any choice, but to go,” he said, to Kate. Her eyes went wide with fear; she’d crawled into the basement with him as the sounds of fighting had grown louder, holding James in her arms and almost squeezing him to death. “I think it’s going to be all right.”

Kate was smart enough – she’d been born the daughter of a fisherman – to know when he was trying to reassure her. “You’d best be careful,” she said, taking hold of him and pulling him to her. “I don’t want to lose you as well.”

Davall held Kate’s hand firmly – she held James in her other arm – as they emerged from the house just before noon. Their neighbours – some of them friends, some of them people they barely knew – all shared the same expression; fear. Looking at them, Davall suspected that the Germans had already won half the battle; the people were defeated, trying to avoid the gaze of their new masters. He tried to muster an encouraging smile as he met the eyes of people he knew, but as they walked onwards, he started to feel it himself, a sickening dread deep in the pit of his stomach. The Grey Wolves had thought they’d known what being occupied meant, he realised, but they hadn’t had the slightest real understanding.

The town square was just in front of a grassy park, a place where children and teenagers had used to play; he remembered that a group of schoolchildren had played football there yesterday, one of them accidentally breaking a window with a mistimed kick. There were still children now, joined by their parents and relatives, watched by blank-faced Germans who showed no sign of even recognising that the British existed. The civilians slunk around the sentries, a defeated people trying to avoid the notice of their victors, and joined the milling crowd in the park.

Davall kept his face expressionless as he took in the sight. The Mayor was fond of hectoring people from the steps of the Town Hall; now, there were two heavy machine guns set up around the building, and hundreds of German soldiers standing in position, their eyes missing nothing. A large red flag hung from the Town Hall pole, flapping listlessly in the breeze, but revealing just enough of itself to prove that it was a Nazi flag. The black crooked cross was all too clear.

A Swastika
, Davall thought, and shuddered.

Precisely at noon, a German mounted the podium and peered down at the crowd. Davall disliked him on sight; he had a pinched, sallow face with eyes that suggested a touch of jaundice. His black uniform drank in the sunlight; he showed no visible reaction to the occasional bursts of gunfire that rang out in the distance, sending shock-waves of fear through the crowd.

“Thank you for coming,” the German said with what felt like inane politeness. He spoke perfect English, with just a hint of upper-class in his voice; it made Davall wonder if some of the rumours about members of the aristocracy coming to terms with the Germans were actually true. The BBC hadn’t made any broadcast in the morning; they’d listened for a signal. “This town is now under the control of the
Greater German Reich
, operating under the authority of the
Fuhrer
. I advise you to listen carefully and heed my words.

“For the time being, we intend to leave you as undisturbed as possible,” he continued. Davall felt Kate’s hand tightening on his hand. “However, I must inform you that any attempt to interfere with our activities, report our activities to any enemies of the
Reich
, or to carry out anything we feel is designed to hamper our efforts will meet with the severest punishment under German military law. Specifically, depending upon the severity of the offence, punishment will either consist of a long stay in a work camp on the continent or death by firing squad. These sentences are fixed and there is no appeal.

“We must therefore insist that you hand over all weapons and radio transmitters, immediately,” he continued. “If anyone is found in possession of a weapon after today, it will be taken as a sign of your active participation in an insurgent group and you will be severely punished. All citizens will register with the local SS office as soon as one is established, whereupon you may continue with your lives or apply for well-paid work assisting the German forces.

You may not leave this area without permission and if you are caught trying to do so, it will result in the severest punishment. Any action taken to harass the occupying forces, regardless of its nature, will result in the severest of punishments. Any member of the British Army, Home Guard, or volunteer forces caught within the occupied zone who does not make themselves known to the occupation forces will incur the severest punishment.”

Davall watched him as he spoke, adding more crimes that would face the severest of punishments, and felt a cold wellspring of fear in his heart. The German was trying to sound as if he cared about the people, and was only trying to act on their behalf, but there was something in the way he breathed the word ‘punishment’ that suggested that something wasn't quite right with his head. He didn’t look that healthy; was he suffering from an inferiority complex, or did he have some disease?

“In the long term, we expect that this town will become a peaceful and productive part of the
Reich
,” the German concluded. “You will have access to the ports on the other side of the Channel and your people will be in a good position to make business contacts in the
Reich
that will bring new prosperity to this town. We ask only that you obey our laws and prevent any of your fellows from causing trouble. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them.”

The townspeople dispersed slowly, some talking in whispers, others trying to escape the Germans as fast as they could; they would be running if the crowd had allowed them passage. Davall found himself looking at the German vehicles and wondering how large a Molotov cocktail would be required to damage them.  A PIAT might be required to damage the heavy vehicles; bullets would just glance off them as they advanced towards the shooters. The Germans had done well to show off their weapons to the British civilians; they wanted to make the veiled threat very clear.

Kate tugged at his arm and he allowed her to lead him away from the square, pausing only to pick up one of the leaflets the Germans had given to a group of children to disperse. The leaflet reflected an odd sense of German priorities, ranging from a repeat of their instructions to turn in all guns and radio transmitters, to setting a sunset curfew; anyone found on the streets after dark would be arrested and – as he had expected – severely punished. The leaflets wouldn’t even be good for wiping his behind; he could only hope that they had taken up space on a German ship that could have housed some ammunition or a few dozen German soldiers. The Germans themselves were patrolling vigorously, small groups walking down the centre of the road in perfect step, ignoring the British citizens.