Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2) (12 page)

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

General Heinz Lammerding held his head in his hands as he shuffled reports around on the antique desk. All bad news, he thought as he slowly shook his head. He pawed through a couple of sheets, catching a phrase or word here and there. It didn’t help. The bad news remained the same. He finally gave in to the inevitability of it all. He grabbed a cigarette from a wooden box on the desk. He spun in his chair and looked out the tall windows behind him and out onto the manicured lawns. He would miss the beautiful Chateau he had commandeered when he arrived in France. A regular army Colonel moved out without a word of protest. After all, he was a general and led the infamous
Das Reich
division. Its status was legendary. This makes carrying out my plan that much easier, he thought.

He’d known for a long time, starting during his posting at the Russian front, that Germany wouldn’t win the war. Once the Nazi advance into Russia had been stalled, there seemed to be an ever-increasing number of Red Army soldiers pushing them back towards Germany. His troops had endured months of cold stalemate punctuated by periods of chaos. His men were hard and callous and saw little distinction between combatants and civilians. One of his elite regiments,
der Fuhrer,
was particularly savage. Things were different on the Russian front, desperate and brutal. There were no rules of war and people died. He hoped that the relocation from the front would calm his men’s frazzled nerves and restore at least part of them to a more civilized state. He didn’t envy the Allied generals preparing to throw green men into the Atlantic wall against seasoned veterans. His
Das Reich
SS would chew into them like the starving wolves of winter they were, he thought, a grim smile on his face.

As he smoked, he thought about the heady days at the beginning of the war and how the German
Blitzkrieg
onslaught overpowered the enemy. Initially he had been in favor of at least repatriating German lands sacrificed in the armistice following the First World War. He supported some acquisition of additional territories, but knew it was arrogant and disastrous to have attacked Russia. Hitler had been intoxicated with victory and believed his own propaganda. The disorganized rabble that had been the Russian army melded into an astonishingly brutal and determined steel-hard wall of hate. It pushed relentlessly to drive Germany from Russian soil. Stalin spent any number of men to achieve victory. His generals carried out his commands with religious fervor. Their sheer numbers would ensure victory. Even women served and fought. Many were the best snipers Stalin commanded.

On the other side of the channel the indomitable British, now fortified by the United States, prepared for invasion. Field Marshal Ernst Rommel had personally seen to the fortification of the Atlantic wall. His preparations were so awe inspiring that they led to the term, ‘Fortress Europe.’ The defenses were impressive but Lammerding knew they couldn’t hold forever. He had seen firsthand the courage of American soldiers in the first war. They were coming, these sons of the men he had faced at the Marne. In addition to their bravery, they fought with a conviction that they couldn’t be defeated. American courage always flirted with reckless abandonment. They were well provisioned and believed in the cause of freedom. It would be one hell of a fight, and the pivotal battle of the Twentieth Century, he thought, grinding out his cigarette.

Lammerding stood and walked over to a sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee, glancing into the mirror on the wall. It was an act of reassurance and a justification for his criminal behavior. He had managed, with the help of a couple of his most trusted officers, to divert some gold headed for the coffers of the Third Reich. He didn’t care that it had been stolen from the French people; to the victors went the spoils. It had been that way since Roman times; the adage attributed to Rome’s conquering legions. There had been such large scale looting throughout the war that his little nest egg seemed modest in comparison. How many others had fortunes waiting in Swiss accounts to ease their disappointment at the prospect of the loss of another war? Why shouldn’t I have some? he thought.

His stash had grown to approximately half a ton. His orders had been to use whatever means necessary to disrupt Resistance efforts. That meant the terror tactics he employed without hesitation. The orders gave him freedom to collect as many valuables as possible, and he liked gold. Gold, you could spend anywhere. Jewels required appraisals and questions and negotiations. Gold was worth what the world market dictated.

Eventually, he had been satisfied with what he had collected. His fellow SS officers had been hedging their bets all over the European theater. There was hidden gold, precious art and antiquities everywhere. His would be hidden where he could easily get to it, not at the bottom of some lake or the Mediterranean. The deed was done. All he had to do now was get the gold to Zurich. All of the necessary arrangements had been made. Capture meant summary execution, although he was confident punishment would be forestalled until after the invasion. He smiled at the thought. He couldn’t claim that the gold had fallen into enemy hands or had been lost during battle. His excuse would be that he had moved the gold to Switzerland for safekeeping. Of course he should have moved it to Germany, where he was sure it would be “redirected” into the hands of others, meaning that he’d keep none. It was worth the risk involved. He had lived with the specter of death in two wars, and now as a General commanded by a lunatic. Besides, he told Hitler what he wanted to hear and avoided any contact with those who conspired against the madman. No, he would not be caught. His junior officers would never reveal anything. More than likely, if anyone got too close or suspected the truth, they would be killed. He felt a little like Roman generals of old, operating with a degree of impunity afforded by the command and loyalty of thousands of soldiers.

Lammerding paced around the ornate room, his mind shifting from issue to issue. The real question was how to move the gold? The old tactician in him knew that the time to do it was when the invasion started. Everyone would be moving at top speed towards the fighting. That would be a perfect time to send his gold in the other direction. He and his men would stay and fight while one of his officers took the gold to the railroad station and sent it to Switzerland disguised as documents. His agents in Switzerland would offload the gold and spirit it away into the impenetrable darkness of the Swiss banking system. They would be well compensated with more than enough for a life of ease after this madness was over.

When it seemed that surrender was unavoidable, he would slip away from the fighting. He would make sure that he and his men were as far away from Russian troops as possible. His retirement didn’t include torture and an indefinite stay in a Russian Gulag. He would slip away just prior to surrender and make his way to South America, beyond the reach of extradition or discovery. He would be comfortable with his young wife and his gold. He had been making careful preparations for her departure. Planning was one of his strengths. All he had to do now was wait. Patience was another attribute learned in the trenches and in the snow of the Russian front. Never be in a hurry when you could avoid it. Haste usually meant mistakes. He picked up the phone and put the plan into action.

At the other end of the line, Major Kampfe listened intently to his general’s instructions. He had taken orders from this man for so long that he followed them without question. He had an additional motivation for following the general’s orders but would have carried them out whether he got a cut of the gold or not. The pay was a bonus, the general had privately explained, and he had assured the major that he would certainly earn it when the Americans came.

Kampfe smiled as he placed the phone back in its cradle. He knew he was getting the assignment because the General trusted him, and he had collected a large amount of the gold himself. It was an effective tactic to keep people in line and the fear of assisting the Resistance very real in their minds. Any infraction was met with execution in as public a manner as possible. He felt justified to do whatever was necessary to further the Nazi cause. He had recently intensified his efforts at the direction of the General and collected even more gold. Every soldier expected invasion soon and the window of opportunity was closing daily. The General confided in him that he was in possession of additional gold that was given to him for safekeeping. He wondered if that had been the General’s biased version of events, but Kampfe didn’t care; he would share in the spoils. Besides, who was going to question the motives of the commander of an entire division with the reputation
Das Reich
enjoyed? Their real weapons were brutality and fear. He scoffed; this was nothing compared to what had happened in Russia. He wasn’t about to fight every dirty French peasant with a pitchfork that got a dose of bravery once the Allies invaded. He felt contempt for them. They were like sheep, conquered and subject to the will of the Third Reich. He had personally overseen the execution of any who had offered even the slightest resistance. He felt no remorse killing young or old. Fear was his ally and he would exploit it to its greatest advantage.

Sitting in the small room that served as his office, Kampfe considered what the General had told him. The plan was simple, mark the gold containers as ‘records’ and put them on the convoy headed towards the front, then spirit them away at the opportune moment to a nearby railroad station and put them on a train bound for Zurich. As for his role, a more important part of the plan was to survive the battle and live to enjoy his share. He wondered whether he should tell his friend, Major Diekmann, about the specifics of the general’s plans. No, he thought. If the General wanted Diekmann to know he would tell him personally. Diekmann was his friend and a man of unwavering loyalty to the Reich. He was a member of the elite
der Fuhrer
regiment. Diekmann was brutal to the enemy, civilian and soldier alike, but brave and resolute when it came to the concerns of the Division. Kampfe had shared with Diekmann many a leave and uncounted bottles of whatever was handy. Perhaps Diekmann liked his drink a little more than was appropriate but it had never interfered with his command duties.

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

“The
der Fuhrer
regiment, Horsty? You think they have something to do with stolen gold?” Willi asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette as Stenger drove along the steep winding road.

“Willi, it doesn’t matter who. We are definitely not going to solve this one anyway.” Stenger smiled at his friend.

“Now, that’s an investigation I can sink my teeth into, sir,” Willi said as he laughed and threw Stenger a partial salute about waist high.

“We ask a few questions. Demonstrate monumental investigative incompetence and stay out of the damn way when the doughboys hit the beach.”

“Is there much Resistance activity in the area?”

“Not much that I’ve heard about. But once the invasion begins, everyone will claim to be a Resistance fighter. Many may actually join the fight.”

Willi was quiet for a moment and then quietly said, “Think she’ll be there, Horst?”

Stenger was surprised by Willi’s shift from his usual carefree attitude to the serious way he asked the question. The episode with the beautiful assassin had more of an effect on him than Willi let on.

“I don’t know, Willi. I don’t know what to say. She’s not what she seems. Granted, she’s a highly skilled killer. But she isn’t a murderer.”

“I know it’s best not to talk about it, even when we’re alone, but we have interfered with the Gestapo and the French Vichy
Milice
police squads and their wholesale internment of Jews. Anyone finds out and we get shot,” Willi said with a hint of uncharacteristic concern.

“So we redirected a few trains and took custody of some Jewish “criminals” out of their hands. Anyone with any compassion at all would have done the same thing.”

“There’s that and warning Jewish families ahead of time. But I guess we got away with it, Horsty. Just like I avoided the Angel’s bullet. That was undoubtedly the strangest experience of my life. I was completely helpless. It felt like I was being judged and I passed the test.”

“I think that’s exactly what happened. I guess you’re not such a bad man after all. Besides, I have always said, any man whose cousins own a brewery can’t be all bad.”

“I hope it’s all there after the war,” Willi said.

“Pilots don’t bomb breweries. That is a known fact,” Stenger answered.

Willi laughed and smiled, happy as always to be with Stenger. He was as smart as they came. Horst would see the two of them through this war as well. He had been happy to participate in Stenger’s humanitarian efforts. They had tacitly agreed that saving one innocent life was more important than catching a thousand criminals. Stenger was a policeman through and through. He truly believed his responsibility was to protect and serve the people, all people.

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

Madeleine sat next to a radio in a weathered shack. The building barely held together as the bleached boards of the walls settled beneath the incessant beating of the sun and the winter snows. It was probably an old shepherd’s hut, working its way into a pile of useless lumber. She rarely came to this location. It was the impending invasion that drew her away from the south and towards the north.. Still, the location was remote and the countryside beautiful in spring. It was her favorite time of the year, the rebirth and renewal of the land and a reminder that all things change.

She had been ordered to move north several days ago. Her location was within striking point of numerous reserve German troops. Only a very few among the Allied command knew the exact location of the invasion. She had her own ideas but tried to stay as close to the middle of the country as possible so that she could react and go towards the main invasion wherever it came. It could happen on any of the coasts, but logistics favored the north. She already knew her orders. They were to create as much chaos as possible. She would target the movement of troops and supplies.

She turned the dial to the appropriate setting and listened. Her attention to her orders was always intense, but now she was waiting for an announcement of the impending invasion. Thousands in the Resistance waited anxiously for the coded messages specific to their individual groups. Only she knew her code. She listened at the same time each day and grew increasingly tense when the message didn’t come. I have to remember the others need the invasion worse that I do. There are untold numbers of civilians, Jews and ‘undesirables’ waiting in concentration camps of unspeakable horror, along with anyone the Nazis deem inferior, including homosexuals, gypsies, communists, and so many others from the far reaches of Europe. Their suffering was beyond description. But yet she couldn’t help but feel entitled to some happiness. She had done her duty and beyond. She had silently killed so many who had tried to capture Jewish families hidden in France. She’d killed French collaborators who had denounced or exposed them for personal gain. The traitors wailed the most, begging for their lives as Madeleine came down on them with vengeance. She afforded them their pleas and then executed them for their crimes. Evil knows no nationality. Harm the innocent and suffer the consequences.

Madeleine stood up and paced as much as her cramped surroundings allowed. She would have been happy to sit in the sunshine and wait for the broadcast but couldn’t stand being more than a few feet from the radio. Its antennae were already set and she didn’t want to have to move it. She knew that once the invasion came, news would travel in an unstoppable wave. France would then come alive again. Her warriors would rise up and fight in one last desperate surge to drive out the enemy.

Madeleine froze as the crackle of the radio signal broke into words.

“The dog ate the cheese, the dog ate the cheese.” She lurched towards the radio, her face inches from the speaker. “The dog ate the cheese.” She did not have to hear it again, she leapt to her feet, laughing and crying at the same time. That was her signal. The one she had chosen, remembering a little dog that she and her brother had brought home from the beach one day, begging their parents to let them keep him. He could not have been a worse pet for a restaurant family. The damn thing ate everything he could find. She smiled, remembering her father’s response, which was to feed the dog so that he got so fat he couldn’t jump up on the counter or tables anymore. It all hit her at once. She would see her parents and Jack again.

Madeleine laughed. “Don’t spend all your energy on the Germans, Jack Teach,” she whispered as she sat down to control the roar of her emotions. She needed time to think.

Madeleine walked out of the little shed and into the late afternoon sunshine. It would be time to move soon. Word would come when the Allies landed. She would stop as many Germans as she could from getting to the fighting. In the confusion she could operate with greater speed. Now they will see what the Angel of Death can do out of the shadows and in the light, she thought. Her hands shook as she fumbled with a packet of cigarettes and lit one in celebration. If I survive the fighting I’ll remember this day my whole life. I want love, family, and a home, all of the things that I’ve been fighting for. My promise to Yves will be fulfilled when France is free, and that day is coming.