Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2) (16 page)

BOOK: Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2)
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.

CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE

“Major Diekmann, wake up, sir. I have the General on the phone,” a young soldier said, carefully shaking his Major’s shoulder. Diekmann groaned and tried to roll over. The soldier wrinkled his nose as the smell of stale alcohol and a very late night rose up from the crumpled Diekmann.

“Major,” the soldier almost shouted. “The General!”

Diekmann’s eyes slammed open. All at once clues as to who he was and where he was came rushing through his hangover and into his mind.

“The General? I’m on leave. We don’t move out for two days.”

“He is fit to be tied, Major. He is screaming much more than talking.”

Diekmann suddenly focused on an emotion rattling around in his fuzzy, alcohol-clouded mind. He had less respect for Lammerding than some of the other command officers. He was damned if he was going to be jerked around by that blow hard. Diekmann had his own connections on the General Staff.

“Diekmann,” he muttered into the phone his orderly handed him, holding his head in his other hand.

“Where the hell have you been, Diekmann? I have been calling for hours!

“I am on leave, sir, and have been here all morning.” Diekmann’s orderly handed him a cup of coffee. As he drank from the cup he listened to the General keep up his rant. Knowing that he wasn’t expected to speak he placed his hand over the receiver.

“Claus, did the General call before?”

“No sir, the phones were down. This was the first call that came through.”

“Some sweetener in your coffee, sir?” Claus held out a flask of the powerful local brandy and poured some into the Major’s coffee. He had been with Diekmann long enough to know it was best to maintain the man’s blood alcohol level. He was mean enough even when drinking.

“You are a good man, Claus,” Diekmann said gesturing with his cup. He put his ear back to the phone, noticing the pitch of the General’s voice drop a bit.”

“You there, Diekmann?”

“Yes.”

“Kampfe is missing and so is our gold.”

“What! How did you let that happen?” Diekmann shouted.

“Remember who you’re talking to, Major,” Lammerding shot back.

“That really won’t matter if this is discovered, General, now will it?” Diekmann shouted back.

“Just get dressed. We need answers.”

The phone was slammed down in Diekmann’s ear. Kampfe taken, he thought. That was his most immediate concern. Kampfe was his friend, and he was worried. Find Kampfe and maybe we find the gold, he considered. Either way he knew the best way to get to the bottom of the disappearance: start shooting people and see who talks. He gulped down his coffee and yelled for another cup as he pulled on his pants and boots.

“Nice way to finish my leave,” he muttered, the brandy starting to take the edge off his blasting headache. Time to shoot some terrorists, he thought to himself. Maybe this day won’t be so bad after all.

.

CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO

Kampfe and Gerlach sat in the basement of a small farmhouse. Their hands and feet were tied. They spoke in whispers.

“We might as well try to escape, Victor. It’s unlikely that they’re going to trade us for Resistance prisoners,” Kampfe said plainly. To Gerlach’s surprise, Kampfe was massaging his wrists. He had managed to wriggle out of the knots securing his hands.

“How did you do that?” came Gerlach’s incredulous reply.

“These men are amateurs. When my hands were being tied they should have checked them more closely. It took a while but they’re free now,” Kampfe grunted as he worked on the ropes around his ankles. Once free, he crawled over to Gerlach and undid the knots on his hands.

“The longer we wait, the more likely there won’t be an exchange. This war is quickly moving to the north. There’s little to gain from concentrating on terrorist activity once our reinforcements arrive at the front. The move starts today. The convoy will need refueling along the way and I’m sure it will be harassed. That’s when the terrorists will hit us.” Kampfe said, slowly standing trying to work circulation back into his limbs.

Gerlach nodded slowly, “Do you have a plan, sir?”

“Next time someone comes down, we jump them. We’ll pretend we’re still tied up. Once they enter the room, we’ll make our move. The less sound we make, the better. We can’t be sure how many men are upstairs. They aren’t soldiers. They’ve never been in combat. They’ll hesitate, I promise you. Then we overpower and disarm them. After that, we make our way upstairs and escape. Surprise is on our side. My guess is that they’ll bring some kind of evening meal. You can rely on the French to feed you, even if you’re the enemy. We still control this part of the country.”

“How many men do you think are guarding us?”

“I’ve been listening as people come and go upstairs. I think there might be three or four men. Once we get outside, go in separate directions. It’ll confuse them.”

Three men sat at a table above the German officers.

“It’s quiet down there. What do you think they’re doing?”

“Sitting and waiting like us,” the eldest, Marcel Agard, said.

“I think they should be shot. They’re SS; you know what they’ve been doing around here.”

“Philip, we’ve been told to hold them. We should be able to do that. Two unarmed men, tied hand and foot. How hard can that be? What do you want to do, shoot them while they’re tied up? If they’re going to be shot it won’t be because you want to,” Agard said.

Philip grunted. He was nervous and not used to holding German officers prisoner. If they were discovered, the penalty would be swift. He had seen more than one Frenchman put against the wall and shot. Everyone knew the risks. He had been involved in Resistance activities, but always from the shadows. Their actions had been emboldened by the invasion. Things were becoming much more like open warfare, and that was new territory for him. He was a small town maintenance worker, not a soldier. None of the men had any combat experience. They were brave but untested in battle.

“Philip, since you’re so worried, you and Charles can go down and check on them,” Marcel said.

Both men got up and picked up the shotguns leaning against a wall next to the kitchen table they were sitting around. They was a loud scraping of chairs and eventually heavy footsteps as they walked down the narrow staircase to the cellar. The men walked through the doorway and saw the two soldiers on either side of the room.

“Check his legs,” Philip said gesturing to the first man.

Kampfe watched as Charles leaned down and reached out to check his ropes. The cellar was dark and Charles wanted to do a hands-on inspection. As soon as his head was in range, Kampfe struck. He swung the rope that had previously bound his hands around the man’s neck. Gerlach acted just as fast. Kampfe pulled his man down, tightening the rope. Charles gurgled and clawed desperately at the rope but his efforts were useless. Kampfe glanced over at Gerlach doing the same thing to Philip, abruptly twisting the man’s head, breaking his neck. It was over. It had only taken a couple of minutes to finish the job. Kampfe motioned to the weapons and put a finger to his lips. Both men checked the shotguns for ammunition and walked up the stairs as if they were the two men returning. They paused at the top and burst into the room both pointing their shotguns at the man sitting at the table, his face erupting in surprise and fear.

“Get up,” Kampfe hissed. “One sound and I’ll cut you in half.”

Marcel raised his hands and stood up slowly, his shaking legs barely able to hold him up. Kampfe roughly grabbed him from behind and shoved him towards the cellar. At the top of the stairs he pushed him as hard as he could. Marcel twisted and struck his head savagely against the wall, falling in a heap at the bottom. Kampfe handed his shotgun to Gerlach and calmly walked down into the cellar. He stood over the unconscious man, reached down and casually gave the man’s neck a vicious twist. He didn’t bother to check his pulse, having heard the satisfying crunch of the man’s bones. He walked back up the stairs and into the kitchen.

“I assume we won’t be troubled by the last man, Major,” Gerlach smirked.

“No, he died for France,” Kampfe said contemptuously. “He should have left the fighting to the soldiers. Now, we need to get out of here and find some transportation.”

Kampfe peered out from behind the curtains covering one of the windows that faced the street. There was little activity. They might have a chance, he thought.

“There’s a farm truck parked a short way down the street, and a second vehicle on the other side. You take the truck and I’ll try the car. If we’re seen, get in and get the hell out of here and find help. I’ll do the same. Get word to the troops as quickly as possible.”

“I don’t want to run out on you, sir,” Gerlach said.

“Me either, Victor, but fate is calling the shots,” he grimaced.

“It has been a pleasure to serve with you, Major.”

“Me too, Victor. Just remember,
Das Reich
hasn’t been in this fight yet. Wait until the Americans and British get a taste of our
Panzers,”
Kampfe smiled encouragingly, clasping the junior officer on the back.

“Let’s go,” Kampfe said as the two men moved out the door and towards the vehicles.

Kampfe crossed to the car and looked inside: no keys. Just as he did so a man exiting the café saw him and turned to shout back inside. Damn, Kampfe thought, Resistance everywhere. He turned to run across the street just as several men came out of the café. He fired a barrel at them and saw one go down. He heard a truck fire up and saw Gerlach stick his head out the window.

“Go Victor, now!” Kampfe yelled, turning as a bullet struck him. He returned fire, the shotgun now empty. He contemptuously threw the weapon at the men, slowly advancing. Seeing him unarmed, they opened fire, killing him instantly. In the rear view mirror Victor saw what happened and careened down the road. He had a sizable head start on the men, unsure whether they would follow or not. He drove at breakneck speed, desperate to find a patrol.

The group of men stood around Kampfe’s body, uncertain what to do.

“Should we follow the other one?” A man asked.

“No. I think we need to clear out and wait for the Germans to come. There’s no time to chase that man and get ready.”

“Should we wait for orders?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“What do we do?” A third man said nervously, his knuckles white on the stock of his rifle.

“We certainly don’t want to wait around here to get shot. Put that pig’s body in the back. We’ll dump him down the ravine and join up with the others,” the men’s de facto leader decided.

Kampfe’s body was tossed into the back of a truck and covered with a tarp and some loose hay. Most of the men had a wild look in their eyes as they drove quickly out of town. Combat was upon them, whether they were looking for it or not.

.

CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE

General Lammerding sat comfortably in a small café in the town of Tulle. He was drinking wine and eating pastry. How foolish it had been for the terrorists to attack the garrison stationed in town. It had simply been a matter of a counter attack. His seasoned combat troops had retaken the town, losing only three men.

The owner of the café glanced nervously out the window as groups of men were paraded by at gunpoint. He had stayed out of the fighting the night before when the
Maquis
took the German garrison. They executed more than sixty German soldiers in their orgy of violence. He knew the Germans would retaliate. They couldn’t allow any defeat at the hands of a Resistance force. The repercussions would be intolerable. Unfortunately, the
Maquis
leaders were impatient and acted rashly. He pictured the worst as the General calmly sipped his wine. There was something about his casual air that was frightening. A young soldier entered the room and approached the General.

“Well Sergeant, have the criminals been executed? Remember, I want at least two for every man killed by this rabble. How dare they strike at
Das Reich.”

“All but the last group, sir, but there’s a problem.”

“And….”

“We ran out of rope, sir. Perhaps we could cut some down and reuse the rope.”

“No, I want a clear warning left, Sergeant. Leave them up there for their friends and families to think about. They’ll learn the penalty for killing my men. Sixty of Germany’s finest, shot like cattle.”

“Shall we shoot the rest, sir?”

The general sipped his wine pondering the fate of the remaining suspects, casually nibbling on a piece of raspberry tart. Many others had been killed by his troops. He had other things to do and was confident that there would be no more trouble here.

“This is quite excellent,
monsieur
,” Lammerding said to the café owner standing nearby, his face ashen with shock, too paralyzed by fear to respond. Lammerding had the café to himself. “No Sergeant, release them with strict orders to leave the carcasses where they are. Any man or woman cutting one of the swine down will be killed. I think we’ve made our point.”

Lammerding stood and counted out a few Reich marks and set them on the table. He followed the sergeant out of the café and into the street. He sat in the back seat without looking around and motioned for the driver to proceed.

Once the café owner was certain the General wasn’t coming back, he went outside. He broke down into tears, wringing his hands and wandering among the townspeople outside in the street now the Germans had moved on. There were men hanging from almost every light post. Some were small, obviously young men and boys. Wails of anguish broke out all over as people discovered the fate of their loved ones. In all, ninety-nine people had been hung. The sheer number of bodies was incredible. The café owner recognized many that had nothing to do with Resistance activities. They must just have been conveniently available. He sat down on the curb and put his face in his hands and prayed. He knew that it would have been better to wait, but people were rabid with a desire for revenge after so many years of abuse. It had been a mistake. These men were not soldiers. Did they really think they could take on hardened combat troops and win? He wondered silently if this was happening all over France. He hoped that if it was, others were faring better. He knew harassing the enemy was important, but at what cost?

“How can this be?” he whispered. How can this be?”

BOOK: Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2)
12.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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