"Good morning, Heir General, what have you got for me today?"
"A couple of sacks of potatoes if you're interested. I'll take canned food in exchange, whatever youVe got, and coffee." He helped himself to a piece of bacon from Klinger's plate. "Whenever I see you, you're eating."
"And why not? The only pleasure left to me in this lousy life. Here, join me in a coffee." Klinger poured it out. "Why are human beings so stupid? I had a nice restaurant in Hamburg before the war. All the best people came. My wife does her best, but more bomb damage last week and no compensation."
"And worse to come, Hans," Gallagher told him. "They'll be on the beaches soon, all those Tommies and Yanks, and heading for the Fatherland and the Russians coming the other way. You'll be lucky to have a business at all. Those Reichsmarks you keep hoarding won't be worth the paper they're printed on."
Klinger wiped a hand across his mouth. "Don't, you'll give me indigestion with talk like that so early in the morning."
"Of course, this kind of money never loses its value." Gallagher took a coin from his pocket, flicked it in the air, caught it and put it down on the table.
Klinger picked it up and there was awe on his face. "An English sovereign."
"Exactly," Gallagher said. "A gold sovereign."
Klinger tried it with his teeth. "The real thing."
"Would I offer you anything less?" Gallagher took a small linen bag from his pocket and held it up tantalizingly. "Another forty-nine in there."
He placed the bag on the table and Klinger spilled the coins out and touched them with his fingers. "All right, what do you want?"
"A sailor's uniform. Kriegsmarine," Gallagher told him. "No big deal, as our American friends say. YouVe got stacks of them in store here."
"Impossible," Klinger said. "Absolutely."
"I'd also expect boots, reefer coat and cap. We're doing a play at the Parish Hall at St. Brelade. Very good part for a German sailor in it. He falls in love with this Jersey girl and her parents.....
"Stop this nonsense," Klinger said. "Play? What play is this?"
"All right." Gallagher shrugged. "If you're not interested."
He started to pick up the coins and Klinger put a hand on his arm. "You know the GFP at Silvertide would be very interested to know what you wanted with a German uniform, Herr General."
"Of course they would, only we're not going to tell them, are we? I mean, you don't want them nosing around in here, Hans. All that booze and cigarettes in the cellar and the canned goods. And then there's the coffee and the champagne."
"Stop it!"
"I know it's spring now," Gallagher carried on relentlessly. "But it still can't be too healthy on the Russian Front serving with a penal battalion."
The threat was plain in his voice and the prospect too horrible to contemplate. Klinger was trapped, angry that he'd ever got involved with the Irishman. Too late to cry about that now. Better to give him what he wanted and hope for the best.
"All right, I hear you." Klinger scooped up the sovereigns, put them in one of his tunic pockets. "IVe always loved the theater. It would be a privilege to assist."
"I knew I could rely on you," Gallagher told him. "Here are the sizes," and he pushed a piece of paper across the desk.
At ten o'clock the cavalcade left September-tide and drove to Beaumont and Bel Royal and then along Victoria Avenue to St. Helier. The first stop was Elizabeth Castle. The tide was out and they parked the cars opposite the Grand Hotel and clambered on board an armored personnel carrier which followed the line of the causeway across the beach, its h. If-tracks churning sand.
"When the tide is in, the causeway is under water, Herr Field Marshal," Necker told him.
Baum was in his element, filled with excitement at the turn events had taken. He could see Martineau seated at the other end of the truck talking to a couple of young officers and Muller and for a wild moment wondered whether he might have dreamed the events of the previous night. Martineau certainly played a most convincing Nazi. On the other hand, he didn't do too bad a job on field marshals himself.
The carrier drove up from the causeway through the old castle gate and stopped. They all got out and Necker said, "The English fortified this place to keep out the French in Napoleon's time. Some of the original guns are still here."
"Now we fortify it further to keep out the English," Baum said. "There's irony for you."
As he led the way along the road to the moat and the entrance to the inner court, Martineau moved to his shoulder. "As a matter of interest, Herr Field Marshal, Sir Walter Raleigh was governor here in the time of Queen Elizabeth Tudor."
"Really?" Baum said. "An extraordinary man. Soldier, sailor, musician, poet, historian."
"Who also found time to introduce tobacco to the Western world," Martineau reminded him.
"For that alone he should have a statue in every major city," Baum said. "I remember the Italian campaign in nineteen seventeen. A terrible time. I think the only thing that got us through the trench warfare was the cigarettes."
He strode on ahead, Martineau at his shoulder, talking animatedly, and Hofer trailed anxiously behind with Necker. An hour later, after a thorough inspection of every gun and strongpoint Baum could find, they returned to the personnel carrier and were taken back across the beach to the cars.
On the cliffs near La Moye Point a group of field engineers hauled on a line, helping the corporal on the other end walk up the steep slope. He came over the edge and unhooked himself. The sergeant in charge of the detail gave him a cigarette. "You don't look too good."
"Neither would you. He's like a piece of badly cooked meat, the driver down there."
"Any papers?"
"Burned along with most of his clothes. The car is a Renault and IVe got the number."
The sergeant wrote it down. "The police can handle it now." He turned to the other men. "All right, back to the post, you lot."
Mont Oigeuil at Gorey on the east coast of Jersey is probably one of the most spectacular castles in Europe. The Germans had garrisoned it with coastal artillery batteries. In fact there were two regimental headquarters situated in the castle. Baum visited both of them, as well as conducting his usual energetic survey. In the observation post which had been constructed on the highest point of the castle, he stood with a pair of fleldglasses and looked across at the French coast, which was clearly visible. He was for the moment slightly apart from the others and Hofer moved to his shoulder.
"Is everything all right?" Baum asked, the glasses still to his eyes.
"Vogel seems to be pressing his attentions," Hofer said softly.
"He wanted to talk, so I let him," Baum replied. "I'm keeping him happy, Major. I'm trying to keep them all happy. Isn't that what you want?"
"Of course," Hofer told him. "Don't take it the wrong way. You're doing fine. Just be careful, that's all."
Necker moved up to join them, and Baum said, "Fantastic, this place. Now I would like to see something in the country. The sort of strongpoint one might find in a village area."
"Of course, Herr Field Marshal."
"And then some lunch."
"Arrangements have been made. The officers' mess at Battle HQ were hoping to entertain you."
"No, Necker, something different, I think. I'd like to see the other side of island life. Vogel tells me he's billeted at some manor house called de Ville Place. You know it?"
"Yes, Herr Field Marshal. The owner, Mrs. Helen de Ville, is married to the Seigneur who is an officer in the British Army. A most charming woman."
"And a delightful house according to Vogel. I think we'll have lunch there. I'm sure Mrs. de Ville won't object, especially if you provide the food and wine." He looked up at the cloudless blue sky. "A beautiful day for a picnic."
"As you say, Herr Field Marshal. If you'll excuse me I'll go and give the orders."
Ten minutes later, as the cavalcade of officers moved out through the main entrance to where the cars waited, a military police motorcyclist drove up. He pulled in beside Greiser, who sat behind the wheel of Muller's Citroen. Greiser read the message the man handed him, then got out of the car and hurried across to Muller, who was talking to a couple of officers. Martineau, standing nearby, heard everything.
"The bloody fool," Muller said softly and crumpled the message up in his hand. "All right, we'd better get moving."
He went to Necker, spoke briefly to him and then got into the Citroen. It moved away quickly, and Martineau walked over to Necker. "Muller seemed agitated."
"Yes," Necker said. "It would seem one of his men has been killed in a car accident."
"How unfortunate." Martineau offered him a cigarette. "Allow me to compliment you on the way youVe handled things at such short notice."
"We do what we can. It's not every day a Rommel comes visiting."
"On the other hand, I expect you'll heave a sigh of relief when that Storch of his takes off tonight. Is he leaving before or after the mail plane?"
"In my opinion he should make the flight under cover of darkness. The mail plane usually leaves at eight for the same reason."
"Don't worry, Major." Martineau smiled. "I'm sure he'll see sense. I'll speak to him personally about it."
On a wooded slope in the parish of St. Peter with distant views of St. Ouen's Bay, the field marshal visited a complex of machine-gun nests, talking to gun crews, accepting a cigarette here and there. With the men, he was a sensational success, Necker had to admit that, although God alone knew where all the energy came from.
They had visited every part of the defense complex, were circling back through the wood, when an extraordinary incident took place. They came out of the trees, Baum in the lead. Below them, a gang of slave laborers worked on the track. They were the most wretched creatures Baum had ever seen in his life, dressed for the most part, in rags.
"What have we here?" he demanded.
"Russians, Herr Field Marshal, plus a few Poles and Spanish Reds."
No one below was aware of their presence, especially the guard who sat on a tree trunk and smoked a cigarette, his rifle across his knees. A cart emerged from the lower wood pulled by a rather thin horse, a young woman in a headscarf and overalls leading it. There was a little girl of five or six in the back of the cart. As they passed the road gang, she tossed them several turnips.
The German guard shouted angrily and ran along the track after the cart. He grabbed the horse by the bridle and brought it to a halt. He said something to the woman and then walked to the back of the cart, reached up and pulled the child down roughly. He slapped her face and, when the young woman ran to help her, knocked the woman to the ground.
Baum did not say a word, but went down the hillside like a strong wind. As he reached the track, the guard's hand rose to strike the child again. Baum caught him by the wrist, twisting it up and around. The guard turned, the anger on his face quickly replaced by astonishment, and Baum punched him in the mouth. The guard bounced off the side of the cart and fell on his hands and knees.
"Major Necker," the field marshal said. "You will oblige me by arresting this animal." He ignored them all, turning to the young woman and the child clutching her. "Your name, Fraulein?" he asked in English.
"Jean le Couteur."
"And this is?" Baum picked the child up.
"My sister Agnes."
"So?" He nodded. "You are a very brave girl, Agnes le Couteur." He put her up in the cart again, turned and saluted the young woman courteously. "My deepest regrets."
She gazed at him, bewildered, then grabbed the bridle and led the horse away along the track. Just before they disappeared from view into the trees, the child raised an arm and waved.
There was general laughter from all the officers present. Baum turned and said to Necker, "Honor being satisfied, I suggest we adjourn to the de Ville Place for lunch."
Muller stood on the edge of the cliff with Greiser and looked down at the wreck of the Renault. "There was a fire," Greiser told him. "From what the engineer sergeant I spoke to says, he's pretty unrecognizable."
"I can imagine." Muller nodded. "All right, make arrangements with them to get the body up sometime this afternoon. We'll need a postmortem, but discreetly handled. We must keep the drunkenness factor out of it."
He turned away and Greiser said, "But what was he doing out here? That's what I can't understand."
"So far the only thing we do know is that he was drinking heavily last night. Check with military police for this area, just in case someone saw his car," Muller told him. "I'll have to get bac-k to the official party now so I'll take the Citroen. You'll have to commandeer something from the military police. The moment you have any information at all, let me know."
