Young Lions (18 page)

“Well, it doesn’t matter who the hell they are,” MacDonald said. “We’ve got to get out of here.” They could hear the sound of whistles being blown in the distance.

“The Police will be here soon and the Huns will be here soon after,” Alan said. He suddenly remembered. “How’s Bill?” He was horrified that in the heat and excitement he had forgotten all about him.

“Dead,” MacDonald stated simply. “He bled to death in my arms. There was nothing that I could do.”

“Forget about the dead,” Sam said abruptly. “Let’s remember the living: what are we going to do?”

“We’ve got a live one here!” Alan suddenly said, but before he could react, MacDonald had whipped his revolver around and had shot a wriggling and wounded German twice between the eyes.

“I guess that you didn’t win your Military Cross for nothing,” Alan observed, pointing at his M. C. ribbons sewn onto his tunic.

“You won the Military Cross?” Sam asked.

“This may come as a surprise to you, young Roberts, but despite the fact that I may not be as light on my feet as I used to be, not everyone surrendered without a fight when the Jerry paras landed. He’s not the first Hun that I’ve killed and he certainly won’t be the last.”

Sam and Alan both looked at MacDonald with newfound respect in their eyes. They both understood what he was saying. MacDonald was one of the few who had fought against the paras with pitchforks, petrol bombs and shotguns when they had entered Hereward.

They could hear the sound of lorries rumbling along the road towards them.

“Come on, lads,” MacDonald drew his revolver and reloaded. “Let’s get out of here.”

Zoon lay trapped underneath Brandt and watched helplessly as the two men in black murdered his men. He tried to undo his holster with his right hand and withdraw his Luger, but he couldn’t reach it. Tears began to roll down his cheeks and he ground his teeth in frustration at his own impotence. He had no hope of helping as his soldiers lay dying. Finally, the figures stopped firing. They had completely wiped out his section of eight troopers in as many seconds. They were all lying on the road or in the lorry burning and bleeding to death.

His heart missed a beat as he saw the two killers move amongst his soldiers, laughing and joking as they finished off the wounded. He was reminded of the cold and callous way in which his own men had killed the British wounded at Fairfax. It seemed that fate was not without a sense of humour. Zorn’s heart rate started to race as the men in black walked towards him.

Another figure appeared revolver in hand. Christ, Zorn thought to himself. Was there no end to them? They were springing from the ground like the Hydra’s teeth. The newcomer spoke to the machine gunners. They stopped shooting. He seemed to be the leader. They were having a discussion of some kind. They appeared to be moving away. Preparing to go. Thank God. Sweet Jesus, if you let me live, I promise that I’ll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life. Zorn’s heart began to slow down and beat more regularly as he started to hope that he might escape with his life. And then Brandt groaned. Jesus Christ. He wasn’t dead. Maybe the killers hadn’t heard. Then Brandt moved. One of the shooters shouted in alarm. A jet of hot urine rushed down Zorn’s leg. My God. This is it. Two shots. Darkness.

Chapter Fourteen
 

The Town Hall tower read 12.45 p.m. as a large crowd filled the Town Square. They were held back from the gallows by a double line of S.S. and Army soldiers. The sunlight glinted on the steel of their fixed bayonets as the Germans warily watched the crowd. The crowd was sullen and silent and was separated from the soldiers by a metal barricade.

The Hereward men and women talked quietly amongst themselves. It was 12.50 p.m. At 1 p.m. twenty men were going to be executed. Twenty local men who were friends and colleagues of other local men and women. Twenty Hereward men who had families: wives; brothers and sisters; fathers and mothers; sons and daughters. Twenty husbands; twenty brothers; twenty fathers; twenty sons whose deaths would rip the heart out of the small, close knit town and rip the heart out of those who loved them

At 12.55 p.m. An S.S.sturmbannfuhrer and an Army major walked out of the Town Hall and climbed the stairs to the gallows platform. Eight S.S. troopers and eight Army soldiers followed the officers in double file. The sturmbannfuhrer and major stopped in the centre and turned to face the crowd. The S.S. men stood on the right hand side of their officer and the Army men stood on the left hand side of their officer. The soldiers pointed their Schmessier machine guns at the crowd. A sudden hush descended over the Square.

Then the hostages emerged. They walked out one by one, flanked by a soldier on either side. First the ten hostages held by the S.S. and then the ten hostages held by the Army. When the hostages appeared friends and family members shouted their names. People broke down in tears. As more and more hostages climbed the stairs to the gallows more and more people began crying until the whole Square seemed to be sobbing with sorrow. The wind whipped up the sound of peoples’ tears until it sounded like the wailing of ten thousand grief stricken banshees. The sense of sadness and dark despair spread from person to person like a virus causing people who did not know any of the prisoners to burst out crying.

The soldiers placed the first four hostages underneath the gallows. The Army engineers had not had enough time to construct more than four gallows. The hostages were to be executed in five groups of four. The people interpreted the fact that there were twenty hostages, but only four gallows as a cruel and calculated Nazi plot to prolong the agony of the prisoners and the people.

The two officers turned and faced each other. They consulted their wristwatches. The second hand of the Town Hall clock tick tocked around to one o’clock. The crowd stood in silence as the bells chimed thirteen times.

The S.S.sturmbannfuhrer nodded at his Army counterpart. It’s time. The S.S.sturmbannfuhrer about turned and gave the order to the gallows guard. The soldiers standing to either side of the first four hostages grabbed them by the arms and moved then towards the trapdoors.

One of the condemned men started to struggle. “No! No!” He screamed. “I don’t want to die!” His pitiful cries drifted out over the crowd. His legs seemed to turn to jelly as he fell to the floor.

“Pick him up!” The S.S.sturmbannfuhrer ordered. The guards tried to haul him up to his feet, but he was too heavy. “Help them!” An S.S. soldier left his position by the sturmbannfuhrer to aid his comrades.

“Please God!” The hostage wailed. “Don’t let me die!”

The hair on the back of the necks of the bayonet fixed soldiers stood on end. They did not have to understand English to recognize the cries of a man begging for his life. Several of the soldiers facing the crowd turned around and took a step backwards to look at the condemned man.

“Eyes front!” An officer shouted.

“Turn around!” Another echoed.

Too late. Too many soldiers had stepped backwards. The double line that had previously been straight now resembled a sidewinder snake. Non-Commissioned – Officers stepped out of the line to shout and shove and push and punch their curiously morbid men back into their ranks. But the officers and N.C.O.s in their quest to restore order had themselves created gaps in the line.

The crowd sensed the sudden vulnerability of the Germans and surged forwards until they were barging and banging against the barrier. The soldiers and civilians were almost eyeball to eyeball. The soldiers’ eyes were wide open and bulging with fear. The civilians’ eyes were wide open and blood shot with hatred.

The struggling man lost control of his bowels. The stench of faeces wafted over the waiting crowd as the condemned man soiled himself and fainted. Another soldier left his position beside the S.S.sturmbannfuhrer to haul the unconscious man to his feet. But what to do? The sturmbannfuhrer asked himself. They couldn’t hang an unconscious man, could they? Wouldn’t that be breaking the rules? He bit his lip in indecision. Whilst he was mauling this over in his mind an S.S. motorcycle dispatch rider mounted the stairs, walked across the gallows platform, saluted and gave the sturmbannfuhrer an envelope.

“What now, for God’s sake?” The sturmbannfuhrer was exasperated. “I’m rather busy here.”

The dispatch rider ignored the sturmbannfuhrer’s hostility and kept an expressionless poker face. “From Brigadefuhreur Schuster. You are to read the letter immediately.”

“Christ. My hands are tied up at the moment. I’ll deal with this later.” He thrust the envelope inside the breast pocket of his tunic.

“But sir!” The dispatch rider protested. “My instructions were to make sure that you read…”

“Drag him to the rear.” The sturmbannfuhrer interrupted, pointing at the unconscious prisoner. “Bring another hostage forward to take his place. And while we’re at it, drag this idiot to the rear as well.” He pointed at the dispatch rider. “One more word out of you, son, and I’ll string you up with the rest of them!” He threatened. “Get him out of my sight!”

The two S.S. troopers who had originally been guarding the unconscious man and the two S.S. soldiers who had left their position to help each picked up a limb and dragged the helpless hostage from the platform. Another two storm troopers left their positions to pull another prisoner forward. Yet another S.S. man left the sturmbannfuhrer to escort the dispatch rider to the rear.

But the struggling hostage had set a precedent. The man who was being brought forward to replace him began to scream and shout and kick out his legs. A lucky kick caught the knee of an S.S. guard who collapsed with howls of pain as he clutched his damaged kneecap. The prisoner’s hands were tied behind his back. He was off balance and unsteady on his feet. He refused to cooperate and slumped to the ground. The sturmbannfuhrer detailed another two of his men to help. The hostage continued to struggle. The soldiers couldn’t pull him to his feet. A storm trooper lost his patience and snapped. There was a sickening crunch as the hard wood and steel of the soldier’s rifle butt smacked into the soft flesh and bone of the hostage’s head. The man’s screams were cut off abruptly like a gramophone record whose needle had been broken.

The crowd sighed like a huge wounded primeval beast. The crowd was no longer a collection of isolated independent individuals. The crowd had become a living breathing organism with a heart and a soul. A single entity. A creature made of flesh and blood. And that blood now surged through its body. Pumping up towards its brain. A brain which now thought. A brain with a will. A brain that wanted revenge. The crowd ebbed and surged against the barrier like a wave breaking on the beach. Each successive surge wore away at the confidence of the soldiers facing them like a wave wearing away at a cliff face. The wave would find the weakest point in the cliff face and would create a hole and cause the cliff face to crumble. The soldiers would erode-it was simply a matter of time.

The crowd found the weakest point. The S.S. sturmbannfuhrer now only had one man standing beside him. He seemed oblivious to his complete lack of protection. The crowd pushed against the barrier and forced it to bend just beyond the right hand limit of the sturmbannfuhrer’s peripheral vision. The sturmbannfuhrer did not notice. His attention was focused solely on the struggling hostages and getting the prisoners to the gallows. The front rank of S.S. troops involuntarily took a step back. They caught the rear rank unawares and some soldiers were pushed of balance and stumbled and fell. The crowd pushed again. A young storm trooper raised his rifle and tried to jab his bayonet at a face in the crowd but the lunge was off balance and over reached itself. The man evaded the clumsy thrust, grabbed the rifle barrel and wrenched the weapon straight out the hands of the bewildered soldier. The S.S. trooper standing next to the recruit was absolutely horrified and reacted instinctively. He emptied the entire contents of his Schmessier machine gun into the man’s stomach. The soldiers near the machine gunner opened fire into the crowd at point blank range. Men, women and children were knocked down like stalks of wheat cut down by a giant scythe. The dead and the dying lay in a tangled, torn and bloody mound as the people standing behind them panicked, turned around and began to run.

The first shots acted as a signal. Shots rippled along the double line of S.S. and Army soldiers like a Mexican wave as they fired into the helpless civilians, hurrying to escape from the Square. The soldiers were swearing and hurling abuse at the stampeding people as they released all of their pent up rage and anger.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” The S.S. sturmbannfuhrer shouted. But the men ignored him. They were pumped up and full of blood lust. They calmly replaced their empty magazines with full ones as if they were at the shooting range. As soon as they had loaded their new magazines they continued to pour their fire into the retreating crowd.

Only when there were no more people to kill did the soldiers stop firing. Their breathing began to slow and their heart beats gradually returned to normal as the blood lust seeped out of them like air escaping from a balloon.

“My God…what have we done?” The S.S. sturm-bannfuhrer mumbled to himself under his breath. He gazed out over the scene of total death and destruction that he and his men had created. He walked down the stairs from the gallows platform to the ground. He did not notice the Army major following him. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he gazed up at the hangman’s nooses dangling at the end of the ropes. The empty hangman’s nooses. They had failed to hang a single hostage. He shook his head.

“Major.”

The S.S. sturmbannfuhrer was jolted out of his daydreaming. “Yes. What is it? “

“The orders, sir.” The dispatch rider seemed to materialize at his elbow like a genie. “I must confirm to the Brigadefuhreur that you read and carried out his orders.” The dispatch rider insisted.

The sturmbannfuhrer found the envelope in his breast pocket and took out the envelope. It was addressed to him. “Urgent!” He read. He recognized the Brigadefuhreur’s handwriting. His eyes glided over the writing.