Michael Ridpath - Shadows of War

‘Strange,’ said the duke.

‘Surely you must have some idea?’ said the duchess witheringly.

‘None at all,’ said Veronica, summoning all her confident ignorance. Then she stood up and looked out at the ocean. ‘Sir? Would you mind showing me your balcony?’

Another glance between the duke and his wife. It was a pretty unsubtle way of demanding to speak to the duke out of Wallis’s presence, but it worked.

The duke opened the windows and he and Veronica stepped out on to the balcony. She was horrified to see that it overlooked the garden where she and Theo had just been talking.

Veronica leaned on the railing, with the duke next to her. They stared out over the beach and the Bay of Biscay. The surf created enough noise to drown out their conversation from the woman waiting inside.

‘Your Royal Highness,’ Veronica said, ‘I have a personal message to add to that of my father-in-law. You may not be aware of this, but there are some misguided men in London who want you to return to England and become king again. They hope to lead a government which will make peace with Germany and become a strong ally of Hitler.’

‘Really?’ said the duke.

‘There is another group of men, senior figures of the aristocracy and their sons, twelve good Englishmen in all, who have sworn to shoot your wife, should you do that.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You won’t know who they are. They are the kind of men who find themselves close to the king and queen, if the duchess were to become queen. There is nowhere in England she would be safe. Probably not in France. Perhaps if she were to shut herself up in a Schloss in Germany she would be protected. But that wouldn’t be much fun, would it? Your wife locked up in a castle, while you sat on a throne alone?’

The duke looked shocked. And angry. ‘Who do you think you are, threatening me like that? Get out! Get out now!’

‘Of course, Your Royal Highness,’ said Veronica, dipping a quick curtsy as she returned inside. She curtsied again to the duchess and scampered out of the room.

She hurried out of the hotel to her car, or rather her sister’s car. She had lied comprehensively to the Duke of Windsor from beginning to end, and she thought she had done it rather well, with some help from Theo. Now for some honesty: she had promised to return the Cadillac to her sister. No point in hanging around; it would be nice if she could get to Paris before the Germans.

As she turned the car around in the street, she saw the good-looking Yugoslav businessman sitting outside a café opposite. He raised his hat to her, and she gave him a little wave.

Then she drove north out of town.

Extract from Lieutenant Dieter von Hertenberg’s Diary

26 May

We have penetrated the old ring of fortifications around Calais and are in the town. The British won’t last much longer.

General Kleist arrived, but this time he congratulated our efforts. First time I have seen him since he bawled out Guderian. He acknowledged me and we had a friendly conversation, but I can’t forgive him for the way he treated my commander.

At last the halt order is rescinded and we are allowed to attack Dunkirk.

Calais, 26 May

Colonel Rydal ducked as the first Stuka peeled away from its formation and dived. The scream was chilling, but the British soldiers had learned that the Stuka’s bark was worse than its bite. Hell came and went amid a deafening cacophony of sirens and explosions, but providing you were in cover, you were nearly always all right. It was the sniper watching your position who was more likely to pick you off the instant the Junkers 87s had flown off.

They were in Bastion No. 1, just to the north of the elegant Gare Maritime, which was now crawling with German infantry. The bastion was part of the sixteenth-century fortifications of Calais, which could hold out against the English siege cannon of the time, but not modern German artillery. Or tanks, for that matter.

After nearly nine months of patient preparation, action had come thick and fast. The battalion had been sent from Suffolk to Southampton and then across the Channel to Calais, where they were ordered to cover the possible withdrawal of the British Expeditionary Force. It was pretty clear to Rydal when his orders were explained to him that it was unlikely he or any of his men would be returning to England. They seemed to be going in rather the opposite direction to everybody else, but he knew his men would do their duty.

And they had. They had fought bravely and well for three days, but they couldn’t last much longer. Across the harbour, Rydal could barely see through the dust and smoke to the medieval citadel where Brigadier Nicholson was holed up. Between the two positions were German infantry and tanks. Nicholson had refused to surrender, on the basis that every hour they could hold out was an hour longer other soldiers could be evacuated from Dunkirk, just to the north. Soldiers who could defend Britain from invasion.

A shell thudded into the breastwork just below them.

‘There’s another tank in range, sir.’ It was Lieutenant Dodds, who had acquitted himself well in battle so far. ‘Have a look, sir.’

Rydal peered over the parapet. There was indeed a German panzer squatting in the street belching fire at their position. And another. And another. Rydal had abandoned the last of his anti-tank guns in the Gare Maritime. There was nothing he or his men could do apart from wait to be pummelled into submission.

A bullet whistled past his ear and struck stone behind him. The German infantry were getting closer all the time.

‘I could take some men and try to disable it, sir,’ said Dodds. ‘Those houses to the left are still unoccupied.’

Rydal swept his binoculars towards the street Dodds pointed to. He could see grey figures crouching and running barely fifty yards away from them.

‘They would be occupied by the time you got there.’

Colonel Rydal scanned the devastated town. The Germans on three sides were closing in. There were Germans above him and the sea behind. There was nowhere to run. It was time.

‘Mills, get me Brigade,’ Rydal said to the wireless operator. He would inform the brigadier that he was about to surrender. He wondered who among his officers spoke German. De Lancey. He could have used de Lancey these last three days.

‘Mr Dodds, organize a white flag.’

The look of disappointment, almost shame, on Lieutenant Dodds’s face as he looked at his CO touched Rydal. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

Dodds pulled himself to his feet.

And a bullet ripped out the back of his head.

Extract from Lieutenant Dieter von Hertenberg’s Diary

27 May

Calais taken yesterday with thousands of prisoners of all nationalities.

Moved north to attack Dunkirk, but given another order to hold off. Why? It’s a mystery. We could see a mass of ships off the coast — not just Royal Navy warships, but also little civilian boats. They are taking the British Army off the beaches. It is so frustrating! Unless we do something now, they will get away!

Who knows how many British soldiers have escaped?

Pall Mall, London, 27 May

The Civil Servant was waiting in Alston’s favourite corner in the club library. He looked uncharacteristically flustered.

‘I don’t have long, I must be back in Downing Street in half an hour,’ he said.

‘What’s happening?’ Alston asked.

‘Halifax has taken the gloves off. He is arguing for sending peace feelers out through the Italians. He’s also asking the Italians what it will take to keep them out of the war. He’s pushing hard in the War Cabinet.’