Wolf Kruger - Blood and Honour

Herzog closed the flap again.

“It’s always us,” complained Fritz, “whenever there’s a bloody job to be done, we get stuck with it.”

“I’d still like to know why the S.S. are in on it,” remarked Steikel.

“They probably don’t trust Sturn,” offered Herzog, “they think he’ll bungle it.”

‘“Bungle what?” asked Steikel, suspiciously. “You know something about this, Wolf?”

“I know as much as the rest of you, but you know that if the S.S. are around there’s something going on.”

The men exchanged worried glances as the Krupp drove on.

They were naked. All three of them. Maria, Jean and the baby, Sylvie, just eight months old. It was quiet in the room once more. They had heard the trucks pass only a quarter of an hour ago. Now it was silent again.

Jean smiled as he watched the child sucking gently at Maria’s swollen nipple. He leant across and kissed her on the cheek. With the early morning sunlight pouring onto her skin, she seemed to glow. Jean felt pride at the simple beauty of the scene. Sitting with the woman he loved while she fed their child.

It all seemed slightly unreal.

Reality returned abruptly with a rain of blows on the front door. They both sat still for a moment, slightly uneasy. Jean swung himself out of bed and pulled on his trousers. As he reached the door, he glanced back at Maria before descending the stairs.

The pounding grew louder and Jean reached for the lock. The heavy door swung back, nearly knocking him over. Axon stepped into the hall, two men behind him.

“There is to be an identity check,” he snapped, “are there any other occupants in the house?”

Jean began to open his mouth when Maria appeared at the top of the stairs, holding the baby. Axon saw her and crossed to the foot of the stairs.

“Come now,” demanded the German, “there is to be an identity check.”

Jean Pascal looked past the other two troops into the street where he saw the steady procession of people flanked by German soldiers. They were moving towards the centre of the village. Jean, Maria and the baby joined the column.

The black shepherd had added two more to his flock.

There were lots of children in the column, Erhardt noted. The wooden clogs they wore beat out a strident tattoo on the cobblestones.

Steikel spat onto the pavement, aiming for a dog which was growling at Bonhof who was pushing its master into the column. The man joined its silent ranks. There was no noise, no expectant chatter. Just the ever-present clattering of the children’s clogs.

Herzog saw a woman hobbling from her home; he guessed she must have been in her eighties. She had difficulty walking and she used a stick as twisted and gnarled as her own body. He extended a hand to help her down the curb. A neutral hand. She turned and smiled weakly at him.

“Leave her,” snapped Axon appearing at his side. Herzog saw the vehemence glinting in the S.S. man’s eyes and loosed his grip on the frail arm. The old woman smiled again. The sergeant stepped back and watched the column trail by. He looked down at his watch. It was ten thirty.

If it had been rehearsed, the timing couldn’t have been better. The heads of the two columns reached the square of St Sarall at precisely the same moment.

Standing at the top of the town hall steps, General Rimfeldt watched as the population of the village formed untidy lines in the square. Axon and Heist marched briskly across to the steps and saluted.

“Evacuation complete,” said Heist.

Rimfeldt nodded. Behind him, Sturn cast a fleeting eye over the crowd of people, grouped around the twisting corpses of the dead resistance men.

“How many?” asked Rimfeldt, pointing at the crowd.

“Four hundred and thirty-two,” answered Heist, smugly.

The general stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “Take the women and children to the church. The men will remain here.”

The two officers saluted. Orders were snapped out. Voices in the crowd were raised but, slowly, at first, the group began to split up. Women clung together in their fear. Axon pulled a small boy from his father and pushed him towards a group of fifty women and children. The child fought back tears as his father tried to smile reassuringly.

Bonhof motioned agitatedly with the barrel of his MP 40, coaxing Maria Pascal away from her husband. Jean held out a hand to her but it was pushed away by the sub-gun’s barrel.

“This is no identity check,” whispered Maurice Gronard, edging closer to Jean. Young Claude Roget heard these words and looked around anxiously for his mother and five-year-old brother, but Madame Roget was already on her way to church.

Herzog estimated that there must have been two hundred and fifty women and children in the procession heading for the church. The familiar clicking of the children’s clogs grated on his nerves; it sounded like a thousand weapons being cocked.

“What the fuck is going on?” demanded Steikel, running up to the sergeant.

“Can’t you guess?” said Herzog, cryptically.

Steikel looked shocked; he glanced behind him at the men lined up in two ragged ranks in the square.

“Sturn said that we must fight the resistance with violence worse that their own,” said the sergeant.

“But women and children? What can we do?”

“Our duty.”

“And what’s that?” Steikel caught the sergeant by the arm and brought him to a halt.

“Obey orders.”

“To kill innocent women and children?”

Herzog shook himself loose. “In a war there are no innocents,” he rasped.

“Wolf, we can’t.”

“We have no choice,” shouted the sergeant.

Steikel saw his eyes mist over as he marched rapidly to the head of the column. The big Austrian cast a wary eye around him. Fritz was walking slowly, his head turned away from the women as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at them. Erhardt smiled at a little girl and felt a tear burst from his eye as she blew him a kiss.

From the front of the column, the order came to halt. The clicking stopped. The Germans drew themselves to attention. From where he stood, Herzog saw Heist walk the remaining few yards to the church door and quickly pull the Luger from its holster. A series of metallic crashes rang sharply through the stillness of the church where dust particles whirled and spun in the beams of early-morning sunlight filtering through stained glass windows. Heaven. Angels. The crucifixion.

Father Picard made his way quickly through the maze of pews until he reached the door. He raised the locking bar and pulled.

Heist was inside instantly.

Picard stepped back, taken aback by the sight of this tall black-clad man standing before him holding a pistol.

“What do you want here?” asked Picard.

Heist ignored the question and motioned towards the leading women in the waiting column. Silently they filed into the church, huddling together before the altar.

Picard repeated his question and as he saw a number of German soldiers following the women and children into the church he felt the hairs prickle at the back of his neck. When the last woman was in, Heist dropped the locking bar. Sealing the church.

The Germans stood side by side before him, facing the frightened group. An unearthly silence hung over the church.

Madame Caulaincourt sat down on the end of a pew and smiled up at Maria who was watching the Germans. Madame Roget felt something warm and wet trickling down her arm. The small child she was holding had begun to urinate.

“What are you and your men doing?” protested Picard. “You cannot bring weapons into the house of God.”

Without warning, Heist brought the butt of the Luger sharply across the priest’s face. He staggered, blood dribbling from his split lip. He licked a tongue across the swollen, bloody cleft.