BAILIWICK GOLD
by
James Cassaday
Smashwords Edition
Published By:
James Cassaday on Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 by James Cassaday
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* * * * *
BAILIWICK GOLD
FOREWORD
Soon after the Channel Islands were liberated following five years of occupation during World War II, rumours of hidden loot (spoils of war) began to circulate. During subsequent years these were fuelled by stories concerning German tourists, many still of military bearing, who were reportedly seen probing in hedgerows and other odd locations in and around the Bailiwick of Guernsey.
Now who can doubt the need for soldiers to make provision for an uncertain future should spoils of war come to hand? Where better to hide or bury something of value than on an island lying clear of the main ravages of war? Why wouldn’t survivors come back to look for it? Failing that, those who feared they would not survive the war might well have left hidden or disguised messages that would benefit relatives in the event of death. This story explores one such possibility.
THE AUTHOR
Since leaving school in 1949, the author has followed a varied career embracing the Merchant Navy, the Royal Air Force (Marine Craft Section), and Fire Services in Liverpool and Guernsey. Along the way he was awarded the Liverpool Shipwreck and Humane Society Award for saving life; and the Queen’s Fire Service Medal for distinguished service.
James now lives in retirement with his wife, Mary, on the south coast of Guernsey, where an earlier love of sailing has largely given way to gardening; but the sea is always in view, and it reflects in his style of writing. He also writes knowingly, and vividly, when it comes to describing an outbreak of fire; which happens in the early pages of this book.
BAILIWICK GOLD
CHAPTER ONE
On a warm Italian summer’s evening that was otherwise filled with the sounds of the countryside, a sudden, deep, ominous silence fell upon the air and it seemed as if all wildlife had paused to listen to something; something that was still beyond the range of human ears. In a country now racked by war the silence was frightening because of the feeling that this was sinister and deeply unnatural - a man-made calm before a man-made storm. Then from the blood-red core of the sunset a faint drone menaced the air before rapidly becoming a near deafening roar as a fighter-bomber flashed into view low above the landscape. With a quick flick of its wings it banked away northwards, weaving and dipping between the dusty, undulating landscape. The evening breathed a sigh of relief as the roar grew fainter, bird song returned; and for a moment this part of Italy was at peace again.
It was September 1943 and the Allied Forces’ invasion of the southern tip of Italy was still in its infancy, but it was already clear that the early bridgehead, mainly established by British and Canadian troops, was holding firm. Behind this, the build up of men and armaments could be likened to the bulge of a giant muscle that would power the advance against the combined Italian and German Forces. An air of tension gripped the country as civilians and soldiers alike awaited the breakout, and already there were reminders that America’s mighty armed forces were not prepared to idly wait by in the wings.
As if to underline this, the noise of the fighter-bomber came back to hammer upon the ear as its young Texan pilot returned to the line of his first approach, where he turned eastwards again. Sitting tensed within the confines of the cockpit he glanced impatiently at his fuel gauges, noting that he had little time left as he hunted German and Italian ground forces lying in wait for the Allies. He gave out a grunt of annoyance mixed with relief as he began to realise that they were all further to the north than his pre-flight briefing had suggested. Like so many young men at that time he was eager to do battle but much less so to die, and with a surge of elation he knew that today, at least, he would live to enjoy free-flying his ground attack version of the well known Mustang fighter. He tightened his grip on the control-stick as a low hill swam into view ahead of him but he deliberately hugged the ground as the aircraft snarled towards its bare slope, now growing menacingly to fill the cockpit screen. He left it there seemingly mesmerized by the propinquity of death until with a yell, which could equally have been a scream of fear, he pulled the nose of the aircraft upwards into a near vertical climb that left dust swirling and rising along the crest of the hill. The yell, and the maneuver, gave vent to conflicting emotions at drawing a blank during his third and final sortie of the day. This young man, scarcely out of college and already faced with life and death decisions, began slowly to unwind. Without looking back he turned away towards his new base in Sicily, his thirst for a kill softening towards thoughts of hot coffee and a warm shower.
As it turned out, the hill had cost the young Texan warrior his kill. For at the moment of his final approach a file of soldiers were making their way hurriedly across the blind side, spurred on by the sound of the aircraft, as yet unseen. All eyes were looking skywards as it flashed into view, heads pressed backwards under the deafening roar of its engine, and then the file disintegrated in a blur of activity as each man sought cover before realising that the aircraft was turning away. Moments later, the file re-formed without a command being issued and continued on its way along the narrow track. The absence of shouted words of command was unusual, as was the file itself, for it consisted entirely of sergeants, feldwebels in the German Army, who needed no prompting to take cover. The near miss and the sudden dive for cover were an embarrassment to them, a dent in their pride, and the eyes that were still looking skywards were showing more anger than fear for the Germans were not yet fully reconciled to being on the defensive on the Italian front.
No one was more defiant than the man at the head of the file, Feldwebel Heindrich Schranz. He was a perfect example of a non-commissioned officer; about whom his Commanding Officer had more than once boasted that Germany would always win its wars with men like Schranz in the army. Schranz made no such boast himself, although he was supremely confident of his ability to get the best out of his men, and he enjoyed the fact that he was helped by his appearance. He was by no means the tallest man in the regiment but his powerful build and his Teutonic stance demanded attention. Having gained this, Schranz was not inclined to let go and he held his men subordinate by strict discipline. This was administered fairly whenever circumstances allowed, but Schranz knew instinctively when the interests of the regiment should be put above that of individuals. He placed the same harsh condition upon himself and nothing - absolutely nothing - would prevent him from doing his duty. He was an ideal leader at this level of command but it did not account for his position at the head of the file on this and similar occasions. There was another side to Schranz, one that allowed him to relax and enjoy certain pleasures when off duty: Schranz liked the ladies!
Presently, in the gathering dusk, the file came lower to where the track forked and plunged deep into a defile offering cover. As they turned into it, most gave vent to their relief by swearing at the deep ruts under foot rather than admit that they had been conscious of the risk above. To make matters worse, the feldwebels were tired and edgy because after the early years of conquest, when anything seemed possible, the war was not going well for them. They no longer enjoyed the feeling of invincibility that went hand in hand with conquest, and without it they were beginning to feel vulnerable. Once inside the covering darkness of the defile they grew quiet, each with their own thoughts as they neared the house that was their objective. It stood darkened and well back from the main road running northwards towards Salerno, along which they knew they would have to retreat when the British and Canadian land forces began to push up from their bridgehead. Stopping them would be difficult, perhaps impossible, for the Allied Air Forces already had air supremacy and were already bombing military targets in southern Italy in general preparation for the advance. Their pilots were also making good use of ground-attack aircraft to soften up the route. Jointly, they were a formidable force against which Schranz and his colleagues knew that they stood largely alone now that they could no longer rely upon their Italian allies, even though it was Italy that was being invaded. Some were openly saying that it was because the Italians felt no real ill-will towards the Allied Forces.
Schranz snorted with anger at the thought that, come the morning, he and his colleagues might die in defense of Italy; this at a time when they were sorely needed to defend German interests elsewhere. He quickened his pace at the head of the file in an effort to lose the thought and concentrated upon the pleasures of the brothel that awaited them at the house. Happily, there were still some Italian girls inside who were loyal to the Germans, seemingly unaware that they would soon have to switch their allegiance - but that couldn’t last. Best then to make the most of this night, he told himself, he would enjoy being with Gina once more and he knew that he could rely upon her to make it special. Gina had supplied the girls when Heindrich set about establishing the feldwebels’ brothel, and their business partnership had since blossomed into genuine affection. Gina was everything that he looked for in a woman. Small and slim in stature, she had captivated him from the outset with her dark Italian beauty. She had smiling eyes and a seductive, generous mouth that said and did nice things to him. Gina also had a confidence that was supportive without being challenging, which Schranz’s disciplined mind found very comfortable; something he had missed in his relationships with women until now without quite realising it. He had enjoyed her company for two precious months, stubbornly pushing away the thought that the relationship was bound to be short-lived. As a regular soldier, Schranz knew that he could not allow himself to become too involved, for there could be no future in his relationship with Gina. Even so, it increasingly hurt him to think that she would have many partners after him in her line of business. Momentarily, Schranz’s face creased at the thought before he forced himself to concentrate instead upon Gina’s raw appetite for all things sexual, an appetite he increasingly shared as he sought to find relief from the tensions of war.
Gina, sharing this unusual feeling of warmth and affection, had recruited only the very best girls for the brothel, confident that it would please Heindrich Schranz without distracting him from her. In return, he made sure that the payments from the feldwebels were generous; even higher than in the nearby officers’ establishment.
Behind Schranz, others were also moving their thoughts away from the worries of tomorrow as the quickening pace reached back down the line. They began talking again and quiet laughter followed as they discussed their preferred choice of partners. Schranz picked up the change in mood immediately and grunted his approval. He would have joined in the banter, reminding them all that the pick of the bunch was reserved for himself but at that moment his arm was grasped from behind as Feldwebel Schroder came panting up from the rear, bringing Schranz to a halt.
“Lieutenant Schmidt has joined us again!” Schroder’s voice held a strong edge of dislike for the news he brought and he raised it sufficiently to let others in the vicinity hear him.
Schranz swore quietly. “Go back and halt the line, then bring him forward.”
As Schroder disappeared, Schranz fought to bring his own irritation under control. He was under an obligation to the lieutenant for turning a blind eye when he had caught members of Schranz’s platoon helping themselves to the contents of a jewellery shop during an earlier action. “Spoils of war,” the lieutenant had laughingly called it at the time. Even so, Schranz knew that other officers in the regiment would likely have taken a very different view and that such a situation could have landed him in serious trouble. A rising tone of discontent from those around him broke into his thoughts.
“Shut up!” he hissed, as he caught the thread of it. “You know he’ll settle for the biggest breasts in sight the moment he gets inside. I’ll get Gina to put him in the room up on the third floor and have his drinks sent up for him. You’ll not be bothered by him up there and he’s bound to be the last one out!”
Coming up from the rear, but still out of earshot, the lieutenant took the burst of laughter that followed as a sign of good-natured acceptance of his presence. He warmed immediately to the company, although the smile on his face remained hidden in shadow.
“Good evening, Schranz,” Schmidt’s voice was full of bonhomie, “come now, I’m most eager to see your new girls.” He paused for the nervous laughter that generally followed an officer’s attempts at familiarity. Disappointed by the thin response, he tried again. “You feldwebels certainly have the edge on your officers when it comes to staffing a brothel, am I not right, Schranz?” This time the laughter was genuine and under its umbrella he took Schranz firmly by the arm and strode forward towards the blacked-out doorway of the house.
After the lieutenant and Schranz had entered, an impatient silence fell upon those outside that broke, at last, with a voice from the fringe of the group.
“I hear that the lieutenant has held on to his gold…” The speaker’s words posed a question which he left hanging on the air, knowing full well that the others were aware of rumours linking Schmidt with the halting of an Italian general’s car and the disappearance of the general’s luggage. Some said the luggage included gold bars; but all that was certain was that the general had been forced to continue northwards without it. Very little sympathy had been extended to the victim at the time as it was clear that he and his small personal escort were retreating much faster than his unfortunate troops who were protecting his rear. Nevertheless, the matter was somewhat sensitive. Italy was still an ally of Germany, even though the relationship was strained in the face of the advance of the Allied Forces. Besides, Lieutenant Schmidt could not have acted alone in this matter and it was even possible that he had been helped by some of those present in the group. The reply to the question that had been left hanging came just in time to defuse the situation.
“Okay; so he’s got the gold - well if I know Schmidt he has probably got his hands on the largest pair of tits as well by now!”
The laughter that followed, though brittle, brought minds back to the imminent pleasures that lay ahead of them, save for those in the group who exchanged knowing glances and one who was about to disclose that the luggage was thought to have included no less than five heavy bars. However, at that moment the blackout over the door was drawn aside and Heindrich Schranz beckoned them forward. From then on no one gave the lieutenant a second thought.
Some thirty minutes later, around the table in the ground floor dining room that served as a bar, Schroder was clinging on to the gradually diminishing company with almost desperate good humour. He knew that soon he would most likely be the only one of the group left to choose a female partner and he dreaded the humiliation that might follow in the bedroom if his sexual drive failed him again. It had already happened twice before, but on both occasions he had laughed it off as being due to tiredness. It was an excuse that wouldn’t protect his secret for long; Schroder knew that the girls were no fools and that they gossiped. He sighed inwardly, then failing to realise that the wine was further weakening his fragile libido he continued to drink heavily, his fat face beaded with perspiration. Ordinarily, he kept his status within the army by virtue of his seniority, having enlisted when most of his fellow feldwebels were still at school. Even his short, stocky appearance was accepted without comment but he knew that his life would become a misery if his sexual impotence became known to his colleagues. Draining his glass, he saw that other glasses were empty around him.
“Come, Kurt, have another drink; and how about you, Rob?” To his dismay, heads were shaking and they were already rising to leave as the allure of the women overcame thirst. Schroder tried once more as others rose with them to move out into the large hallway at the foot of the ornate staircase where the remaining girls sat waiting. Despairingly he tried again, “Klaus?” But his last hope of buying time was rising with the rest of the company, intent upon choosing a partner before the very best were led away to the bedrooms.
Reluctantly, Schroder tagged along at the rear of the exodus, which now had the appearance of a rugby scrum as the stragglers came to share the same thought as Klaus. Schroder came out last into the hall only to find that the others were relaxed and laughing while making their choices, aware now that really there was no need for haste. The remaining girls were all sexually attractive. Gina had indeed chosen well; so well that no one complained when Feldwebel Peter Kramer, a renowned athlete on the track as well as in bed, led two away for his personal pleasure. Schroder, who was not immune to the attraction of the girls, moved amongst them trying to disguise his anxiety. Eventually, and thankfully not before he became the sole male left in the hallway, he caught the eye of Anna. She was a little older than the others, which was more to his liking and he sensed that she would be more understanding if his worst fear was realised. Anna smiled and took his hand as if to reassure him, then led the way upstairs, taking him to a room on the second floor. It was the only bedroom in a short corridor leading to the bathrooms towards the rear of the house. Being away from the others, Anna liked it because it was quiet but she was yet to find out that the only bedroom on the third floor, which lay directly above, was occupied by Lieutenant Schmidt.
Lieutenant Schmidt was more than happy with his girl, Lola, who was performing very well for him. She in turn was flattered by being chosen at last by the tall, handsome officer. Smiling to herself she recalled her sharpness in recognising the hand-signals coming from Feldwebel Schranz, indicating bust size, as he had stood behind the lieutenant introducing him to Gina. She of course had also recognised the signals, and by now she knew exactly where to look for the lieutenant’s preference. Lola had just enough time to breathe in deeply and turn sideways, a move that immediately captured the lieutenant’s attention, before Gina had beckoned her to come forward. As if to remove creases from her dress, she had casually brushed her dress downwards as she did so. It actually served only to bring the neckline of her dress even lower; a delicate touch that had brought a scatter of sarcastic applause from some of the women standing out of Gina’s line of sight. Gina’s eyes had flashed an instant warning along the line of female faces, she was no less a disciplinarian than Schranz in her own field and a respectful silence had ensued from that moment on where the girls were concerned.
“Third floor,” Gina had gone on to instruct after the introduction and a nod of approval from Schmidt, “drinks will be sent up and I know that you will give the utmost pleasure to the lieutenant.” She had eyed Lola commandingly.
“Yes, of course, I shall do what I can,” Lola had gazed up into Schmidt’s face at that moment and decided there and then against setting a limit, “everything I can,” she had corrected. Her words had brought forth a spontaneous roar of approval from the remaining feldwebels and Schmidt had taken his cue to exit in style. Offering Lola his arm he had escorted her up the staircase as though she were a duchess. However, once out of sight the pretence had ended and the lieutenant had been quite rough with her in his impatience to get to their first encounter in bed. He had since repeated it twice, in quick succession, with scarcely a word being spoken between them. Now, having relaxed for a while with Lola massaging his shoulders, Schmidt was equally impatient to begin again. Lola raised her eyebrows in mock surprise as he turned over and reached for her but she responded in full to his appreciative hands. In their growing excitement they were oblivious to the noise from the bed as it shook and this, together with their voices raised in mutual encouragement, hammered mockingly in Schroder’s ears as he lay in the room below them.
* * * * *
Within the sanctuary of one of the better bedrooms, which were located on the ground floor, Schranz, who had not bothered with the bar for long, had held himself back yet again from the climactic moment when his desire, his lust for Gina, would escape his control. He knew his physical limits when it came to sex and he was in no hurry to reach the point where tiredness would overcome passion. Besides, he sensed that this might be the last time she would lie beneath him like this and he wanted to savour the moment: store up the memory of her lovely body. He had withdrawn, and moved down the bed a little to allow his lips to close over her nipple - for some reason it was always the left one. He enjoyed the feel of it as it hardened up and he felt the lift of her breast against his face as she breathed in deeply, the warm pressure awakening a childlike pleasure deep inside him.
“Gina,” he mumbled with his mouth full, “you taste good enough to eat!” The lighter skin on her breast, now moist from his lips, shone like silk in the soft light of the bedside lamp. He flipped the nipple upwards with his tongue, knowing it would tease her. Gina’s high cheekbones almost obscured her eyes but now he saw that they were half closed in concentration on his touch. Shortly, her hands found his face and she brought him up to her lips and kissed him. It recognised a love in their relationship which in itself was highly unusual within the walls of a brothel, where sex, not love, was the normal commodity on sale.
“Heindrich,” she breathed as their lips parted, “your tongue is so sexy!” Then, in one swift movement she reversed their positions and with a wriggle she was kneeling across his chest, laughing down into his sun-tanned face and his brown eyes, which were staring hungrily at her. Her laughter softened to a teasing smile as she edged slowly and suggestively forward. “Where would you like to use your tongue next, Heindrich?” she whispered.
* * * * *
Schroder was already finding it impossible to have intercourse with Anna. He closed his eyes, even though he had already turned out the bedside light, and then concentrated fiercely on achieving an erection. He desperately wanted to perform well as he lay close to Anna but he had brushed her hand aside when she tried to handle him; it was no use, his continued limpness was grossly embarrassing. Sensing Schroder’s problem, Anna moved him aside. Then, reaching across him, she turned on the light.
“Perhaps you would like a drink, Herr Schroder?” she offered.
“Thank you, Anna,” Schroder replied. He smiled wanly and gestured upwards, “It sounds as though the lieutenant is up there.”
“Yes; it makes it difficult to think of our own pleasure with so much noise coming from the room above.” Anna grimaced sympathetically, “I will fetch a bottle of wine and we can drink until things quieten down, would you like that, Herr Schroder?”
“Thank you, Anna.” Schroder wanted to say something more adequate but for the moment he could only repeat himself as a shout of achievement penetrated from the room above.
After Anna had gone, the sounds resulting from the lieutenant’s activities ceased for a time. In the silence Schroder lay back and recalled the early signs of his impotency. He was forced to accept that he had never been as sexually active as he would have liked. His short, thickset frame had not attracted girls so his chances had been few until he moved across Europe with the all-conquering Wehrmacht. The uniform made a big difference and it had been good when he was constantly on the move. The frequent change of girls had been stimulating and his confidence had soared; but all that had changed when the war started to go badly in the Mediterranean. Schroder had gradually lost his confidence, and felt real fear for the first time when Allied Forces’ pilots took command of the sky. Later, came the fall of Sicily and the weakening of the Italian support along the German flanks and to their rear; it was all so worrying.
Schroder came back to his present predicament as Anna entered carrying a small tray.
“I have a nice bottle of red wine and two of our best glasses.” She smiled as he sat up. “Sadly, I must leave you to drink alone for a few minutes. Gina caught me in the bar, now she wants me to take drinks up to the lieutenant.” Anna allowed her face to fall in mock horror. “Do you think I’ll be safe?”
Schroder could not think of an immediate reply, so he simply held out his glass and allowed Anna to fill it.
Left alone again, Schroder drank deeply then reached for the bottle. Being a regular beer drinker by choice he found it difficult to sip the wine, and he downed it in large gulps. Even so, he was surprised to find the bottle empty with Anna still away. Fumbling his way into his clothes, he wondered what could be keeping her and he paused to listen for sounds coming from the lieutenant’s room. Hearing nothing, he set off for the bar, hoping to find Anna there. He would then joke about her neglect of him, and the empty bottle. The bar, when he got there, was deserted. Schroder winced as if in pain as the possibilities surrounding Anna’s prolonged absence crowded into his mind. Sadly, and after concluding that she must now be in bed with the lieutenant, he returned to the bedroom with a bottle of Chianti as a substitute.
As it happened, Anna was not in bed but she was still in Lieutenant Schmidt’s room. Earlier, Schmidt, who was not a man who would tolerate dumb insolence, had quickly sensed her unspoken dislike of being made to wait upon him when Lola was there to do it. At first, Schmidt had been unsure how he could best counter it. Had Anna been more to his taste he would have buried her beneath him in the sheets, but he had ruled that out and decided that she could wait for a time. He would enjoy more of Lola’s sensual massaging as he sipped his wine and considered the matter. Eventually, the answer came to him as Anna had tried to edge towards the door during the heavy silence which had descended upon the room.
“Anna, you will stay and let Lola show you how to give pleasure to a client. Come Lola; let us begin again!” He turned onto his back and gestured impatiently at her to straddle him.
Lola obliged in full, and with the lieutenant’s hands cupping her ample breasts she leaned back against his raised knees as she bore down on him. Both were now conscious of Anna’s dislike for the situation, so they strove to exaggerate their posturing to further punish her, until they fell apart exhausted. Schmidt was delighted. He caught Anna’s eye and nodded towards the two empty wine glasses.
“You must stay awhile longer, Anna, in case we need you - some more wine perhaps!”
Time passed slowly within the room as Anna suffered in silence. It was now growing late and the house was quiet as all the men bar one relaxed, each with a woman in his arms as a barrier between themselves and the return journey to their defence positions and the cold reality of war. Schroder, having drunk heavily was now in a dream-filled sleep. In it, he hurled a grenade as an advancing tank overran his position but he only succeeded in dislodging Anna’s pillow. It fell softly against the bedside light, tilting the shade and allowing the cotton pillowcase to rest against the hot light bulb. Twenty seconds later, the first trace of browning stained the cotton and within a minute a wisp of smoke spiralled upward as the rapidly blackening fabric approached its self-ignition temperature. Then, with an almost soundless pop a small flame appeared and ran across the surface. For a moment or two it appeared to be on the verge of going out, until the weakened fibres allowed the weight of the pillow to pull the burnt area downward, causing it to slope. Able now to vaporise the cotton above and in advance of it the flame rallied and began to climb, at the same time spreading outwards and growing in intensity. Moments later, the pillow slid to the floor and again the flame almost disappeared; but this time it was torching its way into the pillow from beneath, its progress marked only by an ever growing column of smoke spiralling upwards toward the ceiling. Schroder, lying flat on his back, was subjected to the smell of burning but as this entered only slowly into his consciousness his sense of smell became saturated to the degree that it lost all meaning. He was, in any event, incapable of responding to anything short of a vigorous form of awakening. The air within the room was quite still so the smoke formed a well-defined layer and hovered like a menacing black cloak beneath the heavy plaster ceiling, before descending horizontally toward the bed. Its menacing progress was hardly affected by the small bleed-off as it passed the top of the door, which fitted tightly in its frame at this point; and the wooden sash window frame which could have allowed smoke to pass to open air had long been sealed against draughts. Although slow in its growth, the fire was now attacking a woollen rug beneath it, greatly increasing the smoke emission and the rate at which the cloak descended. Hence it was not long before it enveloped Schroder’s mouth and nose; first causing him to cough, and then rushing into his lungs on the deep breath that followed. As it did so, Schroder gasped and entered yet another dream in which he fought to tear the hands of an assailant from his throat. He fought on until he rolled over the edge of the bed to fall face downwards on the floor. For a brief spell his lungs found respite in a thin layer of air that flowed in beneath the door to feed the fire. His dream faded and he became aware that something was wrong, although in his fuddled state he could not grasp the full extent of the danger. His next move was to prove fatal, but without realising this he rose unsteadily to his feet, breathing in as he straightened up. A lethal cocktail of smoke laced with carbon monoxide tore into his lungs; choking his cry for help as he fell back onto the bed again. Minutes later Schroder was dead. He was thus spared the pain of burning as fingers of flame reached up amidst the smoke and danced across the bed to embrace his body.
* * * * *
Anna was the first to recognise a smell of burning in the room above, but she hesitated before bringing it to the attention of Lieutenant Schmidt. He was lying face down, his face buried in a pillow as again Lola massaged his back and shoulders. Anna’s eyes swept the room for a sign of burning. Seeing nothing to account for the smell, but wishing to draw attention to it, she sniffed audibly. Lola glanced towards her in response and immediately picked up the smell. Both women quizzed each other with raised eyebrows, reluctant to voice their suspicions in case Schmidt railed at them for disturbing him unnecessarily, but just at that moment the smell seemed to grow stronger and Anna judged that she could wait no longer.
“Herr Lieutenant,” she said at length. Her voice, although quiet, had an urgency that registered in Schmidt’s pleasure seeking mind but he responded merely by turning his face in her direction. He kept his eyes closed and didn’t speak, but it was still an invitation to continue. “Herr Lieutenant, I can smell burning.”
Schmidt opened his eyes as if to see the smell, but seeing only the expression of concern upon Anna’s face he then sniffed the air. Lola’s heavy perfume laced with body sweat invaded him from above but amidst it he detected a trace of burning. As he lay considering the possible implications of this, Anna spoke again.
“Would you allow me to look out onto the landing, and then perhaps check the bar area in case there is a fire somewhere?” Anna was conscious that the bar was probably empty by now and that some of the feldwebels had earlier been smoking.
“Very well,” grunted Schmidt. As it happened, his thoughts had run almost parallel to Anna’s. “Let me know what you discover; perhaps then you can return to your other duties.”
Although Schmidt’s voice was muffled by the pillow, as he settled himself for the continuation of Lola’s massage, his next words arrested Anna as she stepped through the door onto the landing.
“Do not be long, Anna. If you need help, you must call Feldwebel Schranz.”
Anna was pleased to receive this last directive for the smell was much stronger outside and it seemed to be coming from below. She kept this to herself for the moment and simply called back to acknowledge the lieutenant’s instruction as she closed the bedroom door. Pausing for a moment in relief at escaping, Anna stood with her back to the door and closed her eyes in an effort to blot out all thoughts of the room. She was comparatively new to the business, and the sight of Lola performing sex with such relish had upset her. Anna’s employment in the brothel had resulted from an early widowhood and the need to support two teenage boys during a time of great hardship. She was ashamed of her involvement and only survived each ordeal by play-acting the role of wife rather than whore, and she longed for an end to it all. At that moment, the smell of burning broke back into her senses and for the first time she caught the acrid taste of it. Quickly moving across the small landing she peered downwards over the banister rail to the hall, three floors below. Although the light on the staircase was poor she sensed an obscurity in the air that should not have been there; it had an alien, almost sinister presence which left her with a growing feeling of unease. Continuing to look over the banister, Anna made her way down towards the hall, her mind intent upon checking the bar which led directly off from it. The thought of Schroder alone in the bedroom for such a long time worried her but she deliberately ignored the passageway as she passed the second floor; Herr Schroder would have to wait she told herself.
To Anna’s immense relief, the smell of burning was much less noticeable when she reached the ground floor, and when she opened the door to the bar there was no trace of fire. Quickly moving through, she checked the small kitchen and store room behind. Then, as she was about to move on to the other rooms on the ground floor, the significance of the reduction in the smell of burning dawned upon her.
“Of course!” she spoke aloud. It now became obvious to Anna that the source of the smell must be above her, she had rushed by it in her eagerness to check the bar.
As she reached the foot of the staircase again the smell was back, stronger than ever. Looking upwards, she saw a thicker stain of smoke in the air but it was still not clear where it was coming from. Anna hurried up to the first floor, her heart beating faster as she realised that the danger was palpable again. Then she remembered the lieutenant’s instruction to call Feldwebel Schranz, and stood undecided as to whether to return to the ground floor for him or continue looking for the source of the suspected fire. From her position, Anna could see down both corridors that led off from the landing but they appeared to be free of smoke; it was confusing. She felt isolated in her efforts to identify the danger; she needed help. For a moment she thought of calling Schroder but quickly dismissed the idea; he would be asleep or drunk by now.
“Schroder - mother of God!” she said aloud as the thought took hold. Her mind raced ... a dreadful possibility presenting itself; the fire was probably on the second floor as both the smell and the acrid taste were stronger at that level and above it. Anna’s pounding footsteps matched her heartbeats as she raced towards the landing above, stumbling in her haste. Her head came to rest just above the top stair and she could see down the corridor towards Schroder’s bedroom. Puffs of smoke were being squeezed out beneath the door, apparently pressured from within; the room seemed to be panting!
It was now more than twenty minutes since Schroder had knocked the pillow against the table lamp. The room had since become a hot furnace that fought to rid itself of the gasses and thick smoke resulting from the stifled combustion. At the core of the fire, Schroder’s fatty residue had burnt a hole in the bed and now flamed lazily, fed by the thin draughts of fresh air which were drawn in beneath the door following each puff of smoke. Above this, hidden in the dark suffocating smoke, other combustible items within the room were poised above their self-ignition temperatures but were incapable of flaming without the stimulus of oxygen. There was a dangerous air of expectancy, the room was like an incendiary bomb waiting to explode; all it needed was oxygen.
As if unwilling to believe her fears, Anna approached the door and stood listening for a moment, hoping to hear Schroder moving inside. Hearing nothing, she grasped the door handle, flinching as it burnt to the touch, then she turned the latch. The door swung inwards of its own accord as the fire took a long, deep breath. Anna could feel the flow of air from the corridor as it passed her on its way in, it felt cold against her legs. Then she stared in horror as momentarily the veil of smoke swirled back to reveal the blackened remains of the bed. At that instant, a ball of fire vomited out from its centre and exploded outwards. Anna caught the full blast of the flames as they tore past, leaving her to reel in their wake clutching her face and screaming silently at the pain, her lips welded together by the heat from the flash. Anna’s eyes had closed instinctively at the instant of the blast, now something told her not to try to open them. She staggered blindly back along the landing before falling heavily down the stairs to the floor below. As the shock of her injuries began to reach inwards to bring the blessed relief of unconsciousness she heard the sound of running feet and men shouting; then the sounds grew faint as her play-acting life came to an end.
Freed of its constraints the fire engulfed the second floor corridor and roared out onto the staircase. Wallpaper, paint, furnishings and timber, all so harmless under normal circumstances, fired off jets of flame as the fireball rolled outwards and were then drawn willingly into the conflagration. Staring upwards from the hall below, Schranz, dressed only in trousers and boots, saw the fire rising towards the ceiling of the third floor landing. Then it disappeared as its trail of blanketing smoke caught up creating an angry, swirling mass that rapidly swelled and began to roll back down the staircase. Schranz saw the danger from this immediately and raised his voice in an urgent bellow.
“Out…all of you come out!” His warning coincided with the appearance of feldwebels and women from the first floor bedrooms, already alerted by the bedlam created by the fire. Most were partly undressed and clutched items of clothing they had snatched as they rushed to evacuate their rooms. Schranz shouted again as some of them paused on the landing to glance upwards. “Now…come now!” His command this time brought them all stamping down the stairs towards him, two of them dragging Anna’s body. Gina chose that moment to catch hold of Schranz’s arm and hand him his tunic. He took it from her with hardly a glance. Then, as if seeing it for the first time, he seemed angry and savagely threw it to the floor.
He bellowed, “Feldwebel Kramer, call the roll! I need to know if everyone is down; the women included.” The reason for Schranz’s anger was the realisation that Lieutenant Schmidt was still up on the third floor, trapped there by the fire. He looked around, catching the eye of Feldwebel Kurt Weigel standing close behind Gina.
“Kurt, I have to go up for the lieutenant.”
“No!” screamed Gina. “No, Heindrich ... no, please no!” She had hold of his arm but he was drawing it away, his face set and already turned upwards towards the smoke which was now down to first floor level and invading the bedroom corridors either side of the landing.
“I must try!” Schranz now spoke to no one in particular; he was bound by his sense of duty which was now totally in command of his actions. He was apart from them all and without further thought he began his ascent.
Schranz was brought to a halt as he reached the first floor landing. The smoke was already dense at this level and he was forced to retreat until he found clear air. Gina called to him again but Schranz was too intent upon planning his next move to reply. He drew in several deep breaths then was gone; vanishing into the smoke as he felt his way up the staircase again on all fours. Within seconds he began to feel heat from the fire above him, but this was heat from convection rising in the swirling smoke and it lacked the savage bite of the radiant heat at the heart of the fire. Schranz had good lungs, so the stored air took him to the second floor without difficulty. It gave him a brief feeling of confidence as he felt his way across the landing to the final flight of stairs. He began this final ascent, but from here on the heat began to bite and soon his ears and shoulders felt as though they were on fire. Schmidt shut his eyes to the blinding smoke but the heat was still there, stripping away the skin to expose the flesh on his back and hands as he fought his way upwards through patches of fire that were now springing from the linoleum stair covering itself. He closed his mind to the pain and concentrated upon reaching the lieutenant’s room; immune from the fire this way until the moment his hair ignited. This was even more than Schranz could bear. The flames now seemed to reach inside his skull where they extracted a scream of agony that in turn tortured the ears of those in the hall below. Gina echoed his scream, but Schranz was oblivious to it. For a brief moment or two before death he was engulfed in a sea of fire. Strangely, he was now free of pain, but aware that he was about to surrender to mankind’s oldest and most treacherous enemy. The all-consuming flames made light of his last efforts to resist them as they closed mockingly around him. Schranz’s only escape from them lay in death.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Schmidt first became aware of danger shortly after Anna had opened the bedroom door below. The updraft caused his bedroom door to shake violently, as the fire surged up the staircase, and there was a sudden increase in temperature inside the room. He stepped naked from the bed and crossed to the door. Lola, not yet awake to any real sense of danger, admired his tight buttocks as he moved and hoped that the distraction would be short-lived. Schmidt reached out for the door handle, but paused to think as his hand grasped it. He was remembering a lecture on safety from fire, which he had attended as part of his army training. He had thought it rather unnecessary at the time, given the more immediate danger posed by warfare, but now he recalled that the door had to remain closed against the fire at all costs. He turned away from the door, and then crossed to the window, opening it wide. Peering out, he saw that the drop to the ground below was at least ten metres; there was no question of jumping. Schmidt was back beside the bed and reaching for the sheets before he broke the news to Lola.
“There is a fire in the house, Lola. I am going to lower you out of the window; so get dressed.”
Lola wanted to ask if this was really necessary, but Schmidt was already tearing a broad strip from the first of the two sheets. By the time she had slipped into her skirt and blouse, the sheets lay in six strips and Schmidt was knotting them together to form a rope. Lola peered out of the window at the ground below; then at Schmidt, and then at the knots he was tying. Schmidt either sensed or saw her doubt.
“Don’t worry, Lola, you will be quite safe, my knots will not come undone,” he smiled reassuringly as he said it. That was the first and last time the lieutenant thought of her as a woman rather than a whore. At that moment, the lights went out throughout the house and there was a distant scream from the women far below that made them feel even higher and in greater peril than before. Confusion reigned for the next few minutes as Schmidt struggled in total darkness to tie the remaining knots, with Lola desperately trying to cling on to him in terror. He used his strength to keep her off, and his discipline to concentrate upon each knot as the room grew hot from the fire that now raged against the thin bedroom door. He was aware that it was a race against time and that any fumble could prove to be fatal. The rope he would use to lower Lola would also have to serve as his own lifeline to the ground below.
Lola was still swinging above the ground when Schmidt ran out of sheets in the process of lowering her. He had barely enough remaining in his hands to lock over the window sill so that he could lean out and call down to Lola.
“Can you reach the ground, Lola?” Schmidt found it difficult to see now that light was no longer being cast from the window and he grew angry when she failed to reply immediately. Lola had been terrified during the descent and still had her eyes tightly closed. She heard the lieutenant call again, angrily this time. It caused her to open her eyes and she saw the ground barely two metres below. Lola shouted the good news, and then tried to wriggle out of the loop in the sheet but the knot had slipped and the loop was tight around her buttocks. Her struggles were making it difficult for Schmidt at the other end of the sheets but he held on, expecting the weight to come off at any moment. In this situation, he failed to hear the thud of boots as two feldwebels came running around the back of the house, sent there to check on the progress of the fire after the smoke and the darkness had forced a total evacuation. Seeing Lola dangling on the end of the sheet they moved to assist her, laughing as they did so without knowing the difficulty that Schmidt was experiencing. They were also distracted from the seriousness of the situation by the parts of Lola that had uncovered during her struggles. Kramer, who was the taller of the two, reached up and cradled her buttocks, lifting her slightly in the process.
“I have you, Lola! Now then, how will you repay me for saving you?” he joked.
As the weight came off the sheet, Schmidt breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his grip, assuming that Lola was free. At that same instant, Kramer relaxed his grip on Lola, intending to frighten her into a worthwhile promise. A moment later she was lying on top of him and the sheets came fluttering down around their necks.
A bellow of rage came from Schmidt as the end of the sheet was torn from his relaxed grip. His line of escape was now gone and smoke was entering the room in ever increasing amounts. The thin, panelled door now had very little resistance to fire. Fingers of flame were already forcing their way between its top edge and the frame; it could not be long before it failed completely. He leaned out of the window and called to identify the voices he now heard below. Kramer answered for both feldwebels, his voice hoarse with anxiety as he realised that the lieutenant had lost his line of escape. As it happened, Schmidt knew of Kramer’s athletic ability and he sought instantly to make use of it now that his plan to slide down the line of sheets had seemingly come to naught.
“Kramer, listen carefully! You must try to throw the end of the sheets back to me, and while you do this, send for a ladder - and get Schranz here at the double!”
There was a worrying silence below him, before a reply came, this time from Kurt Weigel who stood beside Kramer.
“Sir; Schranz was trying to reach you from the staircase and he has not come down.” Weigel’s voice was angry, almost accusatorial. He was one of the junior Feldwebels in the regiment and he was beginning to crack under the strain of events.
Kramer cut in. “Go and get the ladder,” he barked. Then he called up to Schmidt, “Try to catch this, Sir.”
He threw, but the end of the sheets fluttered hopelessly short. If Kramer had been more of a seaman than a soldier he would have weighted the end, but as it was he threw again and again without effect, the sheets opening their folds to dampen the force of his throw. Meanwhile, Schmidt was shouting more instructions but his words had become incoherent. The top of the door had failed and flames were racing across the ceiling towards the window. Schmidt was crouching low but the growing intensity of the fire was making it impossible to stay inside the room. He slid out over the sill, crying out in pain as the fire burnt his unprotected head and neck. He found momentary respite as he clung to the wall outside, even though his hands were still clamped over the edge of the sill.
“The ladder - fetch me a ladder…damn you!” Schmidt was desperate now and trying to ignore the pain in his hands. His angry words, now barely audible against the roar of the fire, changed to a howl of terror as he was forced to let go and came hurtling towards to the ground.
CHAPTER 2
When Lieutenant Schmidt awoke, the roaring inside his head had been replaced by the comforting tick of a clock. Turning his eyes, he saw that he was lying in a bed at the end of a school hall, with a large clock above him on the wall. For a moment, his heavily drugged brain had him thinking that he was once again a schoolboy, watching and waiting for the hands of the clock to release him from the daily torment of discipline and learning; but then he realised that the hall was in use as a temporary hospital ward. Gathering his senses, he tried to sit up but the movement was too painful and he fell back with a groan. The disturbance brought about an immediate response from a medical orderly who was seated at the other end of the hall. Even so, Schmidt had lapsed into unconsciousness again before he could be reached. When standing at the bedside of the lieutenant, the orderly spoke to him in vain before checking his pulse and his temperature. The orderly seemed tense, almost impatient, and after noting the details on the patient’s bed card he walked back down the hall, his face creased by a worried frown. The other beds in the ward were empty and his footsteps echoed in the stillness of the late afternoon. Shafts of sunlight entering from the high windows lit up the emptiness, fuelling his growing sense of unease. He gave an involuntary start as gunfire rumbled in the distance, then cursed his bad luck as he glanced back towards the lieutenant’s bed. But for this lone patient, he would now be moving northwards with the rest of the field hospital staff, away from the advancing Allied forces. As it was, he was forced to await the return of an ambulance when the field hospital next made camp. Meanwhile, the clock ticked on and the enemy drew nearer by the hour.
* * * * *
Twelve miles away to the northwest, a large Mercedes saloon raced through the deserted countryside like a rabbit seeking safety from eagle eyes that patrolled the sky above. Twice the car had narrowly escaped being strafed during the course of the long afternoon, so the driver was anxious to get off the road. Seated inside, Brigadier Karl Kessler leaned forward wearily to rap on the glass screen separating his driver from the rear seat of the staff car. The brigadier’s face showed clear signs of his advancing years and he was feeling unusually coercive, the mood brought on by fear and frustration. To cap it all, he had great difficulty in making his Italian driver understand him and he suspected that it was the driver’s cussedness, rather than his own grasp of Italian, that was the problem.
“If you cannot find the Italian Forces Command Headquarters, find me a German military post.” Kessler then gestured as if to use a telephone, and frowned to emphasise the urgent nature of the order. Then, conscious of the fact that his driver, Private Eduardo Rosario, was looking back at him whilst the car was still careering madly forward down the narrow, tree-lined highway, he hurriedly waved his attention away.
Turning forward again to view the road ahead, Eduardo’s expression of respectful attention changed to one of fierce dislike. “Bastard!” he muttered beneath his breath. Although a taxi driver before his conscription, Eduardo showed little aptitude for driving a staff car and he harboured a growing feeling of resentment towards his non-fare paying passengers, particularly this elderly German officer who had become very impatient of late. Eduardo also was tired and frustrated, but for the first time in his life he was disciplined into showing respect for his passengers. This had been stretched to the limit during the past two days because his fruitless search for the Command Headquarters had merely highlighted the confusion attendant to the Italian withdrawal. Eduardo was a fierce patriot and he hated having to be party to this unveiling of military inefficiency. Minutes later, his mind still not fully on his driving, he was caught unawares and had to brake fiercely when coming out of a sharp right hand bend. The way ahead was blocked by two military dispatch riders standing near the centre of the road, their motor cycles parked and facing in opposite directions behind them. Both men were angrily arguing. The scene highlighted the general air of confusion prevailing at the time, as one of them, a German lance corporal, drew his weapon on his Italian counterpart. Eduardo reached for his own rifle resting against the front passenger seat, his immediate intention being to assist his compatriot, but at that moment the brigadier’s voice arrested his action.
“This is preposterous!”
The high pitch of the brigadier’s voice drew Eduardo’s eyes away from the scene ahead, an earlier doubt growing stronger in his mind but he was allowed no time to reflect.