the S.S. lorry, knocking out its headlamps. Complete darkness. Raised voices and angry questions. A long burst at the M.P.s. Another burst into the confused mass of Police and paras brawling on the road. Bodies falling. Screams of the dead and dying. Sam unclipped two grenades from the dead S.S. trooper’s webbing. One into the back of the lorry where the para prisoners were handcuffed. Another into the jumbled mess of groaning and crying soldiers and M.P.s lying on the ground.
“Time to leave,” Alan said.
The boys knew that they didn’t have much time. German reinforcements would soon come to the rescue. Sam and Alan did not intend to be waiting at the scene of their crime when they arrived.
Chapter Six
“This is a summary of the investigations carried out by the Army Military Police team from London,” Wurth said. “I’ll spare you the details and cut to the total casualties:-S.S.: ten killed and three wounded. Total paratrooper casualties: eighteen killed and three wounded. 9 millimeter shell casings, shrapnel from two grenade explosions, paratrooper bayonets, Lugers and British Army Wembly revolvers were found at the scene of the incident. All S.S. weapons were accounted for. The report places the blame for the incident squarely on the shoulders of my paras and completely clears and exonerates the S.S.”
Wurth screwed up the report into a tight ball and threw it into a corner of his office. “The regiment, the Luftwaffe and Goering will not stand for this. There’ll be hell to pay, you mark my words.”
“And as for improving Inter Service relations? Don’t make me laugh,” von Schnakenberg said. “This judicial joke will put back Inter Service relations by at least five years.
“Oberstleutnant, how’s the digging and photography of the corpses proceeding at Fairfax?” Wurth asked, wanting to change the subject.
“It’s going well,” von Schnakenberg answered, “but it will take at least another month to complete.”
“Well, I don’t have a month,” Wurth said. “I want it to be finished two weeks from now.”
“Why?” Lindau asked.
“Because I have received orders to bring my brigade back to Germany and I want to personally carry the evidence of the massacre back to Germany and give it to Goering myself. This information is too dangerous to entrust to a special courier.”
“When do you leave, sir?” Lindau asked.
“On Remembrance Sunday.”
The two figures waited in the alley that led off Market Street. It was eleven o’clock at night and off duty S.S. soldiers were beginning to leave the “Duke of Normandy” pub. They were a rowdy bunch and the first group was singing the ‘ Horst Wessel’, the Nazi marching song, at the top of their voices. There were too many of them. The waiting men let them stagger by. Gradually the pub emptied. Two S.S. men weaved their way across the road from side to side, leaning on each other’s shoulders for support. As they approached the alley, a man in black stepped out in front of them blocking their path. The S.S. troopers shuddered to a stop. The remaining man stepped out behind the S.S. soldiers. They could neither go forward, nor could they go back. They were trapped.
“What’s going on?” One of the storm troopers asked.
The S.S. soldier crumpled to the ground as a heavy object crashed into the bridge of his nose. A fountain of bright crimson blood sprayed onto the face of the other S.S. trooper. His legs were kicked out from under him before he could react. That was the signal. Both attackers piled in to their victims, punching and kicking the S.S. troopers in a frenzied and furious assault. They only stopped when the S.S. men stopped struggling.
The two men tied the hands of the S.S. soldiers behind their backs and quickly stripped them. They dragged a small bucket from the alley and prized off the lid. A noxious smell escaped from the bucket. The men turned the unconscious S.S. men onto their backs and spread
“Time to leave,” Alan said.
The boys knew that they didn’t have much time. German reinforcements would soon come to the rescue. Sam and Alan did not intend to be waiting at the scene of their crime when they arrived.
Chapter Six
“This is a summary of the investigations carried out by the Army Military Police team from London,” Wurth said. “I’ll spare you the details and cut to the total casualties:-S.S.: ten killed and three wounded. Total paratrooper casualties: eighteen killed and three wounded. 9 millimeter shell casings, shrapnel from two grenade explosions, paratrooper bayonets, Lugers and British Army Wembly revolvers were found at the scene of the incident. All S.S. weapons were accounted for. The report places the blame for the incident squarely on the shoulders of my paras and completely clears and exonerates the S.S.”
Wurth screwed up the report into a tight ball and threw it into a corner of his office. “The regiment, the Luftwaffe and Goering will not stand for this. There’ll be hell to pay, you mark my words.”
“And as for improving Inter Service relations? Don’t make me laugh,” von Schnakenberg said. “This judicial joke will put back Inter Service relations by at least five years.
“Oberstleutnant, how’s the digging and photography of the corpses proceeding at Fairfax?” Wurth asked, wanting to change the subject.
“It’s going well,” von Schnakenberg answered, “but it will take at least another month to complete.”
“Well, I don’t have a month,” Wurth said. “I want it to be finished two weeks from now.”
“Why?” Lindau asked.
“Because I have received orders to bring my brigade back to Germany and I want to personally carry the evidence of the massacre back to Germany and give it to Goering myself. This information is too dangerous to entrust to a special courier.”
“When do you leave, sir?” Lindau asked.
“On Remembrance Sunday.”
The two figures waited in the alley that led off Market Street. It was eleven o’clock at night and off duty S.S. soldiers were beginning to leave the “Duke of Normandy” pub. They were a rowdy bunch and the first group was singing the ‘ Horst Wessel’, the Nazi marching song, at the top of their voices. There were too many of them. The waiting men let them stagger by. Gradually the pub emptied. Two S.S. men weaved their way across the road from side to side, leaning on each other’s shoulders for support. As they approached the alley, a man in black stepped out in front of them blocking their path. The S.S. troopers shuddered to a stop. The remaining man stepped out behind the S.S. soldiers. They could neither go forward, nor could they go back. They were trapped.
“What’s going on?” One of the storm troopers asked.
The S.S. soldier crumpled to the ground as a heavy object crashed into the bridge of his nose. A fountain of bright crimson blood sprayed onto the face of the other S.S. trooper. His legs were kicked out from under him before he could react. That was the signal. Both attackers piled in to their victims, punching and kicking the S.S. troopers in a frenzied and furious assault. They only stopped when the S.S. men stopped struggling.
The two men tied the hands of the S.S. soldiers behind their backs and quickly stripped them. They dragged a small bucket from the alley and prized off the lid. A noxious smell escaped from the bucket. The men turned the unconscious S.S. men onto their backs and spread
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