The Turn of the Tide

By Alan Jones

The Turn of the Tide is the third book in the Sturmtaucher Trilogy: a powerful and compelling story of two families torn apart by evil.

As Hitler's greed turns eastwards to the fertile and oil rich Soviet heartlands, life for the Kästner and the Nussbaum families disintegrates and fragments as the Nazis tighten the noose on German and Polish Jews. Implementing Endlösung der Judenfrage, the ‘Final Solution to the Jewish Problem’, Hitler, Himmler, Heydrich and Eichmann plan to have Germany, and Europe, Judenrein, ‘cleansed of Jews’.
General Erich Kästner, increasingly alone, fights a losing battle to protect his friends, and their fellow Jews, putting himself and his family in jeopardy.
As the tide of war turns, he looks anxiously to the Soviets in the east, and to the Western Allies, desperately hoping, despite his patriotism, that Germany is defeated before there are no Jews left in the countries occupied by the Third Reich.
When an assassination attempt on Hitler and his henchmen fails, Erich Kästner himself comes under the scrutiny of the Gestapo, and his own survival, and that of his family, becomes uncertain.
As the war draws to an end, with Germany in ruins, time is running out for the Kästners and the Nussbaums...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Jones
• Release date: Nov 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781999736873

Alan Jones

Alan Jones was born in 1943 and grew up in Liverpool during the post-war years. He trained as a teacher at Chester College and pursued a career in Primary Education as a class teacher, headteacher, and university tutor. He is a Church of England Lay Reader Emeritus. Alan has published two other books, both of which are in the adult social history genre. They are, Don’t Wake Up George Brown! and Parishioners at War.

Book preview

Sturmtaucher Trilogy

Book 3: November 1941 – August 1945

The Turn of the Tide

Alan Jones

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Alan Jones 2021

Published by Ailsa Publishing.

Alan Jones has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For Felix, Ophelia, Molly and Maggie

CONTENTS

Start

Preface

Maps, Charts & Plans

Prologue

Chapters

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

References & Attributions

Bibliography

About

Glossary

PREFACE

This is a work of fiction. Most of the characters are drawn from my imagination but some of the characters existed: world leaders, the higher echelons of the National Socialist Party, some senior SS and Gestapo officers, and prominent clergy and military figures. There are a few others, including Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the Abwehr.

Many of the events in the book, or events like them, happened. Where they are fictitious, I have tried to write them with integrity, always having in mind that they could have taken place, and that none of them should distract from the truth of the terrible crimes committed across Europe during the darkest time in human history.

On a very few instances, I have changed a location or tweaked a timescale to suit the narrative, but it is rare, and I hope the historians will forgive me.

I made extensive use of maps and nautical charts from the 1930's and 40’s during my research. It was the only way I could make sense of the global scale of the war, and the Holocaust. I have included a few maps and charts in the book but it would be impossible to show enough detail in them to be truly useful, but maps, charts, and diagrams are available in much larger format at www.alanjonesbooks.co.uk/maps_charts_plans_st.html, including an interactive chart which should help in following any sea voyages that might take place.

There is also a raft of other supporting material; photographs, documents, and links to other websites packed with information surrounding the events in the book, and a glossary. As a reader, I always find these resources useful, especially when reading books of the length and scope of the Sturmtaucher Trilogy. www.alanjonesbooks.co.uk/sturmtaucher_trilogy.html

For more detailed maps visit

https://www.alanjonesbooks.co.uk/maps_charts_plans_st.html

PROLOGUE

[17/09/2001 Monday]

Maldon, England

‘It wasn’t just me. Apart from Papa, and Güllich and Meyer, and the Neuengamme authorities, nobody knew Mama was dead.’

Time must have healed the wounds a little, but sitting in her favourite chair, looking out at the old Thames sailing barges moored yards from her front window, I could tell that Ruth’s pain had hardly been blunted by the sixty years that had passed since her last precious memory of her mother.

‘When did you find out she’d died?’ I asked.

‘Oh, not until much later, after the war was over. And by then, we’d lost Franz…’

CHAPTER 1

[08/11/1941 Saturday]

Kiel, Germany.

‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ the General asked, smiling at his youngest daughter, her eyes still half-filled with sleep.

‘Yes, Papa. The exhibition wasn’t up to much, but Angelina and I went for a few drinks afterwards.’

‘You must have been late. I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘I stayed over at her house. It was easier. I telephoned Mama earlier in the evening. I just got back.’

‘She didn’t say,’ the General said, suppressing a smile at the slight redness that had briefly coloured his daughter’s face.

In truth, he trusted Antje, and wouldn’t have expected to know where she was every hour of the day.

He did have his suspicions though.

‘I saw the Nussbaums yesterday,’ he said, sparing her any further embarrassment.

‘Oh, Papa, are they all right?’ Antje gasped.

‘Better than I’d expected,’ he said, ‘considering where they are, and what they’ve been through. Yosef has a job making bricks, and Miriam seems to be recovering.’

It wasn’t a complete lie, and he didn’t feel bad about neglecting to tell her of the signs he’d seen of what the Nussbaums had suffered at the hands of the Gestapo and, in all likelihood, the SS guards.

‘You’re helping them, aren’t you?’

‘I’m trying my best. I hope it’s making a difference, but it will be difficult.’

‘Did you manage to speak to them about…’

She looked around, but they were alone.

‘… about Ruth and Manny,’ she said.

‘They know.’

A tear slid down Antje’s cheek.

‘What did they say?’

‘They couldn’t say much. I could only hint, but I could see in their eyes that they understood. If we can only keep them alive now.’

‘How long will it be, Papa?’

He looked away for a time, unable to answer. Lines of worry creased his face.

‘I wish I knew,’ he said. ‘There will be an end though.’

For a moment, there was a silence between them, then the General sighed.

‘There has to be,’ he said.

CHAPTER 2

Much to Carl Meyer’s surprise, Heinrich Güllich wasn’t demoted. The young Kriminalassistentanwärter was present when the Gestapo chief roasted the Kriminalassistent and threatened him with every punishment under the sun, including death.

‘I apologise, sir. The prisoner taunted me, and…’

‘I know what she did, you stupid fool. There was still no excuse for killing her. You should be better than these people.’

‘I’m, sorry, sir. You don’t have to tell the General that she’s dead, sir.’

‘I know that, you Dummkopf, but he’ll want to see them again, at some point. And when the navy finds out, and Heydrich…’

Heinrich Güllich blanched.

Carl Meyer closed his eyes and waited for the axe to fall, hoping he would escape the same punishment.

I could demote you to SS-Schütze, you know.’

Heinrich Güllich bowed his head.

Carl Meyer glanced at his boss.

SS-Schütze. The lowest rung on the SS ladder, and a front-line posting, most likely.

He resigned himself to the same fate.

‘You are lucky,’ he heard the Kriminaldirektor say to Heinrich Güllich. ‘If I do that, as I’m sorely tempted to, questions are going to be asked. Everyone knows which case you’re working on. It wouldn’t take a detective to work out what had happened.’

The Kriminaldirektor paused and gave Heinrich Güllich a long hard stare.

‘I’m going to give you a secondment.’

Carl Meyer held his breath. Heinrich Güllich raised his head, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

‘They’re desperate for good Gestapo officers in the Ukraine, Lithuania and Russia,’ the Kriminaldirektor said. ‘Their Jews seem to have a knack for finding hiding places, and it takes an experienced nose to sniff them out.’

‘I’ll keep my rank, sir?’

‘Yes. That’s what I said. It will be tough, with winter coming, but work hard and you may be able to return to Kiel, eventually.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the Kriminalassistent barked, the relief evident in his voice.

The Gestapo boss turned to Carl Meyer. The Kriminalassistentanwärter felt the sweat trickle down his back, and he tried to keep his face from showing the fear he felt rumbling in his bowels.

‘You did nothing wrong, and the Kriminalassistent has been profuse in his praise for your investigative abilities.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Carl Meyer said, not daring to hope.

‘I’m going to give you Kriminalassistent Güllich’s job. You can move into his office as soon as he has left.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Carl Meyer blurted, glancing at Heinrich Güllich nervously.

‘Don’t get too carried away. I expect you to keep your head down and work your backside to the bone. Use what Herr Güllich has taught you and learn from his stupid mistakes. I’ll assign a Kriminalassistentanwärter to you, and you can use others from the pool as needed.’

The Gestapo chief looked at them both. He waved his hand.

‘Now go,’ he said. ‘I have work to do.’

The two men scrambled to leave. As they passed his secretary’s desk, the phone rang. They watched Dirty Helga pick it up.

‘Would five minutes do, sir? I’m just finishing off these reports you asked to be typed up,’ she said, glancing at Carl Meyer and Heinrich Güllich for a second, then looking away, disinterested.

As they turned the corner, heading for the stairs, they heard her giggle.

‘Of course, sir. I’ll look forward to it.’

~~o~~

The Kriminaldirektor smiled. It was an elegant solution. It got Güllich out of the way for a while and it would satisfy his bloodlust for Jews; there were plenty in Russia to root out and destroy. He didn’t want to lose the Kriminalassistent; he was a good investigator and, although he’d let himself get too involved in the case of General Kästner and his Jews, he almost always produced results.

He’d even been considering promoting the fool to Kriminalsekretär before he’d killed the Nussbaum whore.

He sighed.

Looking forward, he thought he could squeeze a few extra Marks from the General and tell him at a later date that, unfortunately, the woman had succumbed to typhus, or whatever other disease these Jewish rats died of. The man might even continue to pay for the one that was still alive, if he could somehow make the Jew keep quiet about how his wife died.

The Kriminaldirektor laughed.

The verdammte General will probably look for a discount.

He thought of Güllich again.

A year or two on, and he’d bring him back. By then, the Jew-loving dreck of a general would have become complacent and start making mistakes.

That would be the time to let Güllich loose on the Judenknecht again.

Despite Heinrich Güllich’s insistence, he didn’t believe the Jew brats were in England. It was much more likely that they were hidden in Germany somewhere. If they were, the General would sooner or later lead the Gestapo to them.

If he could afford a thousand Marks every so often to keep his Jews safe, the Kriminaldirektor tried to imagine what the General would be willing to pay to keep himself and his family out of a concentration camp.

He looked at his watch and smiled again. Helga was always worth the wait.

~~o~~

‘Well done, Meyer,’ Heinrich Güllich said, holding out his hand.

Carl Meyer took it, unsure of how his former boss would take his promotion.

‘I’m sorry, sir, about all of this.’

‘Don’t be, Kamerad. It’s not your fault. I allowed my frustration to get the better of me. You deserve the promotion. It was me who suggested it to the fat fool.’

Carl Meyer paled and looked around. There was no one within earshot.

Heinrich Güllich laughed.

‘You worry too much. I’m not stupid. There’s no one listening.’

‘You’ll be back, sir. That’s what he said.’

‘Whether I’m back or not makes no difference. I’ll just do the job I’ve been ordered to do.’

Carl Meyer knew that Heinrich Güllich meant every word.

‘There is one thing I want you to do for me, Kamerad.’

The new Kriminalassistent looked warily at his former boss.

‘You believed as much as I did that the General should be punished,’ Heinrich Güllich said.

‘Yes, sir, but…’

‘You don’t have to call me sir now. You’re the same rank as me. But don’t try and tell me it’s too dangerous, or that the Kriminaldirektor had closed the case.’

Carl Meyer said nothing.

‘The bastard General is laughing at us, you know, you and I,’ Heinrich Güllich said. ‘He thinks he’s invincible. All I’m asking you to do is make a few discreet enquiries and keep me posted. There are a few leads that need following up.’

‘I… I don’t know, sir,’ Carl Meyer said.

‘Oh, grow a pair of balls, Meyer,’ Heinrich Güllich said. ‘You’re a Kriminalassistent now. If you do it quietly, on your own, no one will know. I’ll contact you outside of the office, if you give me the telephone number for your parents’ home. That is where you live, isn’t it?’

Carl Meyer blushed.

‘My father, sir. My mother died some time ago.’

He wrote down the telephone number and handed it to Heinrich Güllich, and added the address.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘We should have done it before; check the General’s financial records, and the Nussbaum bank accounts.’

‘We checked the Nussbaums’ finances, sir. They said they didn’t have much, and they appeared to be telling the truth; there were no bank accounts in Kiel under their names.’

‘I wouldn’t trust them. They may have been using false names. It’s worth visiting every bank, especially the ones where the General is an account holder. Ask for the records of all Jewish account holders, even those which have been closed. Tell them it’s a nationwide investigation aimed at bank staff who protect Jewish assets. That it will be in their own interest to help you.’

Carl Meyer nodded. He knew there was nothing there that would link such an enquiry to the General, or even his staff, and flag it up to the Kriminaldirektor.

‘What about the General’s finances? If I make an enquiry, it might get back to him. These people are hand in glove with the bankers.’

‘You’ll think of a way. Other than that, just keep your eyes and ears open for anything that turns up on the Kästner family. You never know with people like them.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

‘Thank you, Meyer. Keep me informed and remember you’re an officer of the Geheime Staatspolizei. Never be afraid.’

~~o~~

[11/11/1941 Tuesday]

By the third day, Rosa knew Miriam wasn’t coming back. Even before the Kapo whispered in her ear that Miriam had been beaten to death by the Gestapo, in return for the remainder of her friend’s wound powder, she was certain Miriam had somehow precipitated her own death.

It left her both angry and incredibly proud.

She should have stayed with me. She made this place bearable.

But she knew she was being selfish. The remnant of her former self that still remained admired her friend’s bravery and single-mindedness not to strike a bargain with life.

And she vowed to survive, whatever it took, to preserve the memory of the most wonderful woman she’d ever known, and ever expected to meet.

CHAPTER 3

[14/11/1941 Friday]

It took Erich Kästner a week to confirm the suspicions he’d had for a while, that Kriegsmarine trains were being delayed by the huge increase in the number of special trains which were running.

He sat at his desk, looking at the train schedules he’d been sent by Christian Junge.

His association with the Kiel goods-yard manager had been instrumental in his ability to prioritise railway transport for the navy, cementing his position of importance to the Kriegsmarine Command and, as a result, lending him the authority to battle with those in power over the Nussbaums.

And even if, in the end, it hadn’t been enough to ensure Yosef and Miriam’s freedom, it was at least keeping them as safe as they could be within Neuengamme.

He tried to blot out the pain and turned his mind back to the train schedules. There were a few measures he could take, but they all had drawbacks.

With his knowledge of the freight workings of Deutsche Reichsbahn, and how to play the system, he was sure he could force increased prioritisation for Kriegsmarine shipments at the expense of the Jewish transports, but he wrestled with what it would achieve.

He’d only seen one transport, when he had called in at Hamburg’s biggest marshalling yard, visiting it to thank the manager on behalf of the Kriegsmarine for all the help he and Christian Junge had given to the navy.

On the day, the train hadn’t stopped for any length of time; just long enough to switch engines for the long journey to Poland, and for the railwaymen to hose a little water into the cattle wagons in response to the desperate cries for assistance from within.

Hands had reached through the narrow ventilation slats high up on the sides of the wagons in supplication, and he’d had to force himself to continue watching. A trickle of human waste ran from the cattle trucks’ drains and, even from ten metres away, the smell had been overpowering.

Only four soldiers had guarded the train. Two had stepped down from the engine, two from the guard’s van at the rear. They’d marched towards each other, shouting at the railway-yard men hosing water into desperate mouths.

‘Halt. Verboten.’

Forbidden.

The men had ignored them until a guard shot his machine pistol into the air, stilling the cries in the vans.

The General had walked over to the soldier, who’d turned and saluted, surprised to find someone of such elevated rank in a railway goods yard.

‘Heil Hitler,’ the soldier had barked, his arm ramrod straight.

‘Heil Hitler, Corporal. Let the men give them water. It does no harm.’

‘Our orders are not to let anyone approach the train, sir.’

‘In this instance, I’m countermanding these orders. There has been an issue with the wagons overheating because of the loads they’re carrying, and two caught fire last week. It clogged up the track for hours while they cleared it. Soaking the floors seems to help.’

‘I hadn’t heard that, sir.’

‘A memo went out last week, but you know what the army are like. Please pass on the information to your colleagues. I often think the best way to disseminate information in the army is tell it to a serving soldier and let army gossip do the rest.’

The soldier had laughed.

He’d walked over to the train, telling the railwaymen to resume hosing the wagons, instructing two of his squad to help.

‘Wait until the boys back at barracks hear this,’ the General had heard him mutter to his companion.

‘Whenever you stop, remember and hose them down if you can,’ the General had said when the soldier returned.

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do that.’

‘Can I ask you a question, soldier?’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Do you always have just four escorting soldiers?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The young corporal had looked at the General with a little puzzlement on his face. ‘There’s no need for more. The cars are never unlocked, and who is going to interfere to help a trainful of Jews?’

‘I suppose that’s true.’

‘I thought you were here to check up on us, sir.’

‘No, corporal, I’m not here to inspect transports, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m here to make sure the yard is prepared. The Führer’s train will be stopping here for an hour or two when he visits a military installation nearby.’

‘The Führer, sir,’ the corporal had said, his eyes shining. ‘When will he be coming? We pass through here every week.’

‘I can’t say, I’m afraid. Top secret. I can assure you there will not be any special trains in the yard when the Führer is here though.’

Disappointment had clouded the soldier’s face. He gave a wry smile.

‘I suppose that makes sense, sir.’

‘I would keep quiet about it, Corporal. We wouldn’t want to put the Führer at risk, would we?’

‘No, sir. Of course not. My lips are sealed.’

‘You can mention about the fire risk in the wagons though. You’ll be doing a great service.’

‘Yes, sir.’

A shout had come from the engine and the corporal saluted and ran to gather his three privates. The railway men kept hosing the wagons until the train lurched, and pulled away, the whimpers of those on board staying with the General long after the last cattle wagon had rattled its way out of the marshalling yard.

The men had continued to hose down the tracks where the train had sat, flushing away the effluent that had gathered between the sleepers, and at the edge of the track.

‘We do the same for livestock trains, sir,’ the goods-yard manager had said with a shake of his head.

‘Where is it going?’ the General had asked.

‘Poland, sir. They all go to Poland.’

Seeing the General’s look, he’d checked his clipboard.

‘Chełmno,’ he said. ‘Whatever is there.’

‘My sons fought there,’ the General said.

‘Oh. Are they in Russia now?’

‘No. They were stationed in Norway. They were captured by the British.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. Better than being dead, I suppose.’

‘Yes.’

The General had cleared his throat.

‘One day, you’ll be glad you did that,’ he said.

The railwayman had turned his head.

‘The hoses?’

‘Yes. It might mean the difference between life and death to these wretches.’

‘It’s not right, sir, but what can we do?’

‘A little kindness. That’s all.’

~~o~~

Now sitting at his desk, the General grappled with the thorny problem of what he should do. He could prioritise additional naval transports, delaying the special trains, lowering their efficiency and, as a result, reduce the numbers of Jews deported eastwards to an uncertain future.

But for the Jews on the trains, any delay could prolong their suffering terribly.

I need to talk to Canaris.

He picked up the phone and initiated the process that involved both the Abwehr men leaving their offices. Ten minutes later, he stood in a telephone kiosk across from the Kieler Yacht Club, waiting for his friend to pick up.

The line clicked as the phone was answered.

‘Wer ist das?’

The voice was wasn’t that of Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. The General’s stomach lurched.

‘Sorry. I must have a wrong number.’ He glanced around, but there were no SS, Gestapo, or SD men to be seen.

At the end of the line, he heard an exclamation, then a clatter.

‘Hello.’

This time it was Canaris’s voice.

‘What happened?’

‘I was delayed; there was some bomb damage, so I had to walk the long way round. A passing fool picked up the phone.’

‘For a second, I thought it was the security services.’

The admiral laughed.

‘Well, it could have been,’ the General protested.

‘It’s not though. What can I do for you?’

‘I have a quandary. There are an increasing number of transports taking Jews east. I have the wherewithal to slow them down, perhaps, but I don’t want to cause any further suffering for the Jews on the trains. What can I do?’

‘Help the greatest number. Delay the trains, but only if it doesn’t put you in danger of being compromised.’

‘There’s no chance of that. I’d just be doing my job, speeding up Kriegsmarine shipments. I’m more likely to get a naval medal for it.’

‘Just make sure you can justify everything you do. Your recent activities have put your name first on the list of people who the SD and the Gestapo will be keeping an eye on.’

‘It might be even more so, now,’ the General said, telling Canaris about his visit to Neuengamme, and the money he was paying to the Gestapo chief to keep the Nussbaums safe.

‘It’s all I could do,’ he added. ‘It might just keep them alive until this madness ends.’

‘Watch yourself. It’s never a great idea to get into bed with the Gestapo. They’ll have a lot of leverage over you now. It makes you vulnerable.’

For a second or two, the General said nothing.

‘Do you want me to resign my post?’ he asked, frowning.

‘No, my friend. I doubt what you do at your level is of much interest to them and it would be counterproductive while you’re such an asset to the Kriegsmarine, but they might try and use you to get at someone higher up in the Abwehr; me, for instance. Or it could be that they’ll try and force you to incriminate higher-ranking Kriegsmarine personnel. Let me know if they make an approach.’

There was a silence on the end of the phone.

‘How far would you be prepared to go to help the Nussbaums?’ the admiral said. There was an edge to his voice.

‘I know where my loyalties lie. I wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardise you or the Abwehr if that’s what you’re asking.’

There was no rancour in his voice. He understood why Canaris needed to ask the question.

‘I’m sorry,’ the admiral said. ‘I trust you. But there are matters I can’t share with you, for your own protection.’

‘That’s fair. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to be party to the convoluted affairs you get involved with.’

The laughter from the other end of the line told the General that they were good, despite the need to keep secrets from one another. After the war they would likely talk about it over a drink or two; old friends, without the worries or pressures that lay on them so heavily at present.

~~o~~

[15/11/1941 Saturday]

The three Kriminalassistentanwärter chose a corner table in the bar. The tallest of them signalled to the barman, who lifted the beers he’d just poured and brought them over.

‘Danke,’ the tall man said.

‘He went too far today,’ he heard one of his companions say.

‘I heard.’

‘In front of everyone, he called me a fool.’

‘It’s not right, just because he got a promotion, he considers himself above us.’

‘Well, technically, he is.’

‘Carl Meyer started the same time as me. What makes him believe he can treat me like dirt?’

‘He treats everyone below him like that and brown-noses anyone higher up the tree. Even the other Kriminalassistenten can’t stand him, I hear. Thinks he’s special, they say.’

‘He did work with Güllich, almost exclusively. I would have liked to have had the chance.’

‘Your wish might come true if you continue to get up Meyer’s nose. He’ll have you packed off to join Güllich in Russia.’

‘Don’t joke about Scheiße like that. I still don’t see why Meyer got promotion when it’s rumoured that Güllich was sent away in disgrace.’

‘What are you talking about? Güllich was asked for by the RSHA.’

‘Reich Main Security Office?’ the tall Kriminalassistentanwärter said, shaking his head. ‘That’s the story that was put around to save face. I hear he killed a witness he was told to treat with velvet gloves.’

‘Who told you that?’

The tall Gestapo man tapped the side of his nose.

‘I can’t say. Strictest confidence.’

‘Arschloch.’

CHAPTER 4

Lieutenant Colonel Anthony James Plenderleith stood in front of the Cultybraggan POW camp’s admin block and looked at the men lined up in front of him. On his right, a ragged group of German Jewish men dressed in work clothes, waited, all eyes on him. Next to them, a squad of Polish soldiers, assigned to help them, stood shoulder to shoulder with a larger contingent of British soldiers.

A small cluster of local civilians, who had supplied goods and services during the construction of the camp, watched as a formation of British soldiers came to a halt next to them.

‘Ten-shun,’ the sergeant major barked. The soldiers reacted crisply to the order and even the group of Jews stood straighter.

‘Men,’ the lieutenant colonel said, ‘on behalf of the British government, I’m here to thank you for your sterling work in getting this camp ready. Every one of you has put in hard days and weeks of effort, in sometimes difficult conditions.’

He turned to the Jewish workers.

‘I know you were incarcerated when you arrived in Britain, but you are part of the Pioneer Corps now, and I have seen nothing but enthusiasm and hard work from you. I know, having spoken to most of you over the last few weeks, that your motivation has been the treatment the Nazis meted out to you and your families over recent years.’

He paused and looked around.

‘This place will hold some of the worst of the enemy prisoners because of its isolated position and secure location. Your work has ensured that these men will be of no further threat to our nation, or to you. I can tell you that you are being sent on to help build further camps but, in the meantime, there are efforts afoot to change your role. Many of you may end up in combat battalions.’

The Jewish soldiers looked at each other and an excited murmur rose from the group.

The new commandant of the camp waited until it subsided. He thanked the Polish soldiers for their contribution and told them a few would remain as guards; others would accompany the Jewish contingent as they moved on.

‘Without the help of the local community,’ he said, turning to the small band of tradesmen and suppliers, ‘we could not have achieved what we have in so little time. The war effort requires every man, woman, and child in this country to do their bit. In the coming weeks and months and years, there will be a stream of prisoners coming here. It is vital that the local community stays vigilant. This camp has been constructed to extremely high standards and we do not expect that any of the inmates will escape, but we should never lose sight of the fact that these men are the enemy, and are dangerous, and it is in all our interests to be on our toes.’

The men of Comrie fidgeted, the stark reality of having Nazis on their doorsteps brought home by the colonel’s words.

‘Finally, I’ll say to you soldiers, along with our Polish colleagues, it is for us to ensure that these men remain inside the wire. The easiest way for us to do that is with vigilance and toughness and strict discipline, but let us not forget, regardless, that they are the enemy and despite the deeds they may have committed, we are duty-bound, under the terms of the Geneva Convention, to treat these prisoners with fairness and provide them with acceptable conditions to live in. I have no doubt that the professionalism and the British sense of fair play will ensure that this happens, and that you will all play your part.’

His final words echoed from the wooded hills behind the camp. He nodded to the sergeant major.

When they’d dismissed, he returned to his office. His adjutant, Captain James Arbuthnot, handed him an envelope.

‘Ah,’ the commandant said, opening it. ‘Our first inmates will be arriving a week on Monday. That’s a surprise.’

‘Why, sir?’

‘Between you and I, Captain, most of the German prisoners have been getting shipped out to POW camps in Canada, where there is no risk of them escaping and adding to our problems should Germany invade. They must think the threat of invasion has receded, at least for the moment, if they’re sending us prisoners so soon.’

‘I did hear there was a riot, sir, when a group of German POWs refused to board a ship bound for Nova Scotia. It was the risk of the ship being sunk by their own submarines, it seems, that sparked it off.’

‘Cheeky blighters. Some of them are submariners themselves. I presume they believe it’s acceptable for our sailors to be torpedoed.’

‘Quite, sir. It would serve them right if they were sunk by their own side, if it weren’t for the danger to our own men.’

‘Now, now, Captain. We must watch what we say. A good example to the men, and all that. These Nazis must be treated in a proper fashion. Show them that we British know how to behave.’

‘Sorry, sir. But they’re bounders if you believe what the Jewish refugees have to say.’

‘Yes. I’m not sure I give credence to all their stories. We might have to add a grain of salt to the bulk of them, but you’re right. A minority of the prisoners could be nasty pieces of work.’

‘How many are we getting, sir?’

‘Just thirty to start with. Bomber crews in the main, and navy men, mostly submariners, I think, but there appears to be a couple of regular army men too.’

‘Any of these SS types, sir? They seem to be particularly nasty.’

‘I don’t know, Captain. I doubt it, on a submarine or on an aircraft. They’re all regular army and navy, as far as I know. But the submarine men are fanatics, I’ve been told, and some of the airmen.’

The young captain grimaced.

‘So, we have just over a week to prepare, sir?’

‘Yes. I want you to organise a few training exercises before they arrive; have some of the men play the part of prisoners, practise all the camp routines.’

‘Excellent idea, sir. Mealtimes, searches and the likes?’

‘Yes. And we’ll do a march from the station. That’s the way they’re bringing them in.’

‘Not by truck, sir?’

‘No. It seems not. It’ll do the Boche good to walk. Take the sting out of them if they arrive exhausted.’

‘Clever, sir, but the men call them Krauts now, sir, or Jerry, or Fritz.’

‘Ah. Showing my age. That’s what we called them in the last war, Captain.’

‘You served in the Somme, sir?’

‘Yes. I got my commission in ’13, just before the war. I was invalided out in ’17, where I got this. I got a gong for it.’

The older man rolled up his trouser leg and showed a jagged scar that ran all the way up his shin and across his knee.

‘I still limp, on a cold, wet day,’ he said. ‘By the time I was fit to rejoin my unit, the war was almost over. I travelled back to France just in time for the armistice.’

‘They say it was the war to end all wars, sir.’

‘They did say that. Obviously, they were wrong. I don’t think they accounted for Herr Hitler.’

The door opened, and the sergeant major stepped in and saluted.

‘Sir. You asked to see me.’

‘Yes. Captain Arbuthnot will run over the proposed exercises for the next few days with you. We’re getting our first prisoners in just over a week. You can tell the men.’

‘Yes, sir.’

When he’d gone, the commandant turned to his adjutant again.

‘When do our Jewish friends depart?’

‘We haven’t been told yet. It may be a few weeks.’

‘Keep them busy. We don’t want them wandering around town. There’s no knowing how the locals might react if they hear them speaking German.’

‘A few of the huts still need painted; I was going to have our own men do it but if the Jews are still here, we’ll have them finish the job.’

‘Good. And ask them to dig a vegetable garden too. It will be good for the prisoners to tend to a plot when they arrive, and if it provides fresh greens for the camp, all the better.’

‘That’s an excellent idea, sir. I’ll set them onto it tomorrow.’

CHAPTER 5

Heinrich Güllich watched Lise as she rose from the bed, the sheen of sweat from their coupling shining on her skin in the light coming through the window.

He’d been strangely nervous, terrified of hurting her and, because of that, and perhaps her own reticence, the undercurrent of violence, always present in their union, had been missing.

Four weeks. She was right. It was worth the wait.

He’d believed once that he loved his parents, and he’d almost believed that, when he married her, he’d loved his wife, but he’d begun to question his convictions. The depth of need and longing he had for Lise Mey far outstripped any feelings he’d ever had for his wife, and he was sure he would gladly cut all ties with his parents if it allowed him another day with Lise.

In the beginning, when he was away from her, only the occasional lustful thought would interrupt his day, but now he found that she was always somewhere in his mind. The knowledge that it was all likely to end soon had sharpened his all-consuming addiction to these moments with her.

‘I’m being posted east,’ he said abruptly. ‘Tomorrow.’

She turned, completely unabashed at her nakedness. His breathing stilled for a second. It wasn’t just the way she looked; that was almost enough in itself, but the way she moved, the promise in her voice, and how she smiled at him, was unlike anything he’d ever tasted in a woman.

He found it hard to believe that he was the one man on earth who was in her bed.

‘No. You can’t be. You’re Gestapo. Why are they sending you?’

‘It might only be for a while. They need someone with my skills, to root out Jews who are hiding in their ratholes.’

‘Oh. I thought the SS did that. People like Rudolf.’

A cloud passed over her face when she mentioned his name.

‘Yes. They do. But the Jews in the east have even more animal cunning than most. It takes a special talent to root them out.’

She draped her arms around him.

‘What if Rudolf comes back?’ she said, a tremor in her voice.

He stroked her hair.

‘I’ll think of something. My posting is to Smolensk, initially. Einsatzgruppe ‘B’, Rudolf’s unit, is working around Vyazma, a couple of hundred kilometres nearer to Moscow. We may both even end up in Moscow together; I don’t suspect it can hold out against our tanks much longer.’

‘Be careful. He can be terribly volatile.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.’

She explored his ear with her tongue, then kissed his neck. Her hand snaked around to his chest and ran her fingers down, over his stomach.

‘How long will it be before you’ll get leave?’

‘They’ve told me I’ll get a week, every two months.’

He felt her mould herself against his back, her soft breasts and hard nipples pressing on his shoulder blades, her pubis firm against the small of his back.

‘It will pass quickly,’ she said. She slid around him, straddling his legs, guiding him inside her.

He knew that he would throw himself into his work, only breaking off to eat and sleep. And there would be plenty opportunities for sexual release among the Jewish sluts he flushed from the holes they were cowering in, but it would be the longest and slowest time of all, and he wanted to remember every second of his time with Lise to carry him through it.

He gave in to the scent and to the feel of her.

CHAPTER 6

[24/11/1941 Monday]

In driving rain, the thirty prisoners marched through Comrie from the railway station. One of the men had started to sing the Horst Wessel Song, and his companions had taken up its strains. The residents of the tiny Scottish town had never seen Germans before, and every window and every doorway held curious faces, staring at the marchers singing at the top of their voices.

Franz smiled as he remembered the onlooking crowds on their march into Paris, a lifetime ago.

They stared at us then, as victors. Now they stare at the defeated.

They marched, still singing, along Drummond Street, past the baker’s and the butcher’s shops to the centre of town, then left across the bridge into Dalginross, the larger stone houses and crofts replacing the terraced houses of the main street. Their residents also lined the road as far as the square, and the upper square. There were less people now, and the biting wind cut through their uniforms.

Wheeling right onto Braco Road, the formation, flanked by guards from British and Polish regiments, left the town behind, a few cattle in the muddy fields the only onlookers remaining.

They’d stopped singing, and with more than a little trepidation, the men looked left and right at the surrounding hills and the snow-covered mountains behind, looming over the marchers in the dull winter light. They shivered, and not just from the cold. As they approached the camp, the neat rows of dark-grey Nissen huts squatted behind tall, barbed-wire fences and offered little prospect of warmth or light, with their curved, corrugated iron roofs and small, square windows, with one chimney near each end.

In excited, hushed tones, the men had talked of escape on the long train journey north from Doncaster, passing through the easy flat coastal lands of Northumberland and south-east Scotland, but after Edinburgh, and Stirling, and Perth, as the land rose and rivers and forests nestled between grey, rugged hills, the men of the Wehrmacht had quietened. When someone suggested that there would be plenty cover if they could escape from whatever camp they were in, Johann had darkened the mood further by telling them that the valleys would be well-guarded, and the hills, especially in winter, would be inhospitable and exposed, and even well-trained soldiers, used to crossing difficult terrain, would find it difficult to make a dent in the kilometres required to get near to the coast.

‘Anyway, look at the guard towers,’ Franz said as they entered the main gate of the camp.

At each corner of the camp and at the entrance, sentries stood atop steel towers five metres high, machine guns pointing at the small group of prisoners. For at least a few hundred yards outside the perimeter, flat farmland gave no cover should the inmates manage to breach the high, barbed-wire-topped fence.

The surrounding countryside reminded Franz of the Harz mountains in winter, but harsher and with less trees. His father had told him that the Scottish Highlands were wild and beautiful, and he presumed they were somewhere in the middle of them. Although the names of the stations they’d passed through had been blanked out, Edinburgh had been unmistakable, and they’d seen a castle in the grim distance an hour later which he was all but sure had been Stirling.

‘Where are we now, then, Herr Navigator?’ Axel Langefeld said, after the commandant had welcomed them to Cultybraggan, aided by the worst interpreter any of the prisoners had come across.

The two men stood lined up outside hut 58, in one of the four identical, self-contained sections in the camp.

‘North of Edinburgh,’ Franz said, ‘somewhere in the Highlands. In the middle of nowhere.’

‘Don’t be so negative. There’s a railway line. And roads.’

‘Axel, you never give up, do you?’

‘No. The day I do, I might as well curl up and die.’

Franz couldn’t help but like Axel, despite his fanatical devotion to the Führer and to the German Reich. But he knew how dangerous that could be.

‘Good luck with any escape attempt. You’d need to dig a tunnel 200 metres to get under the wire, but that’s the easy part. Travelling hundreds of kilometres southwards, and east, without much English, you’d stick out like a sore thumb. In these small towns and villages, everybody knows everybody. A stranger would be noticed.’

‘You can teach me English. Better still, you can come with us. Don’t you want to get back home?’

‘That goes without saying, but if you fail, they will shoot you. Then what use are you?’

‘At least I’ll have died trying.’

‘If you come up with a plan, I will help you. But unless it is foolproof, don’t expect me to come with you.’

‘Ach, that’s disappointing. I don’t understand why you don’t want to get back to your men, to fight for the Fatherland.’

‘It’s not that I wouldn’t give my right arm to be with my men, and my commanding officer. I just don’t want to commit suicide.’

‘If you hadn’t taken part in the invasion of Poland, Norway and France, and you didn’t have an Iron Cross, I would swear you were frightened to go back; afraid to fight in Russia.’

‘I’m no coward, but it’s crazy to believe you can get to Germany.’

‘We don’t need to get to Germany. We can go to Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, France. Any of them.’

‘And you think that would be easy?’

‘Nothing is ever easy, but I see no problem in stealing a fishing boat.’

Franz looked at him, shaking his head.

‘Supposing we could make it to the coast, hundreds of kilometres away, through enemy territory, and steal a boat. The North Sea is no picnic, even more so with a crew who have never sailed in a fishing boat. And do you believe for a minute that the British wouldn’t try and stop us?’

‘What else do we do? Rot in this pissing wet hole?’

‘We have no choice. That’s the reality.’

‘Ach, Franz. I’m sorry you feel that way. But we will need your help. We need to learn a little English. And we will need documents. You will be useful.’

‘By all means, I’ll give you all the help you need.’

‘And Johann. If I can persuade him to go?’

‘He makes his own decisions but, don’t forget, he knows what the North Sea is like too.’

‘You’re wasted here, Franz. Johann has told us what an exceptional officer you are. Germany needs every one of its sons to fight the Bolsheviks at this critical time in the Reich’s history. Think about that.’

The airman walked off.

If it’s the only way, he can believe I’m a coward. Better that than he finds out the truth.

CHAPTER 7

[25/11/1941 Tuesday]

The day after the prisoners arrived in Cultybraggan, an escape committee had been formed. Axel Langefeld was its leader and Gerhard Schlesinger, the submariner, was second in command; Kriegsmarine Erich, Luftwaffe Erich, Fritz and Hans, also from the Kriegsmarine, and Marcus from the Luftwaffe made up the remainder of the committee.

And to Franz’s annoyance, his brother joined.

‘It looks better that at least one of us is on it,’ Johann told Franz. They stood by the wire, looking up at the snow-clad hills in the crisp morning light.

‘I suppose so, but don’t even think of going with them, should they ever make an attempt.’

‘It will never get to that, but it will keep them occupied, and ward off boredom.’

‘Be careful. These are not your friends. Never trust them.’

Johann didn’t answer at once.

‘You and I are different,’ he finally said, with a scowl. ‘I can keep friends who don’t always have the same beliefs as me.’

‘These so-called-friends of yours would send Ruth and Manny back to Germany without a second thought, if they knew about them, to the camps or to the ghettos.’

‘They’re not as bad as that. They’re no different from Maxi and Artur and Fritz,’ Johann said. ‘They agreed with much of what the National Socialists were doing, just like I did until not so long ago.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘None of you spouted half the stuff about Hitler that Axel and Gerhard do.’

‘Only because we knew your views. We wanted to spare your feelings.’

Franz stared at his brother, who lowered his eyes.

‘We used to talk about it when you weren’t there. They all half-believed that the Jews were part of the problem, but I’d say they were uncomfortable about a few of the more extreme measures we witnessed, and were involved in.’

‘I thought I’d somehow managed to convince them that it was wrong.’

Johann shook his head.

‘They turned a blind eye to it, looked the other way. While the Führer was giving us victories, without heavy casualties on our part, they were willing to go along with the National Socialists’ methods. And he did deliver. He still is.’

‘Father isn’t convinced that Russia will be as straightforward as Poland or Norway.’

‘They said that about France,’ Johann said. ‘If our armed forces defeat the Soviets, we will invade England next. It’s another reason we must convince everyone that we love the Führer as much as they do. We’d be part of the Wehrmacht again.’

‘I know. But it’s hard. They think I’m a coward, that I’m frightened to go back and fight.’

‘They don’t. You have an Iron Cross. They respect you.’

‘They keep asking me to be part of their ridiculous escape plans and I refuse. Perhaps being seen as a coward is the easiest way to avoid being hounded.’

‘Axel spoke with me. He believes you’re overcautious, that’s all. You have a greater knowledge of Britain than any of us; you paid far more attention at the academy than most. If you help them with information, and teach them some basic English, they’ll be happy.’

Franz smiled.

‘What would I do without you, Brother?’

‘You’d be deeply depressed. I know it’s monotonous here, and the days drag, and…’

Johann looked around and lowered his voice.

‘… and you miss Ruth terribly, but never forget that she and Manny are safe because of you.’

‘I’ve been through heartbreak before. At least this time, if we both survive, we’ll be together. And I don’t mind it here. It’s beautiful, despite the mud and the wire and the cold and the wet. I worry more about what’s happening back home, and about you.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself. And we should get letters soon.’

Johann had written at long last, a few weeks after Franz. They’d still heard nothing, but Franz suspected their mail would take a while to follow them up to Scotland.

What I’d give anything for is to write to Ruth. And read her reply.

He knew it wouldn’t happen. Ruth and Manny might themselves be interned for the war’s duration and, even if they weren’t, they would never be permitted to make contact.

‘Just be careful,’ Franz warned. ‘We’ve been lucky. None of the guards seem to know how we got here. Let’s keep it that way.’

‘You worry too much, Brother. Come on, we’re having a game of cards. Why don’t you join in?’

‘No. You go. I’m going to write home again, let them know we’ve been moved somewhere permanent and that we’re fine.’

Johann shrugged and left. Franz knew he shouldn’t give him a hard time. The other prisoners loved Johann and having him in their camp, so to speak, doubtless stopped them pestering Franz.

He turned and looked at the hills, and the rising mountains behind them.

Ruth would love this. She’ll never have seen hills like these, or a mountain.

He pulled out his letter to her. He added a line to it, as he did most days. It was in English, just to be safe.

She’ll have better English than me, perhaps, by the time she reads this.

He replaced it in the small hiding place he’d sewn into his trouser pocket.

One day she will read it.

~~o~~

KIELER MORGENPOST

Wednesday 26th November 1941

JEWISH ASSETS SEIZED

Under the Eleventh Decree of the Reich Citizenship Law, passed yesterday, all assets of German Jews, at home and abroad, are forfeit to the Reich. A spokesman for the Reich Ministry for Finance explained that, once they had lost their citizenship, it was not appropriate for Jews to hold any assets.

CHAPTER 8

[27/11/1941 Thursday]

It wasn’t long before Heinrich Güllich carved out a reputation for himself around Smolensk, Vyazma and up to Mozhaysk, on the front line, just 100 kilometres from Moscow. He’d only been there a week and already he’d found five housefuls of Jews who’d been missed by the Waffen-SS and the Einsatzgruppen.

So far, he hadn’t seen Rudolf Mey, but he’d spoken to the SS man’s colleagues in Einsatzgruppe ‘B’ when he’d he handed over his finds. They all said the same thing. Hauptsturmführer Mey was one of the best officers in the company, and the bravest.

‘He’s ruthless, and has no fear,’ one said. ‘He always leads from the front; he’ll never ask his men to go where he wouldn’t.’

‘Why he hasn’t been cited for an Iron Cross, I don’t know,’ another said. It was a comment Heinrich Güllich heard on more than one occasion.

And already, he became aware of what they were saying about him, the new Gestapo officer.

‘A loner,’ they’d complain, ‘apart from his two pet dogs.’

These were the two Ukrainian militiamen he’d picked up in Smolensk; a bit of muscle who didn’t get in the way of his investigations but were on hand when additional muscle was needed.

He didn’t care. And if he liked to work alone, they would just have to live with it. He heard their hushed comments as he passed.

He can smell a Jew a kilometre away. He can read the Jew’s mind. He has a network of informers already, after just a few weeks. Heydrich himself sent him. He can hear the squeak of a Jewish rat a hundred metres underground.

He smiled. There was a little truth in everything they said, apart from the Heydrich talk.

He knew he could get inside the mind and thought processes of those Jews still hiding from the SS, and he’d sought out the half-Jews, and Jewish sympathisers, whom he terrorised into feeding him the smallest morsels of information. The gossip, the rumour, the overheard whispers.

And they were right. He did have a nose for sniffing out Jews, children especially, and when he found them, it was the Nussbaum brats he always saw in front of him.

The boys, he always shot. If the mood was on him, he’d torture them first, for information. The girls, if they’d reached puberty, he raped.

He gave the younger ones to his two Ukrainian thugs, to do with them what they wished.

While all this took place, he made the adults watch, before turning them over to the Einsatzgruppen.

And every time he looked into the horror-stricken faces of the mothers, he thought of Miriam Nussbaum, and laughed.

If the Einsatzgruppen units he handed the Jews over to ever speculated why there was never anyone under eighteen in the groups, they never questioned it. But the word spread, and it added to the myth surrounding him.

Heinrich Güllich made no attempt to dispel any of the rumours.

~~o~~

Hauptsturmführer Rudolf Mey heard about the new Gestapo officer and was intrigued.

‘He’s from Kiel, you say?’ he asked one of his junior officers.

‘Yes. Specially chosen by the Obergruppenführer, sir.’

‘I wonder if I’ve bumped into him.’

‘They say it’s like black magic, the way he finds Jews. Like a pig with truffles.’

‘I must make the effort to meet with him.’

‘I’m sure you will, sir. He’s a stickler for correct procedure. He always hands over the prisoners to the Einsatzgruppe.’

~~o~~

‘Do you think Mama and Papa got out?’

Manny, a young man in many ways, still had a boy inside him, that only Ruth, and perhaps Gella Weissberg saw.

‘I hope so, but I’m afraid it’s likely we’ll not know until after the war.’

‘The Allies will win. The men say they will.’

‘God pray that they’re right.’

‘What will happen to us if they don’t?’

‘We will have to try and get to America.’

‘And Mama and Papa?’

‘It depends where they are. If they get to Palestine, and the Germans threaten there, they could travel south to Egypt, and by ship to Australia or South Africa.’

‘It frightens me sometimes.’

‘It frightens me too, Manny, but Britain will fight, and there is the English Channel. It has saved the British in the past.’

‘The Spanish Armada,’ Manny said, pleased with himself. ‘We’re doing that in school.’

Ruth smiled. Manny’s class were being given lessons on English history. Ruth had read a few of the tattered textbooks Manny had been sent home with, donated by the Isle of Man’s schools.

‘You know then, that the Royal Navy is the best in the world. It will be hard for the Nazis to invade.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I still wake up in the middle of the night, worrying about Mama and Papa though.’

Ruth took her younger brother’s hand.

‘We have to believe that the General would get them out. He got us out, didn’t he?’

‘That was Franz and Johann,’ Manny said, with a sullen stare.

Ruth nodded. ‘It was,’ she said, ‘but it was the General’s idea.’

‘How do you know?’ he said, frowning.

She smiled at him.

‘Franz,’ he said. ‘I should have known.’

‘Yes. And the General will do his utmost to get Mama and Papa out.’

‘Do you remember the time he played Schlagball with us?’

Ruth laughed.

‘Yes,’ she said, tousling Manny’s hair. ‘He hit the winning run. That was your birthday, wasn’t it?’

‘Don’t do that,’ he said, scowling. ‘I’m too big for that sort of thing now.’

She looked at him. He was growing up, in every way.

He’s had to.

CHAPTER 9

The third day Franz and Johann were at Cultybraggan, the Jewish workers finished marking out the garden. The prisoners in compound ‘B’, now numbering a hundred, watched through the wire as they collected their tools and stacked them in the small wooden hut they’d erected to hold them.

The work party stood around smoking, laughing and joking with the camp guards.

‘Franz, ask the guard who they are,’ Gerhard Schlesinger said. ‘They look like prisoners to me.’

‘They might be political prisoners,’ Franz said, not believing it.

‘No,’ the Kriegsmarine man said. ‘I’ve heard them speaking German. They’re more likely to be German civilians who were living in Britain when the war broke out. They must have been interned. Ask them.’

‘Gerhard’s right,’ Axel said, turning to Franz. ‘Find out, if you can. They might turn out to be useful if we can make contact with them.’