Radl laughed, looked slightly shamefaced. 'Whenever I take that damned letter out I feel strange. A feeling of - of power comes over me. Like the centurion in the Bible, who says do this and they do it, go there and they go.'
As they turned into Brave Road a fieldcar drove past them, the artillery sergeant who brought them in from the airfield at the wheel.
'Colonel Neuhoff sending a warning of our coming,' Radl commented. 'I wondered whether he would.'
'I think he thought I was Gestapo.' Devlin said. 'He was afraid.'
'Perhaps,' Radl said. 'And you, Herr Devlin? Are you ever afraid?'
'Not that I can remember.' Devlin laughed, without mirth. 'I'll tell you something. I've never told another living soul. Even at the moment of maximum danger and, God knows, I've known enough of those in my time, even when I'm staring Death right between the eyes, I get the strangest feeling. It's as if I want to reach out and take his hand. Now isn't that the funniest thing you ever heard of?'
.
Ritter Neumann, wearing a black rubber wet suit, was sitting astride a torpedo moored to the number one recovery boat tinkering with its engine, when the fieldcar roared along the jetty and braked to a halt. As Neumann looked up. shading his eyes against the sun, Sergeant-Major Brandt appeared.
'What's your hurry?' Neumann called. 'Is the war over?'
Trouble, Herr Leutnant,' Brandt said. 'There's some staff officer flown in from Jersey. A Colonel Radl. He's come for the Colonel. We've just had a tip-off from Victoria Street.'
'Staff officer?' Neumann said and he pulled himself over the rail of the recovery boat and took the towel that Private Riedel handed him. 'Where's he from?'
'Berlin!' Brandt said grimly, 'And he has someone with him who looks like a civilian, but isn't.'
'Gestapo?'
'So it would appear. They're on their way down now - walking.'
Neumann pulled on his jump boots and scrambled up the ladder to the jetty. 'Do the lads know?'
Brandt nodded, a savage look on his face, 'And don't like it. If they find he's come to put the screws in the Colonel they're quite likely to push him and his pal off the end of the jetty with sixty pounds of chain apiece around their ankles.'
'Right,' said Neumann. 'Back to the pub as fast as you can and hold them. I'll take the fieldcar and get the Colonel. He went for a walk along the breakwater with Frau Neuhoff.'
Steiner and Ilse Neuhoff were at the very end of the breakwater. She was sitting above the rampart, those long legs dangling into space, the wind off the sea ruffling the blonde hair, tugging at her skirt. She was laughing down at Steiner. He turned as the fieldcar braked to a halt.
Neumann scrambled out and Steiner took one look at his face and smiled sardonically. 'Bad news, Ritter, and on such a lovely day.'
'There's some staff officer in from Berlin looking for you, a Colonel Radl,' Neumann said grimly. 'They say he has a Gestapo man with him.'
Steiner wasn't put out in the slightest. 'That certainly adds a little interest to the day.'
He put up his hands to catch Ilse as she jumped down, and held her close for a moment. Her face was full of alarm. 'For God's sake, Kurt, can't you ever take anything seriously?'
'He's probably only here for a head count. We should all be dead by now. They must be very put out at Prinz Albrechtstrasse.'
.
The old inn stood at the side of the road on the approach to the harbour backing on to the sands of Braye Bay. It was strangely quiet as Radl and the Irishman approached.
'As nice a looking pub as I've seen,' Devlin said. 'Would you think it possible they might still have a drink on the premises?'
Radl tried the front door. It opened and they found themselves in a dark passageway. A door clicked open behind them. 'In here, Herr Oberst,' a soft, cultured voice said.
Sergeant Hans Altmann leaned against the outside door as if to bar their exit. Radl saw the Winter War ribbon, the Iron Cross, First and Second Class, silver wound badge which meant at least three wounds, the Air Force Ground Combat badge and, most coveted honour of all amongst paratroopers, the Kreta cuff-title, proud mark of those who had spearheaded the invasion of Crete in May, 1941.
'Your name?' Radl said crisply.
Altmann didn't reply, but simply pushed with his foot so that the door marked 'Saloon Bar' swung open and Radl, sensing something, but uncertain what, stuck out his chin and advanced into the room.
The room was only fair-sized. There was a bar counter to the left, empty shelves behind it, a number of framed photographs of old wrecks on the walls, a piano in one corner. There were a dozen or so paratroopers scattered around the room, all remarkably unfriendly. Radl, looking them over coolly, was impressed. He'd never before seen a group of men with so many decorations between them. There wasn't a man there who didn't have the Iron Cross, First Class and such minor items as wound badges and tank destruction badges were ten a penny.
He stood in the centre of the room, his briefcase under his arm, his hands in his pockets, coat collar still turned up. 'I'd like to point out,' he said mildly, 'that men have been shot before now for this kind of behaviour.'
There was a shout of laughter. Sergeant Sturm, who was behind the bar cleaning a Luger said, 'That really is very good, Herr Oberst. Do you want to hear something funny? When we went operational here ten weeks ago, there were thirty-one of us. including the Colonel. Fifteen now, in spite of a lot of lucky breaks. What can you and this Gestapo shit offer that's worse than that?'
'Don't go including me in this thing,' Devlin said. 'I'm neutral.'
Sturm, who had worked the Hamburg barges since the age of twelve and was inclined to be a trifle direct in his speech, went on, 'Listen to this because I'm only going to say it once. The Colonel isn't going anywhere. Not with you. Not with anyone.' He shook his head. 'You know that's a pretty hat. Herr Oberst, but you've been polishing a chair with your backside for so long there in Berlin that you've forgotten how real soldiers feel. You've come to the wrong place if you're hoping for a chorus from the Horst Wessel.'
'Excellent,' Radl said. 'However, your completely incorrect reading of the present situation argues a lack of wit which I, for one, find deplorable in someone of your rank.'
He dumped his briefcase on the counter, opened the buttons of his coat with his good hand and shrugged it off. Sturm's jaw dropped as he saw the Knight's Cross, the Winter War ribbon. Radl moved straight into the attack.
'Attention!' he barked. 'On your feet, all of you.' There was an instant burst of activity and in the same moment the door swung open and Brandt rushed in. 'And you, Sergeant-Major,' Radl snarled.
There was pin-drop silence as every man stood rigidly to attention and Devlin, thoroughly enjoying this new turn events had taken, pulled himself up on to the bar and lit a cigarette.
Radl said. 'You think you are German soldiers, a natural error in view of the uniforms you wear, but you are mistaken.' He moved from one man to another, pausing as if committing each face to memory. 'Shall I tell you what you are?'
Which he did in simple and direct terms that made Sturm look like a beginner. When he paused for breath after two or three minutes, there was a polite cough from the open doorway and he turned to find Steiner there, Ilse Neuhoff behind him.
'I couldn't have put it better myself, Colonel Radl. I can only hope that you are willing to put down anything which has happened here to misguided enthusiasm and let it go at that. Their feet won't touch the ground when I get through with them, I promise you.' He held out his hand and smiled with considerable charm. 'Kurt Steiner.'
Radl was always to remember that first meeting. Steiner possessed that strange quality to be found in the airborne troops of every country. A kind of arrogant self-sufficiency bred of the hazards of the calling. He was wearing a blue-grey flying blouse with the yellow collar patches bearing the wreath and two stylized wings of his rank, jump trousers and the kind of sidecap known as a Schiff, an affectation of many of the old-timers. The rest, for a man who had every conceivable decoration in the book, was extraordinarily simple. The Kreta cuff title, the ribbon for the Winter War and the silver and gold eagle of the paratroopers' qualification badge. The Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves was concealed by a silk scarf tied loosely about his neck.
'To be honest, Colonel Steiner, I've rather enjoyed putting these rogues of yours in their place.'
Ilse Neuhoff chuckled. 'An excellent performance, Herr Oberst, if I may say so.'
Steiner made the necessary introductions and Radl kissed her hand. 'A great pleasure, Frau Neuhoff.' He frowned. 'Have we by any chance met before?'
'Undoubtedly,' Steiner said and pulled forward Ritter Neumann who had been lurking in the background in his rubber wet suit. 'And this, Herr Oberst, is not as you may imagine, a captive Atlantic seal, but Oberleutnant Ritter Neumann.'
'Lieutenant.' Radl glanced at Ritter Neumann briefly, remembering the citation for the Knight's Cross that had been quashed because of the court martial, wondering whether he knew.
'And this gentleman?' Steiner turned to Devlin who jumped down from the counter and came forward.
'Actually everyone round here seems to think I'm your friendly neighbourhood Gestapo man,' Devlin said. 'I'm not sure I find that too flattering.' He held out his hand. 'Devlin, Colonel. Liam Devlin.'
'Herr Devlin is a colleague of mine,' Radl explained quickly.
'And you?' Steiner said politely.
'From Abwehr Headquarters. And now, if it is convenient, I would like to talk to you privately on a matter of grave urgency.'
Steiner frowned and again, there was that pin-drop silence in the room. He turned to Ilse. 'Ritter will see you home.'
'No, I'd rather wait until your business with Colonel Radl is over.'
She was desperately worried, it showed in her eyes. Steiner said gently. 'I shouldn't imagine I'll be very long. Look after her, Ritter.' He turned to Radl. 'This way, Herr Oberst.'
Radl nodded to Devlin and they went after him.
'All right, stand down,' Ritter Neumann said. 'You damned fools.'
There was a general easing of tension. Altmann sat at the piano and launched into a popular song which assured everyone that everything would get better by and by. 'Frau Neuhoff,' he called. 'What about a song?'
Ilse sat on one of the bar stools. 'I'm not in the mood,' she said. 'You want to know something, boys? I'm sick of this damned war. All I want is a decent cigarette and a drink, but that would be too much like a miracle, I suppose.'
'Oh, I don't know, Frau Neuhoff.' Brandt vaulted clean over the bar and turned to face her. 'For you, anything is possible. Cigarettes, for example, London gin.'
His hands went beneath the counter and came up clutching a carton of Gold Flake and a bottle of Beefeater.
'Now will you sing for us, Frau Neuhoff?' Hans Altmann called.
.
Devlin and Radl leaned on the parapet looking down into the water, clear and deep in the pale sunshine. Steiner sat on a bollard at the end of the jetty working his way through the contents of Radl's briefcase. Across the bay, Fort Albert loomed on the headland and below, the cliffs were splashed with birdlime, sea-birds wheeling in great clouds, gulls, shags, razorbills and oyster-catchers.
Steiner called, 'Colonel Radl.'
Radl moved towards him and Devlin followed, stopping two or three yards away to lean on the wall. Radl said. 'You have finished?'
'Oh, yes.' Steiner put the various papers back into the briefcase. 'You're serious, I presume?'
'Of course.'
Steiner reached forward and tapped a forefinger on Radl's Winter War ribbon. 'Then all I can say is that some of that Russian cold must have got into your brain, my friend.'
Radl took the manilla envelope from his inside pocket and produced the Fuhrer Directive. 'I think you had better have a look at that.'
Steiner read it, with no evidence of emotion, and shrugged as he handed it back. 'So what?'
'But Colonel Steiner,' Radl said. 'You are a German soldier. We swore the same oath. This is a direct order from the Fuhrer himself.'
'You seem to have forgotten one highly important thing,' Steiner told him, 'I'm in a penal unit, under suspended sentence of death, officially disgraced. In fact, I only retain my rank because of the peculiar circumstances of the job in hand.' He produced a crumpled packet of French cigarettes from his hip pocket and put one in his mouth. 'Anyway, I don't like Adolf. He has a loud voice and bad breath.'
Radl ignored this remark. 'We must fight. We have no other choice.'
'To the last man?'
