Young Lions Roar (28 page)

Hitler, Fraenkel and Ulrich crouched alongside the Rolls Royce as another burst of rounds thudded into the opposite side of the car. The driver and the bodyguard sitting beside
him had not reacted as quickly as the passengers, and they both lay slumped forwards in the front seat. Ulrich watched as the surviving stormtroopers from the APC behind the Rolls Royce piled over
the side of their burning vehicle. They crouched alongside their APC and looked to Fraenkel for orders.

“We’re in a tight spot. How are we going to get out of here?” Ulrich asked.

Fraenkel looked behind them at the River Ouse that flowed parallel to the road towards the sea. “We can use the river to float downstream past the partisans.”

“I can’t swim,” Hitler said.

Fraenkel’s shoulders slumped as their last chance of escape slipped out of his grasp.

“I’ve got an idea, mein Führer!” Ulrich eyes lit up with sudden inspiration.

“Scharführer!” Ulrich shouted across at the stormtroopers sheltering behind their burning APC. “Your vehicle is carrying standard issue amphibious river crossing
equipment. Open the box at the side of your APC and take out the contents.”

“Yes, Sturmbannführer.” The SS sergeant did as he was told.

Ulrich nodded. “Good. Now pull the toggle.”

The Scharführer followed his orders, and watched in wonder as the device self-inflated.

“You’re an absolute genius, Ulrich! No wonder they call you The Cat!” Fraenkel said with genuine awe and admiration.

Ulrich shrugged his shoulders modestly. “Vorsprung durch technik, Standartenführer.”

“I’ll see that you get the Iron Cross First Class for this, Sturmbannführer!” Hitler grabbed his arm with a vicelike grip.

Another explosion racked the convoy.

“What was that?” Hitler asked.

“Land mines, sir.” Ulrich answered. “The partisans are detonating them by remote control one at a time. They’re trying to flush out any survivors and finish us off. We
don’t have much time.”

“Then I need to buy you some time.” Fraenkel stood up and pulled his Schmessier tightly into his shoulder. “Scharführer!” he shouted. “Are you ready to do your
duty for your Führer and for your Fatherland?”

“Yes, sir!” the SS sergeant replied.

“Good! Prepare to assault the enemy position. Forward on my command! Understood?”

“Understood, sir!”

Ulrich watched as the half a dozen or so survivors of the APC crew made sure that they had a full magazine of rounds, and checked that their grenades were close at hand.

“Standartenführer, you don’t have to do this.” Ulrich placed a hand on the Colonel’s arm. “Let me go instead. I’ll lead them.”

Fraenkel gently took Ulrich’s hand off his sleeve. “No, Sturmbannführer, the Gods of War are smiling on you once again. You came up with the idea to save the Führer. The
body guard are my men and only I can lead them into their final battle. Besides, who wants to live for ever?” Fraenkel smiled. “Goodbye, Ulrich.” The two men shook hands.
“It’s been an honour and a privilege to serve you, mein Führer.” Fraenkel bowed.

“The honour has been all mine, Ernst. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” The two men shook hands.

“Now, Sturmbannführer Ulrich: save the Führer!” Fraenkel ordered. “Get him out of here!”

“Yes, Standartenführer Fraenkel! Mein Führer, with your permission?” Ulrich stood up and held his Schmessier in one hand and the bright orange luminous inflatable dinghy in
the other hand.

Bob Leon watched in disbelief as the half dozen or so stormtroopers burst from cover from where they had been sheltering behind a burning APC. They had barely run ten yards
before he cut them down with one burst from his MG 42 machine gun. “Like lambs to the slaughter.” Bob said in disbelief. “Stupid bastards. Why did they get up and run like that?
If they’d stayed behind their APC they would have been safe and sound, and it would’ve been the devil of a job to deal with them.”

“I don’t know,” Zed said. “Maybe their vehicle was about to explode and they preferred to die out in the open rather than be burned alive. Who knows?”

“Well, it certainly grabbed my attention,” Bob remarked casually.

“Wait a minute!” Zed suddenly leapt to his feet. “Archie! Watch the river!” he shouted.

Leon carefully approached the broken bridge with his Schmessier tucked tightly into his shoulder. He could see Hitler’s Rolls Royce clearly in front of him. Two bodies
lay slumped in the front seats. Leon fired a short burst through the shattered windscreen to make sure that they were well and truly dead. The passenger door on the left hand side of the car was
open. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think that there were any bodies inside the passenger compartment. Damn! And he couldn’t check either. He looked down at the fast flowing
stream that separated him from the other side of the road. So near, and yet so far. The bridge had been blown up when Hitler’s car had been on the wrong end of the bridge. Greg hadn’t
thought of that. No, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Greg’s fault. Greg hadn’t chosen the ambush sight; he had. The fault and the responsibility was all his. Damn and blast
again! To have come all of this way for nothing! Wait a minute…Leon looked at the wreckage of the bridge and the destroyed APC below. Maybe he could use the wreckage to cross the
river…

“We’re doing fine, mein Führer…” Ulrich and Hitler lay flat on the bottom of their dinghy as the Ouse carried them rapidly down the river.

“I swear, Ulrich, if we get out of this I’m going to…”

“Not if, mein Führer; when,” Ulrich interrupted. “We’ll be home and dry in King’s Lynn within half an hour, mein Führer. You mark my
words…”

Hitler smiled. “Very well, Ulrich. When.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Leon was perched precariously on a piece of broken APC when he saw the dinghy floating down the river. He quickly unslung
his Schmessier, nearly dropping it into the stream in the process, cocked it, flicked off the safety catch, and fired off a long burst of rounds.

Ulrich ducked as the rounds flew harmlessly overhead. He crouched up in the dinghy and fired a long burst of bullets in the direction of the attacker.

“It’s all right, mein Führer. I think that I got him. Anyway, we’re out of sight now, sir.” Ulrich looked down in horror at the rapidly growing pool of blood in the
bottom of his dinghy. “Mein Führer? Mein Führer!”

“Where’s Dad?” Bob asked. “I haven’t seen him since he started to cross the stream. He should’ve crossed by now. We should be able to see
him on the other side.”

Zed shrugged his shoulders. “We haven’t seen him since the last two bursts of machine gun fire. He’s probably searching the bodies trying to find Hitler and finishing off any
wounded Jerries who are still alive.”

“Probably…” Bob knelt up and raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He scanned the wreckage of the ruined convoy and shook his head. “No. I still can’t see him.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones.”

“What’s going on, Bob?” Sam shouted across. “The Huns will be here any minute. We have to bug out now!”

“I can’t see my dad!” Bob replied.

Sam swore under his breath. “Your dad’s a big lad, Bob. He can look after himself.”

“We must bug out and head for the rendezvous point, Bob, as your dad ordered,” Alan added. “When the convoy doesn’t turn up on time the Huns are bound to send a patrol to
investigate. If the convoy managed to send a contact report when they got ambushed there could be a patrol on its way as we speak. We need to bug out now!”

“He’s right, Bob.”

“Shut up, Greg!” Bob turned on him with teeth bared like a wolf and fire in his eyes. “I don’t remember anyone putting you in charge. That’s my dad out there; he
wouldn’t leave any of you behind, and I’m not leaving without him! You leave if you want to and I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”

“Come on, lads. Let’s go,” Alice said. “There’s no talking sense into him. If Archie was here, he would order us to leave.”

Alan, Sam and Greg got to their feet and gathered their equipment.

Bob shook his head at them with contempt and pulled his Schmessier into his shoulder. “Cover me, Zed,” he ordered.

“You’re not coming?” Greg asked.

Zed shook his head. “I’m staying with Bob. I’m going to help him find his father.”

“Good luck, Zed. I’ll see you at the rendezvous point,” Greg said.

Zed nodded his head. He aimed his MG 42 machine gun towards the convoy and searched for any signs of life amongst the wreckage.

The burst of bullets cut Bob down where he stood.

“Enemy fighters! Take cover!” Greg shouted.

Zed looked up as two Messerschmitt 109 fighters swooped low over the ruined convoy. They started to turn around in a wide loop to come in for another pass.

“Cover me!” Zed shouted.

“You’ll never make it!” Greg warned.

“I left Terry behind in Wales!” Zed shouted. “I’m not going to do it again!” Zed started running towards Bob’s lifeless body.

The Messerschmitts started their second attack run. Alan, Sam, Alice and Greg started firing all of their weapons in an attempt to throw up enough flak to put the pilots off their second
pass.

Zed reached Bob and flung him onto his back in a fireman’s lift. The first pilot’s rounds over shot his target. The second pilot’s didn’t, and punched into the two
partisans. Zed and Bob sunk to the ground, where they lay in a lifeless heap.

“Zed!” Greg shouted and started to run towards his friend.

“No!” Sam rugby-tackled him, and the two boys rolled Greg onto his back and pinned him down by his arms.

Alice grabbed the lapels of Greg’s battledress and shook him. “Zed’s dead, Greg! Zed’s dead! We’ve got to get out of here, or else we will be as well!”

Greg nodded his head. He was numb with shock. Alan and Sam both pulled him to his feet and grabbed an arm each. The boys propelled him through the forest, with Alice leading the way with an MG
42 held at the hip.

A Navy patrol boat found the bullet-holed dinghy floating towards Kings Lynn. The crew’s curious and confused questions and queries were instantly transformed into cries
of consternation when they discovered the identity of the lifeless body that lay in the bottom of the boat. The speedboat raced towards King’s Lynn at top speed, where a waiting ambulance
transported the two patients to the local hospital. Sturmbannführer Ulrich had remained silent throughout the whole ordeal and he was sedated immediately upon arrival at the hospital. He slept
the sleep of the damned for the next twenty four hours, without waking up once. “Sturmbannführer Ulrich, Sturmbannführer Ulrich - you have a visitor, sir,” a voice whispered
in his ear.

“Wha-?” Ulrich slowly came around.

Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the Third Reich, stood in front of him with an outstretched hand and a Hollywood smile on his face.

“Mein Führer?” Ulrich’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Mein Führer, I don’t understand, I thought that you were…”

“Dead?” Adolf Hitler shook the dazed and confused Sturmbannführer’s hand. “No wonder that you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

The Führer’s assembled entourage laughed. Ulrich blinked as half a dozen bulbs flashed as the photographers took their photographs.

“It seems that you’re not the only person who deserves the nickname The Cat!” Hitler smiled.

The crowd laughed dutifully. Ulrich noticed the reporters writing down every word that Hitler said.

Hitler straightened up his tunic. “I have come to honour a genuine German hero. Obersturmbannführer Ulrich saved my life and is the very finest example of the Third Reich fighting
man. It is my honour and my privilege to award Obersturmbannführer Ulrich the Iron Cross First Class.”

Ulrich was too stunned and shocked to react. His mouth hung open like a fish gasping for water as Hitler pinned the medal onto his hospital pyjamas. The camera bulbs flashed again, momentarily
blinding him.

“Thank you, sir. Excuse me, mein Führer. Obersturmbannführer…?” Ulrich asked in confusion.

Hitler leaned towards him. “Yes, my boy; as a further token of my esteem and gratitude I have promoted you to Lieutenant-Colonel. You will command your own Regiment. Congratulations,
Obersturmbannführer Ulrich!”

There was another round of applause and more photographs as Hitler shook his hand.

“You mark my words: this young man is destined to achieve great things.” Hitler announced as he pointed at Ulrich. “His future is written in the stars.”

“Let’s hear it for Obersturmbannführer Norbert Ulrich! The Führer’s champion!” A voice shouted.

Hitler leaned in close and whispered in Ulrich’s ear. “We’ll talk later, Ulrich, in private once this travelling circus has left. Now, get some rest. That’s an
order!” Hitler smiled as he patted Ulrich’s hand.

“As you command, mein Führer,” Ulrich replied. “Heil Hitler!”

The sight of the wounded war hero with his Iron Cross First Class pinned to his striped hospital pyjamas executing a perfect textbook Hitler salute was too good a photo opportunity for the
paparazzi to miss, and instigated another barrage of flashing camera bulbs.

“Heil Hitler!” The Führer replied before he swept out of the room, followed by his assembled crowd of admirers.

Ulrich looked down at the medal pinned on his chest in disbelief.

The sound of slow clapping suddenly dragged him out of his daydream. A figure had been standing silhouetted in front of the sun shined windows and now walked slowly towards the bed.

“Brigadeführer Herold!”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Ulrich. I admit that I was rather sceptical at first, but you really do deserve to be called The Cat!” Herold shook his head in awe and wonder.
“I don’t know how you do it.”

Ulrich shrugged his shoulders. “Just lucky, I guess, sir.” He straightened up in his bed. “Any survivors form the convoy, sir?”

Herold shook his head sadly. “Just you and the Führer, Ulrich. Everyone else was killed. Over forty men in total.”

“Mein Gott!” Ulrich put his hand up to his mouth in horror. “Any idea who carried out the attack, sir?”

Herold nodded. “We found two bodies in the marsh beside the road. Two men. Probably partisans.”