Opposite Sides (64 page)

“
Thank you,
Commander.”

Hans was fully aware that
the Commander could not divulge the date nor the ship that had
transported her. He knew he could be told no more but he was
relieved to hear that she was safe and that she would no longer be
near any further front line action

“
For a German
officer to take such an interest, she must be quite special. A most
capable woman. But then our British ones are!”

“
Oh, we’ve
got plenty of our own, Commander. Our German girls are something,
too!”

“
Then, why
one of ours, Major?”

“
The
connection goes back a long way.”

“
Ah, yes. She
nursed you while you were injured. Is that it?”

Hans shook his head.
Commander Brownless continued.

“
It is well
known that the patient falls for the doctor, or nurse in your case.
Never mind, you may find a Fräulein of your own.”

“
If you had
looked at my file, Commander, you would have seen that I’m already
married. My wife lives in Neubrandenburg in northern Germany. No,
Nurse Turner and I have known each other since before the war when
at school. We’re very good friends, that’s all.”

“
Well I
never! Small world. So that’s the connection between you two. And I
thought it only started in the hospital out here.”

“
No.” Hans
gave a small laugh. “I, also, find it is most strange; us meeting
like that, out here in a war zone.”

Commander Brownless
grinned and offered Hans a cigarette.

“
Thank you,
but no. I have managed to keep clear of the habit so
far.”

“
Don’t mind
if I do?” Brownless waved the unlit cigarette in the air. Hans
shook his head and waited while the Commander struck a match, lit
the cigarette and then leaned back in his chair, drawing a breath
of satisfaction as a thin wisp of smoke crept upwards from the
glowing end. “Must be something in that,” he continued. Taking the
cigarette from his lips “Call it fate or whatever, don’t you
agree?”

“
Possibly,”
answered Hans. “In a few days my war will be over and I gather I
will be following most of the others to Canada or the states for
the duration.”

“
Possibly,
Major. One never quite knows.”

Both men managed to laugh
and Hans stood up for the last time and saluted a fellow
officer.

The strangest thing about
this war was that Erwin Hans Resmel was not taken across the
Atlantic but his ship ended up docking in England. This time he
arrived on British soil, not as some awkward, insecure foreign
student, but now as a very self-assured Major of the Third Reich,
albeit a Prisoner of War. The majority of those from the Afrika
Korps who had been captured had ended up in one of the camps in
America, but by the time Major Resmel was shipped out, so few men
from the Afrika Korps remained in Africa that they were put on a
British destroyer together with some of the British forces and
Commander Brownless.

Upon arrival, the
prisoners of war were immediately taken to Doncaster for further
interrogation. Again questions were asked regarding name, rank,
company and where each man was captured. The entire procedure was
as thorough as any military questioning found in German
quarters.

That having been
completed, there was the usual procedure of delousing, together
with a clean-up shower before each man received into his care the
rations that were specific to him, alone: meat, bacon, bread and
margarine together with a small pot of jam, a small packet of tea,
a few slices of cheese and some cake wrapped up in plain brown
paper. This was better than Hans had been living off since he was
sent to North Africa.

Hans was given a white
patch to attach to his uniform so that the guards realised he had
no further interest in carrying on the fight for Hitler and Nazi
Germany. After a few weeks he was informed that he would be
spending the remainder of his war years behind wire in one of the
POW camps located within the Oxfordshire countryside.

In June, 1944, news
resounded around the camp that the Invasion had begun. British and
American forces had made landfall in France and Hitler’s armies
were now having to fight on two fronts. Then, in September, a
bombshell came. A letter arrived for Major Resmel and when he
checked to see who the sender had been, Hans was most surprised to
find it came from Commander Brownless.

1944

Dear Major
Resmel,

There was a
plot to remove Hitler in July. Unfortunately, it failed. Our
information is that thousands have been arrested as the Gestapo and
SS hunt out all those in connection with the attempt. Our sources
have also discovered that your commanding officer in North Africa,
Field-marshal Rommel was one of those implicated. It is our belief
that he may have been silenced but no further information has
surfaced.

May I say
that, if this information is proven to be correct, I am sorry.
Field-marshal Rommel was not only a worthy foe but also a
reasonable man to deal with and many of our own POWs have nothing
but admiration for that very professional soldier.

Yours
respectfully,

Commander
William Brownless.

The POW camp
in England would often broadcast bulletins from the BBC, partly for
propaganda purposes and partly in the hope of proving how futile
the war was becoming for Germany. Hans was already aware that
Hitler’s entire regime was not to be trusted and that much of what
the men of the Afrika Korps had been told by Dr Goebbles were only
half-truths for the satisfaction of a war-driven philosophy. He
felt anguish for those fighting men still out there in the front
lines, the
Alte Hasen
, who were still giving up their lives for such an insane
cause. He wondered how much longer the madness would, or could go
on: all the senseless killing, before it could be stopped. And yet
there were men who had tried to find an end: the Afrika Korps’
commanding officer had been one of them.

As news came in about the
failed plot, Hans was to learn that almost five thousand military
and civilian personnel had been rounded up within Germany,
including many of the officers from the Abwehr with whom he had
spoken. He had heard nothing from Axel for many months, almost a
year, and Uncle Karl had not said anything about his younger
brother. He hoped that Axel had not been implicated in any way for
Axel had confided in him that, when the need should arise, he would
not hesitate to ally himself against their leader or his most
devout followers. So far, the news was fragmented and certain facts
could not yet be substantiated but there was an indication that the
SS were dealing with the plotters in a most barbaric manner. Hans
found it difficult to comprehend that the governing powers could do
such things, if they were indeed true, especially to the officers
and generals who had once proved their loyalty and it was shortly
after that that he received Commander Brownless’s letter telling
him about Rommel. Was there a connection? The British broadcasts
only announced that Fieldmarshal Rommel had succumbed to wounds he
had received after a spitfire attacked his car on a quiet French
road. Hans wondered whether there was a different truth.

A letter arrived. It had
taken three months to reach him for the post dates told him it had
not been posted recently but then he was not surprised as mail was
handed out lately so infrequently.

The address was in aunt
Laura’s hand. He ran the edge of his thumb between the two sides of
the envelope and wondered if there might also be another, this time
from Elisabeth.

As he extracted the note
paper, he saw that it came from uncle Karl. He was expecting to get
news about his brother as he had heard rumours that the U-boat
fleet had now virtually been destroyed.

Strange, that
Elisabeth hasn’t written
, he thought and
as he began reading, a shudder slithered between his shoulder
blades and brought tiny beads of sweat onto his brow.

August
1944

Dear
Erwin,

Renard has
been appointed to a new position ++++++++++++++++ U-Boat +++++
which has joined our front-line service. Same boat but a different
crew so all +++++++++++++++.

We’re all
thinking of you. Life is much the same here with certain items
++++++++++ get hold of. We are told ++++++++++ that our sacrifices
will +++++ in the end and that ++++++ ++++++++++++++++ than it is
today. +++++++.

There are
several empty houses opposite us now. The elderly man who lived
there seems to have moved. I haven’t seen him lately. They went
+++++++++++++ +++++++++++ He was a decent sort and I often met him
in the pub and we chatted about so many things. He was good company
and I miss him.

We’re told
that everyone’s happy and healthy here. It must be true, for Dr
Goebbles says so. +++++++++++++++++++++++++ I was able to read a
book by its light. ++++++++++ evening, just as it was becoming
dark, we heard rumblings. I know ++++++++++ are doing a good job.
We are told that it won’t be long ++++++++++++++++

Now, my boy,
I’ve got some bad news to pass on. We believe Elisabeth’s been
killed in an air-raid but she couldn’t have suffered for it all
happened so quickly. Siege was not with her at the time. I believe
he was with his grandmother on the other side of town and as far as
we know, he is safe and well.

Look after
yourself.

Your Uncle
Karl.’

Much of the letter had
been censored.

Poor
Elisabeth
, Hans thought.
Herr and Frau Kohler did not write to tell me. It
is possible they are still in shock.

He felt cold but he could
not bring himself to feel an overwhelming sense of loss. It was as
though Elisabeth was a stranger and he had just read about her
death in a newspaper.

How dreadful
I feel so little.
I
n truth, they had hardly got to know each other. He wondered
if his reaction would be similar if he had heard it had been Miss
Turner or Jan killed in an air-raid. There was still the odd air
attack over British soil but he had not heard of many. Not
now.

Hans hoped that the end
had been swift and that Elisabeth had not suffered. Then, his
thoughts turned to Siege. His little son would be two years old by
now. He had kept a small photo in his top pocket of the child but
that was taken six months ago. He hoped the child was still alive.
Uncle Karl had written that the child was safe but the date on the
letter indicated that it had been written some time ago and with
the daily air-raids over Germany, anything could have
happened.

The reminder of his son
brought back memories that he also had a daughter and she was here
in England. What a father he had been to his two children! He had
not meant to be an absent parent. It just happened that way. It
upset him that Andrea would only know him by a name as she had been
too young to remember him. Sure, he was her father but a father
without a face. That is how he is for his little son: a father
without a face. Hans cursed himself. He should have been there with
Elisabeth, too. Isn’t that what marriage and family is all about?
To be together!. But he wasn’t! He wasn’t there to protect them. He
was a prisoner. What a mess this war had created!

The camp comprised of
several large brick blocks, probably once used as a mill. Within
the barbed-wire enclosure were the army tents which accommodated
the lower ranks. They were bitterly cold when temperatures dropped
or when the cold winds whipped up around their flimsy sides. Hans
was luckier as his bed, together with others of higher ranks, was
in a small round corrugated-iron Nissan-hut but there was little
space to be private or to get away from the other men. Private
letters and pictures were hidden under pillows or poked between
mattresses and bed boards. The only decently large building in the
complex was the dining area; another Nissan-hut but far larger than
the one he slept in. the men referred to it as the Hanger, for they
reckoned they could fit several large Heinkel bombers
inside.

Hans often visited the
tent of Feldwebel Luttow, a man who had been captured not far from
Liege six months ago. He also had family north of Berlin and he had
heard that bombing had been extremely heavy in that part as the
Allies sent wave after wave, a constant stream of bombers to
Germany to destroy as much of the Führer’s capital as they could,
to lay to waste the German cities as Germany had done to so many
other cities across Europe. Hans had had time to reflect and he
wondered what madness had driven them all into this killing and
destruction.

It was freezing cold
trying to huddle under the few blankets Luttow had been given, for
the sides of the tents offered little resistance for the raw
English winter. Hans had received a small food parcel sent on to
him by Jan. It had made a pleasant surprise. He decided to share
with Luttow. It would make the cold more bearable. And Luttow had
made himself a calendar, his Advents Calendar, he called it. Each
day, he prayed, for Luttow was a religious man and never did want
to do any harm to his fellow man. And day after day he crossed off
the number, watching them get closer and closer to the birth of
Christ.