Authors: Andrew Mackay
The message was played on the B.B.C. at 9 p.m. the following evening. Ansett returned to visit MacDonald the next morning. They sealed the deal with a manly bone crunching handshake, a dram of whiskey and a toast to the King. It was the 21st of February. Approximately eight weeks until the visit. Ansett asked MacDonald to recruit one more member of the group. He would return in two weeks time to confirm that MacDonald had carried out his orders.
“So the arrangement is that the Army is responsible for the security of Reichsstatthalter Scheimann and Prime Minister Mosley for the duration of their journey between London and Hereward. However, as soon as the convoy reaches Hereward it becomes the responsibility of the S.S.” Von Schnakenberg explained to the assembled officers of his brigade packed together in Hereward Cathedral Hall. “General Fruenkel’s Division is responsible for the security of the convoy between London and Cambridge.” He pointed with a captured British Army Officer’s swagger stick at a giant map pinned to a blackboard. “Our Brigade is responsible for the security of the convoy between Cambridge and Hereward. Brigadefuhreur Schuster’s Brigade is responsible for security within Hereward itself. Any questions, gentlemen?” Von Schnakenberg asked the crowd.
A dozen hands went up at once.
“Hauptmann Alfonin?” Alfonin had been recently promoted to fill the dead man’s shoes of his company commander who had been killed during a weekend visit to London.
“Why aren’t we sharing responsibility with the S.S. for security in Hereward?” Alfonin asked. “Why is everything split up?”
“The Reichsstatthalter felt that one of the factors that contributed to the ‘Remembrance Day Massacre’ was the fact that security had been split between the S.S. the Luftwaffe and the Army. He felt that it would be more effective both from an administrative and security point of view if one service was given a specific area of responsibility.”
Muttering and murmuring swept through the Hall. Everyone knew that Reichsstatthalter Scheimann was a serving S.S. officer and it had not escaped anyone’s notice that the ‘one service’ in question was, not surprisingly, the S.S. It was common knowledge that Scheimann, Himmler, Schuster and Hitler himself were all old party comrades from the Munich Beer Hall Putsch days. This was an example of cronyism and nepotism at its worse.
Another question from the floor.
“Why are they visiting Hereward, sir?”
“Another good question, Hauptmann. It has probably not escaped your notice that there has been rather a lot of building work going on in Hereward recently, particularly within the grounds of St. John’s Academy. Does anyone here know why?”
It was obvious from the lack of response that they did not.
“As you know,” von Schnakenberg continued, “the Fuhrer has only visited England once, when he came to London shortly after our forces reached the Scottish Border in October last year…” Von Schnakenberg paused for dramatic effect. He wanted to let the tension build. He knew that the audience was on tenterhooks. “The Fuhrer decided a long time ago, months before the Invasion took place, possibly years before the War actually started, that if we ever went to war against England and, God willing, won then he would want an official residence somewhere in the country.” He paused again. Von Schnakenberg was enjoying his role. “He has chosen a place for his official residence. The Fuhrer has chosen Hereward!”
Conversation flowed across the congregation like a Mexican wave from the front of the crowded hall to the rear and back again.
“The Reichsstatthalter and Prime Minister Mosley will inspect the Fuhrer’s Official Residence in England at St. John’s Academy on April 23rd, St. George’s Day.”
Chatter dramatically increased throughout the Hall, rebounding off the walls as the assembled officers digested the news and let it sink in.
Von Schnakenberg ploughed on. He knew that what he was about to say would blow the assembled Officers away. “The Fuhrer himself will visit Hereward on September 27
th
, the anniversary of Operation Sealion.”
During the next week Ansett approached and recruited a second man to the fighting group, David Mair, an ex-Physics teacher at St. John’s and also a former Officer in the Royal Signals who had served during the Great War. Mair had been a Captain in Hook’s Home Guard Battalion, but had been bed ridden with a severe migraine attack when the Fusiliers had marched out of Hereward. Ansett had found him only too keen to volunteer for further hazardous duties. Like other men who had watched their friends and comrades die, Mair experienced a strange feeling of guilt that he had survived whilst others had perished. Ansett could almost see the weight lift from Mair’s shoulders as he cheerfully volunteered to once again risk life and limb. As with MacDonald, Ansett asked Mair to recruit another member of the group. Ansett would return in one week’s time, on March 7
th
to confirm that Mair had carried out his orders.
Von Schnakenberg allocated the three units under his command three specific areas of responsibility to be covered during the convoy’s journey from Cambridge to Hereward. Oberstleutnant Dahrendorf’s motorcycle Battalion was responsible for providing motorcycle, A.P.C. and truck borne troops to escort the convoy. Oberstleutnant Rohm’s Potsdam Grenadiers were responsible for guarding villages and towns along the route and supplementing and reinforcing the garrisons that were already there. Oberleutnant Todt’s Oberschutzen Jaeger Regiment was responsible for guarding isolated houses and pubs, farms and hamlets and the general countryside along the route.
Dahrendorf remarked that it was a shame that Schuster and the S.S. would get all of the credit if the visit was a success. Rohm pointed out that Schuster and the S.S. would also get all of the blame if the visit was a failure. Von Schnakenberg wasn’t willing to put any money on it, but he was pretty sure that Rohm had had a mischievous glint in his eye as he had made that observation. It seemed that von Schnakenberg was not the only one who wanted to rain on Schuster’s parade.
On March 7
th
Ansett returned to visit MacDonald. He informed Ansett that he had successfully recruited another member for the fighting group. Before he could continue, Ansett interrupted him and told MacDonald that he didn’t want to know who the new recruit was. MacDonald cottoned on pretty quickly. He realized that he would have to think in a completely new way. His every thought and action would have to be governed by one word-security. Ansett told him that he and the other group member should stand by for further orders.
Ansett then went to see Mair. He told Ansett that he had not managed to recruit the person whom he had wanted to. Ansett told him that he would return in one week’s time on the 14th of March. If Mair had not managed to recruit another member by that date then Ansett would have to do so himself. Ansett was aware of the risk of Mair being forced to work with someone who might be a complete stranger to him, but he was also conscious of the fact that he was rapidly running out of time. It was only six weeks until the St. Georges Day visit on April 23rd.
“What’s happening within Hereward itself on the day of the visit?” Alan asked.
“There will be a platform built in front of the Town Hall where Reichsstatthalter Scheimann and Mosley will sit…” Ansett began.
“They’re going to build a platform right where they built the gallows in January?” Sam asked incredulously.
“Christ!” Alan exclaimed. “That’s in damn bad taste.”
“The Germans have never been noted for their sensitivity, lads,” Robinson remarked dryly.
The boys both turned to look at Robinson. They were surprised at what he had said. In fact, they were surprised that he had spoken at all. Robinson was a man of few words and Alan and Sam had had very little contact with him since the ‘Remembrance Day Massacre,’ despite the fact that he was the School Janitor. Never the less, the boys were glad to have Robinson along. He was loyal, dependable and completely and utterly ruthless. Plus, there was safety in numbers. Robinson had proved his worth through his high body count in November.
“Scheimann and Mosley will inspect an Honour Guard made up of a company of S.S. a company of Police and a company of Specials. There will then be a Medal ceremony, a General Salute and a march past complete with an S.S. Military Band.” Ansett explained.
“Should be quite a parade,” Alan commented.
“Sergeant MacDonald,” Ansett continued, “Alan and your good self, Sam, are going to be presented with medals for the part that you played in the ferocious shoot out between the terrorists and your gallant comrades in the S.S. on the evening prior to Bloody Wednesday.
Sam seemed to grow an extra couple of inches. “About bloody time,” Sam said as he puffed out his chest like a peacock. “It’s about bloody time that they showed a bit of appreciation around here.”
“Poor young Bill Lindsdell will also be presented with a posthumous medal,” Ansett added.
“The Jerries are really milking this incident for propaganda purposes,” Alan observed.
“Both of you boys will command a platoon of Specials during the parade,” Ansett continued. “MacDonald will command a small section of policemen who will act as Mosley’s bodyguard on the platform.”
“What are our orders regarding Scheimann and Mosley?” Alan asked.
“Kill them all.”
Mason was eating lunch when he saw the familiar figure approaching. Several of the boys and girls stopped to chat to him as he walked through the school gates. David Mair had been a popular and well respected teacher and many a tear had been shed when he had announced his retirement. He had taught at St. John’s for nearly twenty years and he was like a piece of the woodwork. No one was more disappointed that Mair was retiring than Mason. Mair had taken him under his wing when Mason had first joined the school ten years before. Mair had been his mentor and Mason remembered with fondness the many times that he had been invited to join David, his wife, Sarah and their daughter, Anne, for picnics, lunches and dinners.
So it was with genuine pleasure that he opened the door and waited for Mair to arrive.
“Afternoon, David,” Mason said as he stretched out his hand in welcome. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Hallo, Paul,” Mair replied as he shook Mason’s hand and entered his house.
“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“I’m afraid that this is not a social call,” Mair said grimly. “I think that you’d better sit down.”
The rifle butts smashed against the front door. The door crumpled under the relentless barrage and splintered into a thousand pieces onto the wooden floor. A section of soldiers swept through the ground floor room like a troupe of whirling dervishes whilst another section raced upstairs. A half section stood guard outside the front door in the garden whilst another half section waited outside the back door incase anyone tried to escape.
Mair woke with a start as the door disintegrated.
“David! What is it?” Sarah shouted as she clutched her bedclothes against her.
A scream pierced through the night. “Anna!” Mair leapt off his bed and raced out of the door. A rifle butt slammed straight into his face. He collapsed to the floor and lay in a groaning and bloody heap. Sarah screamed. Four soldiers stepped over Mair’s inert form and entered the bedroom. They were led by a young officer.
“Pick him up,” the officer ordered curtly. Two of the soldiers did so whilst the other two covered Mair and his distraught wife with their weapons.
“Mr. Mair?” The officer asked in well spoken English.
“Yes,” Mair groaned through broken teeth and bleeding gums.
“We’re taking you into protective custody. If you don’t resist then no harm will come to your wife and daughter.”
Anne burst through the door, brushed past the soldiers and ran straight into the arms of her father. “Dad, what’s going on?” she asked through tear and fear filled eyes.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Mair replied as he stroked her hair and tried to soothe her. “Everything will be alright.”
“Take him away,” the officer ordered. Two of the soldiers supported the still groggy Mair under the shoulders as they dragged him out of the room. He left a trail of crimson red blood in his wake. The officer looked at his watch. It was just after three. The whole operation had taken less than five minutes.
Zorn parked his captured British Army Staff Car outside the front steps of the Police station. Zorn mounted the steps two at a time to the Police station and barely acknowledged the salute of the Police Sergeant on duty at the front desk. Ulrich followed hot on his heels.
The Duty Sergeant took them to the cell where the suspect was being held.
“Obersturmfuhrer Halder. How is the prisoner?” Zorn asked the S.S. officer who had arrested him the night before.
“We left the suspect in the cells to sweat it out as you instructed, sir,” Halder answered. “We haven’t touched him since last night.”
Zorn gave Halder a withering look. “I expressly ordered you not to touch him.”
Halder came to a position of attention. “He tried to resist arrest, sir. He might have a few broken teeth, but nothing more.”
“I hope so, Halder. For your sake,” Zorn said menacingly. “Heaven help you if he’s too injured to be interrogated. ‘A few broken teeth’ will be the least of your worries,” he threatened. “Open the door,” Zorn ordered.
The door opened to reveal an inert form lying on the floor. “You know what to do, Halder.”
Halder nodded.
“Carry on.”
Halder saluted. “On your feet, you English scum!” He yelled. “Strip and stand in the center of the cell with your arms fully stretched out above your head.”
The prisoner tried to carry out Halder’s instructions as quickly as he could, but his hands were shaking so much with the mid-March cold and trembling so much with fear that he could only move at half speed. He was absolutely petrified at the thought of what was to come.
“Send in the animals, sir?” Halder suggested.