The tank fired a warning shot over the roof. The German foot soldiers stopped, lifted their rifles to their shoulders, and took aim.
Lying flat on his stomach in the road, Lance raised his hands in the air. The two partisans followed suit, and then all three struggled to their feet.
The Citroen driver, seeing their surrender, put both hands out the window. Then carefully, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving it wide open in front of him.
In the back seat, Horton watched. Seeing that the driver’s side of the car was very near the edge of the road and a ditch, he ducked his head below the seat.
Counting on the German soldiers’ attention being locked on Lance and the partisans, and their view being obstructed by the front door and the driver standing behind it, Horton opened his own door just enough to squeeze through to the ground. Then he rolled into the ditch and lay still.
The Germans motioned at the driver to join his comrades. One captor moved in front of Lance and took the service pistol from his belt. Then he stepped back and uttered those words no soldier wants to hear at the point of a gun. “For you, the war is over.”
Kenyon fidgeted. Three hours had gone by since they had blown the fuel-oil tanks, and he had heard nothing from Lance, Horton, or any of the men who had been with them. Elena did her best to translate reports coming in of sightings of German units entering the area, including several accounts relating instances of British soldiers having been captured and partisans executed.
Kenyon beckoned to Pierre. “We have to assume that our chaps were taken,” he said through Elena. “They might be tortured. We have to relocate, now, and those other truckloads of dynamite have to be moved.”
31
Dunkirk, France
Resplendent in his new gray uniform with silver epaulets, black collar with an SS symbol, and a diamond-shaped patch on the sleeve with the letters SD embroidered on it, Hauptman Bergmann strode into Oberstleutnant Meier’s office unannounced, stood to attention, and clicked his heels. Immediately below his chin, he wore a black Iron Cross, signifying combat service, and under his arm, he carried his cap with a black band over its brim and a silver skull emblem.
Meier looked up from his desk with contained annoyance. “You’ve been gone nearly a week. I trust your trip to Berlin was productive.”
“Very.” Always haughty, Bergmann’s demeanor had taken on an air of suppressed patronization. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ll add greater capability to your command.” Unbidden, he sat in a chair in front of Meier’s desk.
Meier returned to various documents he had been reading prior to Bergmann’s entry. A pall hung over the room.
After several moments, Meier looked up again. “By all means, Hauptman, fill me in.”
“I met with my direct-line commander. Obviously, I’m attached to your command, and will continue to take my immediate orders from you.”
Meier scoffed lightly. “I am aware that you have an avenue to circumvent my authority. My admonition on how to handle our civilian population stands. Your way will get my men killed. What added capability do you bring?”
Bergmann locked cold eyes on Meier for a moment. Then he reached into his tunic, removed a document, and handed it to Meier. “My orders, sir.”
Meier opened and scanned it. “I see,” he said without emotion. “So, you are now an officer of the Sicherheitsdienst, the SD branch of the SS. Congratulations.” His tone carried less enthusiasm than the word implied. “What does that mean?”
“Thank you. It means that I am attached to your staff in a special intelligence capacity. My mission is to find and weed out threats to the führer and our Nazi regime, both from internal and external sources.”
An unctuous smile crossed his lips. Meier was unable to discern whether or not the expression suppressed malicious intent.
“I was fortunate that Reichsführer Himmler personally attended my induction ceremony and gave me those orders. He had been advised of the situation here with the rebels. He approved of my actions and toasted them at a reception. His last words to me were, ‘Nip this in the bud. Do not fail me.’ I assured him that I would not.”
Meier’s expression remained impassive, almost bored.
“Further down the page,” Bergmann said, “you’ll see mention of a mission to seek out and destroy rebel activity here, subject to your orders, of course.”
“Of course,” Meier said, peering through slitted eyes.
“When the occasion warrants, I can bring in SS units to support your command at almost a moment’s notice. That will alleviate pressure on your soldiers to perform tasks outside of their normal duties.”
Meier observed Bergmann as though seeing a new species of insect for the first time. “So then, please tell me, how do you intend to proceed?”
Bergmann smiled thinly. “I’m not satisfied that our military police are equipped to pursue criminal elements like the Boulier family. They’re too busy with directing traffic and conducting regular police work to apply the needed priority and resources. The Kallsen situation is a case in point, and it is still an open investigation. I’ll start there and take it where it leads.” He stood. “If that’s all, Herr Oberstleutnant, I will take my leave and get to work.”
Meier’s expression did not change. He leaned over his desk. “Stand at attention when you speak to me,” he commanded in a low, firm voice.
“Sir?” Bergmann queried, surprised.
“I said, stand at attention,” Meier ordered again, coming to his feet.
His face flushing crimson, Bergmann clicked his heels and stood straight, his arms locked at his sides.
“Now you listen to me, Herr Hauptman,” Meier growled. “You came late to this party, receiving your previous command when your predecessor fell on the last day of combat operations in this area. You haven’t seen a single day of fighting; despite that you wear the Iron Cross.
“You have
