Meier scanned it, his eyes narrowing further with fury. “The fool carried out the first execution too,” he snapped. “Get that captain in here.”
Three minutes later, Bergmann came to attention in front of Meier’s desk. He started to speak.
“Shut up, Herr Hauptman,” Meier said in a low, threatening voice. “You’re here to listen.”
He turned to his executive officer standing just inside the door. “Release all the prisoners taken under Hauptman Bergmann’s reprisal order and cease further arrests based on it. At once. His order is null and void.”
While Bergmann’s cheeks flamed red and his eyes bulged with fury, the executive officer left the room to carry out Meier’s command.
“You’ve made a big mistake,” Bergmann said. “My report will say—”
“You’ll be able to provide your report in person,” Meier stormed. “I’ll be returning you to Berlin. You are relieved of your duties.”
Bergmann started to speak again.
“I said shut up,” Meier cut him off. “You wear a military uniform, but even with all your academy training, you seem to have missed out on the most fundamental parts of it. Either that or your arrogance grew exponentially with putting on your SS uniform.”
He took a deep breath. “When you took command of your former company, you neglected to handle a disciplinary problem. You let Kallsen get out of hand. You went into a neighborhood unprovoked and got several of your men laid up in the hospital with serious head injuries.
“You disobeyed my orders. You neglected to seek guidance or coordinate beyond your own whims, and as a result, you’ve gotten several of your men killed. That’s what my report will say.
“We’re in a war against an army, not a population, and you’d better learn that. We destroyed the houses and the livelihoods of Dunkirk’s people, but until your silly forays, they saw their dead and wounded as collateral damage, and as painful as that must be, they accepted it. But when you attack the population directly, they fight back directly, as you just found out. Now, you have the questionable distinction of having taken casualties in the first skirmish with civilians, which you provoked. Were any of them killed or wounded?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I suspect not since you don’t mention any in your report.”
Unable to contain his anger, Bergmann blurted, “The people just learned that they can kill German soldiers without repercussion. You taught them that.”
Meier’s eyes bulged and he swallowed hard, fighting to control his rage. “You infantile fool,” he bellowed. “What they learned is that they can capture German weapons, and when they shoot our soldiers, they bleed and die. You destroyed the image of an invincible German army, and you’ve generated a fighting force behind our own lines.”
He jammed his face close to Bergmann’s. “And now they have more of our weapons. And you have what? A man who died of old age lying in the morgue. He was your fierce terrorist.”
Meier took a deep breath, circled his desk, and sat in his chair. “Report back to your SS superior in Berlin,” he said without looking up. “Dismissed.”
Bergmann clicked his heels and threw his arm out in the Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!” he roared, and stormed out of the room.
A few minutes later, the executive officer returned. “Do you think there’ll be repercussions?”
Meier discarded the thought with a wave of his hand and a toss of his chin. “Not as long as General Rommel commands the 7th Panzer Division and the war progresses favorably. They need me.”
55
Six days later, July 3
Sark Island, English Channel Islands
On the tenth day after Marian Littlefield’s entreaty to the citizens of Sark, she received word that the old lifeboat that regularly ferried between Guernsey and Sark had been spotted with German officers aboard.
That morning, Stephen had joked that, with the next day being when Americans celebrate their independence from British rule, “…if I had stayed in New Jersey after college instead of heading out to Canada, we would be spending tomorrow barbecuing hamburgers and watching parades and fireworks rather than playing host to Huns.”
“And they’re almost here,” Marian had replied. Then, in a rare emotional display, she hugged Stephen. “I’m scared. I convinced our people to stay on with us, and now I worry that I might have sealed their fates.”
“You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known,” Stephen said, lifting her hand and kissing it. “Now give them hell, just as we planned.”
“Is everyone prepared?”
“Informed, rehearsed, and ready,” Stephen replied. “These Germans have no idea who they’re dealing with.”
William Carré received an official note from Marian at mid-morning. As Seneschal of Sark Island, he performed the dual role of head of the Chief Pleas and judge of the island. The former role was the one that Marian’s directive addressed.
Carré had expected it and knew his responsibility. Already having heard that a boat with German officials had arrived at the port, he was dressed formally. At his door, the messenger handed him a sealed envelope, which he slid inside an inner pocket of his jacket. A tractor pulling a passenger wagon awaited him. He boarded and took his seat for the short ride to the top of the steep road leading down to the harbor.
People stood in their doors along the way, grim-faced, with mothers holding lively children behind them. Farmers and workers along his route paused in their labor to watch him go by, some waving and calling good wishes to him as he passed.
Within minutes, Carré stopped at the top of the harbor road. There, he alighted, looked around at a small crowd, dismissed his ride, and began walking down the steep road and through a tunnel to the harbor. Soon, he saw the boat bobbing in the water, and in front of it on the shore, two men in German uniforms. He strode up to the one who seemed to be in charge.
“Good day,”
