“Where do we go from here?” asked Fournier.
“Well, I need to go to Marseilles to investigate the possibility that this is part of the route out,” said Rahn. “I have some very good contacts there from my previous incarnation in the Legion who should be able to help.”
“I will go with you if you’ll permit? I need to follow this through,” said Sybilla.
“Good!” returned Rahn. “I was hoping you would. I would have greatly appreciated your help also, Paul, but I suspect the brigadier won’t sanction you operating that far out of your area?”
“No, he most certainly won’t,” confirmed Fournier, “however, I’ll do my bit here. If I can’t lead the Strasbourg warehouse raid personally, I will certainly initiate it.”
Horst Manteufel Reflects
Horst Manteufel parked up his three-tonner on the vehicle park in Alexander Barracks and sauntered towards the admin block. He was in no hurry today.
Some Saturday afternoons he would rush to hand in his vehicle docs, grab his bits and pieces from his locker and then sprint to the bus stop so he could get home as soon as possible. He would grab the kids—always wrapped up and ready to go—before dashing to the S-Bahn station near the Olympic Stadium to get the train to Gesundbrennen so that he and the boys could watch his beloved Hertha BSC football team. They would all have a boiling hot Bockwurst with a smear of mustard and a slice of dry bread from the Imbiss near the ground before going in. Saturday afternoon bliss, but not today. There was no game scheduled for today, so no hurry.
As he approached the block, Charlie Jackson, a bluff Yorkshireman, a sergeant driver in the same RASC Company for which Horst worked, emerged with vehicle keys and documents in hand. Charlie was a near neighbour, living in the same married quarters only a few blocks from where Horst had been allocated temporary accommodation.
“Not going to the match today, Horst?”
“No game today, Charlie, worse luck!” he responded in his much-improved English.
“Oh, I wish I’d known, I could have passed this one to you—you’re always looking for a bit of overtime,” said the sergeant.
“I can still take it if you want? I have nothing pressing this afternoon if you want to get away for the weekend,” said Horst.
“No, it’s okay, Horst, I’d better do it. Keep me in the good books with the Old Man.” The ‘Old Man’ was the RASC company commander Major Jack Hemmings, an ex-ranker who, along with Charlie, had seen action in the war—or what they referred to jokingly as ‘The Big Exercise’.
“It’s a WRVS tour in one of the buses, wish me luck!” Charlie said laughing as he walked towards the vehicle park.
It had taken Horst a while to get used to all the abbreviations and acronyms used in the British Army. He was still caught out from time to time, but he thought he had the main ones now: RASC, for whom he worked as a civilian driver, was of course the Royal Army Service Corps; WRVS was the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service. These ladies ran a second-hand shop to help families make their money go further and organised trips for them to those parts of Berlin they were allowed to visit. That was what Charlie was doing this afternoon.
Horst looked towards the vehicle park and was surprised to see Charlie retracing his steps. “I just remembered,” he said as he approached, “I left a bit of beef in your locker. Tell Gudrun to roast it slow and serve it with Yorkshire pudding and a bit of horseradish, it’ll taste delicious.”
“Aah, Charlie, you shouldn’t have done that, but hey, thanks, you know how the kids love roast beef.”
“We’ll make Yorkshiremen out of them yet,” said Charlie grinning. “By the way, how is Helmut getting on at school? Did I see him going out in footie kit the other day?”
“Yes!” nodded Horst enthusiastically. “He’s playing for the school team now! We’re very proud of him.”
“Brilliant, we’ll have to see if we can get him a trial with Barnsley,” laughed Charlie. “Tell him Uncle Charlie asked after him.”
Charlie was already walking towards the vehicle park when Horst shouted after him, “I’ll tell him that, Charlie, and thanks again for the beef.”
Charlie raised his hand in the air and waved without turning. “That’s okay, pal, enjoy it.”
Horst Manteufel never ceased to be amazed at the reception he had received when he had joined the RASC. He was full of trepidation when he attended on his first day. Would the others despise him, perhaps even spit on him? He feared the worst. An Englishwoman had met him in the reception area, a Mrs Gabriel, the wife of a REME staff sergeant in the nearby Berlin Field Workshop. It transpired she was the Company Commander’s secretary and she did her best to engage him in conversation, but he was so anxious that he didn’t really do himself justice. She seemed to sense his tension and unease.
“It’ll be okay, Horst. May I call you Horst?”
He had shot her a look of surprise and gratitude as he answered. “Of course, thank you.”
After being shown into the Company Commander’s office, he stood bolt upright, rigidly to attention, staring ahead. Major Hemmings had walked around his desk smiling, his arm outstretched to shake hands.
“Relax, relax, Herr Manteufel, this is not an interview. You already have the job. I’ve checked your driver qualifications and you come well recommended by Lieutenant Colonel Kelly, so this meeting is just by way of a welcome to the company, a chance to meet people and get your bearings.”
Jack Hemmings laughed as Horst breathed a huge sigh of relief and shook hands, trying hard to raise a smile.
Hemmings looked serious. “Are you apprehensive about this, Horst?”
Horst had enough English to get the gist of the meaning, and just enough to answer. “I’m very worried about it, Herr Major.”
“Everything will be fine. I’ll get Sergeant Jackson to show you
