Eagle Has Landed Page 11

  ‘Which is exactly why I am here,’ Radl said. ‘Now, where can I find him?’

  ‘Just before you get to the harbour there’s an inn. Steiner and his men use it as their headquarters. I’ll take you down there.’

  ‘No need,’ Radl said. ‘I’d like to see him alone. Is it far?’

  ‘A quarter of a mile.’

  ‘Good, then we’ll walk.’

  Neuhoff stood up. ‘Have you any idea how long you will be staying?’

  ‘I have arranged for the Stork to pick us up first thing in the morning,’ Radl said. ‘It is essential that we’re at the airfield in Jersey no later than eleven. Our plane for Brittany leaves then.’

  ‘I’ll arrange accommodation for you and your—your friend.’ Neuhoff glanced at Devlin. ‘Also, if you would care to dine with me tonight? My wife would be delighted and perhaps Colonel Steiner could join us.’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ Radl said. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  As they walked down Victoria Street past the shuttered shops and empty houses Devlin said, ‘What’s got into you? You were laying it on a bit strong, weren’t you? Are we feeling our oats today?’

  Radl laughed, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘Whenever I take that damned letter out I feel strange. A feeling of—of power comes over me. Like the centurion in the Bible, who says do this and they do it, go there and they go.’

  As they turned into Braye Road a fieldcar drove past them, the artillery sergeant who had brought them in from the airfield at the wheel.

  ‘Colonel Neuhoff sending a warning of our coming,’ Radl commented. ‘I wondered whether he would.’

  ‘I think he thought I was Gestapo,’ Devlin said. ‘He was afraid.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Radl said. ‘And you, Herr Devlin? Are you ever afraid?’

  ‘Not that I can remember.’ Devlin laughed, without mirth. ‘I’ll tell you something I’ve never told another living soul. Even at the moment of maximum danger and, God knows, I’ve known enough of those in my time, even when I’m staring Death right between the eyes, I get the strangest feeling. It’s as if I want to reach out and take his hand. Now isn’t that the funniest thing you ever heard of?’

  Ritter Neumann, wearing a black rubber wet suit, was sitting astride a torpedo moored to the number one recovery boat tinkering with its engine, when the fieldcar roared along the jetty and braked to a halt. As Neumann looked up, shading his eyes against the sun, Sergeant-Major Brandt appeared. ‘What’s your hurry?’ Neumann called. ‘Is the war over?’

  ‘Trouble, Herr Leutnant,’ Brandt said. ‘There’s some staff officer flown in from Jersey. A Colonel Radl. He’s come for the Colonel. We’ve just had a tip-off from Victoria Street.’

  ‘Staff officer?’ Neumann said and he pulled himself over the rail of the recovery boat and took the towel that Private Riedel handed him. ‘Where’s he from?’

  ‘Berlin!’ Brandt said grimly, ‘And he has someone with him who looks like a civilian, but isn’t.’

  ‘Gestapo?’

  ‘So it would appear. They’re on their way down now—walking.’

  Neumann pulled on his jump boots and scrambled up the ladder to the jetty. ‘Do the lads know?’

  Brandt nodded, a savage look on his face, ‘And don’t like it. If they find he’s come to put the screws in the Colonel they’re quite likely to push him and his pal off the end of the jetty with sixty pounds of chain apiece around their ankles.’

  ‘Right,’ said Neumann. ‘Back to the pub as fast as you can and hold them. I’ll take the fieldcar and get the Colonel. He went for a walk along the breakwater with Frau Neuhoff.’

  Steiner and Ilse Neuhoff were at the very end of the breakwater. She was sitting above on the rampart, those long legs dangling into space, the wind off the sea ruffling the blonde hair, tugging at her skirt. She was laughing down at Steiner. He turned as the fieldcar braked to a halt.

  Neumann scrambled out and Steiner took one look at his face and smiled sardonically. ‘Bad news, Ritter, and on such a lovely day.’

  ‘There’s some staff officer in from Berlin looking for you, a Colonel Radl,’ Neumann said grimly. ‘They say he has a Gestapo man with him.’

  Steiner wasn’t put out in the slightest. ‘That certainly adds a little interest to the day.’

  He put up his hands to catch Ilse as she jumped down, and held her close for a moment. Her face was full of alarm. ‘For God’s sake, Kurt, can’t you ever take anything seriously?’

  ‘He’s probably only here for a head count. We should all be dead by now. They must be very put out at Prinz Albrechtstrasse.’

  The old inn stood at the side of the road on the approach to the harbour backing on to the sands of Braye Bay. It was strangely quiet as Radl and the Irishman approached.

  ‘As nice a looking pub as I’ve seen,’ Devlin said. ‘Would you think it possible they might still have a drink on the premises?’

  Radl tried the front door. It opened and they found themselves in a dark passageway. A door clicked open behind them. ‘In here, Herr Oberst,’ a soft, cultured voice said.

  Sergeant Hans Altmann leaned against the outside door as if to bar their exit. Radl saw the Winter War ribbon, the Iron Cross, First and Second Class, a silver wound badge which meant at least three wounds, the Air Force Ground Combat badge and, most coveted honour of all amongst paratroopers, the Kreta cuff-title, proud mark of those who had spearheaded the invasion of Crete in May, 1941.

  ‘Your name?’ Radl said crisply.

  Altmann didn’t reply, but simply pushed with his foot so that the door marked ‘Saloon Bar’ swung open and Radl, sensing something, but uncertain what, stuck out his chin and advanced into the room.

  The room was only fair-sized. There was a bar counter to the left, empty shelves behind it, a number of framed photographs of old wrecks on the walls, a piano in one corner. There were a dozen or so paratroopers scattered around the room, all remarkably unfriendly. Radl, looking them over coolly, was impressed. He’d never before seen a group of men with so many decorations between them. There wasn’t a man there who didn’t have the Iron Cross, First Class and such minor items as wound badges and tank destruction badges were ten a penny.

  He stood in the centre of the room, his briefcase under his arm, his hands in his pockets, coat collar still turned up. ‘I’d like to point out,’ he said mildly, ‘that men have been shot before now for this kind of behaviour.’

  There was a shout of laughter. Sergeant Sturm, who was behind the bar cleaning a Luger said, ‘That really is very good, Herr Oberst. Do you want to hear something funny? When we went operational here ten weeks ago, there were thirty-one of us, including the Colonel. Fifteen now, in spite of a lot of lucky breaks. What can you and this Gestapo shit offer that’s worse than that?’

  ‘Don’t go including me in this thing,’ Devlin said. ‘I’m neutral.’

  Sturm, who had worked the Hamburg barges since the age of twelve and was inclined to be a trifle direct in his speech, went on, ‘Listen to this because I’m only going to say it once. The Colonel isn’t going anywhere. Not with you. Not with anyone.’ He shook his head. ‘You know that’s a very pretty hat, Herr Oberst, but you’ve been polishing a chair with your backside for so long up there in Berlin that you’ve forgotten how real soldiers feel. You’ve come to the wrong place if you’re hoping for a chorus from the Horst Wessel.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Radl said. ‘However, your completely incorrect reading of the present situation argues a lack of wit which I, for one, find deplorable in someone of your rank.’

  He dumped his briefcase on the counter, opened the buttons of his coat with his good hand and shrugged it off. Sturm’s jaw dropped as he saw the Knight’s Cross, the Winter War ribbon. Radl moved straight into the attack.

  ‘Attention!’ he barked. ‘On your feet, all of you.’ There was an instant burst of activity and in the same moment the door swung open and Brandt rushed in. ‘And you, Sergeant-Major,’ Radl snarled.r />
  There was pin-drop silence as every man stood rigidly to attention and Devlin, thoroughly enjoying this new turn events had taken, pulled himself up on to the bar and lit a cigarette.

  Radl said, ‘You think you are German soldiers, a natural error in view of the uniforms you wear, but you are mistaken.’ He moved from one man to another, pausing as if committing each face to memory. ‘Shall I tell you what you are?’

  Which he did in simple and direct terms that made Sturm look like a beginner. When he paused for breath after two or three minutes, there was a polite cough from the open doorway and he turned to find Steiner there, Ilse Neuhoff behind him.

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself, Colonel Radl. I can only hope that you are willing to put down anything which has happened here to misguided enthusiasm and let it go at that. Their feet won’t touch the ground when I get through with them, I promise you.’ He held out his hand and smiled with considerable charm. ‘Kurt Steiner.’

  Radl was always to remember that first meeting. Steiner possessed that strange quality to be found in the airborne troops of every country. A kind of arrogant self-sufficiency bred of the hazards of the calling. He was wearing a blue-grey flying blouse with the yellow collar patches bearing the wreath and two stylized wings of his rank, jump trousers and the kind of sidecap known as a Schiff, an affectation of many of the old-timers. The rest, for a man who had every conceivable decoration in the book, was extraordinarily simple. The Kreta cuff-title, the ribbon for the Winter War and the silver and gold eagle of the paratroopers’ qualification badge. The Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves was concealed by a silk scarf tied loosely about his neck.

  ‘To be honest, Colonel Steiner, I’ve rather enjoyed putting these rogues of yours in their place.’

  Ilse Neuhoff chuckled. ‘An excellent performance. Herr Oberst, if I may say so.’

  Steiner made the necessary introductions and Radl kissed her hand. ‘A great pleasure, Frau Neuhoff.’ He frowned. ‘Have we by any chance met before?’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Steiner said and pulled forward Ritter Neumann who had been lurking in the background in his rubber wet suit. ‘And this, Herr Oberst, is not as you may imagine, a captive Atlantic seal, but Oberleutnant Ritter Neumann.’

  ‘Lieutenant.’ Radl glanced at Ritter Neumann briefly, remembering the citation for the Knight’s Cross that had been quashed because of the court martial, wondering whether he knew.

  ‘And this gentleman?’ Steiner turned to Devlin who jumped down from the counter and came forward.

  ‘Actually everyone round here seems to think I’m your friendly neighbourhood Gestapo man,’ Devlin said. ‘I’m not sure I find that too flattering.’ He held out his hand. ‘Devlin, Colonel. Liam Devlin.’

  ‘Herr Devlin is a colleague of mine,’ Radl explained quickly.

  ‘And you?’ Steiner said politely.

  ‘From Abwehr Headquarters. And now, if it is convenient, I would like to talk to you privately on a matter of grave urgency.’

  Steiner frowned and again, there was that pin-drop silence in the room. He turned to Ilse. ‘Ritter will see you home.’

  ‘No, I’d rather wait until your business with Colonel Radl is over.’

  She was desperately worried, it showed in her eyes. Steiner said gently, ‘I shouldn’t imagine I’ll be very long. Look after her, Ritter.’ He turned to Radl. ‘This way, Herr Oberst.’

  Radl nodded to Devlin and they went after him.

  ‘All right, stand down,’ Ritter Neumann said. ‘You damned fools.’

  There was a general easing of tension. Altmann sat at the piano and launched into a popular song which assured everyone that everything would get better by and by. ‘Frau Neuhoff,’ he called. ‘What about a song?’

  Ilse sat on one of the old bar stools. ‘I’m not in the mood,’ she said. ‘You want to know something, boys? I’m sick of this damned war. All I want is a decent cigarette and a drink, but that would be too much like a miracle, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Frau Neuhoff.’ Brandt vaulted clean over the bar and turned to face her. ‘For you, anything is possible, cigarettes, for example, London gin.’

  His hands went beneath the counter and came up clutching a carton of Gold Flake and a bottle of Beefeater.

  ‘Now will you sing for us, Frau Neuhoff,’ Hans Altmann called.

  Devlin and Radl leaned on the parapet looking down into the water, clear and deep in the pale sunshine. Steiner sat on a bollard at the end of the jetty working his way through the contents of Radl’s briefcase. Across the bay, Fort Albert loomed on the headland and below, the cliffs were splashed with birdlime, seabirds wheeling in great clouds, gulls, shags, razorbills and oyster catchers.

  Steiner called, ‘Colonel Radl.’

  Radl moved towards him and Devlin followed, stopping two or three yards away to lean on the wall. Radl said, ‘You have finished?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Steiner put the various papers back into the briefcase. ‘You’re serious, I presume?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Steiner reached forward and tapped a forefinger on Radl’s Winter War ribbon. ‘Then all I can say is that some of that Russian cold must have got into your brain, my friend.’

  Radl took the manilla envelope from his inside pocket and produced the Führer Directive. ‘I think you had better have a look at that.’

  Steiner read it, with no evidence of emotion, and shrugged as he handed it back. ‘So what?’

  ‘But Colonel Steiner,’ Radl said. ‘You are a German soldier. We swore the same oath. This is a direct order from the Führer himself.’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten one highly important thing,’ Steiner told him. ‘I’m in a penal unit, under suspended sentence of death, officially disgraced. In fact, I only retain my rank because of the peculiar circumstances of the job in hand.’ He produced a crumpled packet of French cigarettes from his hip pocket and put one in his mouth. ‘Anyway, I don’t like Adolf. He has a loud voice and bad breath.’

  Radl ignored this remark. ‘We must fight. We have no other choice.’

  ‘To the last man?’

  ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘We can’t win.’

  Radl’s good hand was clenched into a fist, he was filled with nervous excitement. ‘But we can force them to change their views. See that some sort of settlement is better than this continual slaughter.’

  ‘And knocking off Churchill would help?’ Steiner said with obvious scepticism.

  ‘It would show them we still have teeth. Look at the furore when Skorzeny lifted Mussolini off the Gran Sasso. A sensation all over the world.’

  Steiner said, ‘As I heard it, General Student and a few paratroopers had a hand in that as well.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Radl said impatiently. ‘Imagine how it would look. German troops dropping into England for one thing, but with such a target. Of course, perhaps you don’t think it could be done.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ Steiner said calmly. ‘If those papers I’ve just looked at are accurate and if you’ve done your homework correctly, the whole thing could go like a Swiss watch. We could really catch the Tommis with their pants down. In and out again before they know what’s hit them, but that isn’t the point.’

  ‘What is?’ demanded Radl, completely exasperated. ‘Is thumbing your nose at the Führer more important because of your court martial? Because you’re here? Steiner, you and your men are dead men if you stay here. Thirty-one of you eight weeks ago. How many left—fifteen? You owe it to your men, to yourself, to take this last chance to live.’

  ‘Or die in England instead.’

  Radl shrugged. ‘Straight in, straight out, that’s the way it could go. Just like a Swiss watch, you said that yourself.’

  ‘And the terrible thing about those is that if anything goes wrong with even the tiniest part, the whole damn thing stops working,’ Devlin put in.

  Steiner said, ‘Well put, Mr Devlin. Tell me something
. Why are you going?’

  ‘Simple,’ Devlin said. ‘Because it’s there. I’m the last of the great adventurers.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Steiner laughed delightedly. ‘Now that, I can accept. To play the game. The greatest game of all. But it doesn’t help, you see,’ he went on. ‘Colonel Radl here tells me that I owe it to my men to do the thing because it is a way out from certain death here. Now, to be perfectly frank with you, I don’t think I owe anything to anybody.’

  ‘Not even your father?’ Radl said.

  There was a silence, only the sea washing over the rocks below.

  Steiner’s face turned pale, the skin stretched tight on the cheekbones, eyes dark. ‘All right, tell me.’

  ‘The Gestapo have him at Prinz Albrechtstrasse. Suspicion of treason.’

  And Steiner, remembering the week he had spent at his father’s headquarters in France in ’forty-two, remembering what the old man had said, knew instantly that it was true.

  ‘Ah, I see now,’ he said softly. ‘If I’m a good boy and do as I’m told, it would help his case.’ Suddenly his face changed and he looked about as dangerous as any man could and when he reached for Radl, it was in a kind of slow motion. ‘You bastard. All of you, bastards.’

  He had Radl by the throat. Devlin moved in fast and found that it took all his considerable strength to pull him off. ‘Not him, you fool. He’s under the boot as much as you. You want to shoot somebody, shoot Himmler. He’s the man you want.’

  Radl fought to get his breath and leaned against the parapet, looking very ill. ‘I’m sorry,’ Steiner put a hand on his shoulder in genuine concern. ‘I should have known.’

  Radl raised his dead hand. ‘See this, Steiner, and the eye? And other damage that you can’t see. Two years if I’m lucky, that’s what they tell me. Not for me. For my wife and daughters because I wake up at night sweating at the thought of what might happen to them. That’s why I’m here.’

  Steiner nodded slowly. ‘Yes, of course, I understand. We’re all up the same dark alley looking for a way out.’ He took a deep breath. ‘All right, we’ll go back. I’ll put it to the lads.’

  ‘Not the target,’ Radl said. ‘Not at this stage.’