Silence in the Desert, page 21
Leo operated between Division HQ and the regiments on the hill, and in the town. Then suddenly a pause, turning into a lull of four weeks as appalling weather conditions set in.
Leo was at the HQ of the 3rd Regiment, commanded by Colonel Heilmann, just as a second massive air raid took place, a month later after the monastery bombing. This time it was the town.
Entering the bunker after making a preliminary recce of the damage and casualties, he saw General Heydrich there with Heilmann, clearly awaiting him. As he saluted the two commanding officers, there was a commotion behind him. Into the bunker walked Frido von Senger.
Looking tired and worn, von Senger regarded the scene, ‘I made my own way from Corps HQ. I was alone on foot for the last part.’ He paused, looking at Heydrich and Heilmann. ‘I felt you would need my support.’
They all knew the Corps Commander was following fundamental practice in the German Army that when a senior commander wanted to know what his subordinate commanders were faced with, he went himself to find out.
There was silence.
Von Senger added, ‘The terrain I passed over reminded me of the Somme.’
Again, no one said anything.
Turning to the Divisional Commander, he said ‘Tell me first, General, what’s your estimate of our losses, and what tactics are the survivors employing?’
‘The Battalion occupying the town of Cassino was right underneath this latest bombing and the shelling which followed. Observers say nearly five hundred aircraft pulverized the place. I’m surprised Freyberg thought that a town rendered to such a state could be penetrated against defenders who will use the rubble for cover. Captain Beckendorf here has just been in there. There’s no way of saying how many have survived, possibly half of them since they’ll have taken cover in basements and caves in the cliff side under the castle.’ He looked at Leo, and nodded to him to report his findings.
‘I couldn’t get far,’ said Leo. ‘The situation is extraordinary. You can’t even make out how the streets ran. The place has been obliterated. We’d watched the heavy bombers, B17s and Liberators, go in and they were not accurate. I should think many bombs fell on Allied units. But the two-engine aircraft which followed were spot on. Attacking infantry are going to find it very hard to penetrate the rubble.
He didn’t have to say that those of his comrades who survived, would continue the fight when they recovered from the trauma of the raid. They all knew their training as paratroopers meant they were able to fight in small dispersed groups when the normal command structure broke down.
‘The Battalion HQ was in the basement of the Continental Hotel, and right behind it are caves in which they’ll have taken shelter. Another defensive point was at the Hotel Rose.’ He paused at that name. Theresa flashed through his mind. He wanted to think of his time at the hotel with her, but he must finish his report. ‘There’s no building left standing, wreckage and rubble everywhere. Combined with the heavy rains, it’s impossible for vehicles of any sort other than bulldozers, to navigate through.’
Heydrich turned to von Senger.
‘A platoon has gone in to make contact with those two points. We’ll start taking out the wounded and sending in reinforcements as soon as we can.’
Von Senger was looking at a large-scale map. ‘Probably Mark Clark was shaken up by the German attack on the Anzio perimeter, and ordered the raid to distract us.’
Heydrich went on. ‘We know there’s a New Zealand armoured unit to back up their infantry, but it seems no tank will get over the rubble without bulldozers going in first. The opening of the dams on the Rapido river has turned the ground around the town into marshland.’
Eight days after the bombing of the town, it became evident to Leo and his comrades that Freyberg was calling off the battle. Prisoners indicated that the New Zealanders and Indians were near to breaking point. As Heydrich put it at his divisional command conference, ‘The Fallschirmjäger may have been traumatized by the bombing, but they have made a fast recovery and although exhausted, have won the first two battles of Cassino.’
For Leo, there was something else he would keep to himself. The day after the bombing of the town, a medical orderly sent a message from the field hospital close to town, reporting that one of the monks, critically wounded, was asking for him. Leo knew what this meant. He went straight there and, directed to a line of beds, came face to face with a doctor. He asked for his prognosis on Dom Brendan Rooker.
‘Nothing can be done. His chest was crushed by falling masonry and his lungs are punctured. It seems that he moved from the abbey after it was bombed, to help in the town. He can just speak, but he hasn’t got long.’
Leo went forward to the figure on the bed, bandaged almost all over.
‘Beckendorf,’ a hoarse voice exclaimed. ‘I wanted you to find me, so good of you to come.’ It was clearly a massive effort to talk. ‘You’re my last link with those I taught and loved. Come, sit by me over here.’
Sitting down on an ammunition box next to the bed, he placed a hand over Rooky’s, which were clasped in front of him.
The Padre spoke breathlessly, obviously in great pain. ‘You know, Leo, my life really began when I was ordained and started to teach. So many fine boys, all different they were, that was the challenge, we were a Benedictine family. You and your friends Henri and Bill, what you have achieved, the people you turned into, these are my rewards. Thank you.’
The monk paused, gasping. ‘Now I’m at the end of my mission. Please, I ask you to do two things for me. First, take the package from under the bed. It contains part of a Codex and a Vatican document. You’re on the wrong side, but somehow you must get it through the lines to the Allied C-in-C, General Alexander, for forwarding to Cardinal Godfrey in London. Alex knows me, we served together in the last war.’ He stopped, probably searching for the strength to continue. ‘If you can’t reach him, hang on to it until you can give the package to someone able to pass it safely to the Cardinal. It’s not military material. But it will help people to understand what the Church has been doing in this terrible war.’
Leo couldn’t prevent himself thinking of the consequences. Found with such a document, he’d need a watertight explanation or he might be in big trouble.
Rooky went on. ‘Secondly, give me Communion and the last rites. Take the pyx from around my neck and put one of the consecrated hosts on my tongue, then give the remaining hosts to one of your padres. Just follow the prayers and actions which I’ll dictate. The wooden box here by the bed contains the holy oils for anointing, and there are a couple a candles to light.’
Having helped with administering the two sacraments, Leo held Rooky’s hand. The dying monk looked at him with love in his eyes. ‘I was with your schoolfriend Henri, in the Libyan desert. I helped out at Bir Hakeim.’
‘I know. He told me. He was my prisoner for a while, at Alamein, and then escaped.’
With a big effort, Rooky said finally ‘We went together to the Monastery of St Catherine in Sinai. He seemed disturbed by his experiences in the war. I told him to find silence in the desert, for contemplation, to feel the love God has for us, to get closer to Him.’ He closed his eyes.
Afterwards, Leo clasped the Vatican package. He knew that to accept it from a British officer and agree to its delivery, would mean he no longer believed in what he was fighting for. He would continue to do his duty for his country, but inside himself he realized that everything had changed. Maybe this had been coming about for some time, but seeing Rooky on the point of death, suddenly crystallized everything for him.
Sitting on his own, a dejected figure, Leo felt a touch on his shoulder. A female nurse. It was Theresa.
‘I was watching you,’ she said. ‘I know who he was. You don’t have to tell me anything.’
30
Central Germany, July 1944
Bill Lomberg couldn’t stand it much longer. The interior of the freight car was unbearable. Over a hundred human bodies inside for three days. Jolting to a stop for an unknown reason. Trundling forward again to an unknown destination. Just buckets for their excrement. Straw sodden with piss slopping about the floor. The sliding door unlocked from the outside morning and evening so that water could be replenished. No food at all. Just the stink, dominating everything. Any sleep was taken standing up.
He tried to focus on how he’d ended up there. At least the raid was indelibly clear in his mind. They’d wanted him because of his low flying experience. It was to be an ultra-low-level raid. Mosquitoes were to be the aircraft, led by Pickard. He knew him from Tempsford when they were both on the moon flights, landing agents in France. “Pick” as they all called him, a group captain at twenty-eight, with three DSOs. Everything was urgent. The target couldn’t wait. They called the mission Jericho. To rescue résistants awaiting death at the hands of the Gestapo. Now he was in the same state as those they’d been rescuing.
Jericho was his most hazardous mission. Weather terrible at the briefing the evening before. Still terrible at five the next morning. Better visibility as they hit the Belgian coastline. Spitfires either side of the Mosquitoes, that was reassuring. Decoy route to deceive the enemy, north over Belgium, then east, and a double-back to west as the Spits left them. There were the rail tracks to Amiens. He and his navigator were in the second wave. Should see the smoke from bombs already dropped. Right down on the deck. There was the smoke. Where was the outer wall? There, great, now it was all about accuracy. Fifty feet above ground, in they came. Bombs gone. People were running from the central prison building towards the breach made in the outer wall. Résistants condemned to death, now was their chance.
Must get the hell away from it all, gain some altitude before they hit a power line. Then, that sudden crack and the airframe juddered, must have been hit by flak. Fire, they had to get out. Was it high enough to bail out? Must take the chance. Jettisoned canopy. Last thumbs up to the navigator alongside, as he rolled the machine over.
Bill was stuck in a tree. Cut himself clear with the knife in his boot. Once safe on the ground, looked for the navigator. He was already looking for Bill. That was real luck. Their decision was to head for Amiens, before the searchers and dogs arrived. Long slog, diving into ditches when anyone was spotted. Found the house of Pierre’s parents with whom he’d stayed in 1940. From there on, it was into the escape line and hopefully home via Spain. That was the plan, but it didn’t work out that way. The escape ended in a shoot-out at a farmhouse. Taken by the Milice, who handed them over to the Gestapo. Terrorflieger, that’s what they called them, treating RAF prisoners as terrorists. Lumped them in with résistants, some were even those they’d released from the prison.
A shuddering halt and clattering of couplings brought him back to reality. Cries from outside as the doors were slid open. Aussteigen! Everyone out. In their filth, starving. Uniformed SS guards stood along the platform. Had to help those who could no longer stand. Then they were being marched away towards God knows where. Someone said Buchenwald. Two hundred RAF personnel who should have been in the custody of the Luftwaffe. They saw the high wire fences and machine gun towers. Into the compound, and over to one corner of the roll call square. Kapos marshalled them into line, ordered them to take off their clothes. Hoses trained on them by other Kapos, to wash off the filth. No fresh clothing provided, the old carted away. The SS stood by, submachine guns at the ready in case someone made a run for it.
It was late evening, almost dark. Bill realized this was their initiation, the breaking in. Violence began on arrival, the signal to them that they were nothing, at the mercy of the guards. They stood naked, stripped of their dignity. If they moved, even to scratch, they were screamed at, the whip was administered. It was July, but not warm. He fell into a sort of coma, in between consciousness and oblivion. Hours later, just after dawn, the siren sounded for morning roll call. Several of his RAF mates were on the ground unconscious, left where they fell. Every name taken and recorded before the Kapos marched them to a tented area. The SS visible again, in the background but in absolute control. The daily routine explained. Warnings and rules, crimes and punishments, all read out. How long would they be there, wondered Bill. Would news of their status and treatment reach the Red Cross? No one here would admit to the Geneva Convention. Would news filter back to Britain?
When did it happen? Must have been ten days since their arrival. Although the RAF were in a separate tented compound, meals were taken in one of the camp canteens. Bill caught sight of Justine among the helpers, one of the very few females. Although a wreck compared with when he last saw her, it was unmistakably her. He remembered the night his Lysander picked her up from that field in France, with Françoise. Now she had no hair, her long back stooped as she and others carried the buckets of slop. He gazed at her. She put down the food, and suddenly looked up. Why? He didn’t know. Her eyes fell on him for an instant. No reaction. He kept looking as she moved back to collect another supply of soup. Again, Justine looked up. Their eyes locked on to one another this time. Was it recognition, or just curiosity? He risked a signal, a smile and a shallow nod. She raised her arm towards her mouth, then moved away, as if saying do nothing. His heart was pounding, he had to get to her, ask where they could meet. Or was that impossible?
Then, the extraordinary happened. Air raid sirens screamed their wail. Before dark, how was that possible? He remembered the Americans flew during the day, to see the target in daylight. Maybe one of them was in trouble? Bill made his way towards the end of the canteen, where the empty plates passed. No sign of her. He prepared to leave. Then, suddenly, a hand pushed at his waist above the hip. He looked sideways.
‘Bill,’ she said. ‘Don’t look at me, just listen. When everyone’s finished, wait ten minutes and then go to the far side of Hut 7 in this same compound. The hut’s wired off, it’s the Lagerbordell, the camp brothel. Use the coupons you’ve been given for camp spending. Ask for Josephine, when you see the Madame. I’ve done a swap with another girl.’
‘How did you know?’ he said.
‘Go now, say nothing. Meet me in the cubicle.’
There she was. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when you came into our food hut,’ said Bill to Justine after he’d closed the door of the small room. Just a bed in there, nothing else.
She touched his arm. ‘I saw your name on a list sent by the Luftwaffe. Be careful. I’m told they look into the cubicles. We have to act the part.’ She turned away from him, raising her arms above her head. ‘Lift off my clothing. The regular girls have been sterilized, but I haven’t, so be careful.’
An unbelievably thin body. ‘What’s that?’ Bill gasped as he saw the marks on her long concave back. The signs of deep wounds. He couldn’t take it in. Then he felt a vicious anger spread through him. ‘Who would have done that?’
‘That can come later,’ she said. ‘We haven’t much time. About fifteen minutes. If you want to get out of Buchenwald, we must concentrate on that.’
‘I must tell you something first. Your sister Claudia’s safe in England.’
Justine turned round and held him closely, joy on her face. ‘Oh God, that’s wonderful, Bill. How?’
‘She got out of Berlin. Escaped to Malta, where I collected her and flew her to London. It just happened to be me, because I’d trained on the new Mosquito.’
Justine gasped. ‘I know about the Berlin operation. I helped her. When we got to Italy, I was caught. She was heading for Malta. That’s wonderful, she made it.’
He felt her break down in his arms, sobbing. He said ‘I’m going to protect you. If we can somehow get out of here, I’ll get you home. Tell me what happened.’
‘No details, I’m afraid,’ she said haltingly. ‘I was taken by the Gestapo. We’d been on a secret mission. They tried to beat it out of me. I had my L-pill, but I couldn’t use it. I wanted to fight. To kill every Nazi I could. That’s how I keep myself going, the hate burns inside me.’
He pushed her gently away from him, still holding her around the waist. ‘Justine, how do we get out of here?’
‘I work for Ilse Koch, the wife of the former Camp Commandant. German is my native tongue, and she wanted someone for clerical work. She’s in charge of the female prisoners. The Häftlinge, the inmates, call her the Witch. She knows I’m classified as Jewish, two of my grandparents were. I’m here because I helped Claudia escape deportation from Germany. We were involved in an espionage operation for the British, which I can’t go into, but the people running Buchenwald don’t know that. After my arrest and interrogation, I was sent here. I’m registered as a French résistante.
‘So they accepted you went to Berlin to help your sister escape, avoid deportation?’
‘Yes. Now listen carefully. I have access to Ilse Koch’s office, and see the movements in and out of the camp, including that your RAF group was expected.
‘Interesting,’ said Bill.
‘It seems the Luftwaffe regard you as theirs and are trying to get you out. You belong in one of their POW camps. That’s why your food has improved recently.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Bill. ‘So, how do you get out of this place?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it. We may be able to escape together, if we can use your Luftwaffe transfer when it happens. I’ll work on that. We must fix our next meeting. Let’s try the same tomorrow. I’ll signal to you in the canteen again. I’m going to fix things with the Madame,’ she said, pulling on her garment.
