Willie's War Ch. 09

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Naujocks cocked his head on one side as a dog would have done. "Using a radio would make him vulnerable to British DF operators. He would need to move around if he used a transmitter, and the work I gave him required him to remain in one place.

Thrusting forward his chin, he continued. "It is Germany's misfortune when making war to have to contend with enemies on two fronts, both east and west. In Harmony I saw a possibility of corrupting some politicians and subduing the west with minimal effort. For that he needed to secure himself in one location. But that's not to say he wouldn't gain access to a transmitter if he believed it important enough. He's very resourceful."

For a long moment the Admiral considered what he'd heard. Then one corner of his mouth lifted up. "It's a ridiculous idea. Hitler needs no cockeyed assistance from anyone to achieve his aims. When Russia finally capitulates the British will stand alone once more, and they will either make peace or suffer invasion. They can never raise an army big enough to defeat us in a land war, and if they compel us to occupy their country it will go bad for them."

He shook his head with a touch of sadness. "The Fuehrer calculated they would cave in after the fall of France. He never really wished to make war with them, he thinks of them as Aryan. Most of them anyway. But he's become impatient with their obstinacy and has decided that if Britain is to be occupied Reinhard Heydrich will be installed as the first Reichprotecktor there. And as you know he is a man with no scruples and no sense of humanity."

He gave Naujocks a hard stare. "A directive has already been signed, and if circumstances warrant it he will have the authority to deport the entire male population between the ages of 17 and 45 to the continent as forced labour."

"We could have made better use of your agent in the Abwehr." he continued after a moment. "All our resources are being used elsewhere and we have no active agents in England at the moment other than him. Our intelligence there is months out of date and is getting stale, so we have to take Harmony seriously."

He closed his eyes and said nothing more for a moment, then he lifted his telephone. "Get me Reichsmarschall Goering. He's in Hamburg today."

He sat with the phone to his ear, and it was two or three minutes before he spoke again. Eventually there was a click and a gruff response, and choosing his words carefully the Admiral told Goering of the information he had received... of a large British tank formation mustering near the coast of Essex. He had been given the coordinates for a night bombing run that had every chance of success if the Lorenz directional radio device could be used.

When he had finished he waited, and even from where he stood Naujocks could hear the Reichsmarschall's roar. It was a roar of delight, and as his voice boomed on, Canaris visibly relaxed.

Finally the Admiral put the phone down, slowly and carefully to give himself time to sort out his words. When he looked at Naujocks he smiled thinly and said, "God must be on your side today. Goering is delighted at the prospect of destroying a large concentration of British armour. Glory for his beloved Luftwaffe, you see. Said it would be small beer compared with what's happening in Russia, but he looked forward to giving the Tommie's a good slap and wished we had more agents like Harmony.

"He's going to inform the Fuehrer immediately, and he as given permission for a Messerschmitt Bf-110 from Erprobungsgruppe 210 to go over from Calais-Marck and try for some photographs of the place. If they prove satisfactory it will be bombed into oblivion."

The Director of the German Abwehr was no fool, and his eyes indicated that. The natural selection of Nazi political warfare, which forced even intelligent men to watch their backs as well as their fronts, was evident.

He shook his head slowly. "All the same you were a fool to become involved with placing agents, Naujocks. You were irresponsible, and personally I want to have as little to do with this business as possible. If things work out you'll get an Oak Leaf to put on your Knights Cross, but if it turns out to be any kind of fool's errand Goering will be embarrassed, and you will get your knuckles rapped from on high.

"Are you a good Nazi, Naujocks?" he asked, his face pale and lacking in expression. Only his eyes were alive and the energy in them was unsettling.

Naujocks shifted uneasily. "I do my duty, Admiral."

"I hope so." Canaris said. "I hope you do."

The old man was only a tepid National Socialist and for him Nazism was only acceptable as Germany's best defence against the communists. But his personal style and honour as a gentleman rebelled against the brutal gangster-like methods the Nazis employed, and eventually he wasn't always to be so careful for himself has he was that day.

Sickened by constant SS and Gestapo excesses and convinced that the Reich Government were all criminals, he would plot against Hitler and be found out. His last days would be spent in Flossenbrueck concentration camp where his execution by slow strangulation would be filmed for the Fuehrer's private gloating.

***

Everything was back to normal in the morning; Willie went down to breakfast to find Mortimer and Jeremy hidden behind their newspapers, and although he wished them good morning, their detached manner gave him the impression that for them at least life was real, life was in earnest.

All the following day Willie existed in a Wonderland and even with Mortimer around he couldn't stop his gaze from drifting onto Jeremy. No one since Eduard Dietz had given him such affection and such joy. Sometimes he couldn't resist looking over at him and smiling a crooked, impish smile when he remembered their love-making in the wood. Perhaps love could happen again for him. He hoped so, for Jeremy was the nicest man he had met in a very long time. There was still a great hole in his heart for Eduard, and it could only be filled by a new commitment to compassion and tenderness.

Jeremy was a wonderful lover, powerful, strong and dynamic. Sometimes when reaching for things his beautiful, long-fingered hand would brush the gentle upward swell of Willie's bosom, causing a bone-melting rush of sensation. At such moments everything erectile on the surface of Willie's body popped up; the hairs on the back of his neck, his nipples, his penis, all rose up together and made him feel more desirable than he'd felt for ages.

Following lunch Jeremy revealed that he needed to make some phone calls to his Department at the Foreign Office in London, and Mortimer generously invited him to make free use of his study while he remained with Willie in the drawing room.

Willie felt buoyant after the glorious events of the morning, and felt confident enough to tackle Sir Mortimer about the progress he was making with the peace movement. With that he was treading emotional water. Everything was going well, but he was dizzy with dread at knowing how much there was still to accomplish.

The elderly man's response was unfortunately less than good.

"I've been thinking over what you said, Willie." he murmured, while standing at the window and gazing out, "You know, what you said about pursuing a peace arrangement with Hitler. To tell you the truth I'm not at all comfortable with the idea."

For moment Willie was stumped by such an abrupt change of mind, but he thought it best not to stampede the man into an angry explanation. "Why is that?" he asked softly.

Mortimer fidgeted for a moment. "Being with the Foreign Office, Jeremy gets to know a great many useful things. He tells me there are stories coming out from the Russian Embassy and several other places; disturbing reports about the Nazi treatment of people in the areas they've overrun in Eastern Europe."

His eyes glared solidly to emphasis his concern. "We're not talking about just slips in the Geneva Code or the Hague Convention here, but planned, systematic barbarism against civilian populations. Apparently there have already been large scale massacres in the region of Minsk, and such things are bound to be happening in other places too. Hitler as told his Generals of SS that his master-plan for the East necessitates the elimination of 30 million Slavs."

After a moment his expression softened. "Of course such stories are unsubstantiated at the moment, but if just some of them are true I tend to think we shouldn't treat with anyone responsible for those kind of atrocities."

Willie wasn't comfortable with what had been said but it didn't change his underlying determination. His eyes flared and his mouth became set, like a schoolgirl who had been given low marks for something.

"Such stories may well be true." he replied, "It must sound insane. War is insane, and genocide is insane, but neither is new. Less than thirty years ago the Turks all but wiped out the Armenian nation inside their borders and nobody cared a pinch; more recently Stalin decimated the population of his homeland of Georgia by starvation, and the old Russians invented the word 'pogrom' to describe their periodic slaughtering of Jews.

"The German's are imaginative and industrious people who are no more wicked than anyone else, but Herr Hitler is a ruthless man and he is charismatic enough to lead them into shame. However, if what he is doing is wrong, this country cannot influence anything he does while it is at war with him. There must be peace before he will even listen to another point of view."

He leaned forward earnestly to press what he'd said. "You do see that, don't you? You must understand that what you are doing now is the only sensible thing to do."

Mortimer remained where he was, not moving except for clenching and unclenching his fists. "But...how can anyone possibly make peace as things are? Churchill's War Cabinet has such a firm grip on everything."

Willie rose to his feet and moved across to stand at his side, a better place for pressing his argument. "You must change things. Consult your friends. You must all join together and find the courage to declare your beliefs. If the ordinary people know there is an alternative to what has been dictated to them they will flock to your cause, and together you can depose Churchill. I am aware of how the British play democracy, and with firm support you could force a Vote of Censure on the warmonger and be rid of him. It's that easy."

"Easy?" Mortimer uttered a cynical chuckle. "Willie, you don't know just how difficult such 'easy' things can be in politics. Appeasement and peace-at-any-price are hard things to sell these days and I'm not sure of what I could tell my people that may be new. One must offer them some hope and incentive before they will agree to act."

Willie lowered his voice in conspiratorial fashion. "I must take you into my confidence, Sir Mortimer. I was allowed to leave Holland and come to England only if I agreed to give a message to someone like you. You can tell everyone that Hitler has no hatred for the British and will be generous if they agree to a peace conference. I have that from the highest authority. He will only demand the return of the German colonies mandated to Britain in 1919."

He was quite for a moment, and then he continued. "However, Hitler will not negotiate with the present English government. Winston Churchill and his gang of cronies will have to go. This country will need you and your friends when that happens, Sir Mortimer. After so much death it will value those who put compassion before guns."

Mortimer turned away from the window and went and sat down, and for a moment he remained silent with his fingers merely drumming on the armrests of his chair. Then he looked up.

"I will go on. I will continue to try for an end to the war." He looked up and smiled. "I do appreciate you being here, Willie. Without your encouragement I'd quickly give it all up as a hopeless waste of time."

Willie stopped talking, believing he had said enough for the time being. He turned and was about to leave when the door opened and Mrs Whippet entered to address Sir Mortimer.

"Sergeant Dobson wishes to have a word with you, sir." said the stern-faced housekeeper. She squinted at Willie for a few moments; suspicion about him had never left her and was always dominant in her narrow eyes.

There was a heavy trudge of boots and a big, bulky policeman, the proud owner of a hefty ginger moustache strode in. He was buttoned up to the chin in navy-blue with his trouser cuffs fastened back with bicycle clips. Oddly his hair was brown on the top of his head, but became reddish at the sides. He had heavy cheeks and jowls, and his eyes were deep set over a broad fat nose.

"What is it, Dobson?" Mortimer demanded churlishly.

The policeman wasn't in the least deflected by an attitude of impatience. "Just a quick word, Sir Mortimer, if you please. I was chatting with Mrs Whippet on the back step a moment ago, and she mentioned you'd got a foreign guest staying here." His eyes flicked sideways towards Willie. "Is this the young lady in question?"

"Yes, Willie is a relation to a friend of mine. I can vouch for her." Mortimer responded.

"I don't doubt that sir. But we've been told to make a check on strangers who've recently moved into the area -- a directive straight from government - so could I possibly have a look at the young lady's identity papers?"

Willie made light of the request. "Yes, of course you can. They're in my coat in the hall. I'll go and get them."

When he went out into the hall his cheeks were flushed, his eyes staring. He wasn't feeling light and easy at all. He had an irrational feeling that he was going to be arrested. He felt like a fish with the mesh of a net closing about him.

Should he run out of the door? Should he try to find a big city and get lost in the crowd? That was silly, he decided. In wartime people would eventually be found wherever they tried to hide.

When he returned to the study the policeman was saying: "...we get this kind of thing all the time. Folk see German spies dangling on parachutes in their dreams these days, and I've even had a Welshman reported to me because he spoke in a different accent to the local one."

Willie gave him the papers he'd requested and he pulled out a notebook and pencil. "Right. Name: Wilhelmina Naarden. Country of Origin: Holland. Place of Birth: Venlo, in the Province of Limburg. Can't say I've heard of Venlo, but I was never much good at geology."

"You mean geography." Willie blurted out.

"What?" The policeman glowered reproachfully at him, and he recoiled, wishing he hadn't said anything.

"What you said about place names. That's geography. Geology is the study of rocks." he murmured timidly.

The eyes studied him a while longer with a ferocious glare. "Quite so. I stand corrected. You're quite good with words, aren't you?"

Returning to his notebook he wrote down Willie's immigration number and a few other details, but in careful silence now, and then handed the documents back to him.

"I have to pass this information to the Central Register to be crosschecked, but I don't suppose you'll hear anything more about it. Thank you, Miss Naarden. Good day, Sir Mortimer."

When he had gone Willie trembled openly. "Policeman make me nervous even when I've done nothing wrong. How long will it take to have my identity checked?"

Mortimer smiled. "Goodness, Willie, you're dealing with bureaucracy now. Hundreds of enquiries like that are being made all the time. It can take days, sometimes weeks to get a reply, but as the sergeant said, you'll probably hear no more about it."

The incident had put Willie Froehlich into something of a panic, because although he knew his identity documents were good enough to fool casual scrutiny he didn't know how the details would stand up to a close inspection. Maybe they had once belonged to a real person, or maybe they were false. No one had told him. But if they were exposed as bogus the British were certain to view him an enemy plotting against them and he'd be counted as a spy. And spies were hanged.

He didn't wish to go on the run, and he didn't want to leave before he had Sir Mortimer committed to a peace plan, but he needed to think about his own life too, and he'd involved himself in a conspiracy from which there seemed no way out.

Then he had a thought. There was a way to avoid a spy's fate on the gallows; there was a way to ensure safety. He would confess everything to Jeremy and ask for his help. Jeremy was both wise and kind, and he was also well connected. He would give guidance with gentle affection, just as he had done in the wildwood.

On his way to return things to his coat in the hall he unexpectedly came upon Jeremy on his way to the front door. He was wearing a double-breasted overcoat with a velvet collar, black homburg and gloves, and he was carrying a briefcase.

Willie felt suddenly confused. To say that the world stands still is solipsism, and he knew it as it seemed to happen -- knew that it isn't the world that slows down, but rather the individual, confronted by an unexpected event, who receives a charge of adrenaline and speeds up. Nevertheless, for him, for an instant, everything did freeze. He could hear his own voice far away begin to babble: "You said you were staying for the weekend -- you told me yesterday - Are you leaving now?"

Jeremy offered a guilty smile. "Oh, er, yes I suppose I am."

Willie felt stunned. He felt disorientated, as if the floor he was standing on had suddenly vanished. He looked at the bag in Jeremy's hand and his legs shook as he realised the implication.

"You where going to leave without even telling me."

"I thought it best not to make a fuss. Something's come up in town, and I have to get back tonight."

Willie could not conceal his shock. He felt raw and frantic. Such cold businesslike words from the only man he had met that could compare favourably with Eduard Dietz, and at the very moment when he needed to be cosseted and reassured.

His whole body felt as if it was being drenched in hot tar and feathers. No! He can't be going, he thought. The denial jangled in his head, but it was no use, there was no softening in the man's gaze.

Jeremy went to the door and then turned back. "I've just spoken on the phone with London, you see. I've been offered an appointment on the Foreign Secretary's personal staff."

"Is that a promotion for you?"

"Yes. Quite a big step up too, and I have to take it now or I'll never be given another chance. Sadly it means my time won't be my own as much as it once was, and it's important to get back at once, y'know, to get my hands on the ropes and acquire the feel of things."

"Will you come here again?"

For a fleeting moment, he caught an expression of pain on the man's face, then it disappeared, to be replaced by a more usual detached façade.

"Oh I expect so," he said in a subdued voice, "But I can't promise when. Mr Eden travels abroad a good deal, and I'll be expected to go with him. Every upside as a downside too I'm afraid."

He clearly felt a little uncomfortable under Willie's frozen gaze, but he kissed him on the cheek, then tried to smile and failed. "Look, I'll call you and let you know about us."

"Fine," Willie answered, watching him return to the door. A sickly feeling invaded him as surely as a form of shock, a physical reaction to an emotional trauma. Jeremy didn't turn back this time, he only paused a moment before saying a blunt and businesslike "Goodnight." which almost sounded like "Goodbye". Which Willie couldn't help but think it was.

"Schwein. Falsche freund. Kalthertziger Verraeter." he raged softly when the door closed.

"Beg your pardon, Miss Naarden. Was you saying something in Dutch?" a voice nearby asked.

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