was one of the reasons why they had been kept together during an uncertain period for the Brandenburgers.
The entire regiment had moved to northern France the previous year, anticipating a major role in the invasion of Britain. But Operation Sea Lion had been suddenly postponed in September and many said that now it would never happen.
Other units of the regiment had moved on to major conflicts in Yugoslavia and Greece, but Kurt Lau and his team had been detailed a series of small hit and run operations. They were all important, but this one was something special; Lau had been told just enough to be certain of that.
His orders were clear. If the first objective of capturing the target and taking him back to northern France proved impossible, there was only one alternative – the target had to be eliminated. The knowledge he held was judged to be so important that it could not be allowed to pass into enemy hands.
Lau and the soldier driving the stolen Citroën police car were on their way back to the wood yard. The recce had gone smoothly; the house could be approached front and back. They would snatch the target early the following morning, return to the yard, radio headquarters, and as long as weather conditions stayed fair, be picked up by the Ju-52 that same night. It was a simple plan, but Lau was taking nothing for granted. Experience had taught him otherwise.
They were on the long road that snaked up through the forest of Bélesta. The climb was swift and steep, and with each twisting turn they glimpsed sudden falls and deep gorges on either side.
“Good countryside, eh, Erich?” Lau said to the driver. “Reminds me a little of the Black Forest.” He laughed. “But not so nice, eh? Not like home.”
Lau would never usually address one of his team by his first name, even when they were out of earshot of other serving soldiers. But Erich Steidle was the exception. In his late thirties, Steidle was a good ten years older than Lau. Both men came from the city of Freiburg, in the south-west of Germany, close to the border with France. But while Lau’s career before the war had been as a professor of languages at the city’s ancient university, Steidle had laboured in the vineyards of both Germany and France, where he had learned his French.
Coincidence had brought the two together in the Brandenburgers, but since then, Steidle, hard and as tough as teak, had taken the younger man under his wing. He was devoted to the officer and protective in an almost fatherly way.
“I’ll be glad to get back to the north, sir,” Steidle said, manoeuvring the Citroën around another sharp bend. “It’s strange here – no sign of the war and no sign of the enemy. At least in the north we know that almost everyone is our enemy.”
Lau smiled. “Yes, it is strange here: France, but not France. But the Vichy government likes to think it’s in charge of things in the south and we must allow them that.” He glanced out at the huge trees. “One day this war will be over, Erich.”
“Could be a long time, though, sir.”
Steidle turned the vehicle onto the mud track and they bumped past the stacks of piled logs and the house and the chained, barking dog, and drove into the yard.
The lorry had already returned from the plateau and was parked close to the barn. At the sound of the approaching car, another of Lau’s men emerged from the house, followed by one of the twins. The twin hung back, but the soldier was waiting by the vehicle as Lau opened the door and stepped out.
Lau frowned. The dog’s ferocious barking sounded even louder than it had the previous night.
“Everything go OK on the plateau?” Lau asked the waiting soldier.
“A slight problem, sir.”
“Go on.”
“Nothing wrong with the landing strip; it’s good, just as Monsieur Beergut told us. We double checked everything.”
“But?”
“A man turned up.” He gestured with his head towards the twin standing by the house. “A cousin of
The entire regiment had moved to northern France the previous year, anticipating a major role in the invasion of Britain. But Operation Sea Lion had been suddenly postponed in September and many said that now it would never happen.
Other units of the regiment had moved on to major conflicts in Yugoslavia and Greece, but Kurt Lau and his team had been detailed a series of small hit and run operations. They were all important, but this one was something special; Lau had been told just enough to be certain of that.
His orders were clear. If the first objective of capturing the target and taking him back to northern France proved impossible, there was only one alternative – the target had to be eliminated. The knowledge he held was judged to be so important that it could not be allowed to pass into enemy hands.
Lau and the soldier driving the stolen Citroën police car were on their way back to the wood yard. The recce had gone smoothly; the house could be approached front and back. They would snatch the target early the following morning, return to the yard, radio headquarters, and as long as weather conditions stayed fair, be picked up by the Ju-52 that same night. It was a simple plan, but Lau was taking nothing for granted. Experience had taught him otherwise.
They were on the long road that snaked up through the forest of Bélesta. The climb was swift and steep, and with each twisting turn they glimpsed sudden falls and deep gorges on either side.
“Good countryside, eh, Erich?” Lau said to the driver. “Reminds me a little of the Black Forest.” He laughed. “But not so nice, eh? Not like home.”
Lau would never usually address one of his team by his first name, even when they were out of earshot of other serving soldiers. But Erich Steidle was the exception. In his late thirties, Steidle was a good ten years older than Lau. Both men came from the city of Freiburg, in the south-west of Germany, close to the border with France. But while Lau’s career before the war had been as a professor of languages at the city’s ancient university, Steidle had laboured in the vineyards of both Germany and France, where he had learned his French.
Coincidence had brought the two together in the Brandenburgers, but since then, Steidle, hard and as tough as teak, had taken the younger man under his wing. He was devoted to the officer and protective in an almost fatherly way.
“I’ll be glad to get back to the north, sir,” Steidle said, manoeuvring the Citroën around another sharp bend. “It’s strange here – no sign of the war and no sign of the enemy. At least in the north we know that almost everyone is our enemy.”
Lau smiled. “Yes, it is strange here: France, but not France. But the Vichy government likes to think it’s in charge of things in the south and we must allow them that.” He glanced out at the huge trees. “One day this war will be over, Erich.”
“Could be a long time, though, sir.”
Steidle turned the vehicle onto the mud track and they bumped past the stacks of piled logs and the house and the chained, barking dog, and drove into the yard.
The lorry had already returned from the plateau and was parked close to the barn. At the sound of the approaching car, another of Lau’s men emerged from the house, followed by one of the twins. The twin hung back, but the soldier was waiting by the vehicle as Lau opened the door and stepped out.
Lau frowned. The dog’s ferocious barking sounded even louder than it had the previous night.
“Everything go OK on the plateau?” Lau asked the waiting soldier.
“A slight problem, sir.”
“Go on.”
“Nothing wrong with the landing strip; it’s good, just as Monsieur Beergut told us. We double checked everything.”
“But?”
“A man turned up.” He gestured with his head towards the twin standing by the house. “A cousin of
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