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this happy reunion, Generalmajor, but perhaps we could return to the matter in hand?”
    “Of course, Brigadefuhrer, please accept my apologies,” Wurth said with exaggerated politeness.
    “Your apologies are not necessary, Generalmajor,” Schuster said icily. It was glaringly obvious that Schuster’s opinion of Wurth had cooled by several degrees since he had discovered that he and von Schnakenberg were both Grenadiers. Schuster turned to the map. “As of 1200 hours G.M.T. this is the situation as it stands: we have captured Hereward and we are in complete and total control of the town. Our forces have broken out from the beachheads and are pushing north. The present front line runs roughly from the Wash here to Liverpool.” Schuster used his bayonet as a pointer stick.
    “What about London, sir?” von Schnakenberg asked.
    “We have completely surrounded London. Our tactic is to starve them out. It is effectively one big giant prison camp,” Schuster replied.
    “Liverpool is still fighting, as are several other towns and cities. They haven’t surrendered yet. Our troops are having to fight street by street,” Wurth added.
    “What about Wales, sir?” Lindau asked.
    “We’re pushing into Wales, but it’s a slow and painful business. The roads go through the mountains and our convoys are easy targets for partisans.”
    “What about continued British Resistance behind our front lines and along our lines of communications?” von Schnakenberg asked.
    “The British are still fighting, von Schnakenberg,” Schuster answered swiftly, gaining control of the conversation again. “Terrorists are cowardly attacking our men in the back and our lines of communications are not secure. However, we are taking steps to deal with the terrorist threat in order to ensure that such an unfortunate situation does not arise again.”
    Von Schnakenberg and Lindau both looked at each other. They knew exactly what Schuster was talking about. The execution of hostages as a reprisal action for the killing of German soldiers by partisans.
    “The British Bulldog can still bite as well as bark.” Wurth broke the tense silence.
    Lindau breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t they realize that they’re beaten?”
    “Lions led by donkeys, Major Lindau,” Wurth said grimly. “You were too young for the last war. They fought like lions in the last war and they’re fighting like that now.”
    “The British are too stupid to realize that they’re beaten.” Schuster sneered.
    “Don’t underestimate the British, BrigadeFuhrer,” Wurth said. “Napoleon did and so did the Kaiser and look what happened to them.”
    “Napoleon and the Kaiser are not fit to be mentioned in the same breath as the Fuhrer,” Schuster puffed out his chest. “The Fuhrer is more than a match for the British.”
    “I sincerely hope you’re right, Brigadefuhrer,” Wurth said grimly. “For all of our sakes.”
     
    “Keep quiet,” Sam whispered. He crouched down and moved towards the sound of the laughter. Alan was right behind him. They moved slowly through the forest until they could see a group of people ahead in a clearing. Sam crouched behind a tree and Alan knelt beside him.
    Four people were kneeling on the ground with their hands up in the air. One man, a woman and two teenage girls. Directly opposite them were eight German soldiers. Some of them were sitting, some of them were standing and some of them were lounging about on the forest floor. A corporal sat on the ground, stabbing his bayonet into the soft moss covered forest floor, digging furrows in the grass. He pointed his bayonet at the kneeling man and spoke to another soldier who was acting as an interpreter.
    The corporal asked him something. The other Germans fell about on the forest floor rolling and laughing like a pack of hyenas.
    “Are your women clean?” The interpreter asked.
    The man’s face drained of blood as if the Grim Reaper had thrust his hand through his chest and