ONE OF THE BOYS, Jünger, was on duty at the gatehouse. He waved as they approached.
‘Herr Brandt,’ he said – Brandt could hear a breathless relief. ‘We were worried something had happened to you.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to me anytime soon.’ Brandt spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘I hear we have taken some more prisoners.’
‘They’re in the bunker.’
‘How many?’
‘Seven.’
‘Seven traitors.’ Wessel’s voice reminded Brandt of an angry wasp. ‘And it should be ten.’
Brandt turned to look at the boy, holding his gaze until Wessel had the good sense to look away.
‘You think I’m a traitor too, Wessel?’
Wessel said nothing.
‘Take over from Jünger. Maybe you need a few hours out here to clear your head.’
‘I wish to speak to the Zugführer,’ Wessel said. Brandt reached out and grabbed the back of the boy’s helmet, pushing him forwards until his head was between his legs. He rapped the helmet twice to make his point.
‘Wessel. You are a soldier now. Not a child. Behave like one. Any more disrespect to your superiors and you will also be seeing the inside of the bunker. Understood?’
The boy looked up at him, his eyes wet. Brandt could see anger in the thin mouth but he could live with that.
‘Understood?’
‘Of course, Herr Brandt.’
‘Good. You others, see to the horse and then go inside for food. There is stew in the oven. Jünger, once you’ve had yours come out here and send Wessel in.’
Wessel couldn’t help but look relieved.
‘Everyone needs hot food, Wessel. You as well.’
Seven men in the bunker. One of them Hubert. And the bunker’s key sitting in his pocket.
‘Obersturmführer Neumann asked to see you when you came in,’ Jünger told him as they led the horse towards the barn. Brandt nodded his acknowledgement.
It was warm inside the entrance hall but the electricity was off. It came as no surprise. The only light came from the embers in the fireplace. He put on some kindling and more logs. There were voices coming from the dining room. Neumann. Brandt wondered why he hadn’t left and how that might affect whatever the situation might be with the mayor. He would soon find out.
‘Well, Brandt?’ the mayor said when he entered the dining room. ‘You have things to tell us, don’t you?’
The mayor’s cheeks were red in the candlelight. They appeared to have only recently finished eating. Three bottles – two empty and one half full – stood on the table between them and the mayor’s voice was slurred. Neumann, in contrast, appeared quite sober. He waved Brandt towards them.
‘Join us, Brandt.’
Neumann smiled a welcome then glanced toward the mayor before raising an eyebrow to Brandt. It felt like a warning.
‘Thank you, Herr Obersturmführer,’ Brandt said, sitting down. He took his time, settling himself in the chair.
‘You visited the positions at the top of the valley?’ the mayor asked.
He wasn’t quite drunk, Brandt decided, but he was close enough as made no difference.
‘Just now. They’re well dug in with artillery and some tanks. I explained our situation to an army Hauptmann. He gave me written orders for you, Herr Zugführer.’
‘Can he order me about, do you think? An army Hauptmann?’ Weber asked, his words slurring once again. ‘Where does a Hauptmann stand in relation to a Zugführer? What do you think, Brandt? You who know everything?’
The wine seemed to have given the mayor back some of his confidence. There was a belligerence to him that didn’t bode well.
‘Higher, Herr Zugführer. On top of which he’s Oberst Wenke’s adjutant.’
‘If you say so.’ Weber nodded. He began to read the note aloud. ‘I am instructed to keep the main road open and clear for military traffic until the enemy enters the valley. At which point I am to withdraw immediately to the established positions either at the pass or on the western side of the valley, at my discretion. It seems we are now part of Fighting Group Wenke. Who is this Wenke?’
‘An army Oberst, he is gathering together whatever men and units are available as well as those which have been assigned to him. It’s standard in fluid situations like this.’
‘Fluid situations?’
‘When we are in retreat and there is chaos.’
Weber opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘I brought back the two boys from the furthest checkpoint. Oberst Wenke’s men have another not much further along the road. I thought they’d be more use here.’
The Wenke checkpoint wasn’t true but the mayor couldn’t know that. A silence fell in which Neumann and the mayor exchanged a look. Brandt found his mouth was dry. Neumann lifted his glass and swirled the wine to catch the candlelight.
‘Did you see the Ukrainian guards on your travels this evening?’
Brandt paused before speaking, conscious that there was no breath left in his lungs. He shrugged.
‘Not since I left here.’
‘Strange, you must have been on the road at the same time. Weber here saw them at his checkpoint.’
‘Not that strange. They probably passed me while I was talking to Hauptmann Bohm.’
‘The Zugführer arrested some more men this evening, Brandt.’ Neumann didn’t look up from the glass of wine he held in his hand.
‘So I understand. Is it necessary at this stage, Herr Zugführer? Our priority has to be to keep the road open. We shouldn’t divert our efforts.’
The mayor shook his head slowly.
‘These weren’t ordinary prisoners, Brandt. One of them is known to me. And to you. Well known. And a partisan, I’m certain of it.’
The sweat that had gathered between Brandt’s shoulder blades turned cold. Hubert. Had he told them anything?
‘Who, Herr Zugführer?’
‘Hubert Lensky. You look surprised. He’s an old friend of Brandt’s, Neumann. The fellow nearly married Brandt’s sister before the war. A lucky escape for her. And Lensky’s father, as it happens, works on Brandt’s father’s farm. The families are close. Very close indeed.’
‘I haven’t seen Hubert in eight years – but he never struck me as the type to end up as a partisan, Herr Zugführer.’
Brandt heard the lie in his voice. What else could he be, after all? Everything had been taken from him by men like Weber. But he needed to say something.
‘That’s not all, Brandt. When we brought him back here, we searched a bag he had with him. We found these.’
Weber reached inside his top pocket and pulled out four civilian identity papers. He placed them on the table like a black-jack dealer laying down a winning hand. Bobrik’s black-and-white face stared up at the ceiling. Brandt said nothing.
‘He must have got them from the bodies, Brandt – don’t you think? Which means he must have been involved in the ambush. What other explanation could there be? Of course, you were also present at the ambush.’
Brandt’s confusion wasn’t feigned.
‘You think I set up the ambush? Did Hubert say this?’
Neumann shook his head in the negative.
‘The Pole has said nothing – even though Weber here roughed him up a bit. No, I don’t think the mayor really thinks you were responsible for the ambush, Brandt. Although how the Ukrainians managed to get their hands on false civilian papers is a concern.’ Neumann appeared relaxed about the situation, even while Brandt could see Weber’s face was turning darker.
‘And I’d like to know whether the four I’ve just sent off had them as well. Of course, if you had bothered to search the Pole at the checkpoint, Weber, you might have found these then and been able to ask the guards about them when they came through. They’ve probably deserted, of course.’
‘Who is to say they have deserted?’
Brandt took advantage of the mayor’s moment of confusion to reach across for Bobrik’s identity card. He held it close to the candle. The quality of the forgery was poor – even a rudimentary check would pick it out as suspicious. The paper felt wrong.
‘When did you arrest Hubert?’ Brandt said, letting his hand drop to his side. ‘Was it before or after the guards went through?’
‘You’re asking the questions now? Don’t you think I see what you’re up to? There was only one survivor from the ambush. You. And then your childhood friend shows up with papers from the dead men.’ The mayor picked up the letter Brandt had brought back down the valley. ‘For all we know this letter is another trap. He probably wants to lead us into another ambush.’
Neumann reached out to take the orders from Weber.
‘They look genuine enough to me. Anyway, all you have to do is walk across the dam. You’ll be doing that soon enough. As I recall, Brandt was reluctant to go with the Order Police – and couldn’t have known about the search in advance. So I think the idea that he set up the ambush is ruled out.’
Brandt held up Bobrik’s identity card.
‘I have to ask again, Herr Zugführer. When did the guards pass through the checkpoint and when did you arrest Hubert?’
The mayor banged the table with the flat of his hand, knocking over his wineglass, which was fortunately empty. It rolled across the table towards Neumann.
‘I’m asking the questions here,’ the mayor growled. ‘Me.’
Neumann righted the glass.
‘Except I’d like to know the answer as well, Weber. If you don’t mind?’
Neumann leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers across his chest, his gaze moving between Brandt and the mayor. He seemed to be enjoying himself now.
‘They came through a few minutes after we arrested him.’
‘Going in the same direction?’
‘Not that it makes any difference. But yes.’
Brandt placed Bobrik’s papers back on the table.
‘I heard a rumour that Lensky was involved in criminal activities. Black marketing, that sort of thing. My guess is he sold these papers to them. They must have met along the road to make the exchange. These papers were unwanted.’
Neumann clapped his hands.
‘There you are. I told you, Weber. A simple coincidence and a misunderstanding.’
Brandt touched the bandage that covered the side of his head.
‘I wouldn’t shoot my own ear off for anyone, Herr Zugführer. And Bobrik was a friend of mine, if you remember. My own uncle died in the ambush. I helped my aunt bury him yesterday. And, as for my loyalty, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve already given half my body to the Fatherland. Now, do you mind if I go and get my dinner, Herr Zugführer?’
‘He has a point, Weber. More than one point, as it happens.’
The mayor looked confused.
‘It doesn’t make sense.’
Neumann patted him on the shoulder.
‘Very little makes sense when you think about it, that’s what I’ve discovered. Bring up some more wine while you’re down there. And Weber, admit you’re wrong about him.’
The mayor squeezed his eyes shut, as if concentrating. He put his hands on either side of his head, squeezing hard.
‘Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m wrong.’
Neumann looked across to Brandt and shrugged his shoulders.
‘It’s a difficult time, Weber. We’re all under great pressure.’
‘All the same,’ Weber said, placing his hands on the table, ‘Lensky will be executed in the morning.’ There was a stubborn jut to the mayor’s chin that suggested further discussion was pointless. Not while he was in this state, anyway. Brandt pushed back his chair.
‘If those are your orders, Herr Zugführer – they will be followed.’
‘That’s decided, then,’ Neumann said. ‘Now, let’s get more wine and talk about happier things.’
‘May I go and see him?’ Brandt asked. ‘Lensky? He was a friend of mine.’
The mayor seemed not to have heard, staring instead at his splayed fingers that radiated out on the table’s surface like two puffy stars. Neumann smiled.
‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, Brandt,’ Neumann said. ‘Do you?’
Brandt shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he couldn’t care less.
‘After all,’ Neumann continued, ‘visiting a condemned man will be depressing. We should be joyful this evening.’
Neumann’s amusement seemed false to Brandt.
‘As you say, Herr Obersturmführer.’
‘Make sure you bring up the good wine, Brandt.’
Brandt nodded his agreement.
The kitchen was empty – the boys had left their bowls and cutlery piled beside the scullery sink, still streaked with the remnants of their meal. It looked untidy but Brandt no longer cared. He lifted the cover from the pot and sniffed at the stew. It smelled good and he needed to eat something. He would sit with them upstairs and he would drink with them and, later, when they were asleep, he would see what could be done about Hubert. He could feel the weight of the key to the bunker in his pocket.
In the cellar, Brandt filled a wicker basket with bottles of wine. He didn’t understand it. How could Hubert have been so stupid as to get himself caught? Especially now, so close to the end. He found he was breathing hard, like an athlete who had run a race. He leant against the cellar wall for a moment to recover. He was tired, that was all. He picked up the basket of bottles, forcing his legs to carry his weight, feeling how heavy his feet were.
‘Herr Brandt?’ Wessel was sitting at the long kitchen table, a bowl in front of him – a spoon in his mittened fingers.
‘Yes, Wessel?’
‘I thought you’d want to know. The mayor has ordered that anyone approaching the bunker should be shot. Jünger asked him what that meant and he explained that meant anyone. Any of us. The SS Obersturmführer. And, most especially, you.’