Turning towards the star that Charlton had pointed out, Gregory set off across the field. His boots were a little large, and though this was better than their being too tight, as he had an eight-mile walk ahead of him, he gave himself a mental rap over the knuckles for having omitted to mention the right size to Sir Pellinore. Evidently the department responsible for providing the General’s uniform had made a pretty accurate guess by judging from his height, but carelessness upon just such small points might well cost him his life during the days or weeks that lay ahead of him now that he was in enemy country.
When he had covered about 400 yards he encountered a fence, on the far side of which he found cultivated land. The crops had been gathered and a rough stubble rustled against his boots as he strode out across the uneven ground, thanking his stars that the weather had been good during the first week of the war and that the night was fine, for if his boots had been clogged with mud the going would have proved infinitely more tiring and difficult.
After a quarter of a mile the field ended and he struck grass again, but he had to cross several more stubble-fields before he reached a deep ditch and, scrambling across it, found himself on the open road. Turning left, he headed for Cologne.
The country was quite flat and utterly silent. The few houses that he passed showed blank, black windows and their inmates were clearly taking what sleep they could before facing the cheerless prospect of their second war-time Monday morning.
He saw no signs of military activity, but he had not expected to do so as he was nearly forty miles from the Belgian frontier and Germany was still at peace with Belgium. The nearest war zone was far away to the south of Luxembourg, well over a hundred miles distant. The only troops he was likely to encounter in this neighbourhood were anti-aircraft batteries stationed here for the defence of Cologne and the great industrial area further north, where the plants at Düsseldorf, Crefeld and Essen would be turning out munitions day and night. A faint reddening of the sky to northward indicated the innumerable blast-furnaces of Düsseldorf, which could not be entirely screened even in a black-out.
Occasionally a lorry rumbled past or a car with dimmed headlights crawled towards him in the darkness. At one point he encountered a small party of revellers who were singing drunkenly, at another an old woman who was pushing a handcart. But there was little traffic, and each time anything approached he stepped off the road to take cover in the shadows.
The six-mile tramp along the road was a dreary business, but at last the scattered houses merged into disconnected rows and Gregory knew that he was entering the suburbs of Cologne.
Glancing at the luminous dial of his wrist-watch, he saw that it was just on 5.30. This meant that there was nearly another hour to go until sunrise, but the sky was already paling faintly in the east. He had not hurried on his way from the landing-ground because it would have been dangerous for him to be seen, in the conspicuous uniform of a General, drifting aimlessly about the streets of the city before it was astir. Moreover, as an old soldier, Gregory had long since learned to conserve his strength and he never hurried over anything unless he had excellent reasons for doing so.
Where a fence railed off an open field between two blocks of houses he halted and sat down on the stile that gave entrance to it. Plucking a tuft of grass he spent some moments dusting his boots, as he knew that it would be a fatal give-away for a German General to be seen about the streets in boots which were not meticulously clean. Then he took out his case and lit a cigarette.
That was another little slip, he thought, as he drew the fragrant smoke of the Sullivan down into his lungs. Sullivans are not to be obtained in Germany, and if an occasion should arise which necessitated his offering his case this fact might well betray him. He would have to get some of those filthy German stinkers as soon as possible.
Fortunately the case was of plain, engine-turned gold without monogram or initials, so he was able to retain it, but with a reluctant sigh he took out the remaining Sullivans and, tearing them into pieces, scattered the tobacco and paper in the long grass behind him.
At a quarter to six a door banged in a nearby house and a shrill voice called out something in German. That brought home to him as nothing had yet done that he really was in Germany. Shortly afterwards a light cart clattered by and Gregory stood up. It would not do for a General to be seen sitting dreaming at the roadside. German Generals were busy, practical people and not given to doing that sort of thing. The uniform would probably have big advantages later, but it had its drawbacks as well.
Stubbing out his cigarette he started off again towards the centre of the town and was soon walking on pavement. It was lighter now and there were quite a number of people in the streets. He came to tramlines, and passed a little group of workers waiting at the terminus for a tram to take them into the city. A solitary, grey-clad soldier was among them; steel-helmeted, a gas-mask slung round his shoulders. He drew himself up stiffly and saluted. With a little start Gregory acknowledged the salute and walked on.
The fact that he was wearing a cap instead of a steel helmet did not matter. Actually, it was probably an advantage; for except when actually on parade officers would certainly be permitted such licence behind the war zones, but he ought to have had a gas-mask. Evidently the department which had equipped him had not had one of the latest German pattern, and a British gas mask would have given him away. He made up his mind to rectify the omission as soon as possible.
The trams were running by now, but he noticed that their clanging, high-pitched bells were silent, doubtless on account of some regulation imposed by the German equivalent of A.R.P.
He had decided that he would make for the main railway-station, go in by one entrance and come out by another, and then hail a taxi as though he had just arrived by train, in order to reach an hotel where he could breakfast in a manner befitting his rank. But that little plan proved quite abortive.
The Hauptbahnhof yard was full of cars; many were grey ones belonging to Army units and the rest all had some form or other of label posted on their windscreens, reading ‘Supply Service’, ‘A.R.P.’, ‘Road Control’, ‘Police’, and so on. The station buzzed with activity; people, most of whom were in uniform, came and went incessantly, but there was not a single taxi to be seen. Evidently the Germans must have taken them off the streets in order to conserve their petrol supply.
Somewhat cheered by seeing many other officers also walking, Gregory entered the stream of pedestrians moving towards the centre of the town and made his way to the Dom Hotel, which had been used by the British as their Headquarters during their occupation of Cologne twenty years before. A sentry outside it presented arms and Gregory acknowledged the salute, casually now, having become quite used to taking salutes during his walk from the station, but he was informed that the hotel had been taken over by the Administration and was directed to the Excelsior.
On arriving there he went straight through to the gentlemen’s cloakroom, picked up the first gas-mask that he saw on a peg and, slinging it round his shoulders, walked out again. Crossing the street, he went round the corner, entered the Edenhof and going into the restaurant proceeded to order breakfast.
If he had had to content himself with the menu which was presented to him he would have fared badly, as rationing was already in force in Germany, but he knew that money would talk there as well as anywhere else in Europe, and in this little matter his rank would protect him from any charge of contravening the laws which some over-zealous witness might bring against him.
Looking the head waiter straight in the eye, he handed him back the menu, which listed only cereals, gave him a two-mark piece and gruffly demanded Eier mit Schinken.
‘Jawohl, Herr General,’ replied the waiter swiftly, and turning to one of his minions passed on the order.
While he ate his ham and eggs and drank some passable imitation coffee he considered his next move. If he had entered the country dressed as a private, as Sir Pellinore had suggested, he would have carried a knapsack in which he could have brought a change of linen and other oddments that he might require; but Generals do not carry knapsacks, neither do they carry suitcases, so he had had to content himself with slipping his razor, toothbrush and comb into one of his pockets.
It was clear, however, that he must have luggage if he were to stay in the country for any length of time. He could not just walk into hotels minus even an attaché-case and spend the night without arousing suspicion in the minds of chambermaids and managers. It had been his intention to take a taxi round the town after he had breakfasted and to purchase his small requirements, but this was now out of the question.
Having paid his bill and had the ration-card with which the department had provided him punched, he went out to the reception desk and announced to the weedy looking clerk who stood behind it: ‘I am General von Lettow. My servant did not arrive at the station in Hanover last night in time to meet me with my suitcase, so I had to leave without it. I am now going out to buy a few things and shall have them sent here. See to it that the porter has them all together in his office when I return!’
The little clerk clicked his heels and bowed. ‘At your service, Excellency.’
Turning away with a curt nod, Gregory went out to do his shopping. After an hour he had bought at various places a good-sized suitcase, pyjamas, a dressing-gown, two changes of underclothes, bedroom slippers, another pair of boots that fitted him better, and toilet things. He almost gave himself away at the chemist’s by inquiring for hair-oil, but remembered just in time that his head was now bald. He tried to get a torch, but without success, as every torch in Cologne had either been commandeered days before for military purposes or snapped up by civilians as part of their A.R.P. outfits.
Having instructed the various shopkeepers that his purchases should be sent at once by hand to the Edenhof, he decided to go and have a drink at the big café on the Dom Platz in order to give them reasonable time to make the deliveries, and seated there at a small, marble-topped table with a big mug of the dark Munich Löwenbräu in front of him he studied the surrounding scene with interest.
Workmen, high on a scaffolding, were busily removing the stained glass of the rose-window from the great, twin-towered cathedral opposite, and piles of neatly-stacked sandbags now-protected the fine stone-carvings on the arches of its doors.
The café was one of those set aside for the use of officers, but a few civilians were sitting about and taking their morning beer. An elderly, grey-bearded man was seated at the next table and Gregory thought that he would try out his German on him, though he had few qualms about it. There are many more dialects and local accents in Germany than there are in England, so that even if his German were not absolutely perfect any peculiarity of inflection would be noticed by his hearer only in the same way that a Londoner might detect a slight touch of the North Country or Cornwall in the speech of an educated Englishman brought up in the provinces.
Having ordered a packet of cigarettes of a popular brand. Gregory leaned across to the bearded man. ‘Würden Sie mir bitte Feuer geben?’
The man quickly fumbled for some matches and Gregory took a light from the sulphurous flame. The thin, loosely-packed cigarette tasted as though it was made of hay, as it probably was, but Gregory knew that he would have to accustom himself to the taste. ‘Danke,’ he smiled. ‘These are interesting times in which to live, are they not?’
‘Yes, indeed, Herr General,’ his neighbour replied with nervous haste, and Gregory realised at once that he was too scared to talk to anyone in uniform. Another disadvantage of the kit that he had chosen; but after all, it was not his business to go round seeking the opinions of individual Germans on the war. He must accept Sir Pellinore’s statement that a considerable number of Germans were desperately opposed to it and to the Nazi regime, but they would certainly not admit as much to a General, even if there were not dozens of Nazis in brown or black uniforms strutting about within a stone’s-throw of the café.
After remarking hurriedly that it was a good thing the weather was keeping so fine for the gallant troops, the elderly man rapidly disposed of his beer, paid his score and departed.
His table was taken shortly afterwards by two younger men, both officers, a Major and a Lieutenant. Having saluted Gregory, and with a formal: ‘You permit, Herr General?’ they sat down and began to talk together in low voices.
Gregory’s hay-filled cigarette had lasted for barely half a dozen puffs, so he took out another and again asked for a light.
The lieutenant stood up with the rapidity of a Jack-in-the-box, clicked his heels and supplied it. Gregory stood up to take it and, bowing slightly, murmured: ‘Von Lettow.’ The Lieutenant jerked forward from the waist like an automaton and rapped out: ‘Kuhlemann, at your service, Herr General!’ The Major sprang to his feet also, and bending abruptly at the waist, snapped: ‘Möller!’
Gregory returned their bows and asked if they would join him in a drink. Both accepted, and more beer was brought. Gregory opened the conversation by saying that he had arrived that night from Hanover and was on his way up the Rhine to Coblenz.
‘Ha! You are lucky, then, Herr General!’ the Lieutenant exclaimed. ‘As Coblenz is our base for the Army on the Upper Moselle it does not need much intelligence to guess that to be your destination. You’ll see some fighting, whereas we’re stuck here in Cologne on garrison duty.’
The Major grunted. ‘You’ll get all the fighting you want, Kuhlemann, before this war is over. It’ll be a long show, just as it was last time. Don’t you agree, sir?’
Gregory smiled. ‘It is good that young officers should be impatient to serve the Fatherland at the front, but we older soldiers who have seen war may be excused if we are content to wait until we are ordered forward into the battle. The struggle will be a long one, yes; but we shall emerge victorious.’
‘Heil Hitler!’ exclaimed the Lieutenant.
‘Heil Hitler!’ echoed Gregory and Möller promptly, but the latter added thoughtfully: ‘It will be hard on the women and children.’
‘Yes, it will be hard,’ agreed Gregory, ‘but they must play their part without flinching.’
‘The poor devils are having to leave their homes already,’ Möller went on. ‘Look! There’s another batch of them crossing the square.’
Gregory turned in his chair and saw a dejected group of women and children staggering along under the weight of suitcases and bundles. He had seen similar groups in the streets of Cologne earlier that morning, but had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to wonder about them.
‘They’re evacuating all the towns in the Saar,’ remarked Kuhlemann, ‘but the minor discomforts they are asked to face are nothing compared to remaining there to be bombed to pieces by these English swine.’
‘They haven’t dropped any bombs yet,’ replied the Major mildly, ‘except on the railway siding at Aachen. They’re still busy distributing their leaflets.’
‘Have you seen one?’ asked Gregory; ‘I tried to get a copy in Hanover but people were too frightened of the Gestapo to pass them on to anyone in my position.’
The Major smiled and took out his pocket-book. ‘I’ve got one here, Herr General, if it would interest you to see it. We’re supposed to destroy them, of course, but I kept it as an interesting souvenir.’
‘Danke.’ Gregory extended his hand for the slip of paper. ‘It is not good that they should be passed freely among the civilian population, but among officers it is another matter. The loyalty of German officers can never be brought into question.’
He read the leaflet through and handed it back. ‘What lies these English tell—but between ourselves we must admit that there’s just enough truth in it to make it highly dangerous.’
Möller laughed. ‘Well, it’s not as dangerous as bombs would be, anyway, so we’ll hope that they stick to dropping paper.’
Gregory felt that sufficient time had now elapsed for his purchases to have been delivered at the Edenhof so he stood up, the other two following his example. Wishing them good luck, which sentiment they heartily reciprocated, he made his way back to the hotel.
His things had arrived, and he stood by while the porter packed them, in their wrappings, into the suitcase. He then inquired about the sailings of the Rhine steamers and learned to his satisfaction that one was due to leave Bonn for Coblenz at 1.30. The journey could have been made more quickly by rail but Gregory knew that had he actually been a serving officer he would have had a railway pass to his destination. To buy a ticket might create suspicion and to say that he had lost his voucher and ask the R.T.O. to supply him with another would have led to undesirable complications, so he had decided to make the journey by river steamer, on which it was less likely that he would be expected to produce a military chit.
The hall-porter summoned a street porter who took Gregory’s bag and preceded him as he walked the comparatively short-distance down to the river-side, whence the local electric trains start for Bonn. The line cuts across a bend in the Rhine where the country is flat and uninteresting, so that few people make the river trip from Cologne but prefer to board the boat at Bonn, and for a short, local journey of this kind it was quite natural that Gregory should take an ordinary ticket instead of producing a military travelling pass.
The old university town of Bonn was now empty of its students in their many-coloured caps, and in their place were great numbers of refugees, for the colleges were being used to billet the women and children who had been evacuated from the towns immediately behind the Siegfried Line.
With a heavy-footed strut Gregory boarded the big, low-decked steamer and everybody made way for him as he forged ahead to a comfortable seat from which he could enjoy the view as they steamed up the Rhine. He had done the trip on numerous previous occasions, so when they came opposite to the Seven Sisters Mountains on the left bank and the Drakensberg, with its glass-verandahed restaurant situated high above the quiet little town of Königswinter, he went down to lunch.
This consisted of a very small portion of veal, boiled potatoes and carrots, followed by Apfelkuchen. There was plenty of bread to go with it, but no butter, cream or cheese. Another square of his forged ration-card was punched, he paid the bill and went on deck again to enjoy a lazy afternoon gazing out across the wide river as bend after bend of it opened out new vistas showing ruined castles perched upon nearly all of the heights that came into view.
At six o’clock they docked at Coblenz, and securing a porter to carry his bag Gregory went straight to the Hotel Bellevue which stands right on the river-front. He registered at the desk as General von Lettow, and owing to his rank managed to secure a room on the first floor that had just been vacated. Having brought a couple of books from the stall in the hotel lounge he went straight up to his room and unpacked. Then he went on to the balcony, and as he gazed down upon the scene spread out below memories came floating back to him.
To his left the river divided, and in this direction lay the most beautiful portion of the Rhine, with its famous vineyards of Johannesburg, Marcobrunn, Steinberg, Rudesheim, and the rest. At Coblenz, too, the Rhine was joined by another great river, the Moselle, up which he meant to proceed on the following morning. The Moselle was beautiful also, he recalled, but with a more gentle beauty; passing between less abrupt but more thickly-wooded slopes or lush water-meadows lying level with its banks.
He remembered his first visit to Coblenz, as a boy. It had been over Whitsun in 1913, when his father had taken him with him on a short business trip to Germany. That Whitsun Germany had held her first air pageant, a three-days’ rally under the auspices of His Imperial Highness Prince Henry of Prussia, brother of the Kaiser. Over fifty crazy, flimsy planes made of linen and bamboo had gathered from all parts of Germany on the plateau above the town, and seven great Zeppelins had floated like huge, silver cigars above the airfield.
Little Gregory had been thrilled beyond words by the martial splendour of it all, and on the last night he had been allowed to stay up to see the fireworks display at Ehrenbreitstein, the grim old fortress that crowned the hill on the farther side of the Rhine. Twenty-six years had not altered a line of this unforgettable picture save for the addition of hideous steel pylons carrying electric cables.
Yet—so much had happened since. His thoughts drifted to another occasion, a few years after the War, when he had stayed at the same hotel. His companion then had not been his father, but a very lovely lady. What marvellous times they had had together on that stolen holiday in the Rhineland! He wondered what had become of Anita now. She must be getting on, and probably had children. Ah, well! That was the way things went in this world. One could never hold happiness for very long, one had to snatch it whenever it came one’s way. With a little sigh he re-entered his room through the long windows and went down to the grill-room of the hotel for a meal.
It was packed with Army officers, but his rank soon secured him a table. As he sat there he sensed the tension about him. Few women were present, and there was no gaiety. The diners talked in low voices and many of them kept one eye on the door, through which an intermittent stream of orderlies hurried, bringing messages or calling officers to the telephone. Coblenz was an important junction and the supply base for the Western Front. And Germany was at war.
As soon as he had finished he went upstairs again and started to undress. It was over twenty-four hours since he had last slept and he was beginning to feel a little tired. He read for a quarter of an hour and then switched off his light.
Things had been easy so far—incredibly easy. He had secured his kit and accomplished over half his journey without the slightest hitch. Protected by his General’s uniform, now that he was slipping into the part, he saw no reason why they should not continue so. After all, if one sees an English General in a London hotel or street it does not even occur to one that he might really be a German secret agent.
Turning over, he dropped into an untroubled sleep. But he might not have slept so soundly if he could have foreseen the desperate plight in which the following night was to find him.