Chapter 52
1945
Sat amongst the ferns, he whispered, “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
“Certain.”
“And you’re sure they’re British?”
“I’m fairly sure.”
“Do you speak any English? I could speak German?” he offered.
A scathing look. “Are you being serious?” then he smiled. “I can speak a little. Come on!”
They stood up, stepped out of the undergrowth onto the track, raised their hands and walked slowly towards two men guarding jeeps bearing the English words: ‘Military Police’.
Five minutes later they were smoking cigarettes with the two, who both wore distinctive MP helmets and armbands and sported the single stripes of British Lance Corporals.
From the depths of the forest, they were joined by four other soldiers in similar attire. One of them wore an officer’s cap, another with three stripes on his arm carried a short length of thin rope which he threw in the back of the second jeep.
There was a terse conversation. Neither of them could understand the language the soldiers were speaking. Suddenly the Officer smiled and beckoned them to get into the jeeps while the others quickly removed their helmets and armbands then took the Military Police plates off the vehicles.
His companion nudged him, “Look at his hat.”
The Officer’s cap badge was the Star of David.
A month later, Captain Weihrach threw the pay books and pressed fibre identity discs on the table and smiled. “Don’t lose them.”
They were now official. Like the other members of the special units, they had anglicised name documentation. It aided their movement, particularly when passing through the various check points between zones, usually, but not always, dressed as Military Police.
The majority of the Brigade were engaged in official occupation duties, but the small, mobile units of the Tilhas Tizi Gesheften went anywhere they felt necessary. They were almost constantly on the move.
The TTG, mainly gathering their information from unofficial channels - partisans, refugees and POWs - brought retribution to the SS and Gestapo who sought to hide their deeds and, sometimes, also their wealth.
Mastering the art of jeep driving, they’d both become adept at looking knowledgeable and official and his English, although limited, was now passable; he’d even some phrases he was required to use on occasions that were flawless.
They hadn’t taken a direct part in any of the killings. They’d never been asked to. They’d happily taken part in the intelligence gathering, the chase, capture and transportation though. Some of those they’d dealt with had taken it stoically whilst most had pleaded for their lives, either senselessly denying their involvement or begging for forgiveness, to no avail. He wouldn’t hear their cries again until many years later.
Blue suited and gloved, Ikky and Sando picked their way through the grotty backyard trying to avoid the dog shit.
“I’ll do the bin, you go through the bags. As soon as we find some gloves, we’re off. ” Ikky said, giving his colleague a pale smile.
“Too bloody right. What did you have to look in the kitchen bin for? They won’t be in there. If anything, they’re in this lot.”
“I was just trying to be efficient. You never know.”
Sando laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I want to know what the fuck that was.”
He undid the knots in his first bag as Ikky emptied the bin, bit by bit, placing its contents in one of the fresh bags they’d brought with them.
“Oh!! Fuck me!” Sando reeled back gagging.
“What’s up?” Ikky looked over.
Sando gingerly peered into the bag again. He stepped back and began to dry vomit. It was several seconds before he could speak. “Some dirty bastard has fuckin’ done a huge sloppy shit in there.” The thought made him gag. “Fuck it, I can’t do it. I’m not looking in that again.”
Ikky waved him over. “You look in the bin. I’ll do the others.”
Sando grabbed the new bag from him and began sifting through the council bin. “Honest, mate, don’t go through that, just do the other two. It’s not as if we desperately need these gloves.”
They worked steadily for several minutes, Sando afraid if he opened his mouth to talk he’d puke.
Suddenly Ikky broke the silence. “Aha! What have we here?” A right-handed work glove dangled from his fingers.
Sando produced an evidence bag from his pocket. “Shove it in there, mate, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“What about the bag with the shit in it. Shouldn’t we at least try? The other one could be in there?”
Sando shook his head. “Ikky, no fucker’s going to thank us for bringing a rancid shitty glove back, especially when McAvoy’s right-handed. This’ll do.”
Ikky nodded. “How do people live like this?” he said sadly.
Sando winced as he made his way back through the minefield that was ‘shit city’. “Beats me, matey. Fuckin’ beats me.”