El Alamein by Jack Murray (spanish books to read .TXT) 📗

‘Absolutely not. I left all that behind me.’

‘I know, Sammy, I know. And if you don’t want to do it, fine. I will walk away and you will never see me again.’

Sammy was appalled. The idea of returning to the trade that had cost him ten years of his life behind bars and, to add insult to injury, at the request of a man who’d been responsible for much of that incarceration seemed like a horrible joke. He stared at the Chief of Police. There was no question he was being serious. The question was…

‘Why? And why me?’

Brehme looked away and sighed. He knew that what he was asking would have been too much of a friend never mind someone who owed him nothing and had every reason to despise him.

‘There’s a filing cabinet I need you to break into. It belongs to the Gestapo.’

If, the original request had been a shock, this put Sammy into a state of apoplexy.

‘Gestapo?’ he exclaimed. He rose to his feet which, sadly, didn’t mean very much in Sammy’s case and therefore undermined the impact he wanted to generate. ‘You want me to break into the Gestapo’s private files? Are you insane? These people are evil. I want nothing to do with them. Why should I help you?’

Brehme’s answer was quiet and resigned.

‘You answered your own question, Sammy. These people are evil. Don’t worry, I understand, Sammy. I’m asking too much.’

Brehme stood up. He couldn’t look at Sammy. Not because he was angry. Far from it. He appreciated the fear the little man was feeling. The reason why he couldn’t look at him was because he was close to tears. He fought hard to regain his composure then, finally, looked at Sammy.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.’

He started to walk back towards the Schneider household. But Sammy hadn’t moved. Brehme wasn’t aware of this initially and then he turned around, surprised. He frowned at Sammy.

‘You haven’t told me why you want this. Why now?’ asked the former burglar.

Brehme shrugged. What could he say? A feeling? A sense of something about to explode. The changes happening all around him. More Gestapo had arrived at the police station. SS, too. Manfred’s old friend Erich was a regular visitor. There was an air of expectancy.

They were planning something. A raid.

‘I think a lot of innocent people are going to suffer, Sammy. I’d like to stop that,’ replied Brehme sadly.

Sammy Schneider stared at Brehme. By rights he should have hated this man but, oddly, he didn’t. They stood on opposite sides of a divide professionally. Or, at least, they had. Because of Brehme, Sammy had missed seeing his son grow up. But this had always been a risk irrespective of the arresting officer. He hadn’t taken it personally. Brehme was not a person one could like. He was too serious, too virtuous.  While he, Sammy, had a more flexible moral compass. Yet, he sensed that Brehme was no Nazi acolyte. He was straight. Sammy suspected strongly that Brehme did not equate his role with the objectives of the ruling party, the men who had pulled the country into a war. He could respect that.

‘I can’t, Chief. I have to think of my family,’ said Sammy. There was a tinge of regret in his voice.

Brehme nodded. He exhaled and started to move again, followed by Sammy. They walked in silence then Brehme asked Sammy, ‘You had a boy, I remember. How is he?’

It was Sammy’s turn to exhale loudly and none too happily.

‘He’s in North Africa.’

Brehme paused for a moment and the two fathers looked at one another. Then he started to move again.

‘Mine, too.’

35

El Alamein, Egypt, 22nd October 1942

There were three letters for Danny. This was unusual. He normally expected one and sometimes, deliriously, he would receive two. The third was a worry. He didn’t recognise the writing. A sense of foreboding assailed him as he held the letter and debated whether or not to open it first or last. He decided to wait. Better he should savour the other two letters first.

His mother’s letter was full of the usual questions about his health, what he was eating but, mercifully, stopped short of any enquiry as to his bowel movements. Danny smiled at this thought as he was pretty sure she’d wanted to ask. They still hadn’t heard anything from Tom, but they’d had it confirmed he was alive and in Italy somewhere. He was probably safe now but, knowing Tom, he’d be trying to escape. They’d shoot him if they caught him. Danny felt a chill descend as he thought about the risks his brother would face even as a prisoner of war.

The second letter was thick. Inside was a letter and a photograph. It was a pity it was black and white. One couldn’t see those extraordinary green eyes. She was smiling embarrassedly. Probably she felt foolish trying to take a picture of herself. He wondered how many she’d had to take before choosing the least mortifying. It took his breath away to think that she was writing to him. Not just writing, in fact revealing herself, her thoughts, her emotions and her feelings towards him.

He was so lucky. The sound of a plane overhead shattered the reverie of his good fortune. A thought occurred to him that was difficult to deny. Perhaps her feelings towards him were tied up in the situation they were in. The idea of a young man going off to fight for his country had a certain romance to it for a girl of an impressionable age. Would that romance have been sustainable had Danny been the apprentice ‘smithy? He tried not to think of the answer to this question.

He stared at the third letter for a few moments and then opened it. A quick glance at the top right-hand corner told him that it was from Edith Perry. Anxiety seized him. He began to read.

Dear Danny,

I wanted to write to you to