Opening Moves

Major Ramsey had two black eyes, and there was nothing he could do to overcome that. His efforts to make his uniform presentable had failed and his spare uniform was elsewhere in the Château, somewhat charred. Noble efforts to remove the bloodstains from the tunic he wore had proven to be fruitless.

All in all, the normally smart Black Watch officer looked a total wreck, something that caused him more angst than it did those around him.

Forgetting himself, Crisp laughed.

“I take it the other fellah doesn’t look so good either John?”

“A fair statement Major Crisp,” using his reply to remind the American that they were no longer in relaxed company, a subtlety that Crisp missed completely.

“How’s Cam?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Prentiss is in the hospital. He will be fine but I warrant he won’t be comfortable sitting down for some weeks to come.”

Ramsey gently tapped his own buttock and this time Crisp got the message, nodding and holding out a beaker of water to Ramsey.

“On the house, Major Ramsey.”

“Thank you, Major Crisp.”

Ernst-August Knocke had lost close comrades that day, men with whom he had endured the indescribable horrors of battle. The awfulness of Olbricht’s death. Schmidt’s corpse burnt almost beyond recognition, but not quite. But as he went to the commando barracks to visit his men, in truth, all the men, it was the sight of the slaughtered Russians that moved him the most.

Disbelief.

Fury.

This was not war.

Something washed over the German, calming him, anger abating as quickly as it had arisen.

Compassion.

Ernst-August Knocke, Waffen-SS soldier par excellence, enemy feared by every nation that fought him, moved silently amongst the dead men. As he moved he recited something his cousin and best friend David had taught him long ago in beautiful Königsburg, during times when such non-aryan relationships were not frowned on and boys could simply be boys, and when the learning of such a text earned him a treat from Great Uncle Herr Doktor Jakob Steyn.

As he closed eyes and rearranged limbs, bringing peace to those who perished so violently, he spoke in his native German language, words that would never have passed his lips in the previous years.

“May his great name be exalted,” a pistol still gripped in the hand of the dead boy, cocked and loaded, was retrieved and made safe, “And sanctified in the world which he created,” and two young paratroopers, entwined in death, were separated and laid more easily.

“According to his will. May he establish his kingdom,” a weathered and pock-marked face twisted in horror and pain was gently covered with a napkin from Knocke’s pocket, “And may his Salvation blossom and His anointed be near,” the next man’s staring eyes were gently closed and his gaping mouth brought to a more comfortable position, restoring some dignity to the violated corpse.

Haefeli emerged from the ramp behind Knocke and halted, aware that a number of his men had stopped their work to watch a truly indescribable moment.

“During your lifetime,” a blade reverently slid out from a chest and the splayed arms brought to a position of repose, “And during your days, and during the lifetimes of all the House of Israel,” this time three Soviet soldiers had rolled themselves tightly together, and needed a more physical act of separation. Knocke looked up at the owner of the hands that helped, seeing Haefeli working with great tenderness.

He started Kaddish again.

“Speedily and very soon,” the three were separated and laid out side by side, another legionnaire arriving and gently easing the last body into order.

“And say Amen,” Knocke concluded.

“Amen” both Legionnaires spoke aloud before continuing.

“May his great name be blessed forever,” Knocke looked confused at the two soldiers who joined him in his prayer, voices firm but soft.

“And to all eternity. Blessed and praised,” they stood back as their work was being taken up by other legionnaires.

“Glorified and exalted, extolled and honoured, adored and lauded,” the three men exchanged firm looks as they spoke in unison, the black German panzer uniform flanked by the olive green American kit of the Légion Étrangère.

“Be the name of the Holy one, blessed be he above and beyond all the blessings,” Anne-Marie de Valois stopped instantly as she entered the courtyard, sensing the atmosphere, the crisp white sling on her arm catching the attention of her saviour.

Knocke nodded to the formidable agent, which nod was returned, accompanied unbidden by the genuine smile of a woman who knew she was witnessing something special from someone special.

“Hymns, praises and consolations that are uttered in the world,” the three men’s heads bowed as one.

“And say amen.”

Every man, every throat in the courtyard or looking on from the battlements gave voice to end the Kaddish prayer.

“Amen.”

The silence was perfect, and heavy with symbolism.

Haefeli broke it.

“One day Colonel Knocke. One day I hope to sit down with you and listen to the story of what just happened here, if you will permit me to share it.”