DAVID GEORGE RICHARDS is married and lives in Manchester, England. He has been writing for several years on a regular basis. He writes science fiction, thrillers and romance stories with particular emphasis on leading female characters. Visit his website at www.booksandstories.com.
Also available by David George Richards:
Romance
An Affair of the Heart
The Look of Love
The Dreamer
A Fine Woman
Mind Games
The Friendly Ambassador Series
The Beginning of the End
A Gathering of Angels
Changes
Walking with the Enemy
The Twelve Ships
In the Shadow of Mountains
The Lost Girls
The Return of the Sixpack
The Tale of the Comet
The Dragon King
The Althon Gerail
The Sullenfeld Oracle
A Fine Woman
by
David George Richards
Copyright 2012 David George Richards
Licence Notes
All rights reserved.
Foreword
A Fine Woman is purely a work of fiction and nothing more. But the historical events that form the background to the story are true. The failed assassination attempt on Hitler is well documented, while the invasion of Southern France is often overlooked by movie moguls. Equally important as Operation Overload in Normandy only two months earlier, it was codenamed Operation Dragoon, and was an equally fraught sea-borne landing undertaken by the US Seventh Army. The British internment camps in Cyprus for Jews intercepted while attempting to reach Palestine are also little remembered today. And finally, although concentration camps did exist in Germany during the war, the camp near Helga’s estate is also fictitious, and no connection to any particular camp is intended or implied.
Chapter One
Antibes 1948
“I’m looking for a woman.”
Sister Marie-Thérèse looked at the young man in uniform sitting before her with a certain amount of confusion and mirth in her eyes.
“I believe you may have come to the wrong establishment, Captain,” she said with a strong French accent. “This is after all a Convent, the home of the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception.”
Captain Taylor smiled. He spoke with an American accent. “And I believe it to be the perfect place to find this particular woman.”
Sister Marie-Thérèse sat back and joined her hands together in her lap. “And what kind of woman would this be?”
“One with a past. One who would wish to hide away from prying eyes. A woman filled with guilt, maybe. Not so much for the things she did, but possibly for the things she didn’t do.”
“And what would these things be that would gain the attention of a Captain in the American Army?”
Captain Taylor toyed with his hat for a moment before tossing it down onto the large wooden desk between them. “Look, I’m not the enemy of this woman. I met her. Once. And I know what she did, what she was involved in. I lost her soon after. Now I think I know where she is and I won’t give up until I’m proved wrong.”
“You sound very determined. Why?”
Taylor leaned forward and hesitated. It was a direct question and there was no point in avoiding it. “I love her.”
“Ahh!” Sister Marie-Thérèse smiled knowingly. “Love is a powerful lure, a powerful emotion. All of us within this house feel love for Our Lord as we do for our fellow man and woman. But The Lord comes first. If you are right and this woman you seek is here, is she not already lost to you?”
Captain Taylor nodded. “Yes, but in a way she was never mine in the first place. You see, I know her, but she doesn’t know me.”
The expression on Sister Marie-Thérèse’s face told Captain Taylor exactly what she was thinking and he quickly rushed on.
“I know! I know! I am a foolish man who should know better! But this is no ordinary woman! And I met her under unusual circumstances!” He calmed himself and went on more slowly. “Sister, I have to find her, even if it is to leave her again. I just need to know that she is alive and well. If she is here, I must see her. I must speak with her.”
Sister Marie-Thérèse stared at him for a moment. Here was an unusual man, an officer in the American Army, a man far from home searching for a woman in a Convent while most of his countrymen had already returned to that distant home.
“The war,” she began, “has caused much suffering and damage. But it is over now. And France is slowly turning from anger and vengeance back to love, wine and food. For the French it is always those three and in that order. I am French and I understand these things. Do you have a family, Captain?”
“Yes. Parents and a sister.”
“Do you have a wife? Children?”
“No.”
“Is this what you seek here, from this missing woman?”
“No, not really. I don’t think so anyway.”
“Then what do you seek?”
“Peace. Peace of mind.”
She paused to stare at him again. “Peace.” She sighed. “Tell me about this woman, and I will tell you if she is here.”
Germany 1943
The stench was worse today. Even the dogs had noticed it. They barked incessantly and ran towards the valley on the far side of the hill where it was strongest.
The Countess Helga Burbeck tossed back her long blonde hair and gave chase, calling to her dogs in irritation.
“Tirpitz! Bismarck! Heel! Come back here!”
She should have known better than to let them off their leads this close to the valley. But she had forgotten that damned camp for just an instant. She pulled her coat about her and ran through the trees at the top of the hill and down the other side into the valley, the dogs barking away in the distance before her. The wind blew her hair back in her face as she ran, and she didn’t see the man until it was too late. She ran into him, the dog-leads knocked from her hand.
The smell of leather broke through the stench as Helga found herself embraced in strong arms. The man was wearing a long and black leather coat, leather boots and a peaked cap. He was quite tall. The man released her, bowed and kissed her hand, clicking his heels at the same time.
“Obersturmführer Meyer, at your service. I am sorry to startle you, Countess, but you know this area is off-limits. I must ask you to return to your estate at once.”
“I was searching for my dogs!” Helga countered. She bent to pick up the dropped dog-leads and held them out to him. “The smell attracts them! And now they’ve both ran off towards that camp of yours!”
“My men will retrieve your dogs, Countess, do not worry.”
Even as he spoke, Helga saw men with long coats and helmets walking back up the hill towards them. They all carried machine-guns slung over their shoulders. And they all wore the same SS uniforms as Meyer. Two of them were leading Tirpitz and Bismarck by their collars.
Meyer took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. He stood before Helga with his hands clasped before him as they waited for the soldiers to reach them with the two dogs. As they stood close together Meyer noticed a more pleasant scent in the air and realised it must have been the Countess’s perfume. It was the scent of a flower, yes, that was it, camellias.
“How is General Burbeck?” Meyer asked in conversational tones.
“My father is well,” Helga replied with slightly more forced politeness in her voice.
“Do you get to see him often?”
“Not as often as I would like. Life in the Wehrmacht is harsh, Obersturmführer, as I am sure you know.”
It was a dig at his position in the SS, and he responded with a smile.
“My duties do have some advantages, Countess.” He looked around. “Being at home, yes, it is good. But I also yearn for the glories of victory at the front. Hopefully your father will be home soon.”
Helga went back on the offensive. “And when he does I hope that infernal smell will be gone. I have complained to Standartenführer Von Osler on numerous occasions but it only gets worse. It’s intolerable!”
“The people in the camp need the heating. It is winter, Countess, would you wish them to freeze?”
Helga looked down at the wooden buildings surrounded by fences and barbed wire. On the railway track she could see another train had arrived. Trains seemed to come almost everyday. Soldiers still fussed around the ramshackle railway trucks, but all the people had already gone. She wondered how they fitted them all inside. There were few real buildings in the camp, and those that there were looked harsh and foreboding. They were made of grey concrete, like bunkers.
“No,” she said after a pause.
“Of course not, that would be unforgivable.”
The soldiers had returned with the two dogs and Meyer bent to pat and stroke Bismarck as he spoke.
“Now I suggest that you exercise these fine dogs of yours on the other side of your estate from now on.”
Helga put both dogs on their leads. “My dogs like this side of the estate. They are used to it.”
“None-the-less, it would be wiser to go elsewhere. And the smell would be better.”
Helga stood at her full height, which was considerably less than his, and spoke with nobility. “I will consider it. Thank you for your help, Obersturmführer Meyer.”
She held out her hand to him and he bowed to kiss it as before, his heels clicking. She bowed in return and then turned and walked away. Meyer watched her walk back through the trees with her two dogs in tow. All his men watched her too. One of them came to stand next to him.
“A fine woman, Obersturmführer,” he said as she finally disappeared through the trees.
“Yes, Schneider, a fine woman indeed.” Meyer turned away and retrieved his gloves from his pocket, quickly slipping them back on. His expression instantly grew harsh. It was as if the donning of the gloves shrouded his conscience and drove away his gentility. He drew the Luger pistol from his belt and spoke with anger. “Now, Scharführer, organise your men! I want those animals found! They have already caused us enough trouble!”
Scharführer Schneider clicked his heels. “Immediately, Sir!” He turned and shouted at the men who instantly jumped into action.
Meyer watched them resume their search. It had been fortunate that they had intercepted the Countess before she had gone too far. She had already complained many times about the smell, and if she found out what really went on in the camp her complaints would have reached Berlin. Her father was a powerful figure. Some would say too powerful. They would have to use more lime.
Helga pulled on the leads. She was walking along the side of the hill back towards her house. It was at the centre of a large estate. She knew the land around here very well. She had grown up here and played here. Some said she was spoilt, part of the old aristocracy. Maybe they were right. She didn’t care. They were just jealous, envious of her money, her father, and her position. Her father owned half the land in the area and the entire village. And when he was gone it would all be hers.
Why should she care?
Tirpitz pulled on his lead, Bismarck going with him, and they caught her by surprise and the leads were wrenched from her hand. With a bark and a yap both Alsatians bounded away.
“Oh, Hell!” Helga exclaimed and gave chase.
The dogs led her to the old summerhouse. It was long abandoned and broken down. When she was younger she used to play there with some of the local children. That was until her mother died. It had been built for her. Helga never played in it again.
Bismarck bounded through the broken door but Tirpitz got caught. Helga dived for his lead and fell head long on the ground. She landed in the mud. Tirpitz got away again.
“Damn you, Tirpitz!” she shouted as she got to her feet. Her expensive coat was all muddy, as was her face and hair. “I’ll have you neutered for this!”
She kicked the broken door in and stormed through. There were three small children with an older boy inside. They all looked terribly scared as Tirpitz and Bismarck jumped up and down at them wagging their tails and trying to lick them. They were dressed in what looked like old clothing that should have been thrown away a long time before. They were dirty and bedraggled. And they smelt. The older boy had a large piece of wood in his hand. He held it up as if he was going to hit one of the dogs. When he saw Helga he raised it even higher and turned to face her.
Helga reacted instantly. She stepped forward and knocked the piece of wood from the boy’s hand and pulled him by the hair, smacking him on the back. He hardly gave any resistance.
“How dare you! What are you doing in my house? How did you get here? Where have you come from?”
All the children started crying and they fell to the floor in a huddle as the dogs jumped all over them barking their heads off. The older boy lost his jacket; it just seemed to fall apart as Helga wrenched him about with it. He dropped to the floor with the others. He just cowered with his hands over his head.
Helga stared down at them and finally realised what she was doing. Her dogs were still barking and she suddenly shouted to them in her anger.
“Bismarck! Tirpitz! Down boys! Heel!” she smacked her thigh. “Here!”
The dogs stopped barking and became subdued. They walked up to Helga with their tails wagging feebly.
“Sit!”
They sat on either side of her. She patted and stroked them both. “Good boys! Good boys!”
Calm descended in the broken down summerhouse. The four children still lay huddled together on the floor. They were still crying. Helga decided to use the same forceful approach she had used on her dogs.
“Stand up! Stand up I said!” She stamped her foot. “Now! On your feet! All of you!”
They were slow to respond, but Tirpitz and Bismarck got to their feet and barked again and they moved faster.
Helga pulled on the dogs’ leads. “Quiet, my boys! Sit!”
The children were now standing up and crying.
“Stop crying!”
Silence apart from snivelling now filled the summerhouse.
“That’s better.” Helga adjusted her muddy coat and brushed back her muddy hair. “Now, who are you? And why are you here? Answer me!”
She was like an angry schoolteacher scolding naughty children, her two dogs standing by to deliver punishment. The older boy rubbed the dirt and tears from his face.
“I am Jacob,” he said in a timid voice. “This is Antoinette, Peter and Klaus. We are Jewish.”
It was as if the statement settled all questions. Helga didn’t think so.
“Are you from the same family?”
Jacob shook his head. “They separated us after we came off the train. Some of our mothers and fathers were upset. They argued and fought with the soldiers. There was confusion. We ran away.”
Helga nodded. “You are from the camp,” she said. “You have to go back there.”
The three younger children burst into tears but Jacob stepped forward. “We won’t go!” he said with determination. “You can kill us, feed us to your dogs even, but we won’t go back there!”
Helga looked at him in surprise. It wasn’t his outburst but what he had said. “I’m not going to feed you to my dogs! Don’t be ridiculous! But you have to go back! You don’t belong here!”
Jacob now shouted at her. “We won’t go back! And you can’t make us!”
Bismarck and Tirpitz stood up and started to growl. Helga tightened her grip on their leads. “You are being selfish!” she shouted back at him. “Think about your parents! They’ll be worried about you!”
“They’re dead! They’re all dead! They shot them! They shot them all!”
&nbs
p; Bismarck and Tirpitz began to bark. Helga quietened them in a dazed state.
“Shh, my boys! Quiet!”
They sat again and Helga looked up at Jacob. “Tell me what happened.”
Jacob was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. She spoke to him again, but more kindly this time.
“Do not worry, child, I will not send you back there. But if what you say is true—”
“It is true!” Jacob burst out.
Helga nodded. “Alright, its true. But then if I keep you they may hurt me, too. So tell me the truth. Tell me what happened. I deserve to know.”
Jacob glanced back at the others. They were huddled together in fear. He got no answer from them so he turned back to Helga again. He decided to trust her.
“We are from Antwerp,” he began slowly. “They chased us out of our homes and moved us all together in one place. I don’t know where it was. I only know there was no food for us and our parents were scared. My mother said that we mustn’t worry, that it was for our own protection. People had begun to do bad things to us because we were Jewish, and so it was better if we were all kept together. My father didn’t think the same. He knew the Germans were up to something bad.
“They put us on a train and took us to a camp. The train was horrible. It was just trucks and they squeezed us all in. The journey took hours and hours. Some of the older people died in our truck. And one baby too. The camp was just as bad. They took everything we had and gave us these uniforms. They made my father work. They kept him apart from me and my mother. My mother worked too. I don’t know how long we stayed there, maybe a year? Then they put all the women and children into another train and brought us here.
“The journey was worse than the first one. It took longer and more people died. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. When we arrived and were being taken off the trucks I saw my father again. The men had been brought on the same train, you see, but kept together in different trucks at the back. Now they were all walking passed us as we waited by the train. He was very thin, I almost didn’t recognise him. But when my mother called to him he looked at us and recognised us straight away. I called to him too, and more of the others began to call out. He shouted back. He ran towards us with more of the men doing the same. Some of the women and their children ran to them in greeting. I ran with my mother. Then the soldiers shot at us. They shot my father. My mother pushed me away and they shot her too. I ran under the train. Everyone was running around. The Germans were shooting everyone, even people on the ground on their knees. I ran off. Some of the children ran with me. They shot them too. We were the only ones who got away.”
Jacob just dropped his head and looked down when he had finished.
Helga was stunned. She didn’t want to believe it; she couldn’t believe it. But the state and appearance of Jacob and the other children was far too convincing. And she suddenly realised that her accidental meeting with the soldiers on the hill had not been so accidental after all. They had been there for a purpose. They had been looking for these children.
All of a sudden a feeling of fear crept into her bones. This was a discovery that the Reichmacht would not want to become public knowledge. It was too bad, too evil, and too dangerous.
Helga held out her hand to Jacob. “Come with me. I will help you.”
The next day the smell was just as bad as usual. It had a particular odour that Helga now found to be extremely distasteful. The reason was simple. It was familiar in some way. It had something to do with hunting with her father. She knew why now.
She hurried over the hill with Bismarck and Tirpitz. It was early morning and she was taking the dogs on their usual long romp. Or that was how it would look. At first she had thought about leaving them behind. There would have been less noise and less risk of being found out. But there would also have been no excuse for her presence. Obersturmführer Meyer may have been polite, but he was SS. All the soldiers at the camp were SS. Meyer was no fool.
She kept a tight hold on Bismarck and Tirpitz’s leads and gave them their head. She ran behind them as they bounded and pulled her along. They ran in a direct line, unwavering. It was the direction they always took. No matter where she was if she released them they always ran this way. Now they took her with them. Now she would find out where the smell came from and why the dogs were attracted to it.
Helga was surprised when the dogs led her away from the camp. She was sure they would take her straight to it. But instead they ran along the side of the hill and down towards the far side of the limits of the camp. There was nothing here but derelict land. Why did they come here? There was nothing here.
Then she heard the noises. It was surprising how the hillside and the tree line kept the sounds in the valley. From the house she could hear nothing; she had heard nothing. Now she could hear machinery. Was that a tractor? And suddenly there was a shot, like the crack of a whip.
Bismarck and Tirpitz were very eager now. With their tails wagging and their tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths they pulled her forward at a trot. Then at last she saw them.
Helga quickly pulled her dogs to a halt and collapsed to the soft ground in a heap between them. Bismarck and Tirpitz fussed about her, licking her face and nuzzling her. She ignored them. All she could do was sit there in the grass and stare at the vast pit.
It was a long wide trench that the soldiers stood around. At one end a large mechanical digger was pushing the soil back, filling it in. In the middle, men in funny looking outfits, their faces covered, were shovelling a white powder over the bottom of the trench. There were soldiers in the trench, too. They were closer to her, at this end. They walked around with their guns in their hands. One of the soldiers that lined the edge of the trench called out and pointed. Was that Obersturmführer Meyer? One of the other soldiers down in the trench moved to the place he had indicated. The soldier pointed his gun at the ground and fired.
The ground jerked.
Helga stared with round eyes at the trench and what lay filling it from side to side. Until that distant and slight jerk it had been just a white mass. Now it all came into sharp focus, now she could see clearly what she was looking at. She could see each limb, each form, each body piled on the next. All of them naked. All of them dead. No, not all of them, not yet.
How does a woman, a person, see the unthinkable? How do they cope without going insane? Only those that experience the unimaginable horror that man can inflict on his fellow man first hand can know the real answer. But for those that only see it rather than experience it themselves, for those that are a witness, and know that it is their own countrymen who inflict such horror, how can they bear the guilt?
There was another shot and another body jerked as the bullet slammed into it.
The same bullet also killed Helga. Who she was, what she believed in, everything she had experienced and accepted as the truth, her very understanding of life and where she fitted in the world, all of it jerked in her head as it also died.
Helga scrambled to her feet and tugged on the leads of her dogs, hurrying away as fast as she could go, her head held high.
If anyone saw her, they must not see her cowering in fright.