Resistance – 1942
Walmington-on-Sea, November, 1942
"So, well hold Godfrey's Cottage and buy the time for Monty to get his division into place along the ridge. Of course, that will be the end of us."
"Aye Sir, we know that." Fraziers voice was almost delighted at having a genuine excuse for his habitual gloom.
Mainwearing looked at him, almost fondly, then continued. "You, Pike, I need somebody to get through to the division, let them know what were doing. Get on a bicycle and get through, do whatever it takes. Take the Tommy Gun with you, you might need it."
"I don't want to go, I want to stay with the rest of you."
"You'll obey orders. Do you think I can send Godfrey or Frazier to do this?" Mainwearing looked at him with contempt. "Stupid boy. Get a move on."
"Perhaps he could stay Sir?" Sergeant Wilson spoke quietly.
Mainwearing replied even more softly. "You really want your boy here when the Panzergrenadiers hit us?" Wilson shook his head. "Right then."
The picture on the screen dissolved into a series of short images. Lance Corporal Jones and Private Frazier, the best shots in the platoon, in a ditch, picking off the German troops advancing across the field. Eventually they ran out of ammunition and the Grenadiers closed with them. There was a brief bayonet fight and the Germans fled with the two old men in pursuit. Then, a sawing burst from an MG-42 cut them down. Sprawled on the ground, Jones managed to gasp one last "you see, they don't like it up them" before the death shadow crossed his face. Frazier tried to make it across to him but his strength was fading fast. He saw the muzzle flashes from the platoons defensive positions and his last words were "They're all doomed."
Private Walker had the Lewis Gun. He was squeezing out short bursts, chopping down the German troops in front of him. By now, the Germans had realized the strength of the opposition they were facing and had brought up their armored carriers. The machine guns pinned Walker down while the infantry worked closer to him. He heard the thud, looked down and saw the grenade that had landed at his feet. Only one thing to do, he grabbed it and threw it back shouting "That'll be three and six to you." The grenade exploded in a knot of Germans but a Grenadier hit Walker with a burst from a MP40 as he tried to get back under cover. Walker hit the bottom of his foxhole and tried to drag himself back to the Lewis Gun, but two more grenades landed beside him. He just had time for one last drag on the cigarette drooping from his mouth.
Private Godfrey saw the explosion from Walkers position and guessed that he was dead. Still, there was a chance and Walker might be dying from want of help. Godfrey started to crawl over to the smoking foxhole, but before he could get there, he felt a sharp, breath-snatching shock in his side. He felt his strength ebbing away and saw the German jump next to him, bayonet lifted. Then the German gaped and dropped the point away from Godfreys chest.
"Mein Gott. I am sorry, I did not see the Red Cross. Please believe I would never have Please forgive me for what I have done."
Godfreys sight was dimming fast but he still had a little strength left. "That's quite all right, old fellow. Anybody can make a mist...."
Sergeant Wilson was surprised theyd lasted as long as they had. He'd had his share of command in the First War and been quite glad to be just a simple sergeant this time around. He'd tried to steer Mainwearing in the right direction and, by the look of it, they'd done well together. A 15 man, no, 14 man now that Pike was clear, Home Guard unit was holding up the best part of a Panzer Grenadier Company. So much for all those who'd said they werent real soldiers. The Germans were working close to him again, time for the last throw. He had five rifle bullets and two grenades left. And the pepper that had been the first weapon the platoon had been issued so long ago. Time to go, He threw the first grenade, breaking up the infantry advancing on him then picked off two more with his last five shots. One more grenade thrown, then it was time. He eased forward, and started to edge towards the Germans.
The meeting was quick and unexpected. Wilson threw the pepper at one German and bayoneted him. Then, he turned and crossed blades with a second. The old drill worked well, parry the German thrust, and counter. The German came apart in a way that reminded Wilson of an old stuffed toy. Then, there was a roar and he felt a series of impacts, the Germans had brought up a tank and its bow machine gun had hit him. "That was so terribly unfair," he said, as the darkness closed in on him.
Captain Mainwearing saw Wilson cut down by the tank. Six wheels, that made it a Mark III. His sticky bomb could handle that. The firing was almost over and what there was came from the Germans who were spraying the area the platoon had held. They all had to be gone now, all but him. Mainwearing drew his pistol and took careful aim at the tank. Six shots, all bouncing off the armor but the tank saw him and was coming after him. Mainwearing waited until it was almost on top of him and threw the sticky bomb at the side, above the road wheels. Even as he did so, he felt the bullets slamming into him, then the bomb went off and, as Mainwearing died, he saw the tank starting to burn.
Private Pike heard the eruption of gunfire from far behind him. He started to turn back but then the importance of the message hed been given made him stop and continue onwards, tears streaming down his face. A few minutes later, he came across ARP Warden Hodges manning a road block.
"I'll take that gun" Hodges shouted, the man always seemed to be shouting. He'd been ordered to disarm the Home Guard unit but had always failed, now he could take at least one weapon from them.
Pike took one look at the hated Halifax supporter and shot him. "I've been telling Mister Mainwearing to do that for a long time." Then, he pedaled off into the darkness of the night.
79 Pall Mall, London, November 1977
The scene melted and changed to a much older Pike standing at the center of the head table of the formal dinner that had kicked the series off nine years earlier. On the wall behind him were fourteen portraits, all surrounded by black crepe, the members of the Home Guard platoon who had died in the defense of Walmington-on-Sea. Alderman Pike had been speaking almost on remote control as hed remembered that final battle. Now it was time to finish. "And so, on this the 35th anniversary of the Battle of Walmington-on-Sea, and in honor of the new statue we have dedicated today commemorating our brave defenders, I ask you to charge your glasses and drink a toast to, the entire cast turned and faced the cameras, Britains Home Guard."
There was a brief flash, then the familiar music started and the credits rolled. Charles de Vere Beauclerk, 13th Duke of St Albans, got up and turned the television off. "They did that very well. There were a lot of little battles like that you know. Most of them will never get written about, even the towns and villages they took place in will forget soon enough. The Home Guard deserved better, perhaps now they'll be remembered."
Sitting on the couch, Nell Gwynne was dabbing her eyes. Shed been in America throughout the war, well, throughout most of it. There were a few escapades in Geneva and one wild adventure in occupied England that had been exceptions. "They did end it well ducks, I'll give you that. I suppose theyll be doing a series on the Auxiliary Units next."
The 13th Duke shook his head. "The government still doesn't admit they even existed. All the paperwork is classified under the hundred years rule and the AUs whacked most of the people who knew who they were. Lot of Chief Constables had unfortunate accidents back in 42. Even Obby never knew all of what they were up to and he ran the British Resistance. The resistance now, thats a different matter. There's already a television series running about them, Secret Army its called, about a resistance group getting shot-down American pilots out of the country. There's even rumors of a comedy version being made. I suppose when we start making comedies about the Occupation it really must be part of history."
"Oh, I wouldnt say that ducks. Remember when the Resistance let all the animals out of London Zoo?"
The 13th Duke burst out laughing. The first thing the Germans had done after they'd seized the country in 1942 was to restock London Zoo as part of the Strength through Joy program. It had been tended as a bit of reconciliation propaganda and had been quite effective. Then, one night, a British Resistance group had broken in and let all the animals out. Next morning, London had woken up to the sight of a pachyderm thundering down Oxford Street and it was reputed that a group of tigers had made it to Salisbury Plain. Even now, there were rumors that a family of pumas had survived in the Surrey woods and established a breeding colony. Every so often, one of the tabloid newspapers would print a photograph of the supposed Surrey Pumas.
Murray de Vere Beauclerk laughed rather nervously. He'd only recently been told of the great Beauclerk family secret and he still couldn't get used to the fact that his legendary ancestress was sitting opposite him. "This is a lovely apartment Great Grandmother. I thought the family had lost this place centuries ago."
"Charles nearly did ducks." Nells voice had an affectionate asperity to it. "He went bust and the creditors took it. I bought it back using a proxy and leased it. He wasn't the last either, the money from this place came in useful bailing you all out now and then, the Beauclerks seem to be good at losing money. Lucky for you I moved to the land of opportunity isnt it?"
"We don't all go bankrupt." The 13th Duke remonstrated. "Some of the line have done pretty well. We're just a bit eccentric, that's all. I think we get it from you."
Nell snorted. "That's right, ducks, blame me. You know how I got the freehold to this place? It's the only one on Pall Malls south side not owned by the crown." The 13th Duke did, but he knew his son did not so he shook his head. Nell picked up the story where she'd left off. "Charlie gave me this place on a long lease but when I found out it was only a lease I gave it to him back. Told him I'd always conveyed free of charges when I was under the Crown, and always would; and he should convey my house free of charges to me. He was a good man Charlie, the histories dont do him justice, he saw the joke and assigned it to me by an Act of Parliament."
"Anyway, great grandmother, why did you come over? I'm sure it wasnt just to see the last episode of Dad's Army."
"I can come over a lot more ducks, now Pan-Am have started their Star Clipper service to London. Two hours it took and I can fly back tonight if I want." Nell grinned to herself as she saw the 13th Duke trying to hide the apprehensive look on his face. She guessed she was the eccentric relative, visits always welcome as long as they weren't too frequent or go on too long. "And I wanted to be here when Murray got let into the secret. I know its hard enough to believe, you thought your old man had gone mad didn't you ducks."
The last remark was directed at Murray who was quietly staring at Nell. He'd been taken in by her beauty and charm, just as so many others had over the years. The truth be told, he was quietly debating with himself whether going to bed with his grandmother 14 generations removed was incestuous or not. Nell smiled at him gently and Murray realized in guilty horror that she knew just what he was thinking. "I did, but when we met, you look just like your portraits. Not that they do you justice but...." He floundered for a second. "Great grandmother, I have to ask, are there more like you?"
"There are ducks, who and how many, thats a secret. But youre really asking me, are you going to be like me? It's possible, the odds are millions to one against, but it is possible. But if you are, it'll be the luck of the draw, not inheritance from me. The gift doesnt run in families. And it isn't all a blessing ducks, you'll have to learn to live in the shadows, to avoid being recognized, to change identities every few years. And youll learn to have close relationships only with our own kind for falling in love with a short-lifer means losing them all too soon."
Murray sighed, she had read his thoughts and given him a gentle let-down. Nell nodded to herself, she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings and the bit about relations with short-lifers was true enough. She was actually here on business, she had a meeting with the Piccadilly Circus, the loose group of British demons who were snugly situated in the British military and civil service. They were technically part of Loki's group rather than the Washington Circle, they found the Seers ruthless realism too cold-blooded for their taste and Nefertitis matriarchal rule, even buried under her soft gentleness, chafed them. For all that, they formed a bridge between the Washington and Geneva circles, something badly needed since Loki and the Seer had a feud that went back centuries. But, recently, Lillith had picked up word that there might be a leak in their security, that somebody had spotted something in the records. Nothing certain, nothing specific, just researchers asking questions that seemed a little too pointed.
"Well, since youve rescued us from financial disaster so often, perhaps the Dukedom ought to take you out to dinner. Where would you like to go?"
"It's going to sound crazy ducks but Id love some good fish and chips. Cant get it back home."
"No problem. I know a really good place, over East End way. Well have to grab a cab though. Good pub next door if you fancy a drink first."
"Beer followed by fish and chips ducks. Oddsfish, you really know how to spoil a girl don't you." Nells voice was gently mocking.
The cab ride only took a few minutes, there was never a problem in getting a taxi in Pall Mall, the drivers knew where the money and influence stayed. Getting one back might be more difficult. By the time they got to their destination, it had started raining, the irritating British rain that was too gentle to warrant opening an umbrella but was enough to get anybody outside damp. It had served to clear people off the street though. Years of cloth rationing had killed of the habit of wearing hats in England, that was something else that Nell found strange. In America, a man didn't feel properly dressed for outside unless hed donned his hat. A kid might make do with a baseball cap but a man took pride in his headwear. That was Britain all over though, even now, 30 years after the Occupation had ended, the habits of parsimony and austerity still existed.
The pub was called The Traitors Head, its sign featuring a portrait of Lord Halifaxs head lying on a patch of grass. "It used to be called The Halifax Arms, Murray explained, but that wasn't tolerated any more. What can I get you, Nell?"
Nell had noted the way hed changed from her family title to the more suitable name. He was learning fast, the Beauclerk family might have had their financial problems but they'd never been slow on the uptake. She'd noticed something else, the air of hostility that was in the bar when she'd entered. She knew why, her clothes, her bearing, marked her out as an American. "I'll have a half of draft beer, ducks, if you'd be so kind." The others in the saloon bar heard her speak and noted her accent. The tension and hostility faded.
"Have you been to the British Museum, Nell?" Nell had, but the when and how wouldnt fit her apparent age and this was a public place where the wrong ears could overhear. That was another residual of the Occupation, people watched what they said in public and Nell knew she had better cause than most. She shook her head in answer to the question..
"It's worth a trip, of course most of the old collection has gone, somes at Karinhall and a whole lot more got destroyed when Germany burned, but the staff have rebuilt a fine show. Some of the Egyptian mummies are back on display now. There was a television program a few weeks ago, one of the historians there has a theory that one of them is the mummy of Queen Nefertiti."
"I somehow doubt it ducks." Nell drank down her beer. That was one advantage of her condition, her changed metabolism meant beer didn't go straight to her hips the way it had once. The first part of her visit was done, the Beauclerk secret was safely handed on. She had her meeting with the Piccadilly Circus tomorrow and then she could go home. It really was going home, Nell knew she didn't belong in England any more. But wasnt that true of all her circle? None of them really belonged anywhere, in so many cases, their home countries had vanished, swallowed in the mists of time. Nell knew she was unique, she still had a family she belonged to. Even if they were almost strangers to her. Still, they were family and they were buying dinner. And, Nell realized, she was hungry.
"Now, somebody said something about fish and chips?"