black band with silver lettering which read ‘ Deutschland ’. Above his left breast pocket there was a ribbon of red, blue and gold – like Jack had seen soldiers wear in place of medals. He wore a black belt, from which hung a holster for a side arm and a sheath for holding a dagger. The man was probably around forty and had a thin, pale face and penetrating green eyes. He was tall and his height was accentuated by a high-peaked cap. At the top of the cap Jack saw the stylised figure of an outstretched eagle. Beneath this, there was a final detail which confirmed the identity of the man before them. At the centre of his cap there wasan unusual silver emblem. It leered out at them with grinning teeth – a skull and cross bones. It was called the Totenkopf – the Death’s Head – and it was a symbol that personified pure evil. The man before them was an officer in the Nazi Schutzstaffel .
The SS had popped into Bonaparte’s for a lunchtime drink.
Angus and Jack had missed the first exchange between the tall SS officer and Antoine, the proprietor of Bonaparte’s, but clearly it had not gone well. Antoine’s puffy face had turned bright red and his large double chin wobbled. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. Jack was only a few metres away and he desperately wanted to slide back into the kitchen and down into the cellar. But there was an edgy silence in the café and he quickly realised that any movement would draw instant and unwelcome attention.
The SS officer spoke again. He had a calm, polite voice, “Perhaps we will try again, Monsieur ?” he smiled. “My friends and I would like three glasses of brandy.”
The words hung in the air. Antoine’s face flushed an even deeper shade of purple. He was being asked to serve Nazis in front of his friends and clientele. For Antoine it would be an act of humiliation and treachery. He was being put in an impossible position.
Antoine’s voice cracked, “I cannot serve you…”
The SS officer did not react. He looked down at the end of his boot for a moment. He twisted his foot first one way and then another, as if inspecting the boot for any residual scuffs or dirt. He continued with this performance for a full ten seconds as if distracted or embarrassed by Antoine’s brave words of defiance. Then he raised his head again and levelled his eyes at Antoine. Very slowly, the officer undid the holster at his belt and removeda black Luger. There were gasps from the onlookers and he saw one woman put a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. The officer raised the ugly weapon so it was pointing directly at Antoine’s head. Antoine started to shake and his chin wobbled even more. Slowly, the officer moved the barrel towards Antoine’s forehead, wrapping a pendulous index finger around the trigger as he did so. Jack stared on, horrified. Then, the officer did something strange. Instead of pointing the gun at Antoine’s forehead, he shifted its direction slightly and slowly moved it towards Antoine’s left eye socket. Antoine gave a little gasp of fear. He closed his eyes tightly, but the officer eased the muzzle of the gun into the eye socket and rested it there. The idea of a bullet through the eye rather than through the head made the threat even more frightening, cruel and sadistic. Antoine started to sob. Jack wanted to leap to his rescue, but he knew to do so would mean instant death.
Suddenly, Marianne broke ranks from their little group at the kitchen door and marched forward. The SS officer and his two friends were taken aback by the sudden movement to their side and they wheeled round to train their weapons on her as she approached. For a moment it appeared as if she, instead of the hapless Antoine, would be gunned down in front of them. But Marianne flashed her most winning, radiant smile. She put up her hand and with an outstretched palm, gently waved the officer’s Luger to one side, put a slender arm around his shoulder and
The SS had popped into Bonaparte’s for a lunchtime drink.
Angus and Jack had missed the first exchange between the tall SS officer and Antoine, the proprietor of Bonaparte’s, but clearly it had not gone well. Antoine’s puffy face had turned bright red and his large double chin wobbled. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. Jack was only a few metres away and he desperately wanted to slide back into the kitchen and down into the cellar. But there was an edgy silence in the café and he quickly realised that any movement would draw instant and unwelcome attention.
The SS officer spoke again. He had a calm, polite voice, “Perhaps we will try again, Monsieur ?” he smiled. “My friends and I would like three glasses of brandy.”
The words hung in the air. Antoine’s face flushed an even deeper shade of purple. He was being asked to serve Nazis in front of his friends and clientele. For Antoine it would be an act of humiliation and treachery. He was being put in an impossible position.
Antoine’s voice cracked, “I cannot serve you…”
The SS officer did not react. He looked down at the end of his boot for a moment. He twisted his foot first one way and then another, as if inspecting the boot for any residual scuffs or dirt. He continued with this performance for a full ten seconds as if distracted or embarrassed by Antoine’s brave words of defiance. Then he raised his head again and levelled his eyes at Antoine. Very slowly, the officer undid the holster at his belt and removeda black Luger. There were gasps from the onlookers and he saw one woman put a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. The officer raised the ugly weapon so it was pointing directly at Antoine’s head. Antoine started to shake and his chin wobbled even more. Slowly, the officer moved the barrel towards Antoine’s forehead, wrapping a pendulous index finger around the trigger as he did so. Jack stared on, horrified. Then, the officer did something strange. Instead of pointing the gun at Antoine’s forehead, he shifted its direction slightly and slowly moved it towards Antoine’s left eye socket. Antoine gave a little gasp of fear. He closed his eyes tightly, but the officer eased the muzzle of the gun into the eye socket and rested it there. The idea of a bullet through the eye rather than through the head made the threat even more frightening, cruel and sadistic. Antoine started to sob. Jack wanted to leap to his rescue, but he knew to do so would mean instant death.
Suddenly, Marianne broke ranks from their little group at the kitchen door and marched forward. The SS officer and his two friends were taken aback by the sudden movement to their side and they wheeled round to train their weapons on her as she approached. For a moment it appeared as if she, instead of the hapless Antoine, would be gunned down in front of them. But Marianne flashed her most winning, radiant smile. She put up her hand and with an outstretched palm, gently waved the officer’s Luger to one side, put a slender arm around his shoulder and
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