Weaver by Stephen Baxter Read Free Book Online

‘Provided that such play does not conflict with the goals of the occupation.’
    She laughed again. ‘Ah, Ernst. Perhaps it will be mockery that defeats you Germans in the end, not guns.’

    They were distracted by a new noise from the sea, a throaty roar. A different sort of boat ripped across the water, running parallel to the shore; jet black and sleek, it created a wake that sent lesser craft bobbing. The men on the beaches whooped and applauded.
    Claudine swore softly. ‘And what is that?’
    Ernst’s heart sank. ‘It is a schnelleboote. Powered by an aircraft engine. Designed to roar across the Channel and dance up the beaches of England. More noise than performance ...’
    ‘It’s stopping,’ Claudine said. ‘Look. Somebody’s waving at us!’ She waved back.
    ‘And that,’ said Ernst, his gloom deepening, ‘is my older brother. Who can’t leave me alone for one day.’
    ‘Oh, don’t be so grumpy. How exciting, a brother in the SS!’
    The schnelleboote turned and made for the shore.
    And a flight of planes, the bombers and fighters of the Luftwaffe, poured suddenly over their heads, making them duck. It had been going on since the beginning of the month, assaults on English ports and railways and aerodromes and factories, all part of the great softening-up. The planes roared on, wave after wave, a three-dimensional armada that towered thrillingly into the sky.

V
    Josef, in the crisp black uniform of the Waffen SS, was nothing but good manners. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he said correctly, in German. ‘How you must illuminate the shadowy life of my stunted brother!’ He bowed and kissed Claudine’s hand, holding it just a little too long, Ernst thought.
    Claudine laughed in her pretty way, laughed with Josef. Of course Ernst knew they were laughing at him. His brother was ten years older than Ernst, that bit taller, that bit better looking; he and Claudine, side by side, looked as if they belonged together much more than Ernst and Claudine ever did.
    It made it worse that Josef had turned up with a girl still more stunning than Claudine. Tall, blonde, she too was in uniform, that of an SS-unterscharfuhrer; she carried a small canvas bag. Her name was Julia Fiveash, and she was, surprisingly, English. She was in an SS unit called the Legion of St George, made up of British subjects. She barely seemed to notice Claudine, and she looked at Ernst haughtily. But she made the black SS uniform she wore almost unbearably glamorous.
    Josef brought them to a bar near the harbour. They sat in the open air, at a polished table with a pretty lace covering, and Josef ordered coffee and cognac for them all. The servile barkeeper insisted he would take no payment from an officer of the SS; Josef, just as politely, insisted that he would, and handed over crisp mark notes.
    When Julia spoke to Ernst her German was crisp and precise, with barely a trace of an English accent. ‘Josef is an SS-standartenfuhrer, which I believe corresponds roughly to colonel in the English army,’ she said. ‘Whereas you, Ernst?’
    ‘I am a gefreiter,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘A Wehrmacht rank—’
    ‘Different from the SS. Lower than a corporal? But then you are so much younger than Josef, aren’t you? One must make allowances, I suppose.’
    Josef laughed. ‘Even Julia outranks you. She has already risen to unterscharfuhrer.’
    Julia said, ‘Or as we would say, sergeant. In fact we generally speak English in the Legion ...’
    The barkeeper brought their drinks; he laid them out as quickly as he could and scuttled away, head averted.
    ‘Of course,’ Josef said to Claudine silkily, ‘you don’t have ranks in your profession, as such, do you?’
    That confused Ernst. ‘She is a teacher.’
    ‘Ah, but I meant your new profession, my dear.’ He reached down and casually lifted up Claudine’s skirt.

    Claudine did not flinch, or show any fear.
    Ernst slapped his brother’s hand away. ‘Leave her alone. It’s not like