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sir.”
    “To take care of the prisoners?” Lindau mimicked the S.S. officer. “You were doing a pretty good job of ‘taking care of the prisoners’ when we arrived.” He spat the words out with disgust.”
    “Listen to you,” Zorn snapped, “you make me sick. It’s no wonder that we lost the War.” It had been a long, hot, thirsty morning. Slaughtering prisoners was an extremely stressful business and Zorn had finally lost his temper. “Brigadefuhrer Schuster was right. We should have finished off all of you aristo pigs at the end of the War.” Zorn ranted and raved.
    “How dare you!” Lindau shouted. His face turned crimson and he took one step forward. He heard an ominous click as Zorn flicked off his safety catch and pointed his Luger at Lindau.
    There was an answering clang as Feldwebel Alfonin, Wilhelm von Schnakenberg’s old Platoon Feldwebel, cocked his Schmeisser machine gun, sending a round into the chamber. “I’d think twice if I was you, Hauptsturmfuhrer,” Alfonin said menacingly as he stepped in front of Lindau.
    S.S. troopers moved protectively towards Zorn and raised their weapons to waist height, flicking off their safety catches.
    Von Schnakenberg’s soldiers cocked their weapons and pointed them at the S.S.
    No one said anything. No one did anything. A Mexican stand off. Everyone realized that one hasty move could spark off a firefight. But Zorn only had a platoon of thirty men whereas von Schnakenberg had several hundred. It was a no win situation for Zorn.
    Zorn realized that he had bitten off more than he could chew. He knew that he had to quickly think of a way to get both him and his men out of a swiftly deteriorating situation. Hopefully without losing face. The honour of the S.S. was at stake. But he was rapidly running out of time. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead.
    Zorn made up his mind. There was no way out. He flicked on his safety catch and lowered his Luger “Lower your weapons, men,” he ordered over his shoulder.
    “Drop your weapons!” von Schnakenberg barked.
    The S.S. men hesitated.
    Alfonin fired a Schmeisser burst above their heads. The S.S. dropped their weapons and raised their hands in the air.
    “Now get on your lorries,” von Schnakenberg said, his voice laced with venom, “and don’t come back.”
    “But the British..?” Zorn protested. “Without our weapons we won’t be able to defend ourselves…” His eyes bulged wide with horror.
    “The British will give you the same chances that you gave them.” von Schnakenberg pointed to the sea of dead British soldiers with his Luger.
    Zorn’s men sheepishly boarded their lorries, crest fallen and humiliated. Zorn hung out of the lorry cab and turned to von Schnakenberg. “We won’t forget this insult, Oberstleutnant.” He stared at von Schnakenberg with eyes full of hate. “The S.S. has a long memory. We’ll be back,” he threatened.
    “I look forward to it.” von Schnakenberg replied.
     
     

Chapter Three  
    Von Schnakenberg drove into Hereward with his mixed convoy of motorcyclists and Grenadiers. He was challenged at the edge of the town by a paratrooper roadblock. The convoy was cheered by groups of grinning and cheering paras as they drove into the centre of the town. Von Schnakenberg had absolutely no trouble finding the Town Hall because he knew the layout of Hereward like the back of his hand. He had been studying a map and scale model of the town for months before the invasion.
    The convoy pulled up in the Town Square and von Schnakenberg and Lindau climbed down from their lorry cabs. Von Schnakenberg gave orders to his company commanders to get their men out of their lorries and allow them to stretch their legs. However, he emphasized that he wanted them to remain alert and remain focused. Von Schnakenberg did not know if the Square and the town were secure yet and didn’t want to take any chances.
    Von Schnakenberg and Lindau walked up the stairs to the Town Hall past heavily