Young Lions by Andrew Mackay Page B

of this.” He shined the torch on the lid of a tomb before he put the torch down on the ground.
    “What? This?” Alan asked with confusion.
    “Yes,” Ansett answered. “On my command: lift up, alright?”
    “You must be joking! It must weigh a ton!” Alan said incredulously.
    “Just trust me.”
    Alan realized that he had no other choice. If Ansett wanted to, he could simply switch off his torch, retrace his route to the exit and leave Alan to die with the dead.
    “One, two, three, lift up!”
    “Wood! It’s made out of wood!” Alan held the ‘marble’ lid in his hands.
    Ansett laughed. “Yes! Now, slide it towards me about a foot.”
    Alan did as he was told. He watched in confusion as Ansett climbed up beside the tomb and lowered himself into it. “Come on,” Ansett said. “Or are you going to stand there all day with your thumb up your arse?”
    The shock of hearing Mr. Ansett uttering profanities was sufficient to jerk Alan out of his temporary paralysis. He climbed down a ladder that was built into the side of the ‘tomb.’ He climbed down about twelve feet and found himself standing in a room that measured about fifteen feet by fifteen feet square. Two sets of bunk beds ran alongside one wall of the room and a rack holding a collection of British and German weapons ran alongside another wall. A radio sat on top of a table that ran alongside the third wall and a small gas cooker and a woodwork bench ran alongside the fourth wall. A dining table with four chairs placed around it stood in the centre of the room. The whole scene was illuminated by a naked red light bulb. Red light so that they wouldn’t lose their night vision if they were entering or leaving. Red light so that even if someone entered the crypt they wouldn’t be able to see any light escaping from the hiding place. Alan noticed that there was an extra trap door where the ladder met the ceiling of the hiding place for extra security. Very clever.
    “What’s that?” Alan pointed at where a curtain partitioned off a corner of the room.
    “Gents,” Ansett answered matter of factly.
    Alan laughed. Ansett was relieved. He could not remember the last time that he had heard his House Captain laugh. “Cozy.” Alan wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his blazer.
    “Compact and bijou,” Ansett smiled. “There were four of us,” Ansett explained, his tone suddenly becoming serious. He pre-empted Alan’s next question. He was giving nothing away. There were four bunks. “One of us was killed. It’s not necessary for you to know who this person was.”
    ‘This person,’ Alan noticed. So he/she could be male or female. “You were a Stay Behind Party.”
    Ansett nodded.
    “Your job was to lie low and strike behind enemy lines when the Jerries passed you by.”
    Ansett nodded again.
    “I’m sorry, sir.” Alan snapped to a position of attention as if he was on a parade ground. “I thought that you were a coward.”
    “And worse, no doubt, Alan,” Ansett said, shaking Alan’s extended hand. “No apology is necessary, son. That was the general idea. And it worked. People must continue to believe that I am a coward and a defeatist at best and a collaborator and a traitor at worst. From time to time I may have to call upon you and Sam to help me to perpetuate this myth. You will have to remain silent when others condemn me even though you wish to defend me and you may even have to add your voice to theirs. You may even have to cast the first stone.”
    Alan nodded gravely.
    “But the important thing is that you and Sam are not alone anymore.” Ansett picked up a rifle from the rack, checked that the safety catch was on and cocked the weapon in one easy, practiced, fluid motion. “It’s time for the Empire to strike back!”
     
    It was ten o’clock in the morning on Remembrance Day and soldiers were busy setting up the barricades which would keep the crowds away from the route that the veterans would take to march past.