Part 150, Chapter 2716
Chapter Two Thousand Seven Hundred Sixteen
4th September 1978
Belitung Island, Dutch East Indies
There were all kinds of things wrong with this operation, Gunnery Sergeant Tyrone Lee thought to himself.
For years, Lee had heard stories about the amount of firepower a German Marine Rifle Company could bring to bear and put it down to propaganda. To actually see it though, especially when it was being expended on ostensibly civilian structures was shocking. Then there was what the Navy had done. Looking up at the roof of the hut made corrugated steel, Lee could see this one had been hit by several 20mm mine shells that had blown fist sized chunks out of it that light was streaming through. This sort of roof was valued for its ability to catch rainwater, it was no longer fit for service. The rest of the place was lightly built with walls made of woven coconut fiber. Lee knew that the 20mm shells that had hit the roof were flyers resulting from the bobbing of a landing craft. Those shells would passed right through a structure like this, only detonating when they hit something solid. Cold comfort if anyone had been in here. If the shells had not gotten them, the rain of fragments from the shells hitting the roof would have.
Stepping out of the hut, Lee saw that the survivors of the assault were being rounded up by men from the local APRA Militia who had just arrived. It would have been better if the KNIL, the regular Dutch Army of the East Indies were the ones doing that but apparently they were elsewhere today. That was a problem because even in the Philippines, Lee had heard all about Ratu Adil. Even with their reputation of savagery from the brutal Battle of Leningrad or the Borneo Campaign with the allegations of cannibalism among other things, the German Marines were choirboys by comparison.
“We have a problem here Oberfeld” Lee said as soon as he found Muller on the main avenue of what was left of the village. “If we let those guys take the prisoners they will torture them for information, probably shooting them in the back of the head when they are done.”
When Lee had been a boy his grandfather had told him about fighting the Germans in the trenches with the 15th New York National Guard Regiment, the Harlem Hellfighters. This was because Lee had found his Grandfather’s old Adrian helmet in the attic along with a number of documents and medals including a French Croix de Guerre. His grandfather had felt compelled to tell the story he had not told anyone since he had come home from the First World War and eventually settled in Albany, New York, until that day. His description of the Germans had confused Lee at the time. How the German prisoners of war in the camps the Hellfighters had been tasked with guarding had been warm and jovial, curious about all things American. Then there were the Germans he had encountered in the trenches, basically the same people. Cold-eyed, ruthless killers.
When Muller turned and looked at Lee, suddenly what his grandfather had said made perfect sense. Lee had thought that he had gotten to know Aaron Muller quite well over the last few months. This was his other side.
“We need the continued cooperation of the locals, at least the ones who are not totally corrupt as to be reporting to both sides” Muller said as he walked up the lane with Lee keeping pace. “And do you notice anything odd about this place?”
Lee looked around, nothing seemed too out of place. It was a remote fishing village.
“There is no school, church, or children” Muller said, “Though I guess the people around here have different names for those things, but for a community this size of this one that is odd.”
Once that was pointed out to him, Lee couldn’t help but seeing it. This place had only one reason to exist, and it had not been fishing. There were work parties wearing the uniforms of the Marine Infantry and the Tropical uniforms of KM HSF Sailors. Digging through the wreckage of what had been the largest building.
Turning a corner, a foul smell filled the air. Lee saw that another work party had dug up a trench. There was a team of photographers and what looked like a forensics team at work. In the trench was the stuff of nightmares. Bodies of people who had been dead for some time, men, women, and children.
“This is why you shouldn’t cry too many tears for that lot” Muller said, pointing his thumb back at the prisoners. “We believe that these are the crew and passengers of a cargo ship that was taken off Madura Island last month. It is going to take some time to identify them due to the advanced state of decomposition.”
Dublin, Ireland
There was a cartoon that Marie Alexandra had once seen in the funny pages of a newspaper back in Montreal where a small flock of birds had landed on an ice-flow. One of them was demanding to know why they had flown three thousand miles just for this. She couldn’t help but think of that as she sat through the Orientation lecture for First Year Law Students.
First there had been a lengthy lecture, that might have actually been interesting if the delivery had been any good, about how Michael Collins had adopted a version of the European Civil Code as opposed to English Common Law. Probably as one more way of letting the English know that they no longer ruled Ireland. Then they had gone point by point over the academic schedule, the formal events where attendance was mandatory, the dress code in lectures and at those formal events, as well as a million other things it seemed.
Around noon, there was break for lunch and Marie received a message from Jack Kennedy about how he wanted to meet with her as soon as it could be arranged. It was about then that Marie realized just what she was in for.
4th September 1978
Belitung Island, Dutch East Indies
There were all kinds of things wrong with this operation, Gunnery Sergeant Tyrone Lee thought to himself.
For years, Lee had heard stories about the amount of firepower a German Marine Rifle Company could bring to bear and put it down to propaganda. To actually see it though, especially when it was being expended on ostensibly civilian structures was shocking. Then there was what the Navy had done. Looking up at the roof of the hut made corrugated steel, Lee could see this one had been hit by several 20mm mine shells that had blown fist sized chunks out of it that light was streaming through. This sort of roof was valued for its ability to catch rainwater, it was no longer fit for service. The rest of the place was lightly built with walls made of woven coconut fiber. Lee knew that the 20mm shells that had hit the roof were flyers resulting from the bobbing of a landing craft. Those shells would passed right through a structure like this, only detonating when they hit something solid. Cold comfort if anyone had been in here. If the shells had not gotten them, the rain of fragments from the shells hitting the roof would have.
Stepping out of the hut, Lee saw that the survivors of the assault were being rounded up by men from the local APRA Militia who had just arrived. It would have been better if the KNIL, the regular Dutch Army of the East Indies were the ones doing that but apparently they were elsewhere today. That was a problem because even in the Philippines, Lee had heard all about Ratu Adil. Even with their reputation of savagery from the brutal Battle of Leningrad or the Borneo Campaign with the allegations of cannibalism among other things, the German Marines were choirboys by comparison.
“We have a problem here Oberfeld” Lee said as soon as he found Muller on the main avenue of what was left of the village. “If we let those guys take the prisoners they will torture them for information, probably shooting them in the back of the head when they are done.”
When Lee had been a boy his grandfather had told him about fighting the Germans in the trenches with the 15th New York National Guard Regiment, the Harlem Hellfighters. This was because Lee had found his Grandfather’s old Adrian helmet in the attic along with a number of documents and medals including a French Croix de Guerre. His grandfather had felt compelled to tell the story he had not told anyone since he had come home from the First World War and eventually settled in Albany, New York, until that day. His description of the Germans had confused Lee at the time. How the German prisoners of war in the camps the Hellfighters had been tasked with guarding had been warm and jovial, curious about all things American. Then there were the Germans he had encountered in the trenches, basically the same people. Cold-eyed, ruthless killers.
When Muller turned and looked at Lee, suddenly what his grandfather had said made perfect sense. Lee had thought that he had gotten to know Aaron Muller quite well over the last few months. This was his other side.
“We need the continued cooperation of the locals, at least the ones who are not totally corrupt as to be reporting to both sides” Muller said as he walked up the lane with Lee keeping pace. “And do you notice anything odd about this place?”
Lee looked around, nothing seemed too out of place. It was a remote fishing village.
“There is no school, church, or children” Muller said, “Though I guess the people around here have different names for those things, but for a community this size of this one that is odd.”
Once that was pointed out to him, Lee couldn’t help but seeing it. This place had only one reason to exist, and it had not been fishing. There were work parties wearing the uniforms of the Marine Infantry and the Tropical uniforms of KM HSF Sailors. Digging through the wreckage of what had been the largest building.
Turning a corner, a foul smell filled the air. Lee saw that another work party had dug up a trench. There was a team of photographers and what looked like a forensics team at work. In the trench was the stuff of nightmares. Bodies of people who had been dead for some time, men, women, and children.
“This is why you shouldn’t cry too many tears for that lot” Muller said, pointing his thumb back at the prisoners. “We believe that these are the crew and passengers of a cargo ship that was taken off Madura Island last month. It is going to take some time to identify them due to the advanced state of decomposition.”
Dublin, Ireland
There was a cartoon that Marie Alexandra had once seen in the funny pages of a newspaper back in Montreal where a small flock of birds had landed on an ice-flow. One of them was demanding to know why they had flown three thousand miles just for this. She couldn’t help but think of that as she sat through the Orientation lecture for First Year Law Students.
First there had been a lengthy lecture, that might have actually been interesting if the delivery had been any good, about how Michael Collins had adopted a version of the European Civil Code as opposed to English Common Law. Probably as one more way of letting the English know that they no longer ruled Ireland. Then they had gone point by point over the academic schedule, the formal events where attendance was mandatory, the dress code in lectures and at those formal events, as well as a million other things it seemed.
Around noon, there was break for lunch and Marie received a message from Jack Kennedy about how he wanted to meet with her as soon as it could be arranged. It was about then that Marie realized just what she was in for.
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