The Kammersee Affair Read online

“Before we go into that, I’d like to clear up one little matter”, Bannister interrupted. “Just tell me one thing, if you can. It’s been bothering me ever since I got back.”

  He unfolded the newspaper that he had been holding. He placed it on the small table close by. Bradbury sat silently, and looked across at the front page. “All I want to know is why me?” said Bannister. “Why have I been selected for such treatment? To rate such a welcome? There must have been other sons of Centerville that had gone to fight the war. I wasn’t the only one.”

  Bradbury picked up the newspaper. “Certainly you weren’t the only one, although there weren’t that many others,” he said. “Eighteen boys from Centerville went to Europe.” He looked down at the floor.

  “Sadly nine of those boys won’t be coming back,” Bradbury continued. “We also know that five others are safe, but they won’t be coming back here. They’ve decided to move to the big cities, Houston or Dallas. So that leaves four, including yourself.”

  He refolded the newspaper, and placed it back on to the table. “Anyway you just happened to be the first to return, the first to come home safely. That’s all there is to it. No big mystery. I think there is another day arranged for next week, when the other three are due in. Does that answer your question?”

  Bannister was about to answer when there was a knock on the door. A few seconds later the door opened. It was Sheila. She was carrying a small tray containing the coffee. She placed it on the small table. Bradbury thanked her, and she left the room.

  “Milk, and sugar, Tom,” Bradbury asked.

  Bannister made no reply. Bradbury could sense that there were other things on Bannister’s mind. He poured the coffee, and handed the cup to Bannister. “Okay, Tom, out with it,” he said. “What else is on your mind?”

  Bannister remained silent for a short time. “Colin, since I’ve been back there’s two matters that constantly fill my mind,” he said. “I’m probably worrying for nothing, but I just can’t shift them.”

  “Go on,” said Bradbury. “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  For the next hour Bannister explained at length his concerns relating to the homecoming troops, and his fears concerning changes that must have occurred to everyday life, changes that he knew nothing of.

  “Tom, over the past four years there has been many changes. Not just in America. Change is inevitable,” Bradbury said. “The World is no longer the place it was prior to 7th December 1941.”

  “You can certainly say that again,” said Bannister.

  “There have been a lot of changes. Some were good, some not so good, and others absolutely bad. But whatever the rights and wrongs, that’s the way it is, and we have to make the best of things,” said Bradbury. “You should check the back issues of the newspapers. That’ll give you an insight into what has happened. You could do there here, or at the library. That should bring you up to date.”

  “That’s a good idea, Colin,” said Bannister. “I’ll certainly do that, as soon as I can. What about my other concern?”

  “Well Tom I’m not really sure what to say,” Bradbury replied. It’s not something that I had even considered. Do you really think it’s a problem?”

  “I don’t really know, I’ve no precise information,” Bannister replied. “But I do believe that it is a possibility, a strong possibility.”

  “Maybe I could see about getting some precise information,” said Bradbury. “I know some people on the Houston Herald. I’ll speak to them. Get them to do an article, and see if they get any feedback. What do you think?”

  “That sounds great,” Bannister replied. “I would certainly be interested in the response, if any.”

  “All right, that’s settled. I’ll keep you informed,” Bradbury said. “Now to the main point I want to discuss. What we have in mind is a series of articles about your wartime experiences. You know the kind of thing. Where you went, what you did, how you felt.”

  * * *

  Over the following two days the two men had prepared six articles ready for publication. Bannister provided the basis story, together with the details, and Bradbury had put it all together in a cohesive form. The first article was included in that week’s issue of the Centerville Gazette. The remaining articles appearing over the next five weeks. By week three, demand for the newspaper had increased by twenty per cent. By week six, circulation had increased by almost fifty percent, and the demand for more articles was growing daily.

  * * *

  A few days after publication of the final article Bannister was working in the Hardware Store. “Tom telephone call for you,” Mr Davies called out. “It’s the Gazette, a Mister Bradbury.”

  Tom moved to the back of the store, to where the telephone was kept. He thanked Mr. Davies, and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Mister Bradbury, er Colin,” he said. “Tom Bannister here, what can I do for you?”

  The articles had proved very popular, Bradbury explained. “The newspaper has received hundreds of letters asking for more,” he said. “Every issue of the paper has sold out completely, and extra copies have been printed. We are now receiving requests for back issues.”

  “That’s great news Colin,” said Bannister. “Should we get some more articles prepared?”

  “I think we should meet up, and soon,” Bradbury replied. “Maybe we’ll do some more articles, but I’ve a much bigger idea I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Bannister was intrigued. Writing the articles was big enough. “That sounds fascinating,” he said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I think you should write a book,” Bradbury replied simply.

  A book, that’s his big idea. He’s mad, quite insane. “Me, write a book?” said Bannister. “Are you serious?” Bradbury was quite serious.

  “But I’m not a writer,” Bannister insisted. “Doing a few articles was one thing, but a whole book. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Bradbury was not kidding, far from it. “I’m quite serious about this Tom,” he said. “You just tell the story, like you did with the articles, and I’ll write it. I can just see it now, The Italian Campaign, by Tom Bannister and Colin Bradbury.”

  Bannister stood silent for a while, deep in thought. Maybe it was possible. Perhaps the two working together could produce something worthwhile. They had done a pretty good job with the articles hadn’t they? It would be hard work. Most of it would be done during his spare time. He still needed to work at the store. But if Bradbury thought it could be done, well it was worth a try. He had nothing to lose.

  “Okay, Colin, we’ll go for it,” said Bannister. “We’ll call it The Road to Anzio.”

  “Whatever you say, Tom,” said Bradbury. “The Road to Anzio sounds good to me.”

  “Okay, let’s do it,” said Bannister. “When do we start?”

  “Now is as good a time as any,” said Bradbury. “The first thing to do is to prepare a general outline. A brief list of the things you want to include. Then we can start to evolve some kind of order for the book.”

  * * *

  For the next six months, the two men went over Bannister’s experiences in Italy. As a basis Bannister produced his diaries which covered his time in Italy. He told his story, and Bradbury wrote it down. The two would then edit the story until they were both satisfied. Once the basis outline was produced, the details were added, until eventually the book was completed and published. Sales were slow at first, but gradually the book became more and more popular.

  Shortly after the publication of the book, Bradbury started receiving feedback from his colleagues on the Houston Herald. Bannister’s fears were not without some foundation. Both the Houston newspaper and the Centerville Gazette were inundated with letters and telephone calls from several of the returned soldiers. Numerous problems had been highlighted. Some of the troops could not get work. Their old jobs had been taken by others, and were no longer available. Some of the troops were disabled, and unable to work. Bradbury decided to give Bannister a cal
l.

  Bannister had just stopped for lunch, when Bradbury walked into the store. “Tom,” he called out. “We need to talk, urgently.”

  Bannister looked up, surprised at the tone. What could have happened to be so urgent? “Give me two seconds, and I’ll be with you,” Bannister replied. He closed up his till, and locked it, took off his overalls, and stowed them in his locker. He then walked over to where Bradbury was waiting.

  “Right, I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s get some lunch at the Diner shall we?”

  The two men left the store, and headed down the street toward the Diner. As they walked along, Bradbury explained what was so urgent. “The Herald and the Gazette have been swamped with hundreds of letters from people, mainly soldiers, looking for some kind of help.”

  He then went on to explain in detail the type of problem that had been identified. “It’s just like you feared,” Bradbury said in conclusion.

  Bannister could hardly believe it. “I suspected something, but I always hoped that I was wrong, that there wasn’t a problem,” he said. “So what can be done about it?”

  “Both the Herald, and the Gazette, are going to launch a joint campaign,” Bradbury replied. “We intend highlighting the problem, and to lobby the State Governor, and the Senate.” He stopped walking, and took hold of Bannister’s arm. “We’ll go to the White House, if necessary.”

  Bannister said nothing. This was serious stuff. “That’s great,” he said. It’s a pity, but it’s something that must be done.”

  “I’m glad you think that, Tom,” said Bradbury. Bannister shrugged his shoulders. It was no more than anyone else would have thought, surely. “Tom,” Bradbury continued, “The papers will be ready to launch their campaign next week.”

  “That’s good,” said Bannister enthusiastically.

  “Yes,” said Bradbury. “But that’s not all. There is something else.”

  Bannister looked puzzled. “Go on,” he said. “What is it?”

  Bradbury thought for a short time. There’s no other way, but to just come right out with it.

  “Tom, we need a figurehead, someone at the helm of the campaign. Someone to give it a human form,” he said. “We need someone like you.”

  Bannister wasn’t expecting that, and was completely taken by surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Tom”, Bradbury said. “What do you think about politics? I mean have you ever thought about standing for office?”

  Bannister was stunned. Politics? Never in his wildest dreams had he ever given any thought to the subject. “What do you mean, Colin?” he asked, knowing the answer quite well.

  “Well you know,” answered Bradbury. “Standing for election to the local Council, or maybe even for the Senate?”

  “No, not at all,” Bannister replied emphatically. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ve the wrong Bannister. It’s my father who is on the town council. I don’t know a thing about politics. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Bradbury was not put off. “Well Tom I think you could do it. Both newspapers would support you,” he said. “And I’ll run your campaign.”

  Bannister didn’t believe a word of what he was hearing. This is fantasy. “Why would you do that?” he asked.

  “That’s easy,” said Bradbury. “Firstly, it would be a great story, a great campaign. You have to admit that. Secondly, we agree with your ideals, and thirdly…”

  “Yes,” said Bannister. “And thirdly, go on.”

  “And thirdly,” Bradbury continued. “It certainly wouldn’t harm the circulation figures, would it?”

  That was six months ago. The campaign was now over, and the people were casting their votes. It was they who would make the decision. Bannister had fought a good campaign. There was nothing else that he could do. He had no more input. It was now out of his hands, and beyond his control. All he could do now was to wait for the results.

  Chapter Eighteen

  George Scott – June 1945

  As Scott ran out of Rooney’s bar he had no idea where he was going. More to the point, he didn’t really care. He just knew that he had to get out of that bar. He had to get away from the noise, and the smoke. He had to get away from the others. He felt stifled, choking, and unable to breathe. He didn’t need to hear all of that small talk about the future. He didn’t want to hear it. What future? Who was planning what, and when? What did it matter anyway? How could he celebrate being home, when his friend was lying at the bottom of some cold, dark and lonely lake somewhere in Austria? He wouldn’t be coming home would he? He didn’t have a future did he? He wasn’t making plans, was he? He wasn’t celebrating was he?

  He suddenly realised that they hadn’t even reported the true position of where he had died, or where he was now lying. It didn’t matter to the others, did it? What a joke, Scott thought angrily. The others, they didn’t even care anyway, did they? Sure it had been Kadowski’s idea. Must cover up the story, can’t tell the authorities what really happened. Oh no, couldn’t do that. We must keep that gold a secret. That was all Kadowski’s plan, sure, but the other guys had gone along with him, hadn’t they, including himself.

  Scott had to admit that he had said nothing at the time. He was no different. He was as guilty as the rest of them. He hadn’t made any argument, had he? He hadn’t raised any objections, had he? He hadn’t put up any strong protest, had he? No. He had gone along with the Sergeant, the same as everyone else. So he couldn’t complain about that, could he? He was no better than the rest of them.

  He knew that the guys hadn’t really meant to be deceitful. He hadn’t meant to be deceitful. They had just been taken in. All of that talk about hidden gold bullion, and buried treasure, had turned their heads. Nothing more than that, it just didn’t seem to be that important at the time. The guys just weren’t thinking straight. What nonsense it all was, anyway. There wasn’t any hidden treasures, no Nazi gold. It was probably nothing more than wishful thinking.

  “Poor old Kadowski, what had he been thinking of?” His imagination was just getting the better of him, that’s all there was to it. So they hadn’t reported the absolute truth about Terry’s death. What about it? Perhaps, it didn’t really matter anyway. After all, the main thing, surely, was that Terry was dead, and that was that. That was a definite fact. Where his remains were actually lying wasn’t really that important, was it? It didn’t change anything, did it? Scott had to admit that sadly it didn’t change a thing.

  The guys hadn’t meant any harm, had they? Not really. They just hadn’t really thought things out properly. Where was the harm anyway? Who was actually getting hurt? No-one.

  The guys were okay. There’s certainly a lot worse around. You didn’t need to look too far either. He knew that for sure. But they did not really appreciate how he actually felt. That was all. How could they? Sure they were all sorry that Terry had been killed. But that wasn’t enough, not by a long way. “Not as far as I’m concerned,” he mumbled.

  Perhaps he was expecting too much from the others. After all, they hadn’t really been that close to either Terry, or himself, had they? Scott shook his head instantly. He knew that was completely wrong. In his anger, and bitterness, he knew that he wasn’t being entirely fair to the others. We were quite close, all of us. We were just like brothers. He had to admit that. That long march through Italy, that was enough to bring you together. You looked out for each other. You had to. You trusted each other. You were there for each other. You had to be. You couldn’t survive otherwise. Of course the others had cared, he had to admit that, but they just showed it in a different way. Maybe they just don’t really understand me. Sure, that was it.

  Certainly, Terry hadn’t been the only one to die. He knew that as well. Kadowski was certainly correct there. There had been hundreds, no thousands, of soldiers killed. Far too many of them young farm boys, just like Terry. Why three others, from their own Unit, had actually died on that very same day, at the lake. But somehow that seemed to be different
. They had all been killed in action, in combat, and they could see their enemy face to face. They had some kind of a chance to survive, however slim. They had a chance to fight back. Terry hadn’t died that way. He never knew what was happening. He never realised what hit him. It was two shots, fired by an unseen sniper, hiding back in the trees that had killed him. What chance did he have? No chance, none at all. There had been no opportunity to fight back. There had been no possibility to defend himself. There had been no time to take cover. There had been no warning. Nothing.

  Scott also had to admit that it wasn’t Kadowski’s fault that Terry had died. He had been as powerless to prevent it, as anyone else. He had been as shocked as anyone else. And he had been just as saddened as anyone else. Scott knew that he had been hard on Kadowski back at Rooney’s bar. He had been too hard, and completely unjust. The cover up may have been Kadowski’s idea, but he wasn’t to blame for the shooting was he? Terry hadn’t been ordered to run out from the trees had he? No. Terry’s death wasn’t anybody’s fault. Not really. Terry had just been unlucky, that was all. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. A minute or two earlier and perhaps the sniper wouldn’t have been there. Another minute later and the sniper might have already gone, and maybe, just maybe, it would never have happened.

  If only Terry hadn’t just ran out of the forest into that clearing. If only he had been a little more cautious. Taken a bit more care. Took his time, and looked around first, he might have been alive today. The Sergeant was right though; it could have been anyone of them. It just happened to be Terry. He was the poor slob who happened to get in the way of those particular bullets.

  But knowing all of this made no difference. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the way he felt. It didn’t make the feeling any better, or easier. It didn’t make the feeling go away. He could not shift this feeling of unease. This bitterness and anger that now ruled his life. This overwhelming sense of sadness, tinged with regret. Or perhaps, he suddenly thought, perhaps it was none of those things. Perhaps it’s actually a feeling of guilt that he felt. That was it, he agreed, bitterly. “It is guilt. I should have been there, with him, looking out for him. I should have been there to stop him running out like he did.”