https://theoddestinkling.wordpress.com/2016/03/24/the-long-defeat/
(@Oddest_Inkling)
5) Sonderfahndungsliste G.B.
The Inklings sat in the
darkened room for hours, unmoving. Williams recited poetry under his breath.
Tolkien prayed the Rosary, Barfield meditated, and Lewis read verses from the Psalms.
All of them scribbled thoughts on scraps of paper now and then, but mostly they
sat still, stunned.
The telephone rang.
They looked at each
other, startled, confused. Then Jack Lewis heaved himself up out of his chair
and lumbered down the hallway. The others heard his voice, muffled but
astonished.
He shuffled back into
the room.
“That was MI6. They want
to meet with us. All four of us. Now. They’ve relocated their headquarters to
Oxford, and they’re sending a car.”
The four Oxford men rode
through the dark streets of Oxford, bundled together in the back seat of a
black car that slid smoothly through the night. No one spoke. They arrived at a
darkened building and were ushered out, pulling their hats down over their
eyes, and shown to a small door in an unlit entryway. In they went, and along a
hallway, and into a large, smoky room. A man stood with his back to them,
reading a document by the light from a fireplace. He turned. They gasped.
It was Major General Sir
Stewart Graham Menzies, chief of MI6. There he stood, with his particular
poise, trim, fit, with an aura of wealth and restrained power.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he
said, waving them into chairs, offering them whiskey, cigarettes, cigars,
tea—all luxuries they hadn’t seen for weeks. His smooth accent rivaled even the
public-school suavity Lewis and Tolkien had tried to spread over their Irish
and South African backgrounds, and put to shame Williams’s Cockney. Only
Barfield’s voice came close, but even his diction was garbled, and he quailed
before Menzies posh precision.
“I am sure this meeting
comes as a surprise to you. It isn’t every day that the British Secret Service
calls upon its poets, its professors, its philologists for clandestine military
work. But these are dark times: the darkest Britain has ever known.”
They nodded, all except
Williams, who was characteristically trying out contradictions in his mind to
see if he could think of a darker possible time. He could, but he thought it
better not to share.
“It is probably darker than
you know. The SS death squads have spread out across southern England, rounding
up soldiers, diplomats, Jews, and other unwanted elements of our population.
Nearly all able-bodied male citizens between the ages of seventeen and
forty-five have been interned and will soon be deported the Continent, where
some will be shot, some hanged, and the rest put to industrial hard labor.
Estimates suggest about twenty-five percent of our remaining male citizens have
been thus interned. Meanwhile, the SS is systematically liquidating our entire
Jewish population, which numbers well over three hundred thousand individuals.
Our population will soon be decimated, and replaced by hand-picked Nazi
officials and sympathizers. A massive eugenics campaign will be put in place.
All of this is designed to establish the so-called New Order of Europe, the Neuordnung
Europas, and the creation of a pan-German racial state. This will exist to
promulgate German National Socialist ideology and ensure the supremacy of an
Aryan-Nordic master race.”
He looked at them,
fixing each with his leveled gaze in turn.
“I don’t need to tell
you, gentlemen, what this would mean for civilization, for the human race.”
They all nodded this
time.
“You are writers and
thinkers of great imagination,” he went on, “and you have shown in your works
that you have trenchant insight into the human condition and into possible
totalitarian futures, as well as their alternatives. So I have decided to
enlist your assistance in our last great work: the last great work of free
humanity, if it does not succeed.
“I need not warn you
that this work I am calling you to is intensely dangerous. I am sure you are
well aware what will happen to you if you fail, if you are caught, probably
even if you succeed. You have most likely heard of the Nazi’s ‘Black Book’?”
He strode over to his
desk and picked up a thick file.
“This is a copy of the Sonderfahndungsliste
G.B., the Special Search List Great Britain. It was compiled by the SS
Einsatzgruppen, a special deployment task force. It is the list of
prominent British residents whom the German High Command names to be arrested
upon the successful invasion of Britain by Nazi Germany. Now that they are here
on our soil and have taken control of the public branches of government, the
Gestapo has begun systematically working its way through this list, hunting
down, arresting, and executing those individuals whose names appear here. The
list was expanded just months before invasion; it now includes all four of you,
in such illustrious company as Leonard and Virginia Woolf, H. G. Wells, E. M
Forster, and Aldous Huxley.
“Mr. Barfield, as your
name occurs quite early in the alphabet, you are advised to prepare yourself
for arrest at any moment. We will, of course, do all we can to protect you, but
there is only so much we can do, especially now. So I do not know how long you
may have.
“Now, to your missions.
These are primarily propaganda missions, as you are no longer fit for active
service, nor would physical resistance be the best use of your considerable
talents.
“Professors Tolkien and
Lewis: although the British Broadcasting Company has fallen into the hands of
the enemy, we have our own means of disseminating radio programs both inside
and outside of England. We are going to ask you to assist us in reaching out to
our allies and potential allies abroad, in a campaign to win their hearts and
minds and move them to assist us in our dire plight.”
He turned to C. S.
Lewis.
“Professor Lewis,” he
said, graciously, “this will be very like the mission you completed for us in
1941.”
The other three stared,
astonished.
“Jack?” asked Barfield.
“What is this all about?”
Lewis looked at Menzies,
eyebrows raised, and the chief nodded his permission.
“In May of 1941,” Lewis
told his friends, “when we were about to occupy Iceland, I was recruited by MI6
to record a propaganda message, to help win the hearts of the Icelandic people.
I gave a talk on ‘The Norse Spirit in English Literature,’ and it was
disseminated across that island.”
“And of course he never
disclosed this information,” Menzies told his flabbergasted colleagues, “but
now you have a chance to serve your country in a similar way, and in even more
dire times.”
“We are honored,” said
Tolkien, “to join the mighty company of those who have fought to the last in
hopeless battles.”
“Not hopeless,” said
Barfield.
“There is always hope,”
said Williams.
“Let’s give ’em hell,”
said Lewis.
(to be continued)
(to be continued)
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