The Margin of Evil! (32 page)

Completely lost in his thoughts; that were now beginning to run away with him; but not quite getting as far as the Scotland Yard ceremony where the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, flanked by the Prince of Wales, and other establishment dignitaries
, would give him the Distinguished Conduct Medal. There was suddenly a tinkling of broken glass, a loud bang and one of the policemen fell back, clutching his gut, he fell into the gutter. Whilst his two colleagues pulled him out of the line of fire, a huge cry rose up from either end of the street.

The game was on
'Reggie' thought.

It had to be said that Winston Churchill thrived on the spirit of adventure.
In another age he may well have been an 'Alexander the Great', or a Napoleon or even a Julius Caesar. In flights of fancy he believed that God had put him on earth to perform some great, as yet unknown, task. In the meantime he was to learn his craft, and Sidney Street was definitely going to help him perfect it, whilst at the same time, and he was not to know this, it would write itself into the Churchillian legend.

Having gleefully followed the morning
's events - ever since he had received the call from the incompetent Twist - Sidney Street was where he was off to, someone had to take charge and that someone was going to be none other than Winston Churchill.

In the car as it headed across town, he pondered on the fact, and it might not hav
e been obvious to everyone else but it was obvious to him, that what was needed here was someone who was prepared to meter out some 'Good Old Fashioned Justice' to these Latvian rascals.  They were going to learn the hard way, what they had dished out to others, they were going to receive themselves! A dozen times over!

What
was needed here, were some guardsmen and a 'Good Old Fashioned' Howitzer! In the meantime, as he looked out of the window, he had to make his way through this devilish cross town traffic. And today the first working day after 'New Years', it was bad; carts; trolleys and trams straddled the roads out east.

Now
what the hell was going on here? Winston Churchill got out of his car and strode off with his 'Assistant Secretary' in the direction of Sidney Street. They rounded the corner, just as a bullet ricocheted off of the wall.  He pressed himself up against the wall and inched his way over to where Reginald Twist was taking cover. Bullets were pinging all over the damn place.

'
Right, Twist! What's all this in aid of, how come the house has not been stormed,' the Home Secretary said.

'
It's like this your honour, they have got us pinned down on all sides. We cannot move!'  He sniffed and then carried on, 'It goes against the grain to say this Sir, but we seem to be outclassed and outgunned 'ere,' he said dropping the 'H'.

'
But Twist! They haven't got two hundred men in that house. Are you telling me that a few automatic handguns can pin down two hundred policemen?'

'
Yes, I am Sir,' the inspector said.

'
Then call in the guard and while your about it tell them to bring a field piece,' the Home Secretary said.

'
But I don't have that authority sir!' Twist answered adopting an almost 'wimpish' voice.

'
But I do,' the Home Secretary nonchalantly replied. He turned to his assistant, and explained, still within earshot of Twist, exactly what he was going to do, adding, 'While you're about it, you can call the press!'

'
They`re already here,' the Inspector sheepishly replied. Just at the moment the Home Secretary stepped out from his place of cover and out into the street. In the instant, and it was already too late to retreat back, he Winston Churchill, had found that he had stepped into the Latvians line of fire. There was a loud 'Phutt' and a ping. Nimbly darting back, to the safety of his cover and Twist, the Home Secretary took off his top hat, and looked at, the neat entry and the exit holes, in the sides of his top hat.

'
Not as easy as you think! Is it!' said Reginald Twist, plucking up some courage and staking his future retirement on those eight words.  Colour and bombast would eventually return to the Home Secretaries already whiter than white face. He ignored Twists comments.

Chapter Twenty Three

Ensconced in, and safely operating behind the walls of; number 100 Sidney Street was a hive of activity. In the event of discovery, a well rehearsed plan had been put together; 'The Gardstein Gang' were preparing themselves for what they saw as the inevitable.

Long before, it had been decided that in the face of imminent capture, with no possib
ility of shooting their way out, they would play it strictly for laughs. The gang would cause as much havoc as possible, and give 'The Bobbies' a good run for their money. So they shot at anything that moved, from stray pigeons, to gentlemen dressed in top hats. Front and back: Svaars; Piaktow and Djugashvilli, ably supported by the girls, would give the impression that there were more of them in the building than there actually were. When the ammunition ran out, and it would, they would give themselves up; it was as simple as that. They would take a bow and then throw themselves on the mercy of the, 'Good Old', English legal system. They worked on the premise that the machinery of the British legal system was fairer than the Russian one. They simply hoped they'd get a fare trial; in the event it was easier said than done
[23]
!

Everything was going to plan, until the arrival of twenty soldiers and a field gun.
The men were soon deployed, and the occupants of number 100 watched them take up their positions. The writing was, quite literally, now firmly on the wall.

Nina and Sara worked around the clock.
They had ensured that the men were constantly supplied with ammunition, but, as the morning wore on, it became clear to the besieged, that their attacker's plans had significantly changed. It was also at this time that they faced the first of several setbacks. Keeping an eye on the feverish Gardstein, Sara Trassjohnsky had gone up to the third floor to find him lying dead on the floor. He was over on his side, holding his head in a foetal position.

It was obvious to her, looking at his semi stoved-in head, that he had been killed by a ricochet.
She looked around her, and quickly took stock of the situation.  However, keeping carefully to the shadows, her back close to the wall, and her body well away from the window, she took stock and noted that in the last moment before his death, he had either come to or fallen out of bed, or, in his delirious state, he had tried to crawl across the floor to try and seek shelter, over on the far side of the room. Poor old George she thought, as she prised his hands from his head, all his efforts in the last moments of his life had been to no avail, he had done all of this unassisted, in order to try and reduce his chances of being hit, but all it had achieved was hasten his end. She closed his eyes and kissed his lips.  She then covered his body over, and hastily left the room. Lead was still flying all over the place.

Standing at the top of the stairwell, Sara Trassjohnsky reasoned that so far, so good, they had managed to hold off any storming of the building.
Also they had disabled several policemen, to the extent, and they had all witnessed in a rather comical exercise, that one of the injured coppers had been hauled over a roof to safety. With the arrival of the soldiers the odds were shifting strongly in favour of the opposition. It was only a matter of time before someone else was hit. Albeit Gardstein, as a defender, was of no value to them at all; she was sure, that they, 'The Coppers', did not know how many of them there were inside of the house. She smiled to herself, with this amount of lead flying around; you could cover a cathedral roof. Then there was 'Old' Betsy; 'yes', she thought, Gershon could create a much needed breathing space. They could use her and stall for time, then they could reorganise themselves in preparedness for the final onslaught, when it came, and come it would. 

At that moment Betsy Gershon was
safely hidden under the stairs. In fact, whilst Trassjohnsky was thinking; Betsy was cowering, head in hand, balling her eyes out.

Sara Trassjohnsky
darted from room to room sounding the others out. The now leaderless Gardstein gang's attention's soon focused on what to do with Mrs Gershon. It was decided that if they could parley with the besiegers; in the time it took negotiate with them, it might, if played out correctly, present them with the 'Window of Opportunity' they so desperately needed. If the plan worked, they would hold a second meeting, and they might be able to, and there was a slim chance that they might just pull it off, take advantage of the poor situation, and 'The English's' sense of 'Fair Play'; if that was then the case, they might just be able all, or some, to escape. Because his English was poor, it was decided that Fritz Svaars would play for time.

Nina Milstein rustled up a dirty white handkerchief, and gave it to Fritz.
Easier said than done she thought! The first time he dangled it out of the window he got his hand grazed. But it had the desired effect; silence descended upon the Stepney Street.

'
Vee vish to parley with's you,' Svaars said.

'
Then put your hands up and come out into the street,' a voice replied. The voice was actually Reggie Twists.

'
Naw, here will do,' the Latvian said. Sara Trassjohnsky, safely out of view, nodded yes or no, to each one of the besieger's demands.

'
Our demands are that you all come out with your hands held high,' the Inspector said.

'
Vott did you say? I sorry ... no hear!'  Svaars said, looking towards Trassjohnsky, hardly concealing his joy.

'
Lay down your arms and give yourselves up,' Twists voice repeated.

'
Vee vant to dooze a deals?  Vee has a hostage a Mrs Betsy Gershon! Vee wants to do a trade. Her you get, for our free passage to zee docks and our passage out of the country on a vessel flying a foreign flag! Not Russian!!'  As Svaars was saying this, Piaktow and Djugashvilli had got Betsy Gershon out from under the stairs and had bundled her down to the front door to show that they meant business.

'
His Majesties Government does not do deals! Immediate surrender is our only offer! But we will consider anything else you have to say!'

So Fritz spoke,
'We will let you know as soon as is possibles!  Any monkey-business and 'The Parley' will be called off,' the voice replied.

Once Gershon was stowed safely under the stairs, they held a second meeting, this time on the first floor.
Trassjohnsky, in her role as de facto leader, quickly went through all of the available options. They could do as the voice said, lay down their arms and surrender. Or they could fight it out to a certain death. Ammunition supplies were good at the moment, but they would not last out indefinitely. Or they could burn down the house and escape amidst the ensuing confusion. Whichever way, and whatever they decided, they were all in agreement on one thing, that up until now they had had a good run, but it was going to change, and change it would, when they brought up and started using that artillery piece. It was a shame about Gardstein, but in situations like this you could not afford to get too sentimental, even for a fallen comrade.

They unanimously decided on the fire escape option, but they could not agree on an overall escape plan.
Josef Djugashvilli suggested that they should all, each man for himself, try and get away as best they could. He also pointed out that, with their superior fire power, that had so far, kept their attackers at bay; they could blast their way out of there with relative ease. But, he stressed, that they had to do it now, any delay, would significantly reduce their odds of success.

'
Hello there,' the voice at the other end of the street said.

But at that moment, all of them were huddled in a corner of the first floor landing, when they heard the voice shout up; also they could hear the sound of something heavy rolling slowly up the street.

'So it's each one for him, or herself, huh,' the Georgian, looking at Nina, said.

'
We get rid of the old woman, push her out the front door; and then we'll make a run for it. Marx; be with you all,' Trassjohnsky said.

They all agreed and then crawled out of the room.
Piaktow followed the Georgian out onto the landing.

'
You're coming with me', the Latvian said grabbing Djugashvilli by the arm. 'I'm not arguing with you ... You're coming with me! If you try anything, I'll kill you; right here, right now! Remember Djugashvilli, I take, 'good', care of my friends and better care of my enemies! And don't you ever forget it!'

Djugashvill
just stared at him in disbelief. Of course he had other ideas and Piaktow didn't fit into any of them; but, before he could say anything else, the voice was shouting up from the street.  Taking his cue to leave he nodded and they both returned to their positions.

'
Hello there,' the voice said.

'
Yah! Vatt do you vant,' Svaars said.

'
This is what we are prepared to do. First you give up your hostage. When you have done that, you will go, one by one out into the street and throw down your arms. Once you are out in the street, you line up, and then you will lie down with your arms and legs spread out. Those are 'His Majesties' terms.'