The Last of the Seven by Steven Hartov
Synopsis /
A spellbinding novel of World War II based on the little-known history of the X Troop—a team of European Jews who escaped the Continent only to join the British Army and return home to exact their revenge on Hitler’s military.
A lone soldier wearing a German uniform stumbles into a British military camp in the North African desert with an incredible story to tell. He is the only survivor of an undercover operation meant to infiltrate a Nazi base, trading on the soldiers’ perfect fluency in German. However, this man is not British born but instead a German Jew seeking revenge for the deaths of his family back home in Berlin.
As the Allies advance into Europe, the young lieutenant is brought to recover in Sicily. There he is recruited by a British major to join the newly formed X Troop, a commando unit composed of German and Austrian Jews training for a top-secret mission at a nearby camp in the Sicilian hills. They are all “lost boys,” driven not by patriotism but by vengeance.
My Thoughts /
The Last of the Seven is written as an historical-fiction novel, although, at its roots are real people and true events. It’s a stellar example of how we, as human beings, can adapt, overcome, and rise above, when the odds are firmly against our favour.
In this brilliantly written novel, Steven Hartov has introduced this reader to something she knew nothing about. A secret Jewish commando unit that fought for the British against the Nazis on the front lines of all the major battles of World War II. This all German-speaking Commando unit was sometimes referred to as ‘X Troop’ but was more properly known as ‘No.3 Troop, 10 (I.A.) Commando’ - the I.A. standing for ‘Inter-Allied’. In 1942, desperate to turn the tide of war, Churchill created this top-secret commando unit, in which all of the men had to take on fake British names and personas. The men of X Troop were used both as commandos—killing the Nazis—and in counterintelligence—interrogating the enemy on the battlefield.
The Special Interrogation Group, (SIG), was a commando unit of the British Army comprised of Jewish German, Austrian, French, and other European volunteers. Attached to Middle East Commando, they played a significant part in the North African campaigns of WWII, in particular the battles of Tobruk, with some surviving members later designed as ‘X Troop’ under No. 10 Commando. Captain “Bertie” Buck and Lieutenant David Russell were the SIG’s commanders of record.
The story opens.
PART ONE – TOBRUK
North Africa, Spring 1943
Tunisia
The storm was like a sailor’s nightmare, except there was no ocean to be found, and all the waves were roiling sand dunes spitting stinging grit into a howling wind.
For the entirety of this novel, I was held spellbound the writer’s prose. The descriptive text was breathtaking and even more appealing, was that there was not one extraneous word or utterance. Each word served a purpose; and each purpose was well intoned.
A lone soldier wearing a German uniform stumbles into a British military camp in the North African desert. He is the only survivor of an undercover operation meant to infiltrate a Nazi base, trading on the soldiers’ perfect fluency in German. This lone soldier, this man; he is not British born but instead, a German Jew seeking revenge for the deaths of his family back home in Berlin. This man’s name is Lieutenant Bernard Froelich, and he is the last of the seven, and this is his story. An immensely moving story of survival, loss, love and, vengeance – as Froelich, struggles with the Nazi’s treatment of Jews and those of Jewish origin.
The author recounts Froelich’s ‘war’ after his initial exploit in the opening scene – the one that branded him the last of the seven. Promoted to Lieutenant, it is Froelich’s brief to drop well behind enemy lines and infiltrate a Nazi research centre at Peenemünde and capture a scientist who was working on the latest weapon of mass destruction for Hitler.
Hartov’s account of Froelich’s wartime experiences were brutal and harsh, and at times made by eyes water; but I’m grateful they were not sugar coated, for it would have detracted from the intensity of the story. And as always, the prose was on point.
Froelich peered beyond the thin gray blanket covering his legs, where his naked feet looked like a Bombay fire walker’s. The socks inside his German boots had worn through long ago, so wherever leather rubbed his skin the boots had won the day. His toenails looked like broken teeth because he’d tried to file them with rocks, and all the flesh was salmon-belly white with blackened scabs, some still oozing blister water. At one point in the Sahara, he’d actually tried to drink it.
The author’s commitment to research should be applauded and his notes at the end are well worth reading. Stories like this one, although confronting, need to be read, so that the like of Froelich and his X Troop counterparts are not a forgotten part of history.
We all told each other that the losses would grow easier over time, yet we all knew it was a lie. The first shock of it dulls, but then, as years toll by, one’s left thinking about all they’ve missed. That’s the truth of it. One grows older, yet they stay just as they once were when they left. His shoulders slumped a bit. In a melancholy way, war is the fountain of youth.