Angels Don't Die (Madeleine Toche Series Book 2) (25 page)

             
The Legionnaires all returned Amilakvari’s salute.  Madeleine did as well. 

             
“The honor is mine, Colonel.  I am very interested in your evacuation plans.  I would like to meet up with Rommel some other time.  I have much unfinished business.”  The men chuckled.

             
“We’ve been ordered to retreat to meet up with the British southwest of our position.  The evacuation order came last night,” Amilakvari said.

             
“That’s good sir, we have little ammunition left.  We used the last of the mortar rounds pushing the Germans back.  I should say, Lieutenant Toche and Captain Durand used the last of the mortars pushing back the panzers,” Captain Thomas said.

             
“Then the orders couldn’t have come at a better time.  We need to clear a 200 meter wide evacuation corridor through the minefield to the rear and west of us.  Once the Germans realize that we are out of ammunition and retreating, they’ll try to turn it into a rout.  Captains Bricogne and Durand will be in command of the sappers to clear the minefield.  Toche, you and Lieutenant Dewey organize the men for close quarter combat.  They will try to encircle us to cut off our means of escape, but will be held back by the remainder of the minefield. It’s likely that some of the enemy will get through.”

“Colonel, I think we should dig in strategically placed machinegun nests along the escape route as it is cleared.  Most of the men will be on foot.  Therefore, I believe we should clear a narrow path first and then broaden it if we have the luxury of time,” Madeleine said.

             
“Men, what do you think?” Amilkavari said addressing the rest of his officers.

             
There were nods of agreement all around.

             
“It’s settled then.   You each know your assignment.  Now let’s get going,” Amilkavari said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-
FIVE

             
Years later and a desert away, Madeleine played the memories of Bir Hakeim over and over in her mind as she kept pace through the night.  The temperature was both a relief and a burden as it cooled down. The cold did nothing to slack her maddening thirst and seemed to draw even more moisture from the air. It helped her to remember those cherished days in the desert with the Legion.  The battle had been terrifying, but the evacuation was a success even though it was haphazard as Madeleine suspected it would be.  Regardless, she’d lived to fight another day.

  Many of the officers with which she fought died shortly after the evacuation.  Colonel Amilakvari, a short period of time later, had been taken down by a shrapnel wound through the cloth of his kepi.  Perhaps he would have lived had he worn a helmet, but he would have none of it.  He wasn’t about to spoil his image by wearing a ‘tin hat,’ as he called them.  He was wrapped in his cape and buried a hero.  To those that survived him, including Madeleine, he was the Legion.

             
The moon helped Madeleine to keep to the road that wandered through the sand hills of the Judea.  Despite her predicament, there was endlessness and a stark beauty to the desert.  How could she hate something that bore her no ill will?  It was a marvel of nature, forbidding and wonderful all at once.  She was the intruder; she was unprepared for the challenges of the desert.  The desert held no blame.

  Madeleine’s legs ached with fatigue and the lack of water and nutrients.  She knew that following the pain, there would be a loss of control and her steps would become shaky. She tried to calculate the distance she had traveled and took confidence in the fact that she must be nearing the halfway point.  Each step carried her closer to the cross roads and civilization.  There was little chance that any vehicles would be on this road in the middle of the night.  It truly was a road to nowhere.  She hoped it wouldn’t be the road to her grave. 

She chastised herself for relying too much on her assumptions concerning the assassin sent to kill her.  She never should have become separated from her vehicle and water.  Had she stayed in the city, many innocent lives would have been lost in the ensuing gun battle.  She had to draw her enemy out, but made a serious tactical mistake while doing so. 

Madeleine remembered that it is easier to be the hunter and not the hunted.  She should not have rejoined the others when she did.  A messenger could have been sent from the Mossad headquarters and she could have taken on the role of the hunter. It was fair to say that it was a new experience to carry out an operation such as this while worrying about the safety of a team, especially when they were loved ones.  But there was nothing normal about this mission. She should have expected trouble when things seemed to be going so well, and now her error had put the others in jeopardy.  What if the killer targeted her team?  The delay I’ve caused puts Tracy in danger longer, she thought.

   Madeleine scanned the road ahead of her.  The view was always the same, more dusty road and sand hills. She hoped that the nocturnal hunters would stay out of her way.  She didn’t worry about scorpions, but watched the road for movement.  A snake bite at this point would seal her fate. So far she hadn’t seen any snakes, and that was one thing to be thankful for.

             
She allowed herself to think briefly about rescue, but that was a dangerous road to go down.  She assumed that Hartmann would have shared his information with Jack and John, but they’d have no idea where to start looking.  Her hope rested with herself and the next day. If there were people searching for her, they would have no chance of seeing her at night.  If they sent a plane, she had no flashlight to make a signal. Whatever voice she had left would never sustain a yell. 

             
It was nearing morning when Madeleine began to have trouble focusing on the road.  Shortly after that the whisper inside her began.  It was not the voice she expected, the voice of the embodiment of hate that she carried inside.  It wasn’t Yves or Jack, as she had hoped; it was the voice of her old friend Amilakvari, who told her simply, “Legionnaire, march or die.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Hans Meyer was asleep in his bed when a junior officer entered the room.  It was foolish to touch any combat soldier while he slept, so the adjutant cleared his throat with increasing volume.

             
“Miguel, you can stop choking now, I’m awake,” Meyer said keeping any anger out of his voice.  He liked the young Spaniard and knew the interruption must be something important.

             
“Sir, there’s a phone call.”

             
“I hope for the caller’s sake, it’s a national emergency or something equally important.”

             
“The caller said to mention his name, Sir.  He said he was Horst Stenger.”

             
“Are you sure?” Meyer said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

             
“That’s what he said, Sir.”

             
“Give me a moment while I throw on some clothes.  Please tell him I’m coming.”

             
“Yes sir,” the adjutant said as he turned and stepped out of the room.

             
Meyer walked into the adjoining room and took a seat next to the phone.

             
“Horst?” Meyer said into the phone as soon as he picked it up from the desk.  “Is everything okay, are my parents alright?” he said in German.

             
“They are fine, Hans.  I am sorry to call so late at night.  I was just awakened myself a short time ago.  Believe it or not, I am calling on behalf of a Legionnaire of great renown. She is in trouble and needs help.”

             
“She?” Meyer said with some trepidation. “There has only been one woman in the Legion to this day ……….” Meyer said hesitating.

             
“
L’ange de la mort
, the Angel of Death,” Stenger added.  “I know it sounds fantastic, but she needs your help.”

             
“Even all these years after the war, hearing her name sends shivers down my spine.  She had no love of the SS.  That is for certain,” Meyer said quietly.

             
“She is a hero of the Legion, Hans.”

             
“Uncle Horst, please don’t insult me.  I know about her service to the Legion.  The Legion saved me after the war and it’s my home.  I’ll do whatever I can to help a fellow Legionnaire, even when that Legionnaire hated the SS and would happily kill anyone then or now that was associated with my former comrades,” Meyer said.

             
“Hans, I meant no disrespect.  I just didn’t know how you would react if you were asked to help her,” Stenger said.

             
“Do you know her personally?  How is it that you are involved with her?”

             
“I never told you because her wartime activities remain classified.  But I can tell you this much, Willi and I initially captured her and then set her free.  It had to do with the tragedy at Ouradour Sur Glane,” Stenger said referring to the slaughter of over 800 French civilians in the small town of Ouradour by a renegade SS division.

             
“Tragedy is one word for it.  Nightmare is another,” Meyer agreed.  “You know I will help.  I owe you that for my father and the Legion.  But please do me one favor?”

             
“Anything you want,” Stenger said.

             
“After this is all said and done, please tell the Angel of Death that I’m one of the good guys now,” Meyer said.

             
“You always were Hans. I will make sure she knows it.”

             
“Thank you.  Now what can I do to help.”

             
“We believe that she is lost in the Judean desert.  She had a run in with a PLO hired gun and fled out into the Judea.”

             
“Do you know approximately where?”

             
“We assume about a 50 mile radius from where the desert begins, outside of Jerusalem.”

             
“That is a lot of ground to cover.  How will we accomplish it?”

             
“By plane,” Stenger answered.

             
“I don’t have any planes at my disposal.”

             
“I have a plane, a jet courtesy of the Mossad.”

             
“This gets better and better, Horst.  Now the Mossad is involved.  They don’t like the SS much either,” Meyer said.

             
“It’s okay.  The leader of the Mossad is well aware of your assistance to those Jewish families at the end of the war.”

             
“Who is their leader, or is that something I don’t want to know?” Meyer said, letting out a slow sigh.

             
“Berthold Hartmann.”

             
“Oh no, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, you mention Berthold Hartmann.  He might have killed more Nazis than anyone,” Meyer said.

             
“Don’t worry; he will appreciate your help.  He has close ties to Madeleine.  He’ll assist with providing a plane, a Mirage jet fighter.  We just need a pilot.  Can you help?”

             
“Believe it or not, I can.  We have a fairly new recruit with us.  Until recently he was an American naval pilot on active duty in Vietnam.  He’s an ace, with numerous confirmed kills.”

             
“How did he come to be in the Legion?” Stenger asked.

             
“I only know that he was thrown into the brig for striking a superior officer.  He escaped, reached the French Embassy and joined the Legion.”

             
“How can we locate this man?” Stenger asked.

             
“As fate would have it, he’s sleeping in a bunk just down the hall,” Meyer answered.  “What happens next?”

             
“You get a call from Berthold Hartmann.”

             
“Great,” Meyer deadpanned. “I’ll get our pilot ready.”

             
“Good luck Hans, I appreciate your help,” Stenger said.

             
Meyer slowly set the phone down wondering if there was any possibility that he was still asleep and this was all a bad dream. 

             
“Miguel, go wake Hinni. He’s got a plane to catch.”

             
“I’ll get him right away, Sir.  I’m certain that if it involves a plane he’ll be more than happy to go,” the adjutant said.

             
“Maybe not when he gets his orders,” Meyer said, picking up a pot of cold coffee. “And on your way, go kick trooper Cortman’s bunk and tell him we need coffee.  We’re all going to be up for some time to come.”

             
Meyer paced the room in anticipation of a phone call he didn’t want to take.  Finally the phone rang and he stared at it for three rings before picking it up.

             
“Hello,” Meyer said.

             
“Do you know who this is?” Hartmann said in German.

             
“Yes, a friend told me to expect your call.”

             
“One of your own needs your help.  This person is very important to me,” Hartmann continued.

             
“I have been informed of that.”

             
“Then you are willing to go forward with the mission and recover the Legionnaire?” Hartmann asked.

             
“I am. I simply need hard facts and an explanation as to the details of the operation.”

             
“You will be contacted by my agent with the particulars.  This is a rescue mission; your men will not be in danger,” Hartmann said.

             
“We are used to being in danger,” Meyer answered, perturbed with himself at his discomfort in speaking with Hartmann, who had been an enemy to the Reich when Meyer fought for Germany, almost 30 years ago now.  Hartmann sensed something in Meyer’s voice and said, “Do you still wear the Twin lightning bolts?” Hartmann’s statement was in direct reference to the SS tattoo that all of the SS troops bore.  At first it had been a mark of distinction, but when the allies defeated Germany and rounded up the SS for perpetrating atrocities and war crimes, the tattoo was an identifying mark, one that most of them would rather not have had.

             
“I fought for my country, sir.  The Legion took me and many other SS in at the end of the war, given our combat experience and bravery,” Meyer said.

             
“Yes, I know,” Hartmann responded.  “And you at least have purged yourself of some of the crimes the SS perpetrated.  Your refusal to slaughter innocent Jews is well known. This last step will wipe the slate clean with me, at least, and that means the Mossad.”

             
“And if I fail?” Meyer asked.

             
“Don’t fail,” Hartmann said as he carefully placed the receiver back onto the phone cradle.

Day came and Madeleine continued to plod forward.  The sun rose inexorably enough and as the rays of the sun struck her, Madeleine knew she was in trouble.  She had begun to see strange objects just at the edge of her sight.  They looked like buildings with cars arriving and departing, something that was a common sight in just about every modern country.  A flash of hope was driven down when the buildings got no closer.  She avoided looking into the distance as much as possible and concentrated on the road immediately in front of her.