Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (37 page)

His face split into a grin in an effort to lighten the moment.

“Obviously, crossing the river will not be without its interesting moments!”

There were some smiles but mainly inner thoughts on swimming a river in their condition or having the audacity to cross a bridge undoubtedly guarded by watchful Soviets.

“There is always river traffic; boats plying their trade up and down.”

A grateful puff on the last cigarette doing the rounds and he continued.

“Road is a possibility but would not be without its problems, particularly with security obviously.”

“Lastly, there is always walking to fall back on, but I’m sure we are a minimum of twenty-five kilometres from the probable border as we understand it, so not for the faint-hearted.

“Thank you Moeller. So unless anyone wishes to steal a plane and fly out of here, that’s the options.”

Discussion quietly followed, as each man made a play for his preferred choice, surprisingly, agreement was reached quite quickly.

Walking and the road had no takers.

Moeller and three others would take their chance on crossing the river and finding a train direct to Salzburg.

Olsen, the 12th SS Hauptsturmfuhrer, the Brandenburger Leutnant and one other would go for another train from their present location, heading north-west.

All the others opted for the boats, and so Krantzschen and Kloss with two comrades would try their luck in one party, with Uhlmann, Braun, and Shandruk in the second.

Now all they needed was the opportunity to get out of the small rail yard and into some decent cover.

The group had already spotted some old sheds partially concealed in undergrowth on the Schloss side of the track, but there was a distance of thirty metres to run without a single shred of cover making life difficult.

A watch had been set to try to establish the safety of these sheds, and it seemed there was no patrol that looked at them. They were probably safe. However, there were haphazard movements of uniformed men all round the area that did not bode well.

The problem was exercising everyone’s mind until Kloss spoke a low warning. German eyes looked through the gaps in the wagon’s side at Soviet troops assembling down both sides of the main track. In short order, it was possible to see at least sixty Soviet soldiers guarding the rail line. More soldiers could be seen leaving two large huts to the north of the rail line. The activity grew as five old Wehrmacht trucks hove into view and were waved to a halt by the rail guards.

The rain gently started to fall on this assembly, the sky becoming suddenly grey. The area took on a surreal aspect as yet another summer storm prepared to visit itself upon the locale.

No one thought to question the fact that the Soviets were running their train security in daylight.

Rolf watched as a few men climbed down from the trucks for cigarettes and was startled to identify them as German soldiers. Admittedly, it was a difficult light but the cut of the German panzer uniform was very evident on two of the figures, as was the fact that all bore the signs of blood upon their clothing.

In a moment of pure clarity of thought, Uhlmann understood what he was seeing and what exactly those lorries contained and, more importantly, where the contents were going.

“Listen to me Menschen. Those Soviets are waiting for a through train and we must move when it passes. We have no time to lose.” He gesticulated at the vehicles and shared a knowing look with Braun. “Those lorries are coming to this train to load up.”

He gestured to one of the group.

“Get ready on that door. First group out will be Moeller, second Krantzschen, third Olsen and lastly mine. Go on my order as I will observe.”

Nods from all, the urgency of Uhlmann’s tone inspiring them.

“Quickly tidy up anything that might show we have been here,” and looking at Braun and his pile of soiled letters and envelopes, “Anything.”

Shandruk started picking up screwed up letters, stuffing them in his left trouser pocket before stopping dead as some words on one caught his eye. He put that one in his other pocket.

Within seconds, the sound of an approaching train became evident, its noise growing in proportion with the sound generated by the increasing rain.

Again, fortune favoured the Germans, for Mother Nature provided her own additional distractions as lightning preceded thunder once more.

A train slowly came into view and Rolf prepared to send Moeller on his way with the drop of a hand.

A burst of steam gave Uhlmann the only stimulus he needed to signal and Moeller and his group bolted from the wagon to the waiting shed. The slow moving train provided another quick opportunity and Krantzschen’s group swiftly followed.

The partially uncovered load on one of the flatbed wagons gave Rolf a moment’s pause but he still managed to get Olsen’s group away.

Before he could order his own group out, the train had passed and the Russian soldiers started to disappear in all directions, their duty, for the moment, done.

Braun sidled up closer.

“Did you see those vehicles Rolf?”

“Ja, I did. Later Johan, for now we have a problem.”

The lorries started up once more and made to move forward until a single soldier stepped forward to halt them with an imperious hand.

This time, coming from the left as Uhlmann looked, emerged the little engine that had brought them through the night and which was about to be hitched to the other end of the train to take another grisly cargo back to be interred in secret around Edelbach.

“Go!” screamed Rolf as the engine puffed across the line of sight.

The group bolted for the huts and in seconds found themselves face down in the dirt gasping for breath, surrounded by their comrades doing exactly the same thing.

All tried hard to control their breathing, especially as the trucks were now moving again and closing on the wagons.

Uhlmann spoke softly, in spurts between breaths.

“Kameraden, those lorries contain our comrades. They are about to be placed onto the wagons we escaped in. We can do nothing for them, for they are dead.”

As if to prove his words, executed German prisoners were already visible through the open wagon door, as the remaining live German soldiers piled the corpses on top of each other.

“The Russians are killing everyone in uniform it seems. It is not enough to win, they must eradicate!”

Uhlmann controlled his speech, as every man was looking straight at him.

“Now we know that we simply must get through to the allies and give them our information.”

There was no dissent, only a grim resolution.

“Braun and I both saw something on that last train which needs to be spoken of. There were American self-propelled guns there,” a pause for effect, “M-10’s … with American markings”

Silent looks were exchanged.

“We know the allies sent equipment to the Soviets. It would seem they intend to use it for mischief, much as our Skorzeny did in Wacht am Rhein. It is very important to pass this on I think.”

“Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, there is more.”

Attention turned to Shandruk, who did not look up from the soiled letter he was reading as he spoke.

“I am holding a letter to our beloved Captain Skryabin. Please note the quality of the paper.” Shandruk rubbed the edge between thumb and forefinger as if to demonstrate the paper’s superior grade. “My Russian reading is a little rusty but I will give you my interpretation of what it says.”

Shandruk looked up waiting for some sign from Uhlmann, who swiftly nodded.

“It is a brief letter dated 17th July. It speaks of
rumours
of a loose tongue brought to the writer by someone called Chairman Lavrentiy, and how he will do nothing provided Viktor keeps his mouth firmly shut from now on. If Viktor must crow then wait until it all starts. Even he should be able to manage three weeks. Some of the usual pleasantries follow.”

Shandruk looked up.

“It is signed Uncle Vyacheslav.”

More than one present let out an incredulous “Schiesse!”

It was known Skryabin was connected, but now it was glaringly and surprisingly obvious to whom. It required no intelligence to work out whom the Chairman mentioned was, and only modest adding was needed to work out the timescales involved.

“It is soon then kameraden. We must get the message through quickly.”

His eyes took in the awful work in progress outside.

“As soon as it is safe we must start off from here. Grab some rest while you can. My party will keep a lookout.”

The rain suddenly became torrential, and talking over it was a danger in itself considering the proximity of the working party. One bonus of the downpour was the steady stream of clear cool water that flowed through a hole in the roof, and from which they quenched their thirsts.

The men made themselves comfortable in the recesses of the shed, whilst Uhlmann, Braun and Shandruk kept watch, observing the continuing loading of the dead in their scores.

Only those three saw the grisly detail conclude, the guards and live prisoners swiftly dive into the attached carriage and the little train with its awful cargo start off on its journey to the Waldviertel.

Evening was drawing in when Uhlmann woke his sleeping comrades and, with handshakes and comradely hugs, sent each group on its way.

The antidote for fifty enemies is one friend.

Aristotle

2255 hrs Saturday, 4th August 1945, Ybbs an der Donau, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

It was some time since the rain had stopped and whilst its absence was welcome, it had done an excellent job of masking their sound and keeping the Russians indoors.

Even so, the trio had progressed more than a kilometre from the rail yard before coming to an abrupt halt.

They had successfully passed by the river bridge, the security on which had made them think long and hard about the comrades who were intent on seeking escape to the other side of the Danube.

As Saturday slipped unnoticed in Sunday morning, they had followed the bank as it curved to the north-west until they came upon the silent, sleeping camp of a Soviet infantry unit between the road and the riverbank. Silent and inviting shapes lay tethered to moorings, but while they lay tantalisingly close, they also lay within the patrol of some very obviously alert Soviet guards.

Shandruk tapped Braun’s arm and motioned towards something considerably apart from the rest, Braun repeating the gesture to Uhlmann, whose eyes adjusted and recognised the shape of a rowing boat, albeit lower in the water than any of the others.

The reason for that became apparent as they moved closer to it, for the craft was damaged and had taken on water.

It was further burdened by a Soviet Lieutenant curled up in a sodden blanket across the central bench snoring softly. The evidence of his drinking lay witness around his feet, where empty bottles of local beer lay on and around the dead body of a young Austrian girl.

Uhlmann quickly decided to take the vessel and give it a go. With urgent gestures and sign language, he sent Shandruk in to do the grisly work.

Pausing only to pick up a large splinter of wood, Shandruk slipped slowly into the water up to his thighs and moved around to the side where the sleeper had his head. With as little thought as a cat dispatching a mouse, Shandruk clamped his hand over the drunken man’s mouth and slammed the splinter into the throat of the Russian four times in quick succession. No sound escaped the officer’s mouth as he died meaninglessly and swiftly.