Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (39 page)

They became aware that the vessel was moving and relaxed. After what seemed like an age the hatch was opened and Pförzer greeted them as the morning sun flooded into their hiding place. Some clothes were thrown down, along with a brown wrap with food.

“Morning kameraden, sorry for the delay but I wanted to pass the bridge before letting any of you out. The day is bright and not a cloud in the sky. No sign of the storms now.”

His head withdrew as he quickly scanned around before returning.

“Get into those civilian rags as soon as possible. I will put your uniforms over the side later on. When you have done that, we can have you up on deck one at a time.”

A further check on the surroundings.

“I normally bring one crew with me, so no-one will be worried to see a hand on deck. Willi is staying at home today.”

A huge grin split his face.

“We will have you safe and sound in no time. Watch your eyes.”

His hand dropped inside the frame and clicked the switch to the three lights, which immediately illuminated the hold area.

The light, even though low wattage, hurt their eyes, as none had been quick enough to react to Pförzer’s warning.

The hatch dropped back into place.

Recovering their vision, the three sorted through the clothing and removed their uniforms, making the final transition from members of the Waffen-SS to civilians with little thought. Their old uniforms were bundled together and tied with twine found on the floor. The contents of the paper wrap were shared between them and they relaxed back in silence, although the hand-knitted jumper Shandruk had been left with drew some sniggers as he wrestled with its overly long arms.

The hatch was raised and Pförzer beckoned to Uhlmann.

“Best we sort out quickly our plan Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer, so you first on deck I think.”

A pack of Chesterfield cigarettes and a book of matches were dropped lazily down, passing Rolf as he ascended the ladder. Replacing the lid, Rolf screwed up his eyes as the sunlight made its presence felt. As his eyes grew accustomed, he started to take in his surroundings; the wide steady flowing river and the lush countryside on either bank. The garish paintwork of the barge itself, its mixture of yellow, red, and green heavy on the eye. Gingerly he made his way into the little wheelhouse.

“Wear that cap please, and make sure you pass it to the next on deck.” Pförzer nodded at a weather-beaten old brown leather flat cap gently swaying on a hook.

“Part of the uniform. Smoke?”

Rolf nodded.

Pförzer shook out a Chesterfield and lit it all in one easy motion, offering the pack and lighter to Rolf, gesturing that he could keep both.

In silence, the men drew heavily on the rich American tobacco, the steady chugging of the engine adding an almost mystic quality to the moment. Rolf spotted the two separate small lines looped at one end and worked out that these were what Pförzer attached to the wheel to keep it straight when away from the wheelhouse.

Sending his butt over the side, the Austrian looked Uhlmann up and down and chuckled.

“Not quite as smart as your uniform Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer, but certainly not about to attract attention.”

“True…true,” said Uhlmann as the realisation that he had worn his uniform for the last time swept over him.

Pförzer leant against the wheel and waved gently at the Captain of a barge moored to the bank.

“So, how may I be of service on this lovely sunny day?”

“Obviously we must dispense with the formalities so please call me Rolf if you will.”

Pförzer nodded.

“Rolf it is then. Call me Hub.”

Uhlmann finished his cigarette, flicking it purposefully into the water, and dropped his bombshell.

“We need to report to the American authorities as quickly as possible.”

Pförzer’s surprise was written all over his face.

“I had expected something different Mein Herr. Papers for the three of you, cover stories, you know the score but you actually want to go to the Americans?”

Although Pförzer was a man not fazed by much, it was clear that Rolf had caught him by surprise.

“Then you have something to tell me I assume Mein Herr…err…..Rolf?”

Therefore, the next few minutes were spent in explanation of all that the escapees had seen and understood, leaving out nothing.

“Now I understand Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer. Once again the dance will start it seems but perhaps this time we will manage to fight with stronger allies.”

A wry smile expressed a great deal and was easily understood by a fellow combat soldier.

“I knew there was tension between the Soviets and the Western Allies but didn’t have any idea it was this bad. So Rolf, when?”

“The longer they wait the more chance of discovery obviously. The hidden laager we saw can only be five kilometres maximum from where we came together. I think soon Hub, very soon.”

“Today is Sunday, tomorrow is Monday 6th August.”

A moment’s pause for thought.

“As I see it the first issue is getting through the Soviet checkpoints.”

Rolf inclined his head in acceptance.

“That will not be a huge matter for us. I am well known as I go back and forth often. I drop a bottle or two in the right hands and we will slip through without problem.”

He saw doubt in Uhlmann’s eyes.

“Rolf, crossing through to the American side will be easy enough with the papers I possess. I also have a few friendly Americans who provide me with good papers for the other side.”

His bulk leant against the wheel once more and his hand worked at his chin as he wrestled with the problem.

“None the less, it is the Americans who will pose the biggest threat. If you go to some idiot who is not prepared to listen or just imprisons you, then you may find your information becoming ‘old news’ in rapid order.”

The chesterfields again did the rounds and helped the thought processes.

“We must find a combat soldier preferably, not one of these rear line swine who wouldn’t know what to do with what you have to tell them. We must find you someone who will listen,” a very obvious idea was spreading through Hub’s mind, “Someone who is of high enough rank to get people out of bed on a Sunday.”

Rolf’s quizzical look drew a response.

“Ah yes, I forgot, you have not encountered our American enemy have you? They do like their comforts and I would expect that many will be away from their posts, enjoying everything this wonderful country has to offer.”

Pförzer indicated with a simple head gesture at a map on the wall of the wheelhouse.

“To our right now is the town of Weins.”

He waited whilst Rolf got his bearings.

“We will face inspection at the Freyenstein checkpoint”, waiting whilst Rolf’s finger traced upriver to the location, “Where we will have some visitors onboard. So long as two of you are well hidden, I see no problem. I go upriver empty mainly so there is nothing unusual.”

Uhlmann’s finger tapped the map pensively.

“You would agree that we must find the right American, Rolf?”

“Yes of course, but I cannot help thinking that time is not on our side here.”

More searching of the map and fingers running imaginary routes.

“Where are you thinking we might find the person we need?”

“Mauthausen. I happen to know a high-up American Commander, a General no less, is visiting the former camp there today.”

Rolf’s enquiring face betrayed no knowledge of the name as he searched upriver. His finger came to rest over the spot.

“Former camp?” Rolf’s voice asked almost disinterestedly.

“Not a place we should be proud of, my friend. One of the camps where the mass killings took place.”

Rolf’s head turned, suddenly focused.

An uneasy shift of weight and a sigh revealed Pförzer’s discomfort. “The world will stand in judgement on all of us who knew and did nothing, and there will be a reckoning.”

Rolf nodded.

“One day soon I expect, but if we do not speak out to the Western Allies immediately, that reckoning will be run by the schiesse Russians!”

Again, Rolf’s finger tapped the map, this time beating out a rhythm of thought over Mauthausen.

“I also believe that the General will be staying overnight in the area,” ventured Pförzer, receiving a grunt from a barely listening Rolf.

“There are few establishments in the area suitable for a distinguished General. I will try to find out once we get through the Russian checkpoint. I have a suitable contact in Enns, a man who might be able to help us; a frontline schwein.”

A gentle turn of the wheel started the vessel on the long right hand bend that would bring them to the Freyenstein checkpoint.

Rolf continued scanning the interior of the wheelhouse and he noticed a modest carved wooden relief of Saint Florian to the left of the wheel.

“St Florian Hub? Why St Florian?”

“I was born in St Florian more years ago than I care to remember, and he has come to mean more to me than just that.”

A new pack of Chesterfields magically appeared and was opened with his teeth before disgorging two cigarettes.

“He is the patron saint of my chosen profession, or at least the one I chose before the war, when I had two arms.”

Rolf looked none the wiser.

“I was a fireman in Linz until the Anschluss, and then I was caught up in the fervour of the times.”

A sympathetic nod said all that could be said.

“Mind you, could have been worse. I might have taken it all the way and joined that bunch of shirt-lifters in the SS Kavellerie eh?”

Rolf laughed, enjoying the joke at the expense of his former comrades of the 8th SS Kavellerie Division ‘Florian Geyer’.

“Here, take the wheel. Keep the same distance from the bank, I won’t be long. Oh and if anyone waves, do wave back.”

Uhlmann took the wheel as Pförzer slipped quickly out and to the deck hatch, slipping inside in the blink of an eye.

The vessel was easy enough to steer and he relaxed into the role, pulling gently on the wonderful American cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth.

He almost jumped as the deck hatch crashed open and Pförzer emerged with a heavy green canvas bag.

Cautiously he looked around before sending the wrapped and weighted uniforms into their wake. Returning to the wheelhouse, he carefully stowed the bag in a small cupboard. Accepting the wheel back from Rolf, he nodded at the cupboard and grinned. “That’s Ivan taken care of when he comes knocking Mein Herr.”

“Vodka?”

“Scotch. Johnnie Walker. Only the best for our communist comrades.”

Rolf grunted, again becoming pre-occupied with, almost daunted by, the enormity of what lay ahead.

Pförzer mistook it for envy.

“In my pocket here,” He indicated the jacket he was wearing and fetched a flask from its depths, thumbing the spring-loaded cap open as he offered it up “Try some of that Kamerad.”