Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (43 page)

Rolf picked up an opened bottle of Courvoisier Napoleon Champagne cognac and then marvelled at the dozen or so bottles on the shelf behind it.

“Unfortunately Kameraden, we need clear heads tonight, “ said Pförzer, carefully taking the Courvoisier from Rolf’s hands and indicating some bottles of Hungarian ‘Egri Bikavér’ and olive drab cans of Budweiser beer.

A bottle of the ‘Egri’ or ‘Bull’s Blood’ as it was more commonly known was quickly opened. Small measures were poured whilst Pförzer scurried around the storeroom, gathering food which he set before them on a wooden board perched on a crate.

A reasonably fresh loaf of bread was hacked open and consumed with slices of Liptauer cheese, frankfurter sausages, and cornichons. A stone jar of Powidl apricot jam appeared and swiftly became a favourite with Shandruk.

Quickly disappearing into his treasure trove, Pförzer returned with three wristwatches, giving each man one in turn, British Army Vertex style for Uhlmann and Shandruk, and a US Army Hamilton design for Braun.

Once the edge was off their hunger and they had settled to more relaxed eating, Pförzer set out his plan.

“As you can see, I am not unfamiliar with the city of Enns, Kameraden.”

He pushed the Liptauer to one side and put down a sheet of paper. Pulling a pencil from an inside pocket, he quickly drew a few lines and squares.

Looking up to make sure all were paying attention, he continued.

“This is the Hotel Lauriacum, where tonight sleeps the man we need to see.” The pencil switched locations. “Here is the place where my American friend is billeted.”

He indicated some lines running back from the billet to the square that obviously represented their present location.

“This is the track I use to conduct my business with him. I think we should be ok getting close to here,” he indicated one of the horizontal lines and labelled it ‘Basteig’ and made a circle.

“This is a fire damaged house. Deserted. It will be safe enough and we will stop there.”

He stifled a small belch with his one good hand.

“Obviously we have the curfew. I have my papers, which permit me to be out. You three do not, so you must shadow me as I walk openly ok?”

He looked up at Rolf and received an accepting nod.

“Good. I will then go on and speak with my contact. You will be safe there, no problem. However, from that point we have no plan of course, and we must improvise as we go. My friend will help, if I can make him see the urgency of this.”

“And we must go now I think,” Rolf said, putting his hand on Shandruk’s shoulder as another slice of bread and powidl was hastily consumed.

Pförzer looked at his watch.

“Shall we kameraden? Coming up to 0125 hrs”

They all took up their watches, winding and preparing to synchronise.

“On my mark…drei…zwei…ein…mark.”

Candles extinguished, the group left the store, pausing only as Pförzer secured it once more.

They stole forward, hiding in the shadows. A jeep slowly laboured down the track, the sound of its approach giving them plenty of warning and time for even Pförzer to blend into the bushes until it passed. Soon they were all gathered together again in the fire-blackened ruin.

Nothing needed to be said as Pförzer slipped away.

The three huddled together in what used to be the kitchen and waited for his return, ears keenly reaching out to every sound.

The jeep ground its way noisily back from the direction of the river and then the night became silent once more.

With ears straining, the three became aware of the purposeful approach of footsteps coming up the lane from Enns itself. Braun risked a quick look and was rewarded with the unmistakable silhouette of Pförzer bearing down on the building, accompanied by another less bulky but unmistakably armed figure.

Pförzer strode past, silently gesturing them to follow, and took them further into the blackened ruin, pulling aside a bookcase and indicating steps which obviously led into a cellar.

Rolf wondered why they had not been shown this hideaway at first, but reasoned that Pförzer was just being cautious in case they had drawn unwanted attention from some passing patrol.

The mysterious figure was last to descend and pulled a heavy curtain across the entrance, keeping apart from the group. Pförzer rummaged briefly in the dark but soon a lighter brought life to a candle and the whole cellar was gently bathed in its yellow glow, sufficient to see a stack of tarpaulins, life preservers, rolls of telephone wire and signals equipment, box sets of vehicle tools and numerous kitbags stuffed with god knows what, all very obviously formerly US Army property. The sole thing in view that did not once belong to Uncle Sam was undoubtedly the SturmGewehr 44 on a wall mount adjacent to the stairs.

All these things were taken in quickly, because as the group slowly adjusted their vision, they only had eyes for the new arrival, or more precisely the M1Carbine he was holding, which was pointed directly at Uhlmann. The man was not tall but he was certainly solidly built and his shaven head, revealing obvious scars on the line under his cap, made him look all the more threatening.

There was a protracted and extremely awkward silence.

Pförzer broke it.

“This is my good friend and business partner John. I have told him a little of what you have told me, enough to get him here to listen. Please now tell him the full story Herr Maior.”

Uhlmann took the cue from that, mentally setting aside any reference to the SS. None the less, he looked at Pförzer questioningly.

“Schwartz speaks our language like he was born here, which he apparently was.”

And so Uhlmann began.

The muzzle of the carbine slowly dropped the further Uhlmann got into his story until the weapon was pointed at the ground and the holder’s jaw was almost as low.

The American snapped out of it quickly and spoke in surprisingly good German.

“That is some story Major, or is it Sturmbannfuhrer?” Even though Pförzer had not complicated matters by telling his partner that they were former SS, the man was obviously intelligent enough to work it out. “Relax; we can do the good guy, bad guy bit later.” His outstretched left hand gently waved up and down in a placatory motion.

“I’m sure we would have heard something from Intel on this.”

There was no conviction in the statement.

The Major’s uniform was clean but worn, and he was obviously a combat soldier. Such animals do not always trust in Intel and it was obvious in his eyes that he believed what he had just been told and to hell with the lack of Intel.

“We gotta get this up the line and fast. Hub reckons you need to speak to the General tonight and I have to agree. Gonna be tricky so I gotta think a’whiles.”

The American paused, looking at the three men before him.

“Any of you speak English?”

Braun chirped up immediately and received a nod of acknowledgement from Schwartz.

A moment’s hesitation before he turned to the big Austrian. “You got fatigues and such shit in them kitbags ain’t you Hub?”

A nod and a grin confirmed both that there were uniforms available and that Pförzer had cottoned on to the idea.

Each kitbag held two sets of uniform, from boots through to shirt and tie. Hub rejected the first two bags he opened, preferring the contents of the third and fifth bags. His thinking was that rank opened doors better, so he selected three sets of officers clothing, making sure that Uhlmann got the Captain’s uniform. Size was a good match for both Uhlmann and Braun but Shandruk needed further rummages before a pair of trousers that suited his smaller frame was found.

Three belts and holsters were located and thrown to each in turn.

In his amused state Schwartz reverted to his native tongue, “Hell but you lot look some stiff mother-fuckers! Lighten up folks!” Stiff they certainly were. Perhaps it was natural, given that they were ex-SS wearing another army’s uniforms, about to try and break through a security cordon to inform a former enemy General that another former enemy was about to launch a full scale attack at any minute.

Continuing in English without thinking, Schwartz spoke swiftly. “Right, here’s the plan. We brazen it out.” He spoke almost as he was thinking it up as he went, with Pförzer mumbling translations for some of the more obscure terms employed. “I can see the Hotel from my billet so we deploy from there and walk down the strasse bold as you like. No hiding, no sneaking, just walk right in. If there is shit, then we must have a diversion planned.” A moment’s pause as his mind searched for the solution and then a huge smile split the American’s face. “In fact, that’s a damn good idea. Hub, you got any damn flares in this goldmine?”

Pförzer opened up the top crate of US Signals gear and liberated a flare pistol.

“Alrighty then, now we’re cooking. We agree a time when Hub here sends some of these up and that will cause the diversion we need. Might even piss Ivan off some.” His face split into a grin. “The General will be in bed by now and won’t be best pleased on being woken obviously, so people will be dispatched to sort it out for sure.”

Schwartz’s face clouded and he became serious. He switched to German.

“Only one of you will be coming in with me ok?”

The group nodded.

“I guess that ought to be you Herr Maior, but do understand one thing please.”

Rolf attentively waited.

“You do anything out of place,” He looked around slowly for full effect, “Any of you… I will blow your fucking heads off.”

And none of them doubted that he would do so without hesitation.

Schwartz looked at his watch.

“It is now 0219 so I guess we should be going. Will take but a few minutes for us to get to the billet, not much more to walk to the hotel. Give ourselves a little safety margin in case of delays. Hub, I say you put a load of those damn flares in the sky bang on 0235.”

Pförzer grinned, examined the crate and extracted a box of flares, which disappeared into his pocket.

“Right then, let’s move out,” and casting a swift eye over the ensemble, “And for fucks sake get yourselves looser. You ain’t goose-stepping now boys! Hub, 0235 ok? And our business will keep until this shit has gone away. Keep yer head down old timer,” and with that he slapped Pförzer’s good shoulder and disappeared up the stairs into the welcoming night.

Time was wasting but as they took their leave of Pförzer, each man thanked him and shook hands. Rolf was last to go.

“We must hurry. Mein freund, without you we would still be floundering in the Donau so thank you. In happier times, perhaps we will meet again and share some stories. Until then, as your Yankee said, keep your head down and survive what is to come. Auf Wiedershein Hub.”

“Auf Wiedershein to you Rolf.”

And with a handshake, he was gone.

0223 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Enns, US Occupied Upper Austria

Schwartz led them forward at a steady pace, openly walking up the narrow lane towards his billet on the corner of HauptPlatz, adjacent to the town’s Roman Museum.

All was quiet, and there were no further dalliances with patrols. Schwartz turned and ushered them in through a garden entrance at the back of his billet.

Indicating a need for silence with a finger to the lips, he beckoned them forward to where they could view down the street to the crossroads yards ahead.

Using his hand in the universal sign language of the soldier, he swiftly instructed them that the hotel was left at the junction and then down the street approximately one hundred and fifty yards on the right-hand side. Of course, they calculated in metres.