Corridor of Darkness

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  “Yes, sir.” The agent gave Erika an appreciative once-over. “First platform to your right, sir, Gleis 2, and pleasant journey.”

  The express departed promptly at 9:27, following the scenic route along the Rhine toward destinations south. Kreisler and Fischer had watched with relief as the targets passed onto the platform, the gate control following their directions to the letter. Once the couple disappeared into their first-class carriage, the two Kassel agents boarded the last car and began to move forward. No watching and waiting this time. There was a score to settle, and now the fun could begin.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The truck rolled beneath the archway and past the iron gates. Bellowing dogs strained at the leash, encouraged by the abusive shouting. Harsh overhead lights made day of night on the open field fronting the barracks as the guards dropped the truck’s rear panel and ordered the prisoners out. The detainees squinted in the blinding glare after hours under the dark canvas canopy.

  Two SS men climbed up into the truck bed and dragged and shoved those prisoners whose response proved too slow. Most tried to cooperate despite their exhaustion. Others—the sick, the frail or old—were dragged from the benches and thrown to the ground. The guards cursed and flogged them with metal switches, driving the prisoners toward a mustering point. One fallen detainee lay moaning after hitting the gravel. His leg or hip may have broken, for he was unable to rise to meet the baiting curses. A sergeant lashed him repeatedly over the head until he no longer responded. Two other prisoners were forced to drag the unconscious man toward the front of the assembly.

  The men were filthy after the tedious journey. There had been no break to relieve their needs. Dark stains on crotches embarrassed those who had surrendered to the inevitable, and the stench of human excrement was pervasive. A few men wore rumpled suits of once obvious quality, others were dressed in working clothes, and still others had been dragged from their beds in pajamas. A few wore little more than underwear and shivered helplessly in the frigid air, no longer shielded by the covered truck and the body heat of fellow huddled prisoners.

  The SS officer charged with overseeing the new arrivals watched as the men were forced into rank and file and ordered to remove hats and caps. He paced slowly up and down as the guards sought to bring some semblance of order, then stopped and flicked something from the sole of his jackboot with a riding crop. The injured man lay unmoving at the front of the assembly. “Is there a medical doctor in this impressive group?” The impeccably-uniformed officer appeared young in the garish light, certainly barely past twenty, and his voice was surprisingly juvenile.

  An ashen-faced man in his sixties stepped forward. “I’m a physician,” he said.

  “Identify yourself.”

  “Doktor Joachim Breitling, Marburger Faculty of Medicine.”

  “I believe Jews no longer teach at our universities, Herr Professor, much less practice medicine.”

  “I’m not a Jew. However, I’ll gladly treat anyone here who needs my services.” He stood defiantly tall.

  “Well, that’s excellent, since I won’t demean my camp doctor by asking him to touch that filthy scum at your feet.” He strode over to the prostrate man and poked him with the crop. “So, be my guest, Herr Professor Doktor, show us what aid you can offer your first patient here in lovely Dachau.”

  Joachim crouched beside the bloodied man and placed his fingers to the base of the man’s neck. The pulse was faint. Having been forced to leave without his eyeglasses, he squinted to see more clearly as he lifted the man’s eyelid to check for pupillary response.

  The crack of the pistol shot startled him, the immediate arc of blinding light as much as the sound. He did not feel the officer’s bullet enter the back of his skull and end his life. The dogs bayed and lunged forward on their leashes as the other prisoners reeled at the unexpected brutality of the execution.

  “Physician, heal thyself,” the young officer said, amused by his own cleverness. He strode away, muttering to the enlisted aide who tagged along at his heels: “Tell Berlin it’s done.”

  The tracks paralleled the Rhine on the rail line’s southbound route, and the agents on board the express knew their prey were in the next car ahead. “No one gets past you, understood?” ordered Sepp. Ewald nodded but said nothing. “I’ll signal when I’ve found them, so keep an eye out.” Sepp left his partner standing guard in the rear vestibule.

  Ewald never questioned that imperious tone. When Sepp was on a mission he could turn instantly, even on a comrade, and right now he was out for serious revenge. Sauer 38H in hand, he moved down the corridor, adjusting his pace to the cadence of the speeding train, steadying himself on the inner aisle wall as he cautiously peered into each compartment in turn. Once certain all was clear, he slipped forward to the next. Travelers aware of his progress fell silent and looked away at their own reflections in the dark windows. They knew better than to be too curious, especially after the violent day they had already witnessed. Meeting the conductor, Sepp brusquely ordered the man out of the way. The cowed trainman tripped over himself to reach the vestibule where Fischer watched and waited for the signal from Sepp.

  The third-to-last compartment held their prize. Sepp could see the little brat near the door, the shoulder of the asshole American beside him, closer to the window. He signaled with his left hand. Ewald immediately moved up the corridor, stealth no longer needed and his own semi-automatic ready for action.

  “No moves!” Sepp shouted as he burst in, locating each occupant with a quick glance.

  The American rose in surprise, and the pistol followed a fast arc, cracking cartilage and spraying blood across the back of the bench. The boy burst into tears and cowered in the near corner as the injured man, stunned by the impact, dropped back on his seat, hands to his face. Across the narrow aisle, the larger man had also started to rise, but held back when he realized the pistol was now trained on his belly.

  “I said no moves.” Sepp grinned, pleased with the stream of blood pouring down the face of the SS poseur. All arrogance gone, head tilted back, the man applied pressure to his savaged nose. “Sorry, Herr Kriminalrat, it seems you ran into my barrel.” Sepp tossed a filthy handkerchief in the American’s bloody face. “Here, this should help.”

  Ewald Fischer now stood in the open doorway, his Sauer trained on the larger man. “The woman, where’s the woman?” The American said nothing, using his own handkerchief to stanch the flow of blood. The eyes of the other man never left the two pistols, but he also remained mute.

  The boy called out for his Mutti, his cry shrill. “Boy, where’s your mother?” Sepp demanded. The child didn’t respond, so he grabbed his collar and shook him violently. “Your mother?” The terrified boy trembled, and Sepp saw him glance repeatedly to the corridor outside. The forward WC maybe? He turned to his partner. “Keep them entertained here. I’m going for some fun.” Ewald’s expression was sour as he slipped into the cabin, keeping his pistol trained on the bigger man and ordering all three captives to the same side of the compartment.

  Sepp moved up the corridor to intercept his prey. The next-to-last compartment held only a dozing man, chin sagging against chest. The final compartment stood empty, and Sepp positioned himself just inside to wait for the woman’s return. He recalled those long legs and anticipated his coming pleasure.

  Erika spent a few calm moments in the restroom, applying lipstick and rouge in the hope of feeling better about herself. Twenty-four hours of horror. She stared at her reflection, lost in thought, remembering how empowered she had once felt when her life was still hers to determine. She had become the tool of another, all for shallow desires.

  Now she had suffered abuse and torture, her parents sacrificed on the altar of her choices, and her son at risk of an equally undeserved fate. Disgusted with her own weakness, she wiped away the tears. It simply can’t go on. She steadied herself against the wall of the corridor, coat and handbag draped over one arm, and moved purposefully back toward their com
partment, coordinating her steps with the motion of the rocking train. She would never be victimized again.

  Sepp silenced her surprised cry with a rough hand over the mouth. Erika kicked back and struggled as he forcibly dragged her into the compartment and threw her into the far corner, her handbag and coat dropping to the floor. He slammed the door and trained his pistol on her. “Ah, and now we have my little slut,” he looked her up and down, “such a pretty thing with such fine legs, shall we see how far up they go?” He slid the pistol into his pocket.

  Erika trembled in shock. “Where’s my son?”

  “Oh, in good hands, safe hands, as you will be if you cooperate. You understand cooperation?”

  “You’ve no idea whom you’re dealing with,” her voice low and menacing. “My husband is Heydrich’s deputy, you fool.” She tried to rise. “You’ll pay for this!”

  He backhanded her and she dropped to the seat. “Of course he is, and I’m married to Himmler’s wife, you arrogant bitch.” Kreisler towered over her. “No worry, that powerful husband of yours is back there with the brat and nursing a smashed nose, and he’ll get a lot more of the same when you and I are done here.”

  His eyes strafed her body. “But for now, let’s find out what you’re hiding between those legs of yours.” He unbuttoned his fly and thrust himself in her face, straddling Erika as his hand fumbled between her thighs. She drew back against the wall, beating at him in defiance, and he slapped her again. “The next one comes with the pistol attached, now get busy and make this worth my while.”

  She found focus in the thought of Leo’s safety and forced herself to relax. “Perhaps we can work something out,” her voice now docile and yielding, “if you promise to leave my boy alone.”

  “No problem, I don’t do boys, but it’s been a while since I’ve had a woman with your class.” He took his erection in hand and forced it toward her. “Come on, enough talk. Take it, now!”

  She bit down viciously, ripping flesh. Blood sprayed, but she held on doggedly. Stunned by the attack, the agent jerked back off her lap, furthering the damage left by her teeth. He let out a furious howl and stared at the blood gushing from his groin, then clutched at his pulsing organ. Erika lunged for her fallen coat, for the pistol taken from the Mercedes. The attacker grabbed her hair and slammed her back against the wall. She was going nowhere.

  “Before was just for fun,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now you’ll pay the price, cunt.” Holding one hand against his bleeding crotch, he pulled the Sauer from his coat pocket and rammed the pistol between her legs, ripping her stockings and scoring her thighs.

  Several compartments back, Ewald Fischer’s world had also gone sideways. His delayed response to the sudden turn of events might have been excusable, exhausted as he was by a very long day and believing everything well in control. But he was pissed that his partner was now enjoying a pleasure he felt should be his, so his mind was elsewhere.

  He had stood just inside the door of the compartment, his gun pointed at the larger man, the most obvious threat. The stranger stared back at him, pretending no involvement in the unfolding events, but Ewald wasn’t fooled. He and Kreisler had seen this burly man carry the child through the control gate, so knew he was in just as deep as the other two. The child whimpered quietly now, his face sheltered against the injured American, clearly out of commission, his shattered nose buried in his hands. The man whose charade had made them a laughingstock now cowered behind a bloody rag, his arrogance long gone. In spite of explicit orders not to interrogate the fugitives, no one would protest their use of force in the face of resistance. Ewald and his partner would now make sure they all resisted.

  Ewald took a step back through the door, keeping his gun trained into the compartment, and scanned up the corridor. He imagined his partner had the woman down by now, and Ewald resented being first to suggest a little sport with the blonde, yet his partner was now enjoying her. The bastard always gets the best prizes. Perhaps there was still time for him to get in on the fun.

  That momentary lapse of concentration had a painful cost. The American suddenly slammed the door into his wrist, sending the Sauer flying. The larger man was out of his corner in a flash, dodging the rebounding door before ramming a fist into Ewald’s belly, then grabbing him by the neck and slamming his head into the door frame. Stunned, he felt himself yanked back into the compartment as he saw the American reach for the lost weapon. Ewald’s world went black.

  “Take care of Leo,” Ryan said. During the struggle the child had crept across the seats into the far corner and buried his head in his coat. “This job’s mine.”

  “It’s under control, go find her.” René sat beside Leo and wrapped a reassuring arm around the terrified boy. With his other hand he massaged his right knee, his foot resting on the neck of the unconscious Gestapo agent.

  Ryan raced along the corridor. His nose throbbed, but he had suffered worse on the sports field. At least the bleeding had slowed. He checke the safety on the Sauer, but worried that using the pistol might put Erika at risk.

  Distracted by his injury and fury, Sepp saw too late a man appear behind him in the cabin. He felt a blow to the base of his skull which left him dazed, and he swung around toward his attacker, knocking the pistol from the American’s grip as he raised his own to fire. The woman lunged to the floor, grabbing his gun wrist with both her hands. Two shots reverberated in the narrow confines of the cabin, the bullets plowing through the seat cushions.

  Now the American had one arm around his neck as he slugged him repeatedly in the kidney with the other. The woman worked to wrest the Sauer from him, but he fought on enraged, the pain in his groin forgotten but his sagging trousers hampering his movements. The bastard American now pulled his arm free of the bitch’s grasp and wrenched it up behind his back, sending an agonizing jolt through his shoulder. He fired again, the bullet narrowly missing the son-of-a-bitch.

  “The window!” he heard the American yell, “Open it now!”

  Baffled by the barely-audible command, her hearing deadened by gunfire in the tight space, Erika scrambled loose from the tangle of limbs to release the catches and drop the window in its tracks. Frigid air burst into the compartment carrying a sooty cloud from the locomotive just ahead, the furious roar adding to the chaos.

  “Out of my way,” yelled Ryan, and she ducked aside as he wrestled the agent toward the open window. The weakened brute fought back with the strength of his legs, but Ryan deftly shifted to avoid the blows, all the while forcing up the gun arm to the point where he was sure bone would snap. With a brutal push and now aided by Erika, he forced the agent’s head out into the whirl of sound and smoke. Bit by bit, shifting his weight with every shove to leverage the struggling agent, they worked him farther through the window.

  They would throw him into the onrushing night.

  There is good reason European railroads affix below the carriage windows a small metal plaque in several languages which warns passengers not to lean out. Such an action is always ill-advised.

  Perhaps it was a semaphore column, signaling an “all clear” to the speeding express. Or possibly a catenary post, a tall pillar for the overhead lines which power electric locomotives. It certainly was a solid object positioned half a meter from the side of the passing train. And when that stationary post met an onrushing human head, the skull surrendered in a sticky spray.

  The passenger in the second compartment had been jolted awake just moments before by bullets plowing through the cabin wall. Puffs of horsehair wadding shot forth as holes suddenly appeared in the upholstered seat to his right. Smoke rose from secondary entry holes in the facing seat. He had frozen in position, still drowsy and trying to make sense of the gunfire. He heard a fierce commotion from the next compartment, another shot, a pounding against the wall and voices rising to a fevered pitch. A woman’s scream tore through to him, and then he saw a broad smear of fluid and tissue tracking across his window. It formed odd horizontal clumps and r
ivulets, driven at speed by the train’s velocity.

  Placing his head against the dark glass he blocked out his own reflection to take a closer look and came face to face with another’s mortality. He reached up and yanked the emergency cord.

  With a nauseating jolt, Ryan and Erika both felt the impact as the agent’s head met the post. First the immediate wrenching of the body, slamming it toward the side of the window. Then, with all resistance gone, Ryan’s unchecked shoving sent the body into the night. The legs and feet caught briefly at the edge of the opening before tumbling into the darkness. Erika let loose a piercing scream, a cry of victory despite her horror. Relief spread across their bloody faces as choking coal smoke swirled about the cabin.

  Within moments a shudder passed through the train as the engineer applied the brakes, responding to the signal of the emergency cord. Ryan and Erika were thrown off-balance onto the forward seats as squealing metal on metal rapidly slowed the momentum of the train. Ryan trembled with coursing adrenaline; he was in a new element, had conquered his fear to protect what was dear to him. Perhaps he would question his response later, perhaps not.

  “Leo!” her cry muffled by the ringing in his ears. “Where’s Leo?”

  “Safe with René,” he said. “We’ll get him now.”

  She grabbed her handbag and coat from the floor. The corridor was already filling with startled passengers, all talking at once, trying to make sense of the sudden deceleration of the train. A man in the next compartment stared vacantly at the smeared window surface. He then turned abruptly and forced his way past them without a word, heading toward the rear of the coach. His face was ashen, his expression unreadable.

  René stepped from the cabin mid-carriage with Leo in his arms and limped his way forward, joining Erika and Ryan. No sooner had he reached them than a woman screamed. She had spotted the body lying prone on the compartment floor, then the bloodied faces of Ryan and Erika.