The Vatican's Last Secret

by Francis Joseph Smith

  Colonel Heber managed to stop the truck short of where the shell exploded, quickly jumping from the truck’s cab to examine the depth of the hole in the road in front of them. Seeing the depth was manageable he yelled back to his sergeant driving the second truck: “Let’s get these trucks out of here,” the bullets now ricocheting off the trucks wooden cargo crates. Colonel Heber turned off the trucks lights, revved his trucks engine before steering the truck down the dirt road before them, one behind the other, explosions now hitting the treetops and areas to the left of them as the Americans started to zero in on the logging road. Behind them they heard harried commands in English to stop, choosing to ignore them as the trucks continued down the narrow dirt road. After another 100 meters Heber had no choice, switching on the trucks headlights, the slit covered lights providing some respite and allowing them to stay focused on the road before them. Another 25 meters and the road suddenly cleared on both sides of them, providing space to maneuver if needed.

  When the shooting abruptly stopped, each soldier looked to the other, experience telling them something wasn’t right.

  Colonel Heber managed a feeble smile. “If we ever get out of this war alive, I am going to get the biggest yacht I can find and sail off to where nobody will find me. Live in peace,” he said aloud to no one in particular.

  The mystery soon ended as a tank shell suddenly came crashing down their right hand side, the resulting explosion sending earth up 10 meters high, some of it raining down on the lead trucks hood. Colonel Heber once again turned off his lights before steering to the left, then the right, trying to zig zag on the narrow road, giving whoever was firing a tougher shot, the truck behind him doing the same. “Son of a bitch isn’t giving up. Doesn’t he know the war is almost over?” Heber said.

  Another shell came crashing down in front of Heber’s truck, the explosion leaving a 1-meter deep crater in the road. Captain Heber managed to break right, his truck veering off before steering around the hole in the road. He looked in his rear view mirror after he passed, just able to make out the truck driven by Sergeant Wenke as he drove his truck straight into the crater. The only noise now was of a whirring diesel motor as the truck struggled to extricate itself from the hole.

  “Damn it,” cried out Colonel Heber, stopping his own truck no more than 50 meters away, in a tree line, off the road. “We have to rig a tow rope from our truck to the Sergeants,” he said to Private Dems, seated beside him. “Get the rope from the emergency kit under the trucks bed. Tie it to the other trucks tow bar. After that, I want you to take up a defensive position behind the truck to fend off the Americans if they happen to get into range. I’ll try and get this pig to haul out the Sergeants truck.” The Private nodded as he set about his work.

  Colonel Heber opened his driver’s door, standing on the trucks running board, using his binoculars to try and view the status of the Americans through the night’s darkness to see if they were indeed pursing. Using only the night’s limited moon light, after several adjustments to his binoculars he could make out the telltale shadows of soldiers approaching from 200 meters out. Since the American had stopped the shelling, Heber thought it was obvious they were curious as to the trucks cargo and hoped to bag a few prisoners in the process.

  Private Dems signaled to Heber that they were ready for the tow.

  Heber pointed to the approaching Americans. “We have to stop those bastards or we won’t get out of here with our cargo,” he yelled. Dems nodded and motioned for two of his fellow soldiers to follow him, leaving the Sergeant and Colonel to work out the details of the tow.

  Dems and the two others quickly skirted along the tree line until they were within 25 meters of the Americans, patiently waiting for them to approach their position. In the distance, he could hear the trucks diesel engines whining loudly as one struggled to extricate the other from the shell hole.

  The Americans obviously heard it too, the sound of their boots hitting the hardened ground as they started to jog carried through the night air.

  Dems waited until the Americans were less than 10 meters from their position. “Fire,” he commanded to his men, each responding with a long burst of automatic fire, killing the first ten American soldiers before the remaining soldiers wisely retreated, only firing back at the Germans in order to cover their withdraw.

  From his position in the trucks driver’s seat, Heber heard the gun battle erupt. He knew they had to hurry and get the second truck extricated from the one-meter deep hole or they would have no option but to leave the truck for the Americans. Not a choice he planned on making. He opened his driver’s side door half way to get a better look at the second trucks progress, the second truck straining both the towrope and the Heber’s trucks engine. Heber gunned his engine once more pushing it past the red line. “Come on you beautiful bitch,” he said trying to coax it out of the hole. “Come on, come on.” Heber’s truck started to slowly rise at the front as it strained to pull the heavy load until the trucks front gently come down, signaling success. A minute later he heard Sergeant Wenke. “We’re out, Colonel,” Wenke yelled through cupped hands.

  Heber managed a slight smile as Wenke hopped up on his trucks running board. Heber motioned back to the second truck. “Okay. Get back to the truck and let’s get the hell out of here.” Wenke mockingly saluted Heber before returning to his truck. Heber in turn honked the trucks horn twice as a signal for Dems to return.

  Dems was preparing for the Americans next attack when he heard Heber’s signal. Using hand signs, he signaled the others to retreat and make their way back to the trucks. Dems turned to follow them just as several well-aimed shells came crashing down around them, ripping up the earth in geysers, knocking trees down as if mere sticks. Each man instinctively dove for the ground seeking some form of safety. It would be their last act as two additional tank shells rained down on them leaving nothing but body pieces as evidence.

  Heber watched the events play from his position leaning out of the truck’s cab, one foot on the trucks running board. “Damn it,” he cried aloud. The Americans would soon have him and his trucks in range. He looked behind his truck to see Sergeant Wenke jump into the driver’s seat of the second truck. Satisfied, Heber took his seat before he revved his trucks engine. He then leaned out the window in time to hear Wenke’s truck engine fail to turn over. “Shit,” he said aloud before he jumped out of his truck and ran back to Wenke, jumping up beside him on the running board, leaning in the driver’s window. “What’s the problem?” he said in a surprisingly even-toned voice, considering the circumstances.

  Wenke shook his head. “She might have taken some shrapnel when the last shell came down,” he said, now watching for any sign of the approaching Americans in his rear view mirror.

  “You keep trying to turn this pig over,” said Heber nonchalantly. ‘I’m going back to slow them down. Give me your machine pistol.” Wenke quickly hands it to him.

  “Good luck, Captain,” said Wenke, also handing him a belt of four stick grenades. “You’ll probably need these too.”

  Heber grinned at him. “Yes, probably,” he mumbled before jumping down from the truck. “You just get this piece of shit moving.”

  Wenke laughed aloud in response. ”In my dreams,” he said aloud.

  Heber quickly turned and ran back down the same tree line chosen by Dems and the others, approaching approximately their last position, stopping only when he thought he heard voices; American voices. He immediately sought cover behind a rather large pine tree. Ironically, the same one Dems had chosen only moments before. Looking down, Heber noticed Dems headless body lying to his left. He blessed himself as he tried to focus on the limited light of the night. He now viewed the Americans approaching along the road, only this time there were five of them, spread across the road, rifles at the ready. Heber couldn’t believe his luck. He could probably get the two on the furthest side with a single grenade. The remaining three would be somewhat trickier but doable.

  Heber w
ithdrew a single “potato masher” grenade from his belt and lay it on the ground beside him. He then checked his machine pistol making sure its safety was off. Satisfied, he waited until the Americans were less than 10 meters away. Heber could hear Wenke as he still struggled with the trucks engine. No doubt the Americans heard the same. He picked up the grenade, expertly unscrewed the cap to activate it before tossing it towards the two farthest soldiers. A loud explosion soon filled the air, its shrapnel killing them both. Heber then pointed the machine pistol at the remaining three. With a long burst he managed to kill two, while the third dove for cover.

  Another tank round shrieked by Heber’s position, landing close to the second truck. Heber had enough. He knew they had to hurry or they would be captured, or even worse, killed. He readied another grenade, tossing it to where he saw the American dive for cover. A loud explosion followed by a single cry signaled success.

  Heber wasted no time, running back to where Wenke struggled with the trucks engine, arriving just as the engine coughed several times before erupting with a cloud of black smoke. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said to Wenke.

  Wenke smiled as he nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said.

  Heber ran to the lead truck jumping up into the cab, turning the key that he had wisely left in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

  Both trucks moved off into the night. After 400 meters they reached a macadam road. There were still no lights in the backcountry area, not even a candle in a home’s window. The war’s blackout even existed in the backcountry, thought Heber as he struggled to view the road through the wash of the trucks dimmed headlights. He could have removed the headlights cover but, not knowing how many American patrols were in the area, or German ones for that matter, wisely choose to keep them in-place.

  After 10 kilometers they pulled off the macadam road onto what looked like a well-traveled dirt road, following it for another 200 meters until they reached the small estate farm where, several days earlier Heber had arranged for it to be his “holding area”. The farm was perfect. Devoid of neighbors and their peering eyes, it consisted of a large dilapidated barn to one side and a white Alpine-style house that looked to be over 100 years old on the other.

  As they drove up the farms dirt road he could see no lights were on in the house.

  Heber eased the truck up to the barn, quickly exiting to open the barns door. Once open, he walked back to his truck, waving to Wenke to follow him, before driving in.

  Wenke followed, effectively concealing the trucks from air or ground.

  “Here, take this flashlight,” Heber ordered as Wenke exited his truck, tossing one to him. He switched on his own and led the way to the house but not before closing the barns doors behind him.

  When they reached the house the front door was slightly ajar. Colonel Heber aimed the flashlights beam into the living room. Three meters away lay the body of a young woman, drenched in blood from her throat having been slit. As they guardedly walked inside, two additional bodies came into view; an older couple, obviously the farms owners, lying in a pool of their own blood, both shot once to the head.

  Each lay right where Heber callously left them to die only days earlier.

  Wenke looked to Heber, before pointing to the bodies. “I guess they had to be eliminated?”

  Heber nodded as walked into the kitchen where he made quick work of searching the cupboard before finding a nearly full bottle of Schnapps. A soft pop of a cork signaled success, him taking a quick pull before handing the bottle to Wenke. “No witnesses. And I also don’t like to share.”

  Wenke accepted the explanation, shrugging his shoulders in response. “More for us,” he said matter of factly.

  They both toasted numerous times to their future lives of luxury, passing the bottle back and forth in celebration. When finished, Heber and Wenke walked back to the barn where Heber showed Wenke the real reason for choosing this particular barn. Grabbing a pitchfork, he deliberately removed hay from one of the horse stalls to suddenly reveal a wooden trap door. “I heard these people were black market smugglers from a Gestapo friend of mine and knew they would have one of these,” he said as he pulled open the heavy wooden trap door to reveal a 15 meter by 10-meter earthen room beneath the barns 1st floor, a wooden ladder acting as steps lead to its bottom.

  Wenke takes his flashlight and shines it down into the empty room, looking back to Hebe. “But they are evidently poor black marketers,” he said, pointing back down the ladder leading to the room below. “Nothing’s left.”

  “After I killed them,” Heber responded matter of factly with a hint of pride, “I looted all of their goods and sold them myself.”

  Wenke laughed aloud. “You are a bastard.”

  “Only when I have to be,” Heber said with a smile gracing his face from ear-to-ear. When Wenke turned his back to look back down into the earthen room Heber took a moment to check the status of his own weapon. Satisfied he turned his attention to the task at hand. “All right,” Heber said, we unload one truck, and one stays full for the next part of our journey.” Heber points to the truck at the rear as they started the laborious process of unloading the trucks contents.

  After three hours they had completely unloaded one truck, placing all of the goods adjacent to the steps leading to the earthen room. Of course it would have progressed a lot faster if Dems and the others had survived. This was something Heber hadn’t planned on but they were able to make due. Heber then had Wenke take a position down in the earthen room. He then rigged a three-meter long board from the top of the room to the bottom, allowing him to simply slide each wooden box of gold and silver down to Wenke.

  It was Wenke’s job to strategically position all of boxes against the earthen walls leaving just enough room down its middle, resembling a cross from above, allowing easy access from two sides. After two hours, Heber yelled down that they were finished. Wenke took the opportunity to sprawl across several crates of gold and silver he had just stacked, four high, candles providing the rooms only light, him drenched in sweat. Heber now joins him down in the earthen room to admire his work. Off to the right, by itself, sat the wooden crate containing Uranium-235.

  “That will be worth big money one day,” Heber said, pointing to the box containing the Uranium, “worth more than all of the gold and silver in these boxes.” He turned away as if pondering what he just said before pointing back to the Uranium. “On second thought, it’s going on the other truck. We are taking it with us.”

  Wenke smiled, he didn’t care, just wanting his cut in gold or silver. He hadn’t heard from his wife and kids in weeks. He wanted to return home, or to what was left of it, outside of Wiesbaden, in the western part of Germany. Now, with his newfound riches, he could buy the farm his family worked on before the war. Hell, he could probably buy the whole town with the money he was going to make.

  Heber produced another bottle of schnapps, taking a refreshing swig before passing it to Wenke. They toasted to their newfound riches, family, the end of the war, and anything else they could think of. When the bottle was empty Heber carelessly tossed it to the back of the room. “Okay, outside for one final surprise,” ordered Heber, laughing as he did, pointing up the ladder.

  Wenke filed out as ordered, his mood still jovial from the Schnapps and upon viewing the room of their treasures from above. They once again closed the heavy wooden door, piling hay on top of the door.

  “One last thing and we will be finished,” said Heber.

  Using some heavy hemp rope they had scrounged from the barn they tied it to the main support beam in the center of the barn, unrolling it as they dragged the remainder of the rope to the bumper of the second truck. A sudden flash of lighting streaked across the sky followed a moment later by a clap of thunder. “Tie this to the trucks bumper,” he said, handing him the other end of the rope.

  After Wenke finished, he provided Heber a thumbs-up.

  “Open the barn doors and go outside,�
� Heber said to Wenke, watching as he pushed open the barns heavy wooden doors.

  Heber started the trucks engine, gunning it a few times before he drove the truck forward, out of the barn and into the night. The rope soon became taunt as it strained between the truck and the wooden post before the wooden post finally gave way, a loud pop signaled success. But the barn still stood.

  Heber felt the truck speed forward as the post gave way. He now exited the truck, walking back to where Wenke stood. “Now we wait,” he said, a wide grin on his face. Within minutes creaks and groans could be heard emanating from within the barn, then popping as the remaining posts gave way, the barn crashing down upon itself in a loud whoosh.

  Heber stood admiring the scene for a moment. “Now, nobody but you and I know where the remainder of the gold and silver is buried.” He suddenly places his right hand on Wenke’s shoulder. “I am still your commanding officer,” said Heber. “We have to make this official so I can dismiss you from service. Then a token of my appreciation.”

  Wenke smiled at Heber, wondering if he would receive an additional bonus on top of the $1M US already promised.

  Heber unexpectedly pulls away, extracting a Lugar from the base of his back, pointing it at Wenke.

  “Why…….,” stammered Wenke as he looked pleadingly to Heber. “There is enough wealth under that barn for 40 lifetimes.”

  “Come, come now, Wenke,” said Heber, his weapon still pointed at Wenke. “You know my motto.”

  Wenke started to say it aloud, and then Heber helped him finish it. “No witnesses,” they both said in unison.

  “Let’s consider the other possibilities before I decide on a course of action,” said Heber, a smirk upon his face, enjoying the moment. “I could give you a share of my treasure if I so chose.” He paused several seconds as if in deep thought before continuing. “But no, that would seem foolish on my part. After all, it’s mine.” He paused again, the pause deliberate. “I could also let you go on your way. And you would probably promise me not to tell anyone about the gold and silver under the barn wreckage. Am I right?”