by David Young
Finally, panting, she stopped to catch her breath. The ice beneath her felt solid again. The freezing air was like giant icicles arrowing down her windpipe into her lungs as she hyperventilated, desperately struggling to get her body back in equilibrium. Shivering from the shock and the cold of the seawater churned up by the Soviet vessel.
She looked up.
The lights of the ship had passed. It seemed to be turning, in a wide circle. Some distance away, on the opposite side to the icy channel carved by the boat, she could see a light and the silhouettes of a number of figures. It must be Hartmann and his border guard squad. They’d gone one way, she’d gone the other. Their light swung round, and she had to shield her eyes as it settled on her, illuminating her for hundreds of metres around.
A booming voice came through a loudspeaker.
‘Don’t worry, Comrade Major. We’re in radio contact with Berlin – we can get a message through to the icebreaker to make sure the crew stop to pick you and Hauptmann Tilsner up once they’ve finished their work. Just stay out of the way of the criminal gang. Do you have your gun?’
Müller cupped her gloved hands round her mouth, first having to clench and unclench her fists to try to shake off the frozen seawater that had rained down on her as the icebreaker passed. She shouted through her own makeshift loud hailer, hoping her voice would be amplified enough to be heard over the fading roar of the ship.
‘Yes, I’ll be fine!’ She hadn’t checked the gun to see if it had got soaked along with the rest of her, but it had hopefully been shielded from a soaking by her jacket. ‘I’ll try to make contact with Tilsner. He’s got a radio – we’ll communicate with you and Berlin via that.’
‘Very well, Comrade Major. But do not engage with the criminal gang. You will be rescued very soon.’
Müller tried to believe his words. But she knew if she didn’t get out of her damp clothing, she probably didn’t have long to survive. She remembered Tilsner’s warnings about sweat and frostbite. As her body began to convulse in huge involuntary shivers, she once again longed for the comfort of her apartment of Strausberger Platz, the embrace of her children and grandmother.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to enjoy that again.
The only hope until she was rescued was to force herself to walk. To tramp one foot in front of the other towards where she’d seen Tilsner disappear to. To try to get some warmth flowing through her body.
Otherwise, she knew, she was facing certain death.
35
We’re huddled together, trying to work out what to do, when we hear the loudspeaker conversation.
Joachim seems excited. ‘It sounds as though at least two of them are here with us. But they’ve been separated from the rest.’
I hear Dieter sigh. ‘Yes, but don’t you realise what is happening?’ In the distance, we can still see the lights of the icebreaker. It’s changed direction – almost as though it’s going round in a huge circle. Then the meaning of Dieter’s words become clear. ‘It’s obvious. The icebreaker is cutting us off – carving a channel around us. We’re basically sitting, marooned, in the middle of the Ostsee.’
‘How far to the shipping channel?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure,’ says Dieter. ‘I’ve been using the compass, and trying to estimate distance by counting our paces. I think we’ve walked twenty, maybe thirty kilometres so far. It could be as much again. And we’d have to get across that.’
He points in the direction of the channel cut by the icebreaker, where we nearly lost our lives.
‘In this weather, it’s not going to take long to refreeze, surely?’ suggests Holger.
Dieter gives a resigned laugh. ‘Ha! Do you think they’re going to let it freeze over again? Did you see the name on the side of that ship?’
‘Arktika,’ I say. ‘At least, from my not very good knowledge of Russian, that’s what I think it said.’
‘Exactly right, Irma,’ replies Dieter. ‘Although what the fuck it’s doing here, I’ve no idea.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Joachim.
‘The Arktika is one of the most advanced Soviet icebreakers, which normally operates in Arctic waters. It can punch through the thickest of ice – doing that for months, years even, without refuelling. You know why?’
Everyone was silent. I had no idea how Dieter knew this – but he’d hoped to become a medical student until he blotted his copybook by joining the construction soldiers. He must have studied science at school. Maybe the glories of our Soviet friends’ icebreakers were part of his physics lessons.
Dieter answered for us. ‘It’s because it’s a nuclear icebreaker. It’s powered not by diesel, but by two small nuclear reactors.’
‘Why does that make a difference?’ asked Holger.
‘If they have spare fuel rods on board, it could stay here for ever. Going round and round, making sure we never escape.’
‘Why would the Soviets allow—’
Holger cuts off Joachim’s question by clasping his hand over his mouth.
Then he drops his voice to an urgent whisper. ‘Over there! Look. It’s one of them.’ Silhouetted against the lights of the icebreaker as it swings back round towards us, there is what looks like a male figure clad in white camouflage fatigues. But what makes me shiver is what’s in his outstretched hand.
A gun.
He is hunting something.
And all of us know what his quarry is.
*
We lie flat to the ground. Dieter and Joachim take charge, inching forward, staying low, shuffling along on their stomachs like walruses.
He orders me to stay back with Holger. But we – like the two guards – are armed, although I have no confidence in my ability to fire a gun, despite a quick verbal lesson from Dieter.
The icebreaker approaches again, but the crew seem to have trained its searchlight on the channel in front, rather than sweeping across our small ice island. There is enough light, however, for Holger and me to watch Dieter and Joachim shuffling towards the border guard, policeman, or Stasi officer. Whatever he is, we have no idea – all their winter camouflage outfits look the same. But I thank the fact that he seems to have replaced his gun in his holster. He’s waiting there. Asking for it.
Dieter and Holger split up, curving either side of the officer, like big cats encircling their prey. I can see he has his back to both of them now – he seems to be staring up at the icebreaker, as it comes round in another swoop.
And then they pounce.
As Joachim distracts him from the front, Dieter jumps on his back. I hear the man’s scream.
We see all this in silhouette, powerless.
Part of me hopes my boyfriend isn’t slitting the man’s throat.
Part of me doesn’t care.
The man works for this hateful Republic – determined to stop our dream of escaping to freedom.
If he pays for that with his life, perhaps that’s simply him getting his just deserts.
36
Müller’s blood turned colder still when she heard Tilsner’s scream, audible even above the din of the icebreaker. She climbed a mound of ice in the direction of the sound – and saw everything silhouetted by the bright lights of the Soviet vessel.
They were near enough for her to shoot, and she was a good shot. She drew the Makarov from her holster, released the safety catch, and took aim.
But she knew it was futile. If Tilsner was still alive, she couldn’t be sure of not hitting him – especially given the numbness of her hands from the cold. And one of the construction soldiers was holding something to her deputy’s head. They might be pacifists, but this group seemed ready to use weapons. Because what was being pressed against Tilsner’s temple as they shuffled away was the silhouette of a handgun.
As Müller tried to get her gun back in the holster, her shivering hands making it difficult, she felt a hand clasp around her mouth from behind.
Her arm was yanked up towards her shoulder blade, as her gun
fell on to the ice.
She felt the prod of something hard in her back.
She didn’t have the strength to resist.
Didn’t want to.
‘Hello again, Major Müller.’ She recognised the voice of Irma Behrendt. Müller felt herself being turned round by whoever had her in their grip, until she was face to face with the former reform school girl. ‘We don’t seem to be able to stop bumping into each other, do we?’ There was an attempt by Irma to make her comment sound flippant and throwaway. But Müller could detect something else in the voice, and on the girl’s face.
The same thing she herself felt.
Fear.
37
Stasi HQ, Normannenstraße, East Berlin
0500 hours, 2 January 1979
Generaloberst Erich Mielke yawned and rubbed his eyes as the conference phone line from Rügen jolted him awake again. He looked at the clock. A few seconds past 5 a.m. The Soviet icebreaker should have arrived. Everything should be in hand. Why the hell was that idiot Jäger contacting him again? Was he incapable of dealing with the situation himself?
He depressed the switch on the intercom panel. ‘What is it, Jäger?’
‘Good morning, Comrade Minister.’
Mielke looked at the clock again. He prided himself on being an early riser, a hard worker. But in his book, five in the morning was still very much the middle of the night. ‘Spit it out, man. This had better be important.’
‘I thought you would want to know, Comrade Minister, that the icebreaker has completed its work and the criminals are now completely cut off.’
‘What about the border guards? Have they arrested them yet? Or are they coming up with a more permanent solution?’
‘The border guard unit has the situation under control but I thought it safer for them if they remained on the main body of ice. We don’t know how stable the island of ice the criminals are on is. It could break up at any moment.’
‘Tossing them into the sea? Well, that wouldn’t be any great loss – an ice grave sounds about right. What about the two detectives?’
‘They followed the criminal gang on to the ice island, Comrade Minister. It’s my expectation that they will already have them under arrest.’
‘So what’s the plan, Jäger? Wait till daylight and send in a helicopter to bring them out?’
‘We could do that, of course, Comrade Minister, but that would depend on whether the snow closed in again or not. That was the reason for my making this call. My recommendation, if you can get the Soviets to agree, is to bring them all off on the icebreaker and hold them under arrest there. You said it was heading to Rostock to clear the shipping channel – it could make an unscheduled stop in port to drop off our prisoners?’
‘I’ll see what I can do, Jäger. But if we involve the Soviets even more closely, then it becomes doubly important nothing goes wrong. I’m sure you understand that and its consequences for your continued employment at a colonel’s grade.’
38
The frozen Ostsee
2 January 1979
Müller had been shocked at the way she and Tilsner had been overpowered by a group that – supposedly – was peace-loving, and unwilling to lift arms to defend the Republic. To escape the Republic, to defect to the capitalist world, in that case they seemed to have no qualms about threatening to use weapons. Although, from the nasty red mark and swelling on the side of Tilsner’s face, it looked as though he might have received a pistol-whipping.
She tried to reason with their captors. ‘Irma, you know this isn’t going to end well. We’re trapped here. The best thing is to give yourselves up, and hope you might get away with prison sentences.’ Müller knew there hadn’t been an official death sentence pronounced by a court for several years. But by attempting to flee the Republic, stealing weapons from the army, deserting and kidnapping two police officers, the death penalty might be a real option, at least for the three young men. She would speak up for Irma. She owed her that much from their past history together. She owed her too because the girl – just now – had persuaded her male colleagues to give up one spare set of clothing so that Müller could get out of her own freezing, soaked clothes, and into something dry. But, at the very least, the girl would be facing a long jail sentence.
Surely they could see that was better than risking death here on the ice?
‘Shut up!’ shouted Dieter. ‘We don’t need your advice.’
‘Perhaps she’s right,’ ventured Irma.
‘Be quiet!’ Müller could see the hurt in Irma’s face from the venomous put-down by her boyfriend. Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps Müller and Tilsner could use that to their advantage.
Müller saw the one called Joachim scrabbling around in Tilsner’s rucksack. ‘Fuck, he’s got a radio in here.’
Dieter’s face suddenly lit up. ‘Wonderful,’ he said, considering. ‘Let me explain what you’re going to do with it, Mr Police Officer.’
*
Müller realised that Dieter Schwarz was devious enough to have made an excellent Stasi officer should he have chosen a different path. In many ways, his approach reminded her of Jäger’s. When he made his radio call to the Stasi colonel, Tilsner was given a clear script – and with a gun to the back of his head, little leeway to deviate from it. Müller’s deputy seemed to be being more compliant than necessary. Perhaps, like her, his main priority was to get back safely to the Hauptstadt.
‘Can you hear me, Oberst Jäger?’
‘Go ahead, Comrade Hauptmann. What do you have to report?’
‘We’ve managed to apprehend the criminals and their weapons.’ Müller watched Schwarz as Tilsner said the words. ‘We’re now requesting transfer back to the Republic. Could that Soviet icebreaker take us aboard?’
‘We’ve already arranged with the Russians to let you board. The vessel should be coming to a stop any time soon and lowering a ladder for you to climb up.’
Müller wondered about the wisdom of this. Surely lowering a boat onto the surface of the ice would be safer? But perhaps it was a deliberate ploy to ensure everyone came onto the ship one at a time, and could therefore be searched. Schwarz’s worried expression under the glare of the Arktika’s spotlights told her that he was concerned about this too. The young construction soldier’s plan had been – no doubt – to escort the two detectives on board at gunpoint, while giving the impression that exactly the reverse was happening. In other words, that the detectives had the construction soldiers and Irma under armed arrest. This plan would be much more difficult to execute if they all had to climb a rope ladder at the same time.
Schwarz quickly scrawled a note and thrust it under Tilsner’s nose. The one called Joachim flicked on a torch so Tilsner could read it.
‘Are you there, Tilsner? Will that work?’
‘Receiving you loud and clear, Comrade Oberst. There’s one problem with that. One of those arrested has suffered a twisted ankle. I was wondering,’ continued Tilsner, closely following Schwarz’s script, ‘if the Arktika has a helicopter on board? I believe it’s equipped with a helipad.’
‘That’s correct, Tilsner. What are you saying? That you need an airlift?’
‘That would be very helpful, Comrade Oberst.’
Tilsner’s never usually so free with the honorifics, thought Müller. Perhaps that was his way of alerting Jäger that something was awry. She didn’t get the feeling from his reactions that Jäger had picked up on it, however.
‘I’ll see if it can be arranged. I’ll come back on and let you know.’
Dieter mouthed a ‘good work’ message to Tilsner. What he got in reply was a sarcastic smile, which earned Müller’s deputy a jab in the ribs with the gun. Less than five minutes later, the radio crackled to life again.
‘Are you still there, Comrade Hauptmann?’
‘I am, Comrade Oberst, yes. What news?’
‘The crew were assessing how solid the ice looks in your part. They think it’ll be OK. Get ready. The helicopter shou
ld be landing in a couple of minutes’ time.’
*
Müller found herself being forced to play a role – at gunpoint, like her deputy. Schwarz asked her to repeat to him what she was to say to the helicopter captain once they were on board.
Dawn was starting to break, so the aircraft was clearly visible as it took off from the ship’s landing pad. Müller watched it pitch forward, rise in the air, then hover and settle on the ice in a whirlwind of snow. The construction soldiers – Dieter Schwarz and the one known as Joachim – jabbed her and Tilsner forward with their guns. The two detectives also had their Makarov pistols drawn, emptied of ammunition, and had been given instructions to hold them menacingly at the backs of Irma and the third construction soldier, Holger.
The convoy of people ran at a half trot towards the helicopter, Schwarz and Joachim bringing the sled of supplies at the rear. Müller had seen what some of the boxes contained at the harbour – rifles. In the few minutes before the helicopter’s touchdown she’d also seen Schwarz checking over some of the other boxes. Her heart was in her mouth when she saw what they contained.
*
Once everyone – and the weapons – was on board, the pilot asked for the cargo doors to be slid shut. Schwarz prompted Müller forwards to speak to the pilot, keeping his gun hidden, but letting Müller know with a surreptitious jab that it was there.
‘I have a request to make, Comrade,’ she asked in her halting schoolgirl Russian, last used in the far east of the Soviet Union on the trip to meet her father. ‘Would it be possible to fly us directly back to the coast. Would you have enough fuel for that?’
The pilot shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, tersely. ‘In any case, it would have to be authorised by the captain. I will take you to the ship and you can discuss it with him.’ As he was speaking, the pilot increased the rotor speed, then tilted the craft forward and they were airborne.
Müller asked one more question at Dieter Schwarz’s behest. ‘You’ll be pleased to get back to the Soviet Union, won’t you?’ she said, lightly. Almost as though she was making conversation. ‘Aren’t you usually at work in the Arctic?’
