The Longest Winter

by Mary Jane Staples

  He held James off at the end of his rod. James brushed it aside.

  ‘Damn me,’ said Major Moeller as the fellow splashed closer.

  ‘Sorry, but we need help,’ panted James, and as the German fixed him with a disapproving blue eye he resorted to the obvious to gain the right attention. ‘My dear sir, if I may at this desperate point in their lives, I should like to present to you Baroness Sophie von Korvacs of Vienna and her sister Baroness Anne.’

  ‘What? What?’ Major Moeller was flabbergasted. Baronesses? Those creatures? Two men standing on the right-hand bank viewed the river meeting with the stolidity of good and faithful servants. James gasped out the substance of the story. Anne and Sophie stood wearily in the swirling waters, faint to the point of collapse.

  ‘So you see?’ finished James.

  ‘Good God,’ said Major Moeller. He eyed James keenly and took another look at the young ladies, a shrewder look. Anne summoned up a little smile.

  ‘It’s all true, I assure you,’ she said.

  ‘Good God,’ said the major again.

  ‘Their father,’ said James, ‘is Baron Ernst von Korvacs, and the family is residing at present in Ilidze.’

  ‘Major Frederic Moeller, at your service, my dear young ladies,’ said the German, and bowed in his waders and clicked his heels muffledly on the riverbed. ‘My car is up on the road. Gunther and Herman, my servants there, will render every assistance. So will I. Amazing. Astonishing. What the devil is the world coming to?’

  Anne drooped. James slung the rifle, stooped and lifted her. He carried her out of the river and on to the bank.

  ‘There, you’re safe now, I think,’ he said and set her down.

  Major Moeller gave his arm to Sophie and waded through the water with her. She leaned heavily. He shifted his arm and put it around her.

  ‘The damned scoundrels,’ he muttered, ‘but have no more worries, Baroness.’

  ‘James has been so good,’ she said faintly.

  ‘Ah, that’s James, is it? Thought he was going to shoot me when he first showed up.’ A little chuckle from the major. ‘Like him better now he’s got that rifle slung.’

  They grouped on the bank, Anne and Sophie almost dead on their feet. The major’s servants hid their disapproval under impassive masks as they saw the assorted flotsam their employer had collected. Taking off his waterproof jacket the major wrapped it around Sophie’s shoulders, then requested Gunther to lend his own jacket to the other baroness.

  Baroness? Gunther gulped. He did not know whether to bow or fall down. He passed his jacket to James, who put it over Anne’s shoulders.

  ‘If you’ll permit,’ said Major Moeller to James, ‘Gunther and Herman will carry the baronesses up to the car. It’s not far but far enough. There are coats in the car.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said James. He felt elation born of a relief intoxicating. ‘Major, could you drive the baronesses to Ilidze?’

  ‘With the greatest pleasure,’ said the major.

  ‘Thank you,’ said James again. ‘Er – do you have any food?’ He had seen a small hamper nearby.

  ‘What a fool I am.’ The major slapped a thigh in annoyance at himself. ‘Of course there is food. Rolls, butter, meat and yes, something even better. Some schnapps. Gunther?’ Gunther brought the hamper and opened it. The major swooped and drew out the brown schnapps bottle. Then he looked embarrassed. ‘I have the failings of an old soldier,’ he said apologetically, ‘I drink from the bottle. I have no glasses. In such charming company I am ashamed of myself.’

  ‘No, you are very kind,’ said Anne, ‘and we are very grateful.’ Only the bliss of at last feeling safe kept her upright, and only her famished need of any form of sustenance made her take the bottle of fiery schnapps. Two mouthfuls turned her hot, pink and scorched. She gave the bottle to Sophie, who stared a little vaguely at it, then put it to her lips. The flame it lit in her throat made her clap a hand to her coughing mouth.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped.

  James drank gratefully. The liquor put a ring of heat around his exhilaration. Thank God for Major Moeller. The man looked a pillar of strength.

  ‘We’ll take the food to the car,’ said the German, ‘and you can eat on the way to Ilidze. We should go at once or those damp clothes will be the death of you.’

  ‘Yes, now,’ said James. He looked back down the river. There were no trees, only scrub and bush. ‘I think I must wait for Ferenac.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Sophie.

  Major Moeller nodded to Gunther. The sturdy servant lifted Sophie into his arms. She cried out. Herman bowed courteously to Anne. She was looking at James, who was squinting into the distance.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ she said, ‘you must come back with us.’

  ‘Someone must take Ferenac,’ said James.

  ‘No, don’t you dare,’ cried Sophie, ‘I will never forgive such idiocy. Major Moeller, stop him, make him come with us or we will stay too.’

  Major Moeller looked thoughtful. He nodded to Herman and Herman stooped and took Anne up into his arms. The major picked up the hamper and placed it with considerate care in Anne’s keeping. She cuddled it.

  ‘Rest assured, my dear baronesses,’ said the major, ‘nothing foolish will be done and nothing foolish will happen. Gunther and Herman will take very good care of you meanwhile. Gunther, see that you drive them to Ilidze as quickly as possible. Then return at once for us. I will stay with our young man.’

  ‘No, no one is to stay!’ Sophie kicked as Gunther began to carry her up a winding path. ‘Oh, no! James, please!’

  ‘I shan’t be long, Sophie,’ said James.

  ‘James,’ said Anne, ‘you had better not be.’

  He watched with the major as the girls were carried up the incline, Sophie’s last look one of anguished reproach.

  ‘You think these scoundrels will come as far as this?’ asked the major.

  ‘I think Ferenac will definitely want to know if we’ve slipped him. He’ll come all the way.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the major, and did not seem unhappy. He rubbed his chin. He was silver-moustached, healthily middle-aged and ruddily tanned. ‘Permit me?’ he said, indicating the rifle. James handed it over. He had not wanted to use it while the girls were with him. It would have drawn counter-fire. He had looked upon it as their last resort in the event of their being cornered. He would have had no choice but to use it then, although he would not have fancied his chances in a shooting match with Ferenac and his men. But out of his elation had come a lively desire to wait for the man who had relentlessly hunted them. A man who could plot assassination was sometimes, at best, only a misguided hothead, but a man who could hand over two innocent young women to someone like Avriarches was a first cousin to the devil himself.

  Major Moeller beamed. He had broken the rifle open, examined the breech, cartridges and mechanism. He snapped the weapon shut. He caressed the smooth stock.

  ‘From the Schroeder factory,’ he said, ‘and will suit us very well.’

  ‘I hope so, it will need to,’ said James. He could see them now, four of them, moving against the background of sunlit rocks and scrub. ‘You are going to stand with me, Major?’

  ‘If I may have that pleasure.’

  ‘I’m very grateful.’ James thought he and the German should be able to hold the men off long enough to ensure the escape of the girls. But Ferenac must be downed. To be certain of hitting him they would have to let him get close enough. ‘There they are.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Major Moeller as he spotted the figures. A little light of battle glinted in his blue eyes. ‘My dear James – if I may call you that – might I suggest we take up a tactical position? I presume you did not mean we should literally stand.’

  ‘The manoeuvres,’ said James, as he and the major slipped down behind rocks, ‘do you know when they finish?’

  ‘Manoeuvres? What manoeuvres?’ The major was eyeing with interest the approaching figures and the field of fire. ‘Oh,
the Austrian. They’re finishing tomorrow and the Archduke Franz Ferdinand is arriving in Sarajevo the day after.’

  ‘That means in two days.’ James mused. ‘Somehow, I think our friend Ferenac now wants to be there as well. I think he will have given up any ideas of taking the archduke on in Ilidze.’

  ‘I see,’ said the major, ‘he’s a bomb-thrower extraordinary, is he? It might be better to leave him to the police, perhaps?’

  ‘It might,’ said James, ‘but for purely personal reasons I’d like to make sure he doesn’t escape them.’

  ‘Quite,’ said the major. He smiled. ‘But shall we take him between us? You point him out, my dear fellow, and I’ll bring him down. On my honour, I shan’t fail you.’

  ‘Well, if it does get desperate,’ said James, ‘I’ve got this.’ He brought out the revolver.

  ‘A nice toy,’ said the major, ‘but don’t wave it about, dear chap.’

  ‘I think I’m going to like you,’ smiled James.

  They waited and watched. James lifted his head a fraction higher. Yes, four of them. All very distinct now. One was a big wide man, wearing only boots and long vest. Avriarches. Ferenac had found him, then. But the Greek moved stiffly, as if his legs pained him. He lurched rather than walked, and there was a perceptible wildness about him. There, thought James, is a man in pain but so bloodthirsty for vengeance that he was remorselessly driving himself to find it.

  ‘Four,’ whispered James.

  ‘Well, we have six rounds, enough for all of them,’ said the major.

  ‘More than that,’ said James, and opening up his damp jacket began to extract the cartridges from the belt around his waist.

  ‘Reserves?’ The major looked happy. ‘What a fine thoughtful fellow you are.’ He was cheerfully cool as he laid the rifle over the rocks and sighted it. ‘Shall we take the fat one first?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘And then, which is Ferenac now? Can you point him out?’

  James peered. There was the bandaged man and two of the friends he had muttered with at Joja’s tavern. Ferenac was not there. That was a disappointment and a frustration. And a cause for deep thought. Ferenac had either chanced it and gone on his way to Ilidze or Sarajevo, or had turned tail. But then his men would have turned tail with him. Or had that roaring brigand, in his compulsive need for revenge, impressed them into his service? He was the kind of man to take all other men by the scruff of their necks.

  ‘Damnation,’ said James, ‘Ferenac is missing.’

  ‘Or lurking, perhaps? Such men are crafty, my friend. What of these others? Are they important without him?’

  ‘I rather think we’re committed now,’ said James.

  ‘Quite so.’

  The four men were only a hundred yards away now. Avriarches with his vast build dwarfed the others. Dobrovic had a rifle, so did the Greek, who had obviously insisted on commandeering someone else’s. Major Moeller observed the targets with professional interest. They were out in the open and it would take them expensive seconds to reach the shelter of the nearest rocks. With the rifle butt firm in his shoulder he curled a steady finger around the trigger.

  ‘It is agreed, then?’ he murmured. ‘We merely bring them down?’

  ‘I think so,’ said James, ‘we’ll leave the authorities to decide which of them should be hanged.’

  ‘Very wise, my dear fellow,’ said Major Moeller. In relaxed comfort he sighted and gently squeezed. The shot blasted the air with sound, echoing like a crack of thunder. Avriarches bellowed, threw up his hands, rocked back and pitched forward, a bullet in his right thigh. The bolt snapped back, then cleared the breech. The other three men stood in shock for a moment. Major Moeller squeezed again. Dobrovic plunged. In rapid succession came two more shots, each deadly in its accuracy. One smashed the third man’s kneecap. The fourth man took his in the ribs as he made a wild dive for shelter. A revolver fell from his hand and clattered. Dobrovic, a bullet crippling his left leg, writhed on the ground and clawed his way into scrub. Avriarches sat up shouting. He staggered to his feet, lurched like a drunk and fell headlong. He roared like a mad bull.

  ‘My sainted aunt,’ said James in admiration.

  Major Moeller smiled modestly.

  ‘Not too difficult at this distance. My dear James,’ he said, ‘I’ve won far more trophies for shooting than medals for campaigns. Had I missed any of them I should have asked you to blow my brains out. My boy, my thanks for such a splendid weapon.’ He patted the rifle with all the pleasure of a lover.

  ‘Thank Avriarches,’ said James, ‘it’s his.’

  ‘Is it? If you took such a piece from a man like that it’s a great spoil of war and I regard it as yours.’

  James, watching the wounded men crawling and heaving into what shelter they could find, said, ‘Don’t lose sight of the fact that they’ve a couple of rifles themselves.’

  ‘And some nasty holes to go with them,’ said the major cheerfully. ‘We’ll stay here, my dear chap, it’s quite comfortable, don’t you think? A little schnapps until Gunther and Herman return? They’ll not return alone, depend on it. Your charming baronesses will see to that.’

  ‘Well, I suppose while we stay here our hurt friends will have to stay there,’ said James. ‘Schnapps, you said?’

  ‘Here,’ said the major and pulled the bottle from his waders.

  ‘Herr Major, your hand,’ said James. They shook hands solemnly. James put the bottle to his mouth. ‘Your health.’ The schnapps was a further elation and mitigated to a pleasant extent the disappointment of not having bagged Ferenac.

  ‘To you, my young friend,’ smiled the major, and took a generous mouthful. ‘And to your brave young ladies.’ He took another. ‘God in heaven, what a story, what a fine day’s sport, even if you did wreck my fishing.’

  A frenzied shot came whistling over their heads as they lay comfortably positioned inside their stone defences. Major Moeller refilled the rifle. Avriarches and Ferenac’s friends were huddled behind cover. James heard the groans of Dobrovic, who had more than his wrecked face to worry about now, and he also heard the animal-like sounds of the maddened Avriarches. The brigand’s rifle swung as he raised it, his booted foot sticking out. The major fired first. His shot split the sole of the boot and Avriarches rolled in agony, his rifle threshing the air.

  ‘Can’t have Fatty making a nuisance of himself,’ chirped the major. ‘More schnapps, James?’

  They shared the bottle. They watched and conversed. Major Moeller was living out his retirement in Vienna. A widower, he preferred the lighter atmosphere of Vienna to the martial pomp of Berlin, and professed himself captivated by the elegance and hospitality of Viennese women.

  ‘Not so – ah – majestic in form as the bountiful matrons of Berlin, you know. Exquisite in the dance. I’m not yet too old, I hope.’

  ‘For what?’ murmured James.

  ‘For waltzing. One can be on the retired list but not in the senile class, eh? What do you say, shall we drink to the ladies of Vienna?’

  ‘Why not? Quality before quantity, shall we say?’

  ‘Well put,’ said the major, passing the bottle. A bullet sailed by. And another. A third smacked stone. ‘Fidgety devils.’

  ‘Nervous, I think,’ said James, keeping a cautious watch on men in pain, discomfort and rage. He returned the bottle.

  ‘English, my boy?’ queried the major.

  ‘Half. On my mother’s side, God bless her. On my father’s side, Scottish.’

  ‘Ah, that accounts for it.’ Major Moeller brushed his moustache. ‘Fine fighters, the Scots. Remember Waterloo?’

  ‘Not very clearly,’ said James, enjoying his change of fortune, ‘it was a little before my time.’

  Dobrovic fired. The bullet smashed chips from sheltering stone. The major, with due regard for the stock of reserve ammunition, indulged in the luxury of a single response. Dobrovic’s rifle, cocked over stone, was blasted from his hands. His yelling curse was like a screa
m. James, in new admiration for such shooting, patted the major’s arm.

  ‘Admirable day for the Scots, James. Waterloo. Thunderous. And old Blucher and his Prussians, eh? Formidable, the Prussians. Confidentially, never argue with one. Very proud and sensitive men. I’m from Hesse myself. Had one idiot challenge me ten years ago. Not being an idiot myself I insisted that the choice of weapons was mine. Chose rifles. At a hundred paces. Took his regimental helmet clean off. Hope you don’t think I’m bragging, my dear chap.’

  ‘I might have, half an hour ago, but not now,’ said James.

  The sound of another rifle cracked and sang. A bullet hit the ground to their right. James turned his head, the major trained his eye. There were men moving along the foothills on the other side of the river.

  ‘Flanking party?’ The major seemed interested but not perturbed.

  ‘I think they probably belong to Avriarches, the big chap,’ said James, ‘and I suppose that could be their idea, to pass us, cross the river and then come up behind us.’

  ‘Not a great problem,’ said the major. ‘May I suggest, James, that you watch our pained friends and I’ll watch our new ones?’

  He shifted his position to cover their flank. Bullets suddenly began to whistle around their bastion. The major, well aware it was covering fire, kept his head down and his eyes trained, watching the moving men as they negotiated the rocky foothills quickly and nimbly. He spotted one man on the hill itself, squeezed on a ledge, a rifle aimed.

  ‘Keep down, James, he’s looking for heads.’

  James sank lower. At least they were unlikely to be rushed by the crippled band, and one could take one’s eye off them from time to time. As he depressed his body a bullet screamed over his shoulder. The major fired as the man on the ledge jerked in the next cartridge. The man visibly shuddered and he lay groaning and perilously perched. The major resighted and as the first of the line of moving men reached a point directly opposite, he took him calmly and precisely. The impact of the bullet had the same effect as a blow. The man thudded backwards. His comrades rushed forward and dragged him into cover. A single man darted to make ground. The Major waited until obstructive rocks fractionally checked the impetus, then, ignoring the covering fire, brought the man to a halt. The black-clad brigand, a gypsy scarf around his head, seemed to stop in surprise and to poise himself for a new dash. Then he slowly spun and fell.