The Fallen Eagles

by Geoffrey Davison

  ‘This is where we are now,’ the Inspector explained touching one of the crosses, ‘and where you are going to.’ He touched the cross in Klisters. ‘Between these two places are two huts. One up the valley beyond Gargellen and the other over the top of the Schlappinerjoch in Switzerland. These two huts are used by the border patrols. The French left their hut this morning. They are not due back for another four days. The Swiss will be occupying their hut tonight. Tomorrow they will continue their patrol south. You will use these two huts. The French one tonight, the Swiss one tomorrow.’ He looked up at Leeburg sensing his agitation.

  ‘Why the delay?’ Leeburg asked. ‘We could cross quite easily in the one night and bypass the Swiss position.’

  ‘You could,’ the Inspector said, ‘but I doubt whether Herr Schmid could keep up with you.’

  Perhaps, Leeburg thought, but if Schmid was desperate enough, he would keep up with him. He glanced across at Schmid and was surprised to see a look of boredom on his face. As if he wasn’t interested in the details. Or if he knew them already! It bothered Leeburg.

  ‘You will reach the French hut tonight,’ the Inspector continued, ‘and remain there during the hours of daylight. You will cross over the Schlappinerjoch into Switzerland tomorrow evening and remain in the Swiss hut until 10 a.m. the following morning. At ten, precisely, you will leave the hut and ski towards Schlappin on the red route. It is sign-posted.

  ‘On your way down you will come to a resting stage. You will remain there until you are joined by a party of skiers from the village. In charge of the party will be Franz Eiger, a Swiss skiing instructor. If anyone should question you, you will say that you are staying in Schlappin and left early in the morning. If they should ask where you are staying, tell them you are staying at the house of Frau Lessar. You, Schmid, are a Swiss banker from Geneva and Leeburg, you are a skiing instructor from Davos. Schmid hired you to take him on the mountains.’

  Leeburg listened to the Inspector’s briefing and thought how easy he made it all sound.

  ‘You will recognize Eiger,’ the Inspector added. ‘He will be wearing a red sweater with a badge, and a white ear band. He is a small, stocky man, with thick dark eyebrows. He has both your descriptions. He will address you Schmid as Johann, and you Leeburg as Paul. He will ask how you enjoyed the party the previous evening and invite you to join his group. This you will agree to and go with them into Schlappin. On the edge of the village is the house of Dr Brundt, a lawyer from Zurich. Eiger will point out the house to you. You will go to this house, where you will be met by another man called Schmid.’ The Inspector smiled and turned to Schmid. ‘You know this man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Schmid replied crisply, ‘and I know the house. It is as we planned.’

  ‘Then we need not enlarge upon it,’ the Inspector said and turned to Leeburg. ‘At this house you will also find what you are looking for.’

  ‘I hope it all goes as smoothly as you suggest,’ Leeburg commented.

  The Inspector made a resigned gesture. ‘The weather is settled. The French and Swiss patrols have followed a similar pattern of movement for three years. Our contacts have learned of nothing which suggests they will change their routine.’

  ‘And Eiger?’

  ‘He will be there. If he should fail to turn up, make your own way to Dr Brundt’s house.’

  ‘What about the police, or the military, in Klisters?’

  ‘The Swiss are having a good season,’ the Inspector said calmly. ‘They are bursting at the seams entertaining the Allied servicemen and their families, particularly the Americans. The police won’t notice two more tourists.’

  He was very confident of success, Leeburg thought, and wondered how many Swiss officials were on their payroll. The Inspector handed him the map. ‘You know these huts?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Leeburg replied. This was not the first time he had done this trip. It had almost become an annual event before the war. But then he had been accompanied by Erich Reitzer. Now he was going for the purpose of seeing him. ‘But never at night time,’ he added.

  ‘It is a clear night,’ the Inspector replied.

  On the map it doesn’t look very far, Leeburg thought, but on the ground it was going to be different. First a long climb up the valley and over the saddle. Then a snow wilderness of jagged peaks and iced valleys at heights of around two thousand metres above sea level. That was going to be the difficult part. If they went off course there, they would be in real danger. People couldn’t survive very long in that region without food and shelter. He folded the map and put it in his pocket. He knew the ground, but it was as well to be cautious.

  ‘You had better get changed,’ the Inspector said to Schmid.

  ‘Where are the skis?’ Leeburg asked.

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  ‘I’ll check the bindings,’ he said. He wanted to get away from them, to see what Karl had written on the piece of paper. Kurtz followed him towards the kitchen. At the doorway, Leeburg swung around on him. ‘I can manage myself,’ he snapped. ‘Go and help your friend to change.’

  Kurtz flushed up and turned away.

  Leeburg entered the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He quickly withdrew the piece of paper and looked at Karl’s scribble. ‘Reitzer is at the old Hotel Schweizerhof,’ the message read. ‘Schmid intends to kill you.’

  Leeburg screwed up the piece of paper as Sergeant Ulrich burst into the room.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Leeburg sneered. ‘I haven’t run away.’

  ‘You can’t afford to,’ the Sergeant retorted.

  Leeburg started to examine the skis, but his mind was furiously going over Karl’s message. Schmid was out to kill him! They were using him. The Inspector, Kurtz, Schmid — the lot. Perhaps Karl had intended to also, but not now. At least that was some consolation. They were brothers again.

  He adjusted the bindings to suit his boots. When the Inspector had been giving them their briefing he had thought that Schmid had not been very interested. Now he knew why. The Inspector and Schmid had already gone over the plan in the kitchen. A plan which included getting rid of Leeburg.

  Well, he thought, he would show them. Two could play at that game. He had the information he wanted. He knew where to find Reitzer, and he had never wanted to be a party to Schmid’s escape. It had repulsed him. Now he could wash his hands of it. When Schmid made his move he would be ready for him.

  He stood up.

  ‘I’m ready to leave any time your Herr Schmid is,’ he said and felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His mind felt easier. Karl was his brother again. He even felt excited at the challenge of the journey — and Schmid.

  CHAPTER 11

  Leeburg dug his ski sticks into the hard, ice crusted, surface of the snow, and turned and watched Schmid plod wearily towards him. As Leeburg had soon discovered, Schmid was not physically prepared for the ordeal. No longer was he the proud gauleiter. The climb up the valley was reducing him down to size, and Leeburg was going out of his way to make it more arduous. He wanted Schmid completely spent when they reached their first hut.

  He looked beyond Schmid to the expanse of moonlit snow which lay beneath them. Somewhere down there was the village of Gargellen and the farmhouse they had left about three hours earlier. The farmhouse and its warmth. Now they were facing an ice-cold wind which cut into the exposed part of their faces and made each step more laborious. They were crossing the basin at the head of the valley.

  For three hours they had climbed, the skins on their skis gripping the surface of the snow as they made wide traverses across the rising valley. It hadn’t taken Schmid long to fall back. At first he had complained about his boots, then his skis, and finally a chest complaint which was being aggravated by the shortage of oxygen at the high altitude. Leeburg had been unsympathetic as he was when Schmid came up to him.

  ‘I must rest,’ Schmid said wearily.

  ‘No,’ Leeburg ordered. ‘We will soon be at the hut.’
/>   He didn’t give Schmid time to argue. He moved off, sliding his skis over the snow. He knew that if Schmid stopped it would be even more difficult to get him moving again, and Leeburg was happier on the move. It took his mind away from the purpose of their journey and the eerie sound of the wind whistling through the peaks, and the feeling of isolation.

  Twice within a short distance Schmid fell and slid into the basin. Each time Leeburg went to his assistance. When eventually they reached the hut Schmid was all in. He stumbled inside and collapsed on the floor. Leeburg collected their skis and sticks and closed the door. There was an immediate feeling of peace and quiet. Suddenly the rigours of their journey were behind them.

  Leeburg saw Schmid on the floor, but felt no remorse for him. He brought out his torch and examined the hut. It was a room about three metres square. It had a table and two benches and a corner stove. He went over to the stove. Inside was the remains of some food. He felt it. The French hadn’t been gone long. He unpacked their sleeping-bags. From a flask he poured out two hot drinks and gave one to Schmid with some of their rations. Schmid grunted his thanks. The food and drink helped to revive him.

  Leeburg watched him shakily light a cigarette. He was all in and Leeburg was pleased.

  ‘When do we start again?’ Schmid asked.

  ‘Not before dusk. That will give you plenty of time to rest and sleep.’

  ‘Will it be as bad?’ Schmid asked, anxiously.

  ‘No,’ Leeburg replied. ‘There is not the long climb.’

  Schmid gave an audible sigh of relief.

  ‘I’m going to turn in,’ Leeburg said.

  ‘What about keeping watch?’ Schmid asked hurriedly.

  Leeburg shrugged. ‘If you want to, by all means.’

  ‘Is it necessary, damn you,’ Schmid snapped.

  ‘Not if the Inspector’s information is correct,’ Leeburg replied evenly.

  ‘And if it isn’t?’ Schmid persisted.

  Leeburg sighed. ‘It is most unlikely that anyone will travel in the dark. It is too dangerous. The nearest hut on the Austrian side, or the nearest village, is a good five hours journey away. So you can sleep in peace for that period. After that I’ll be awake.’

  Schmid grunted his satisfaction. He got hold of one of the sleeping-bags and placed it in a corner away from the door. Leeburg took off his boots and heavy outer clothing and made a bundle for his head. He got into his bag and lay in the darkness watching Schmid.

  Schmid followed Leeburg’s action, but as he lay in his bag he shuffled about. Leeburg watched him fumble inside his bag and place something under his pillow. Leeburg gave a satisfied smile and turned over on his side and pretended to sleep. But he didn’t sleep. He waited until Schmid was fast asleep and then he made his move.

  Leeburg awoke from his sleep during the morning. He got out of his sleeping-bag and looked out of the window. It was snowing heavily and the visibility was very poor. It would be suicidal to leave the hut under such conditions, he thought, but at least they would not be visited by the mountain troops.

  He returned to the warmth of his sleeping-bag and lay quite still, listening to Schmid’s heavy breathing. He recalled the warning Karl had given him and wondered when Schmid would make his move. Not today, he thought, or tonight. Not until he was close to his contact. Well, he would be ready for him now.

  He wondered what Karl was doing. He hadn’t liked the expression on his brother’s face. Karl was planning something. He had broken away from the Inspector, Kurtz and their organization, when he had given Leeburg the warning. They would soon realize who had betrayed them. Karl would know this. He had placed his own safety in jeopardy.

  When Schmid awoke, Leeburg silently watched him put on his boots and go outside the hut. He returned a short while later covered in snow. ‘How long will this last?’ he asked.

  ‘Could be hours, or days,’ Leeburg replied from his sleeping-bag.

  Schmid swore. ‘We haven’t got days,’ he growled. He flayed his body with his arms. ‘Can’t we light the stove?’ he snorted.

  ‘And tell the French that we have been here,’ Leeburg replied.

  Again Schmid swore.

  ‘Stay in your sleeping bag, it’s warmer,’ Leeburg said.

  Schmid wrapped his bag around him and sat at the table. ‘What about some food?’ he growled.

  ‘We’ll eat later,’ Leeburg said. ‘It’s a long day.’

  Schmid opened his mouth as if to protest, but changed his mind. He lit a cigarette instead.

  The two men fell into an uneasy silence which lasted until dusk. They had nothing in common and no respect, or liking, for one another. They spoke to each other only when the situation demanded. Schmid was edgy, anxiously watching the sky for a break. He smoked incessantly, a luxury only for those who were well connected with the black market.

  Leeburg wondered where he had managed to hide himself during the past years. Why he had not made his break before now. He was a wanted man with a price on his head. How had he been able to keep out of their grasp for so long? And where was he going to? Where were they all scurrying to? The only clue he got to the answer to his questions came in one of their brief conversations. It was after Schmid had complained about the cold.

  ‘I’ll be glad to get away from this infernal snow,’ he growled, ‘to some heat.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ Leeburg asked.

  ‘You would like to know, wouldn’t you?’ Schmid sneered.

  ‘I’m surprised anyone will have you,’ Leeburg retorted.

  ‘There are a lot of things that would surprise you,’ Schmid scowled. ‘Not everyone has forgotten the good days.’

  Good days! My God, Leeburg thought.

  ‘We have friends who welcome us, and there are those who want us back,’ Schmid said boastfully. ‘And we have the necessary finances.’

  Leeburg showed his disgust by turning his back on him. He knew Schmid’s record. He was one of the fanatics. Reinhard the butcher. He wasn’t a man to reason with, or argue. Nor was he a man to pity. He was a man to hate, and Leeburg had a lot of hate in him for the man. It was because of men like Reinhard that he was there in the hut trying to salvage some future when he could have been at home with Elka. The sudden thought of her made him ache inside. He desperately wanted to get back to her, to be with her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Schmid asked mockingly. ‘Does the fact that we still have a destiny to fulfil upset you?’ He gave a mocking laugh. Leeburg clenched his fists and remained silent. ‘Oh, I know your type,’ Schmid continued. ‘When everything was going well, you waved the flag, but as soon as the fortunes change you hide behind a plea of ignorance and try to save your necks. Well, you are here, aren’t you? What is your price for that? What is your share of the money?’

  ‘I’m here for a reason you wouldn’t understand,’ Leeburg fumed, ‘but remember, Schmid, you need me. So shut up!’

  Schmid flushed up, but he took the warning and the two men fell back into their uneasy silence.

  At dusk the snow was still falling and the darkness descended like an inky black curtain. Leeburg stood in the doorway of the hut looking for a break in the sky.

  ‘Well?’ Schmid asked anxiously.

  Leeburg sighed and shook his head. ‘Too risky,’ he said. ‘We could very easily get lost.’ He closed the door of the hut. Both of them wanted to be on their way. To be kept in the hut for another night could prove dangerous. But it would be equally foolhardy to attempt to cross the Schlappinerjoch in a snowstorm.

  It was much better later when it stopped snowing. Instantly, they collected their gear together and left the hut. Leeburg’s remark to Schmid the previous evening, that the journey would prove less tiresome than from the farmhouse, proved only partially correct. Although they didn’t have the long climb up the valley, they did have an ice-cold wind to contend with, and the terrain was strange and unfamiliar.

  Schmid handled himself better than he had the previous evening, and the heavy
fall of snow made the conditions easier for him. But the high altitude made physical actions very laborious. This, added to the hidden dangers which lurked beneath the carpet of snow, slowed down their progress. As the night wore on, the cold and isolation made them both irritable.

  When they crossed the Schlappinerjoch and started their descent, they found their task even more hazardous. To add to the difficulties, the hut they were making for had been almost hidden by the fall of snow and it was only by back-tracking that Leeburg was able to find it. Once inside, the two men were too physically spent and relieved to either congratulate themselves, or even to discuss their position.

  When Leeburg was able to examine their bare shelter more closely, he found no sign that it had been recently occupied as they had in the French position. If the Inspector’s information about the movements of the Swiss border patrol was correct, then their visit to this outpost was imminent!

  ‘The meeting place is close to this hut,’ Schmid said as a general statement.

  Leeburg handed him his sleeping-bag and shared out some of the food. They were in Switzerland now. The pickup was only a short distance away, on the route into Schlappin.

  ‘In which direction?’ Schmid asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Leeburg lied. ‘I can’t tell until daylight.’

  ‘You have a map and compass,’ Schmid persisted.

  ‘You’ll get there as arranged,’ Leeburg snapped. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  Schmid shrugged and let the matter drop.

  They settled down for their second night on the mountains. This time Schmid was a long time before falling sleep. Leeburg fell into a light, restless sleep. He was going to have to be on his guard now. If Karl’s suspicions were correct, Schmid would make his move before they left to join Eiger.

  With the dawn came a clear sky. All around them was a vast snow-packed terrain. Far beneath them, hidden in the valley, was Klisters. Schmid was up and about early. He asked to see the map and stood outside the hut studying their position.