As the train chugged closer through the rain and mist, Piecke jumped up and down, frantically waving his arms. From the back seat of the Mercedes-Benz, Major Richter watched him, a cruel smile on his face. He thought Piecke a complete idiot, and was considering transferring him to one of the punishment battalions on the front lines of the Eastern Front. He would have done it long ago if he’d had a decent replacement for Piecke, but there was a manpower shortage in the SS as everywhere else, and you had to take whoever personnel in Berlin assigned.
Piecke, noticing that the train was slowing down, waved his arms jubilantly and stepped off the tracks. The train decreased its speed further as it came closer. Piecke could see the boxcars and oil cars, and the SS soldiers in the cab and sitting on the boxcars immediately behind the coal car. Steam hissed from the wheels as they ground to a stop. A young SS lieutenant, his pistol and holster hanging from his waist, jumped down from the train.
Major Richter got out of the Mercedes-Benz and walked toward the lieutenant, who threw the Hitler salute. Richter returned it. “Lieutenant Heilbronn, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any problems so far?”
“Nothing whatever, sir.”
“Good, You have a field radio with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is it?”
“With my runner in the cab.”
“Good. Well, we might as well be moving along.” He turned to Piecke. “You stay with Grunwald. Keep your ears open for radio calls, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get going.”
“Yes, sir.”
Grunwald and Piecke ran back to the Mercedes-Benz. Richter marched to the cab of the locomotive with Lieutenant Heilbronn, who stood politely to the side as the major climbed the ladder. Richter strutted around the small cab of the train, smiling with satisfaction at the proud-looking young SS men. It was good to be among his own again; he considered the SS to be a true elite guard, the finest police and military organization the world had ever seen, with the very best racial characteristics, too—except for an occasional mistake like Piecke. Now he saw the clear-eyed young private with the field radio, which was similar to the American walkie-talkie. The engineer and his assistant wore the fatigue uniforms of the German Army. Richter was glad there were no Frenchmen on board, because he didn’t trust them.
“May I speak, sir?” asked the engineer, who was around forty years old.
“Speak.”
“I hope we don’t have to stay here too long, because according to my schedule I should be in Vernisset by six-nineteen.”
“Then get moving. What are you waiting for?”
The engineer looked at his assistant, and they both started pulling levers and turning knobs. The locomotive huffed and puffed as it began to move. Richter turned to Heilbronn. “Tell your men to keep their eyes peeled straight ahead. I’m expecting an act of sabotage by local terrorists.”
“Yes, sir.” Heilbronn turned to one of his men and told him to pass along the orders that Richter had given him. The soldier climbed up to the coal car and walked back to tell the others.
The train gathered speed and headed east toward Vernisset. Richter held onto the window and watched the scenery whiz past. Now that he was on the train, he was certain everything was under control. He was ready for those terrorists and he’d show them a thing or two.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Did you just hear something?” Mahoney asked Leduc.
“Like what?”
“Ssshh,” Mahoney said. He sat straight and cupped his hands to his ears. Very faintly he could hear the chugging of a train, and it was coming from the direction of Athanase. “It’s coming,” he said.
“I can’t hear anything,” Leduc said.
“You will,” Mahoney got to his feet. “All right everybody—the train is coming!” he shouted. “Keep your heads down and don’t move around too much.
When it comes close, pay attention to me and be ready for anything! Any questions?”
Nobody said anything.
“Load up your weapons and keep your mouths shut!” Mahoney said. Then he dropped down behind the boulder and checked his carbine. He ejected the ammo clip and rammed it in its slot again. Working the bolt, he fed a round into the chamber. He made sure the safety was on, then loosened the pins on his hand grenades, so he’d be able to pull them out easily if he had to. He glanced at Odette and saw she was doing the same thing. Leduc was checking the clips of ammunition in his pockets. He was a thin man with a nose like somebody’s finger. Mahoney suddenly felt a surge of comradely affection for him, because he always did what he was told, and could be relied upon in a pinch.
Everybody could hear the chugging of the locomotive now. The sound rumbled across the valleys and through the forests. Mahoney cautiously raised his head and looked east, but couldn’t see anything yet. The horrible weather cut down on his visibility. He, like the others, was soaked to the skin, but the mission would be over soon. The train would go into the tunnel, trip the wires, set off the explosives, and ram into the old locomotive. That should be the end of this railway line for a while, and then they could return to the monastery at St. Pierre. They’d have a big supper and he’d fall asleep dreaming about bearded Carthusian monks chanting their daily prayers.
About a quarter of a mile away, the train sped through the rain toward the tunnel. The SS men were scanning the surrounding area, watching for suspicious movements. Richter was beginning to worry that nothing would happen and he’d look like a fool for ordering out the SS and stopping the train. Colonel Spengle at La Roche-Guyon would reprimand him, and all the other officers who were jealous of him would laugh up their sleeves. Richter shuddered to think of it.
“Cold, sir?” asked Heilbronn.
“Yes,” Richter replied. “Filthy weather, eh?”
“It has to stop sooner or later, sir.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Richter thrust his head out of the window and looked straight ahead. Droplets of rain peppered his face and he squinted, but it looked as though the train was headed for some kind of tunnel.
He pulled his head back in and turned to the engineer. “Is that a tunnel straight ahead?”
“Yes, sir. Quite a large one too.”
“Ah.” Richter was reaching for his pack of cigarettes, when suddenly a thought struck him. What better place to ambush the train than in that tunnel! If the terrorists stole that old locomotive in St. Jean-de-Daye and switched it on to these tracks, it might even be sitting in that tunnel at this very moment!
“Stop the train!” Richter screamed.
Heilbronn looked at Richter as though he’d lost his mind.
Richter rushed forward and grabbed the frightened engineer by his shoulders. “I said stop this train!”
“Yes, sir,” said the conductor, his lips trembling.
He pulled the appropriate lever and sparks flew from the wheels as they skidded on the iron of the tracks.
“What’s wrong, sir?” Heilbronn asked as the train slowed down.
“I think there might be an ambush waiting for us in that tunnel up ahead,” Richter replied, spittle flecked on his lips.
Heilbronn poked his head out the window and saw the tunnel. He agreed that it would be a good place to stage an ambush. “Should I send a patrol forward to search the tunnel, sir?” he asked, drawing his head back in.
“Yes, and do it right away.”
There were four SS men in the cab; Heilbronn ordered them to go ahead and reconnoiter that tunnel. He told them to go all the way through to the other side, and then fire two shots to signal that the tunnel was clear.
The train came to a stop about a hundred yards from the tunnel. Richter took the field radio from an SS man, and then the four SS men jumped to the ground. With their submachine guns at the ready, and rain pounding on their helmets, they advanced cautiously toward the mouth of the tunnel. Richter nervously watched them go, half wishing
there was an ambush awaiting them, and half wishing there wasn’t.
Meanwhile, behind the boulders approximately halfway between the train and the tunnel, the guerillas were gathered around Mahoney, who was watching the scene unfold. “Oh-oh,” Mahoney said, sliding down and facing the others.
“What’s wrong?” asked Leduc.
“They’re on to us.”
“What!”
“You heard me. Shaddup while I think.”
Everyone crowded around and looked at Mahoney, who closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow. He had to do something before those four Germans got into the tunnel and found the locomotive.
He opened his eyes. “We’ll have to take that train,” he said grimly, “and we’ll have to take it fast.”
“Take the train?” Agoult asked.
“That’s right.” Mahoney pointed his finger at Agoult. “And you’re going to drive it into the tunnel.”
“Drive it into the tunnel!”
“You heard me. It’s the only way to blow the damn thing up. You, me, Cranepool, and Leduc are going to charge that train and take over the cab. The rest of you will cover us. Agoult, you’ll get that train moving and drive it full speed ahead into the tunnel. At the last moment we’ll jump off, and let the train keep going. Maybe you can jam the controls so the others can’t stop it. Do you think you can do that?”
Agoult took one of the hand grenades out of his pocket. “I think this would jam the controls.”
“Good,” Mahoney replied. “All right, we’ll wait until those four SS men are in the tunnel, so they’ll be four less for us to worry about. When I say hit it, it’s up and over and at ‘em. Any questions?”
No one said anything.
“Okay, get ready to hit ‘em.”
Mahoney and the guerillas huddled behind the boulders, rechecking their weapons. Their mouths were dry and hands tensed in anticipation of the shooting that would take place soon. Mahoney knew that the success of his entire mission would depend on what occurred within the next half hour. There were more SS men on that train than he had guerillas, but he’d have the element of surprise on his side. He figured his side had a fifty-fifty chance of coming out on top.
The four SS men entered the tunnel. Mahoney wanted to make sure that they were pretty far in before he launched the attack, but not so far as to be able to find the booby traps and perhaps disarm them. He’d give them a minute—that should be enough. Looking at his two watches, he measured the second hands clicking around the dials. Cranepool, Leduc and Agoult were crowded around him, their knuckles white on their carbines. The others had taken positions behind the boulders, ready to begin firing when Mahoney gave the signal.
The second hands crept around the dials and finally returned to where they’d begun. Mahoney took a deep breath. “Hit ‘em!” he screamed.
He leapt up over the boulders, saw the train in front of him, and began firing from the waist as he charged the cab. Leduc, Cranepool and Agoult were behind him, firing from the waist also. Behind the boulders, the other guerillas sprayed the train with lead. SS men, standing on the boxcars looking toward the tunnel, were taken by surprise. Some fell down, clutching their bodies. As the sound of the gunfire echoed across the valley, the SS men who hadn’t been hit dropped to their bellies and tried to return the fire, but the guerillas had them pinned down.
Mahoney pumped his legs hard as he ran to the train. A face and submachine gun appeared at the window of the cab and Mahoney opened fire on it. His bullets tore the face into sausage meat, and another head popped up from behind a wall of the cab. Cranepool let him have it, and the SS man went spinning backwards, his blood spurting at the sky as he fell down into the space between the cab and the coal car.
Richter cowered behind the wall of the cab, his teeth chattering. He had his service pistol in one hand and the field radio strapped around his shoulder. He’d never been in a combat situation before and couldn’t believe this was happening to him. His life actually was in danger for the first time ever, and he was frozen with fear.
Mahoney jumped onto the cab, saw Richter, and kicked him in the face. Richter went flying out of the cab and down the embankment on the far side of the train. When Cranepool, Leduc, and Agoult piled into the cab, Agoult went directly to the controls and pushed the lever forward. The train began to move. The others stood at the back of the cab, their weapons ready to shoot anything that came toward them over the coal car. A head with a German helmet appeared and received three bursts of carbine fire. The head disappeared and the helmet went soaring into the sky.
Agoult rammed the lever all the way forward, and in response the wheels screeched and blew sparks off the iron rails. The train moved forward and gathered speed. Mahoney watched the cars behind him through the sights of his carbine. Agoult saw the tunnel coming up fast.
“Jump!” he bellowed.
Mahoney, Cranepool, and Leduc leapt off the train and went rolling down the gully. Agoult took out a hand grenade, propped it against the lever, and pulled the pin. The train was thundering toward the tunnel, and he let go of the handle of the grenade. It popped into the air as Agoult dove out the side of the cab. The grenade exploded, demolishing the inside of the cab.
The train roared into the tunnel full speed ahead. The four German soldiers inside panicked; some ran toward the train, others away from it, but they didn’t have a chance. The train plowed into them, knocking them onto the tracks and rolling over them.
Three SS men were on the train, wondering what was going on. They were between boxcars and they assumed that their own people still had control of the train. One of them thought he’d try to move forward and make contact with Lieutenant Heilbronn, not realizing that Lieutenant Heilbronn was no more than a bloody, spongy mass.
As the train sped forward it tripped Mahoney’s wires. The grenades erupted, detonating the TNT, and the locomotive smacked into the blast, carrying the oil cars with it. There was a huge, thunderous explosion. The whole mountain shuddered. Fissures appeared in it and bolts of lightning came shooting out, carrying with them rocks and pieces of steel. After a series of avalanches, the mountain imploded, falling inward on the railroad tracks and covering them with an impenetrable wall of earth, rocks, and steel.
Mahoney was on his knees in a ditch, watching the spectacular demolition. His heart filled with joy because he knew that nothing would move through that tunnel for a few weeks at least, maybe longer. In fact, if the Germans wanted to reopen that line of the railroad, they’d have to build an entirely new tunnel.
Mahoney walked backwards to where the train had been stopped, and saw his guerillas out on the tracks, taking submachine guns and ammunition from the dead SS men.
“We lose anybody?” Mahoney asked.
Baudraye looked up from the body of a dead SS man. “Bixiou is dead, and Cerizet is hurt very badly.”
Mahoney looked around and could not see them. “Where are they?”
“Behind the rocks.”
Mahoney trudged to the rocks and went behind them. Odette and Louise were bending over Cerizet whose stomach was a sea of blood.
“How is he?” Mahoney asked.
Odette looked up and shook her head. Mahoney bent down and felt Cerizet’s pulse. It was weak and unsteady. Cerizet’s eyes were closed and he was unconscious. Mahoney glanced to his side and saw Bixiou, who’d taken a bullet between his eyes, which were as wide open as they’d been the second he’d been shot.
Mahoney looked at Cerizet again. “Can we move him?”
“He’s bleeding very badly,” Odette said. “We’ll have to make him a stretcher.”
Cranepool, Leduc and Agoult showed up, with Agoult limping. He’d landed wrong when he fell from the train and had sprained his ankle. Mahoney lit up a cigarette and thought that they’d better get moving fast, because that explosion was sure to attract attention.
“Cranepool,” he said, “help me make a stretcher.”
They moved into the woods and with their bayon
ets chopped down two young birch trees, trimming off the branches until the trees were two long poles. Then they arranged Agoult’s poncho between the two poles, tied it on, and moved Cerizet onto the makeshift stretcher. Mahoney looked at his watches: it was seven-thirty.
“Leduc, c’mere,” he said.
Leduc came over as Mahoney took out his map of the area. He placed his big forefinger on their approximate position and looked at the little towns nearby.
“Where do you think we should go?” he asked Leduc.
Louise said: “Rouget, my hometown, is close by. We could go there. They have a little hospital and a doctor for Cerizet.”
“Anybody else got a better idea?” Mahoney asked.
They shrugged or shook their heads.
“Okay, then it’s Rouget,” Mahoney said, folding the map and stuffing it inside his shirt. “Cranepool, grab the other end of this stretcher, will you?”
Cranepool grabbed the front end, and they picked up Cerizet and the stretcher. Leduc and Louise led the way. They moved toward the railroad tracks, crossing them and going down the incline on the other side, heading in a northerly direction toward the peaceful little village of Rouget. As they entered the woods, Mahoney glanced back at the ruined tunnel. Little trails of black smoke rose from the mountain into the sky, and the mouth of the tunnel was heaped with rocks blown out by the explosion.
Mission accomplished, Mahoney thought, as he followed Cranepool into the woods.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pretending to be dead, his eyes opened to slits, Major Richter watched them enter the woods. His head felt split open and the flesh on his face was torn by the kick he’d received from Mahoney. His nose was broken and his two front teeth had been knocked out, filling his mouth with blood. When he could no longer see the terrorists he spat out the blood and shuddered in horror. The scum had almost killed him, but he would live. He’d pretended to be dead and they hadn’t bothered to check his pulse, the ignorant stupid fools. They should have shot him again through the temple to make sure; that’s what he would have done. But this game isn’t over yet, Richter thought grimly. I still have a few cards to play.
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