The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Aye, that sounds about right,” Doolan agreed with another, less effusive grin as he recalled his time in prison with a shudder. “There was a fine holiday, sure enough. It’s a grand thing to have y’all here now, safe and sound.”

  “What have ye got for us then?” Kelly asked sharply, not interested in wasting time as Kransky and Turner arrived on the river bank and stood behind them, their own weapons at the ready.

  “We’ve cars hidden about five hundred yards away, up in the trees past the road back there,” Doolan answered immediately with a nod, casting his arm back behind to the west as he indicated a distant line of trees and scattered farmhouses along the far edge of the fields, running back from the river in a gently rising slope up to the line of the road beyond. No need to hold for us… we’ve drivers waitin’ to get y’ all out o’ here quick-smart!”

  “And not a moment too soon, I’ll tell y’ that fer nothin’!” Kelly agreed, smiling finally as he clapped the man on the shoulder and turned to the rest of his growing group. “Come on, you lot… time’s a’wastin’… let’s be away!”

  “Give us a bloody chance to get outta the boat at least, Eoin, fer Christ’s sake!” McCaughey growled as he stepped awkwardly from his raft, unceremoniously plonking one foot into the water with a splash as Kelly’s call distracted him.

  “If I’d known y’ wanted to go for a swim, Seán, I’d have asked these kind fellas to tip y’ in halfway across,” Kelly shot back with a grin, feeling almost elated by the fact that they were now on Republican soil on the safe side of the border.

  “You know damn well I can’t reply to y’ in a proper manner!” McCaughey glared in return as he stepped properly onto the bank and shook the excess water out of his sodden shoe. Directly behind him, Levi and Evie were currently stepping gingerly from the second raft, and Kelly was well aware how much effort McCaughey had been making over the last week to not swear excessively in front of the girl… excessively by his own standards, at least.

  “Y’ can call me anything y’ like so long as we’re not late for what’s waitin’ for us up the hill there, brother,” Kelly grinned as they drew near and he slapped a friendly hand on his shoulder also. “They’ve got cars waitin’, and were back in Ireland, man! I’m feelin’ better already.”

  “Well, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when we’re not still in sight of Nazi-occupied territory!” McCaughey growled softly, making a determined effort not to be buoyed by his compatriot’s growing optimism. “I’ll help get the rest of ‘em off the boats and we can be off outta here!”

  As McCaughey and Kelly led the other Volunteers away to round up the rest and collect any excess bits and pieces, Kransky stood aside a few yards and checked over own gear once more before dismantling his huge rifle into several large pieces and slipping them carefully into the narrow canvas sack he’d brought with him from the prison at Strabane. Slinging it across his back, he instead hefted the far smaller, silenced MP2K machine pistol he also always carried with him, the weapon devastating when used for close-quarters fighting.

  Turner, the other prisoner from Strabane, moved across to stand beside him for a few moments as the bustling continued and the last across, Lowenstein and Volunteer Brendan, were finally brought ashore.

  “You ain’t airborne,” Kransky observed softly without looking at the younger man, instead continuing to watch the general goings-on as Turner mostly managed to hide his own surprised reaction. “You know how to handle that rifle, judgin’ by the way you fussed over it earlier… but I’m good with people, and you damn sure ain’t airborne. My first guess would be Special Forces – probably ‘SOE’ or whatever-the-hell you Limeys used to call it… ‘cept you’re a tad young for that, I reckon.” He paused for a moment, ruminating over his own thoughts as he watched the oldest of the three waiting Volunteers, standing a dozen yards away, reach into the rucksack on his shoulder and draw out a hand-held walkie-talkie transceiver. “Course, necessities of war bein’ what they are and all, maybe the Brits were desperate enough to start taking younger recruits just before it all went ass-up for you guys,.” He raised an eyebrow faintly, knowing full well Turner was staring at him with a very intense expression on his face. “What do you think about that?”

  “What do I think?” Turner replied carefully after a moment. “Well, Mister Yank, I think that it’s best a bloke who’s just been rescued from an SS prison… a bloke who doesn’t know any of his would-be rescuers… might want to be a little circumspect in what information he gives out until he knows who he can really trust. Right now, I’m here with a couple of kids, a Yank whose entire country didn’t want to ‘get involved’ when England called for help, some crazy Jew who looks like he’s barely holding it together, and a bunch of bloody IRA who I’d have shot on sight two years ago, and who I’m sure would’ve done exactly the same to me.” He shrugged faintly as if in his mind, nothing else need be said. “How trusting would you be under those circumstances?”

  “Well, that’s a fair call, I’d reckon…” Kransky admitted without much extra thought. “Course, you must a’ heard of Richard Kransky over the last two years, right?” He asked with a soft snort of derision, Turner’s eyes flying wide again in realisation as that name was mentioned. “Every other son-of-a-bitch in the whole God-damn British Isles seems to know who I am when there’s somethin’ happened and they need a name to pin it on. Well, if you do know me – and I reckon you do – then you’ll know that I don’t work for the damn IRA. I work for the same bosses you do, and seems to me that puts us on the same damn side… you can see I’ve no interest in spillin’ the beans about you to these other guys, so if you do feel the need to let me in on anything you think I might wanna know about – or might need to know about – you got right on ahead and sing out.”

  His words drifted into silence, his attention suddenly distracted, as Turner found himself conflicted over exactly what he should tell the man beside him – a man who’d evaded the Nazis for two years, who’d caused no end of chaos for them during that time, and whose prowess with a rifle was legendary within the elite forces of most Allied militaries around the world.

  “Yeah… yeah, they’re all here…” Doolan growled softly as he held the walkie-talkie to his ear and listened to the crackling transmission from the other end. “Yes, I know they’re to be separated… You’ve told me that five feckin’ times already…!” Another short pause. “…And if they don’t want to follow ‘the rules’, I’m the poor bastard who’s got to deal with it! You put me in charge down here for a reason, now let me do me bloody job!”

  With a controlled display of frustration, he switched the transceiver off and snapped the retractable antenna back hard into its sheath within the unit’s casing. He had no idea at that point that anyone else was taking notice of him, nor that although his voice hadn’t carried, Richard Kransky was sharp enough to lip-read at least some of the one-sided conversation that had transpired, even from distance of thirty or forty feet. Doolan was also unware of how out of place his own body language appeared to the American, who’d by this stage almost completely forgotten about Turner and was focussing his entire attention on the Irishman with the radio.

  “Technical exercise for ya…” Kransky announced suddenly, cutting off any response Turner might have been considering. “Take a look at that Doolan guy over there…” He waited patiently for the younger man to do exactly that.

  “Yes… all right… what about him…?” Turner replied, having done exactly as Kransky had asked and suddenly been filled with a similar, if unclear sensation of unease over that same body language.

  “Somethin’ ain’t right,” Kransky pointed out simply. “I know you’re seein’ it too. Dunno what yet, but he ain’t happy about the situation, and I’m not sure why that would be, considering we’re supposed to be safe and sound right now in a neutral country.”

  “Worried about being spotted from the other side…?” Turner ventured, not really believing it.

  “Cou
ld be,” the American conceded grudgingly, having considered the same possibility himself, “but for some reason, I ain’t buyin’ it. I read his lips, and he was sayin’ somethin’ about us bein separated and maybe not wantin’ to ‘follow the rules’… that they should ‘let him do his job’.” He shook his head slowly. “He was actin’ real pissed, and maybe it’s nothin’… maybe his boss is just a pain in the ass and won’t leave him alone… but I’ve stayed alive all these years by assuming the worst… and by taking notice when my gut tells me somethin’ ain’t right.”

  “What other options do we have, then?”

  “None at the moment… not if we wanna get the hell away from here, anyhow… Dunno about you, but I sure as shit ain’t goin’ back over the other side of that river any time soon…” He paused again, deep in thought for a moment. “Just keep your weapon ready and your eyes open… you never know what’s around the corner.”

  “You fellas ready to go?” Brendan asked, jogging up to them and panting lightly with a rifle in hand and a heavy pack on his back. “Everyone’s all set.”

  “Lead the way, buddy,” Kransky nodded with a grin, hiding his concern as Brendan turned away once more, but never once taking his eyes from the distant Doolan as he made a move to go.

  “I am SOE, by the way,” Turner admitted quickly when they were alone again, Kransky halting just long enough to hear him out. “There have been orders for some time for the assassination of two SS officers in England who’ve been hunting Britons of Jewish background – a pair of monsters called Stahl and Bauer whose murderous methods have been exceptionally brutal.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like them all right,” Kransky interjected with a dark expression, knowing only too well from personal experience how brutal that pair could be.

  “I was already on my way to England via submarine when the news came through that they were heading to Northern Ireland in pursuit of some particularly elusive Jew… our ‘friend’ and his two kids, it would appear. Melbourne thought it might be a good opportunity to get at them without all their guards about, so they diverted me here instead.” He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Problem was, no one expected the mass mobilisation and house-to-house searches they carried out all over Northern Ireland while chasing after you and Mister Lowenstein there, and I rather unfortunately got caught in it all… literally.”

  “Sorry about that, buddy,” Kransky smiled grimly, knowing full well how even the best-laid plans would often go awry. “Better luck next time, I guess…”

  “Oh, I’m far happier being here than stuck in that Strabane prison, don’t you worry,” Turner replied with a broader grin of his own. “No doubt someone else will get another chance soon enough.”

  “They’re waitin’ for us, kid,” the American observed as across the field, Kelly called out loudly for their attention. As he strode away, he added just one final, soft word of warning: “Remember to keep your eyes peeled, and sing out if you see anything funny…!”

  It took perhaps ten minutes for the group to move across the fields, finally reaching the top of the hill and the Lifford to Castlefin Road in an extended, disorganised line. As promised, three old-model sedans were indeed waiting behind a long row of trees and hedges on the other side of the road, all of them running and ready to go as the group arrived.

  “Hey Yank!” Doolan directed as they all clustered together in the middle of the road. “You and the Brit get into the first car with the other big fella, Brendan: should be safe, but we could use someone up front who’s handy with a gun just in case.”

  “We’re in Ireland now, Jimmy,” Kelly countered, a frown on his face as he drew close. “We’ve no worry of a firefight now, surely?”

  Just takin’ precautions, Kelly,” Doolan replied quickly, his answer ready as he waved the walkie-talkie he still held in the man’s face. “Orders from above: I don’t question ‘em… I just carry ‘em out!”

  “Patrol…!” The warning came suddenly from one of the younger men they’d met down at the river, now standing in the middle of the shrubbery on the verge, perhaps a dozen yards south along the road.

  “Everybody down…!” Doolan hissed immediately, wasting no time in throwing himself flat into the long grass beneath the trees as the sound of approaching engines rose in the distance.

  Three green-painted, canvas-covered trucks sporting the insignia of the Irish Defence Forces rumbled past a few moments later accompanied by a vintage Rolls-Royce armoured car that looked old enough to have been involved in the 1916 uprising. They continued on up the road toward Lifford at a goodly pace, apparently oblivious to the hiding group as they rumbled past.

  “All clear…!” Doolan called out a moment later, having received a nod from another lookout posted further up the road to the north. “Let’s be getting’ on, now… we’ve all got places to be!”

  “At least give us time to get out o’ these bloody clothes, for Christ’s sake.…!” Kelly continued, gesturing to the SS uniforms that he, Brendan and Lowenstein still wore. “We run into any more patrols like that and there’ll be some bloody awkward questions!”

  “Are y’ daft, man? There’ll be time enough for that once we’re somewhere safer…” Doolan growled, exasperation and urgency showing now in his tone. “One we’re away from the bloody border!”

  “Let’s just get outta here, Eoin” Kransky called out with a forced grin as he considered the three vehicles waiting for them. “I’ll be happier when we’re away from those bastard across the river too… keep yer coat closed and yer hat hidden and ya should be okay… I’ll be keepin’ an eye out as well…”

  As they turned and moved across to the larger Ford Tudor, a black sedan similar to one Kransky and Michaels had travelled through England in some weeks before, the pointed glance that passed between Turner and the American was enough even to catch Brendan’s eye and raise warning bells in his own mind.

  “Everythin’ all right, Mister Kransky…?” He ventured as they climbed in, squeezing three across the back seat as the driver was joined in the front by one of the volunteers who’d helped them across the river.

  “Just fine, Brendan,” he replied carefully, making sure there was no concern in his voice. His expression and tone were so unlike his normal demeanour however that it instantly raised the young volunteer’s sense of concern rather than allaying it.

  “We all ready t’ go then?” The driver called back over his shoulder, crunching the transmission slightly as he looked for first gear.

  “Right as rain, buddy,” Kransky replied with another fake smile, but as the two men in front settled down into their own seats, Brendan watched the American silently and very carefully draw back the cocking handle on his MP2K and decided it might not be a bad idea to slip off the safety of the assault rifle in his own hands.

  “Come on, Kelly… time’s short and we’ve places to go…” Doolan continued, barely hiding his relief as the Ford pulled out into the road and motored slowly away northward. “Can I have you, and the two Seáns in the Hillman so we can be on our way?”

  “Aye, best we were off,” Kelly ventured, turning toward the car but suddenly feeling an inexplicable sense of unease as he laid a hand momentarily on Lowenstein’s arm in passing. “Take care, Sam,”

  “You too, Eoin… we’ll have a drink together at the other end, when we’re well away from all this.”

  “I’ll hold y’ to that – you can count on it!” Kelly grinned, liking that idea immensely as he turned his attention to the teens at Lowenstein’s side. “You take care of both of ‘em now, Levi. I’ve seen what this silly bugger can get himself into, and I think he needs someone sensible like you to keep an eye on him.”

  “I intend to, Mister Kelly… I intend to do just that. Thanks for everything…”

  “Stay safe, all o’ ye…” Kelly shot back with a smile, reaching out and giving the boy’s hair a gentle tousle before he, Michaels and McCaughey clambered into the rear of a mid-thirties model Hillman Minx.

&n
bsp; The moment the second of the two younger volunteers from the river slid in beside the driver, he too pulled quickly out into the road and headed off in the same direction as the first.

  “Righto, Mister Lowenstein…” Doolan began, his tone making it clear he felt as if most of his hard work for the day was now done. “If you and the kids would be so kind as to hop in, we’ll get the rest of y’ off to somewhere safe for a nice, warm meal as well…”

  The little Austin Seven was a smaller vehicle than either the Minx or the Ford, however the teens also took up far less room than two fully-grown men, and it was therefore not too uncomfortable as they slid into the back seat with Lowenstein.

  Doolan opened the door to the front passenger seat and halted with one foot on the running board, taking just a moment to raise the walkie-talkie to his lips one last time.

  “Jimmy here… we’re in the last car and leaving now. Everyone secure as planned. Doolan out…”

  He was inside the car a second later, closing up the radio’s antenna once again as the driver engaged first and turned out into the road with a faint spray of earth and gravel from the rear tyres. This time however, the Austin unexpectedly turned south rather than north, something that instantly raised a silent alarm in the minds of both Levi and Samuel Lowenstein.

  “We’re not following the others?” Lowenstein enquired with as much calm as he could muster, mostly concealing his sudden rush of concern.

  “Southern Command figured it might be safer for us all to separate for the first part o’ the journey,” Doolan replied, already anticipating the question. He’d continued to stare directly ahead as he answered, thinking it might seem as if it were no big deal if he remained at ease. He was also quite nervous now and afraid that it might show on his face if he were to turn toward the passengers in the rear. “There’s no cause for worry – it’s just a precaution. We’re all to meet up in Donegal, later this mornin’.”