by Adam J Watts
Seb could not help but smile at the irony of the situation.
The Germans appeared oblivious to the fact that there was a beacon hidden somewhere above them and went to great lengths protecting it on behalf of their enemy! That said, there must be another way up to the tower, or how else did the Russians get to it unharmed?
It was impossible to see from his current location how or where the Red Army reached the transmitter. It was of little importance, however as Seb planned on waltzing straight through the front door so to speak.
More assured now, he clambered back into the car and fired up the engine. If he were to be believed, he needed to make his story appear convincing. In one swift move, first gear was initiated and his foot was forced down on the accelerator.
Headlights illuminated this time, he drove erratically, heading straight for the barricade. He was under no immediate danger as the troops manning the post had search lights and they were on him in an instant.
The German insignia blazoned along the sides of the car was plain for all to see and no warning shots pierced the night air. In a matter of seconds the vehicle shuddered to an abrupt halt opposite the sandbags and Seb flung open the door.
'The munitions dump has been attacked!' he shouted to the officer in command.
He approached with a mixture of contempt and concern.
'And you know this how?’ he enquired calmly.
'I just came from there; many of the men are dead. The Russians are attacking!'
For a moment the German stood perfectly still, as if processing the information. Seb elected to press the matter further.
'There is a fire. We are in danger of losing the entire cache. Possibly the vehicles too.’
Seb knew the importance of economising for the Germans whilst in Russia and this last verbal foray appeared to do the trick.
The officer nodded his approval and stormed inside to rally his troops. Seb followed in his wake, using the pretence as a means of gaining entry to the stronghold.
Once inside could he only appreciate the extent of the building. At a guess, he would have said that the structure was originally used as an office block, but then the reality of the situation struck him.
Seb just caught sight of the commanding officer as he bounded down the stairs to a lower level. The building was no less than a former bank -- the perfect location for a command post, due to the underground vault and heightened security.
As much as he wanted to chase after the officer and investigate the lower levels, he reminded himself that the radio transmitter was the priority. Hopefully there would be time for further investigation later.
There could only be one reason behind the silence of the Russian radio. If the person operating it had bought it, the Red Army would simply send someone else. It
had to be the radio itself and for that, Seb needed a replacement.
It was an absolute certainty that the German base would have a radio of its own. Most likely several. The task now would be to find one and get it to the roof without alerting anyone's attention...
Just as he was about to turn the corner and head for the staircase, Seb heard an unwelcome noise.
'Where are you going private?’ Thankfully, it wasn't the same officer he had met earlier. 'We are needed at the depot.’
As he turned, Seb saw the questioning, wrinkled face of the man in front of him.
'I will be little use in the fight lieutenant, I was injured in the initial attack. I was going to tidy myself up.’
There was an awkward silence before his aging superior spoke once more.
'Between you and I private, I have little wish to fight tonight myself.’ With this remark he moved forward.
'Here. Let me assist you to the medical bay.’
Once supported by the lieutenant Seb was directed towards the first staircase and down towards the lower levels. There was little point in fighting the current course of events. Derision of any kind could only lead to conflict and a fight he could not win.
They took the stairs one at a time, as Seb feigned a flash burn to the leg. His aid had obviously assumed this to be the problem from the state of his trousers. Seb could only guess they had become singed during his brush with the fire.
He couldn't be certain, but the place he found himself in must have been one of the major operations units in Leningrad. The extent of the basement was impressive and although he had yet to explore the length of it, he could here wire operators chattering and some sort of command centre in full swing.
Fortunately his luck was in and the doctor on duty was nowhere to be seen. Persuading the lieutenant to leave his side was difficult, but eventually Seb was relieved of his company when a guard came and asked for him specifically.
Being fully fit and wanting to avoid detection, Seb fled the infirmary at once. Strolling down the corridor with a typical Bavarian confidence, he finally found himself at the communications room.
Leaning on the door frame he peered inside and observed several female operators speaking in different tongues. German, French, Italian, Russian, English, it was a hotbed of languages.
Spying no vacant radio he could liberate, Seb was all set for turning away from the room when he heard a familiar sound. It was strange, but something made the voice stand out from the rest. Clear and concise against a background of energised rabble.
Her tones were soft, the annunciation perfect, except there was something missing. It took him a little while to realise what it was, but as soon as it registered he went on autopilot. His body turning without his brain making the command.
Across the haze of smoke and concrete dust, there she was. It was Caitlin! He was sure of it. Perhaps Hackbeil was not such a monster after all? He had put her to work somewhere safe, somewhere useful.
Naturally she did not look her best and Seb was saddened to see the spark had once again diminished in her eye, but it was definitely her... Slowly he started to weave his way through the desks. Not once breaking eye contact with his target.
Then it happened. He heard a voice from the rear and the click of a Luger.
'Herr Beasley I presume. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.’ Seb made a move to turn and face the man he had sought for so long, but was interrupted. 'Do not turn around. Remove your weapon... Or should I say, our weapon and place it on the floor.’
There was no means of escape. Hackbeil had him cornered. He could see a tear of recognition appear on Caitlin's face. For now at least, he would comply.
'You should never have come here Samuel.’
'My mother calls me Samuel.’
'Very well. Herr Beasley.’
Seb flicked the safety and placed the MP40 on the ground.
'I've been looking for you Hauptsturmführer.’
Hackbeil laughed, 'It is Standartenführer now and that is amusing, because I have been looking for you also.’
'Well now you found me, Standartenführer.’
'And what an unexpected pleasure it is too.’
Slowly Herman sidled into the room and the confrontation became clear to the other radio operatives. The murmuring ensued.
'Leave us'! ordered Hackbeil.
One by one the women left. All except Caitlin.
'Did I say you could stay Fräulein?’ Before she could answer Seb interjected.
'She stays.’
'I do not think you are in a position for the negotiations Herr Beasley.’
'This concerns her too. She stays.’
Hackbeil considered this for a moment before passing judgement.
'Very well. She stays. I am sure she would like to hear the truth about you.’
'You only think you know the truth.’
'I know everything... Seb.’ Never did he think he would hear the German call him by that name. 'Ja, that is correct. Your associate Herr Irwin told me everything and together we unearthed the truth.’
'Ed?’
'Yes the inspector finally solved the case.’
'Abo
ut time.’
Herman appeared puzzled and the Luger wavered in his hand.
'You wanted him to discover the truth?’
'Yes, but I had hoped it wouldn't take him as long.’
'But why?’
'It was a test. I know what Edward Irwin is and I wanted him to share that knowledge too. Once he
became aware of the facts, there would be nowhere for him to hide.’
Seb could see that he was losing the Standartenführer. The walls of reality were crashing down around him and he needed to regain his attention.
'Where is he?’
'After the interrogation the inspector was of no use to me... He was sent for processing.’
'And what is that supposed to mea...'
Suddenly Seb was thrown to the floor as clouds of dust fell from the ceiling.
The noise was terrific, but amidst the cacophony the sound of a single gunshot reverberated around the room.
***
It was unclear how long he had been dazed, but his hearing was still very hollow. Seb turned to look for Hackbeil and the room span violently. The coward must have fled in the confusion.
There it was again. The undeniable scream of the Katyusha rocket. Instinctively he reached out for the felled figure of Caitlin. They needed to get to cover and the nearest thing was one of the communications desks.
Seb tugged at her arm before shouting her name. The noise really was deafening and despite her proximity to him, she must not have heard his call. Quickly he turned to face her and that was when he realised.
Ordinarily he would have been shocked, repulsed even, but Gerald's suppressants robbed him of this 'inconvenient' emotion.
Caitlin was dead. A single burn mark an inch above her left eye.
Part of him died there and then and despite the inhibitors in his head telling him he still had a job to do, the human element ordered him to curl up under the desk.
His head was a whirlwind of thoughts and accusations. So much so, the hand on his shoulder appeared unreal. That was until it slapped him around the face.
'Get up Comrade! We are leaving.’
'Max?’ Seb probed, half dazed.
'Who else my friend. Now get up.’
'I can't leave her.’
Only then did Max notice the significance of the woman strewn beside his friend.
Unbeknown to Seb his hand had never left hers.
'Is this her?’ Max eventually ventured.
'This was her.’ his friend replied as emotionally as the neural inhibitors permitted.
There would be time to try and grieve later. For now they needed to get out of the old vault before the whole building came down around them.
'Let's go.’
'But the girl?’
''There's nothing we can do now Max and I would rather not have another death on my conscience today.’
The place was a mess. The barrage had proven to be a direct hit, sending rubble, shrapnel and mutilated bodies everywhere.
'I entered through the roof. This way'!
Seb didn't argue. Didn't have the energy. He simply followed the big Russian up the several flights of stairs. There was little in the way of resistance. Panic had set in and a number of the troops stationed at the base had left moments earlier to investigate the raid on the substation.
After what seemed like forever, the pair broke through the fire doors and onto the roof. His legs had little left to give but Seb surged on through the rain.
Max took point as they hurtled towards a walkway. The bridge was rickety and clearly meant as a temporary measure. This must have been the way the Russians got up to the transmitter.
'Is it safe?’ Seb shouted.
'Would you rather take your chances and stay here? If fire doesn't take you Germans will.’
With that Max ushered Seb onto the walkway and followed quickly behind.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Fell Walking ~ Summer 1940
A Webley with five bullets in the spindle, a cigarette lighter, the dead pilot's last letter back home and a small metal object. It was too dark to distinguish exactly what this was, but there would be ample opportunity to investigate once the crash site was behind him.
As far as Seb knew, the plane had ditched somewhere in occupied France and the initial noise of the impact, coupled with the light from the flames would certainly draw the attention of any units posted nearby.
He needed to find somewhere to hole up before dawn. If he was out in the open when the sun broke through, he might as well have posted himself to the Gestapo!
The pace was slower than he would have liked, but any progress was acceptable on this treacherous terrain. It would be incredibly easy to turn an ankle in these conditions, so haste most definitely preceded speed on this occasion.
Stopping only to marvel at how close he had come to bumping into a small herd of cattle, Seb pushed forward in the darkness. Cows need a farm and a farm meant outbuildings. The perfect place for a man in his current predicament to hide. The only problem would be finding the damn thing.
***
He had located the farmhouse and subsequent outbuildings with what seemed like minutes to spare. Dawn was breaking over France and for all intents and purposes this could have been during any period in history. War may affect the lives of everyone on the ground in some way, shape or form, but everything from the horizon upward does what it wants.
Seb was tired. He hadn't stopped for two whole days and before that, sleep proved difficult on the ocean. Sea legs were something this young man did not possess, as he had been so pleasantly reminded as his head hung over the side of the freighter.
The best course of action right now was to get inside a barn, tuck himself away and keep out of sight. The current situation would need some consideration and there was no way this could be achieved by a drained brain.
***
Caitlin? Cait! She was right there. He could see her, yet she was out of reach. He couldn't move. Suddenly the leering face of Herman Hackbeil loomed in front
of him. He had them both captive somehow... Why couldn't he move?
Suddenly his body began to jerk upwards in an ungamely fashion. His arms were moving of their own accord! There were strings... My God, he was a puppet and Hackbeil was his master.
***
What was that?
In the moments it took for his vision to focus, Seb saw a black object dart across his path. He flinched and edged backwards instinctively. Finally his eyesight came back fully and he was relieved to see that the unidentified object was only a cat.
'Bonjour, Monsieur chat,' he mused.
Suddenly the pain in his head became more apparent and he ceased his dialogue with the feral animal. If someone had told him that the main side effect of having his head tampered with would be lurid dreams, Seb would have almost certainly declined.
