by Nick Cook
Trying to flush them out was a job that Stavka left to the Siberian divisions. Fight fire with fire, Nerchenko had told him.
Maybe, but Siberians ... he was damned thankful that he didn’t have to work with them.
Among the junior officers at HQ the topical horror story was the tale of the Siberians who had murdered their young platoon commander, recently arrived from the Academy only two weeks before. All fifteen of them had deserted and headed for the hills above the central Czechoslovak plain. The officer had pursued them across country and caught up with them after several hours. Picking up their tracks couldn’t have been difficult. The trail of rape victims, both male and female, had considerably narrowed the search. The commander’s attempts to bring them in had resulted in his death too, but only after he had been tied, tortured and screwed by each Easterner in turn. The officer had no choice but to find them, Malenkoy knew that. He had either to bring them back for trial or face the prospect of a bullet in the base of the skull for gross failure in the field.
Malenkoy’s driver slammed his foot on the brakes and the jeep slewed across the road.
The first bullet splintered the windscreen, the second tore a hole the size of a man’s fist in the petrol can that was strapped to the inside of the jeep next to Malenkoy’s legs. He threw himself flat on the other rear seat, but not before he caught a glimpse of something in the middle of the road about fifty metres from them.
Malenkoy’s mind screamed. He fumbled for his pistol. The driver was crashing the gears trying to find reverse. The smell of petrol burnt his nostrils. Why couldn’t he get the fucking pistol out? Just as he felt the reassuring rough texture of the pistol grip, the driver found reverse and Malenkoy was jolted forward. Another crack, but no telling where the bullet found its mark. Malenkoy took a deep breath and came up from the seat letting four shots off in quick succession at the figure further up the track. The jeep shot forward and Malenkoy’s fifth shot went wild. The driver tore off down the road back to Chrudim and Malenkoy fired the rest of his clip at the single assailant who had ambushed them like some sort of maniac, standing unprotected by cover, in the middle of the track.
The hunter had the last word. Malenkoy saw the flash from the panzerfaust just within the tree line and then the searing blast of hot gas caught him on the side of the face as the explosion tore into a pine only metres to his left. The jeep lurched onto two wheels and Malenkoy thought they would go over. The wheels spun, then gripped the surface of the road. Two seconds later they rounded a bend in the track.
Malenkoy and his driver never exchanged a word. The speed of their departure almost took them off the road at several points. The Russian kept his eyes on the dark interior of the forest, scouting the shadows for signs of movement or a hint of sunlight reflected off metal. They could be anywhere. It was the first time in three years of fighting that he had felt shit-scared. If one bullet had found the petrol-soaked interior of the jeep, he would have been roast meat by now.
Shit! The fucking SS were in his sector. It hadn’t been a partisan who had attacked them. He had seen the camouflaged battle smock and the coal-scuttle helmet. He had better place a call through to HQ when they got back to Chrudim. This was another job for the Siberians.
Half a kilometre back up the track, the soldier was still swearing loudly at his comrades about the failure of the ambush.
They ignored the tirade of profanities. So two more Ivans had got away. There were probably half a million others in the area to choose from, judging by the enemy activity they had seen.
* * * * * * * *
The officer was chastising the burly sergeant for his bungling stupidity. What had he hoped to achieve by darting into the middle of the road and taking on the Russians alone? Another act of disobedience like that and he would be shot.
As the small party of insurgents set off in single file through the forest, the sergeant smiled to himself. They would not dare to shoot him. Without his battle experience, they would never be able to make their way back through enemy territory to their own lines.
He slid back the bolt of his rifle and pulled out the unspent bullet with the soft snub head. He’d better go easy on those. He had only about ten left.
The officer tried to control his anger as he joined the rest of the platoon. Dietz’s decision to ambush the GAZ could not have come at a worse moment. As if they did not have enough problems getting back to their own lines, every Russian in the sector would now be on the look-out for them; and there would be search parties.
The dispatch case they had taken off the Russian major offered them a chance, but he needed time to study it and to think. He had been examining its contents when he heard the first shots from Dietz’s Mauser.
What he saw had made him catch his breath. The maps inside the case seemed to show the exact positions and strength of all the Soviet units ranged along the Eastern front. More than that, they highlighted areas of Allied strength and the location of his own forces. If they were genuine. It was most unusual for a mere major to be carrying such highly classified material. He needed time to think.
* * * * * * * *
“Fire off the port beam, Herr Hauptmann!”
“I see it. Let’s take a look.”
Klepper banked the Focke-Wulf gently round to the north until the thin wisp of smoke emanating from the carpet of forest below was straight in front of them.
Menzel, in the nose of the Uhu, peered down through four thousand metres of icy clear air at the source of the smoke trail. No sign of any activity down there, but according to his maps they were only twenty kilometres or so from Chrudim itself, so it was worth checking out. Could be some crazy Ivan patrol cooking a meal on an open fire in the middle of the great forest, reckoning themselves to be safe from any Germans. Klepper should take the plane down to tree top height and let him and Lutz spray the area with machine-gun fire. That would do something for their appetites. Menzel knew that Klepper would never give way to such a futile gesture. Their orders were simple. Take photographs of Chrudim and get out. No Ivan patrol was going to jeopardize the mission for Klepper, of that Menzel could be sure.
He checked his maps again. There should be a road down there. It was hard to see, but he could just make out a trail through the forest. Only then did he realize that the fire below was burning right beside the road that snaked its way off to Chrudim in the middle distance.
“Herr Hauptmann, that smoke is coming from a fire beside the main road into Chrudim. I think there must be a burning vehicle. Could be part of the reason we came here. Mind if we take a look?”
Klepper nodded. “We’ll check it out. I’ll continue on up the trail until we reach Chrudim. Make sure your weapons are armed, both of you. And Menzel, get ready with the cameras. You’ll only have a few seconds over target.”
The FW 189 went into a shallow dive. Menzel suddenly didn’t notice the cold anymore. His heated flight suit still wasn’t working, but he could feel the sticky perspiration soaking his back as he lay prone in the clear perspex dome at the front of the aircraft.
He grasped the St Christopher medallion that was swinging from his neck and squeezed it, his lips mouthing a silent prayer. His sweetheart had given him the charm when he had last been home on leave. Was it this year or last? He couldn’t remember.
They were now skimming over the tops of the trees at 210 kph. He felt an urge to cover his face with his arms as a bough danced crazily in front of his eyes before flashing past him in a green and brown blur.
The trail of smoke was straight ahead. Closer . . . closer.
They were already several hundred metres beyond the fire by the time Menzel radioed through to Klepper that there was nothing there, only a clump of trees burning beside the road.
Ten seconds later, the voice of Lutz, in the rear of the aircraft, cut in.
“Herr Hauptmann, we just passed an enemy jeep going like shit towards Chrudim. Disappeared before I could get a shot at him.”
You arsehole, M
enzel thought.
When he looked up, he could just make out the tower of the church of Chrudim on the skyline ahead of them and slightly to port. At that moment, Klepper turned to the left so that he was lined up directly with the landmark. It was then that Menzel noticed a needle-thin line of tracer bending round towards them from the top of the tower. He tried to get in a deflection shot with his MG 81, but was way off. The firing stopped, so the Russian must have gone for cover.
Klepper raised the nose of the Uhu and climbed to a hundred metres as they swept over the town. Menzel pressed down on the button at the end of the cable. Beneath the fuselage the twin Hasselblads clicked in concert, each snapping away at the scene below them at five frames a second. Menzel was dimly aware of a large square in the middle of the town that was filled with armour. He looked back as they passed over the target area. Jesus, the streets of the town were a mass of olive green vehicles . . . lorries, armoured cars, tanks.
The aircraft rocked in the turbulence as the FW was straddled by bursts of anti-aircraft fire.
Klepper cut in over the din of the muffled explosions outside.
“I hope you got everything on camera, because that’s it. No sense in risking our necks if we’re going to get another reception like that.”
The icy slipstream bit even harder into Menzel’s face. The High Command would have to bring together all its reserve strength to have any hope of fending off an armoured assault of that magnitude.
As Klepper set a course back for Altenburg, Menzel spared a thought for the troops that were preparing to defend the Fatherland from the Russians’ spearhead assault from the south.
CHAPTER SIX
It didn’t take them long to find the hospital, its red brick gothic towers and crenellations looming high in the mist above the small terraced houses of West London.
“Poor little mite,” Kruze whispered.
He paused by the railings, momentarily appalled that anyone could put an orphan of a few hours in a place like that, but she tugged him gently by the arm, urging him on.
They entered the hospital through the big vaulted arch that was the main entrance. The duty nurse’s face lit up the moment Penny asked for Billy Simmons.
“Oh, I am so glad,” she said, “he’s been asking for you.” She strode off down the corridor in the direction of the ward.
The boy seemed to be asleep as they moved awkwardly to his bed. The nurse touched the Rhodesian on the shoulder and whispered.
“He’s been very badly shaken. Not surprising when you think what he’s been through. Lost both his parents, poor little rat.”
“I know,” Penny said quietly. Kruze seemed not to be listening. He was studying the face that protruded from the sheets. Billy’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and furrows like gashes were etched across his brow. The nurse continued in a hushed voice.
“His legs will heal. It’s the deeper wounds that worry us.”
Kruze pulled up the chair by the bed.
“I’ll leave you three alone for a little while,” the sister said. “Call me if you need anything.” She walked out of the room. Kruze took in the high ceiling and the pistachio coloured walls. The two other patients in the ward seemed to be taking little notice of him or Penny. There was a coldness in the room which made him shudder. He had never spent a day in a hospital and hoped he never would.
For a second, he wondered what he was doing there. What would he say to the child if he awoke? There had been few children within the small farming community around Ellingworth where he had grown up, and they had had a maturity beyond their years. You got old fast in the bush, especially in the hostile country of the Mateke in Southern Rhodesia.
He turned to Penny, but she nodded towards Billy.
When he looked back at the boy, the young eyes were open and staring boldly back at him. His lips moved.
“I knew you’d come.” The words were barely audible, but he tried to smile. “Who are you?”
“I’m Kruze.” He tried to smile back. He took Penny’s hand and urged her gently towards the edge of the bed. “And this here is Penny.” She bent down and moved a strand of hair out of his eyes.
The boy’s blue eyes never left Kruze’s face. “How are you feeling, feller?” Kruze asked, disturbed by the intensity of Billy’s gaze.
“My legs don’t hurt, I just feel thirsty; always thirsty. They tell me I can’t drink, though. Why is that? Why don’t they tell me things, Kruze? I know my mother and father are dead, but they don’t tell me.” The lower lip began to pucker, but he managed not to cry.
“I suppose they just want you to try and get better . . .”
“I knew you would come, though.”
“How was that, Billy?” Penny asked.
The boy’s face tightened in concentration.
“Nurse told me I was very lucky. She said that if I hadn’t had a pair of guardian angels watching over me I might be ...”
“Anyone would have done it,” Penny said, squeezing his hand.
The boy’s concentration seemed to lapse for a moment as his eyes roved slowly round the room. There was nothing there to remind him of home. He looked back to Kruze.
“Are you a pilot?”
“Yes, I fly fighters mostly.” The boy’s eyes seemed to sparkle for an instant and he pulled himself a little way up the bed.
“I bet you’ve shot down a lot of Germans.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of ribbons on your chest, so you must have shot down a lot to have got them.”
“Actually, I got most of these for testing new fighters and you don’t have to be too brave to do that. If anybody deserves a medal, it’s you.”
Billy fell silent.
“I’d never get a medal. You don’t get medals for hating people, do you?”
“What do you mean?” Penny asked.
“I know that when I leave here I’ll have to live with my gran. I’d rather die than live with her. She just makes rules all the time. I won’t stay. I’ll run away the moment I get the chance.” He was on the verge of tears.
“I’m sure she’s not that bad.”
The boy winced. “She beat me once. Mum never beat me.
“What had you done?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Billy turned his head away from Kruze and looked through the window and out over the roof tops. Almost a minute passed before he spoke again.
“I was with some friends outside her house. We were playing in the street. One of them kicked a ball and it went through her window. Everyone ran away ‘cept me. She beat me for it with a stick.”
“Hey, you listen to me,” Kruze began. “I knew a kid like you once, who lived on a farm back in Rhodesia, where I come from. He even looked a bit like you. His parents had a small aeroplane which they used for flying around the farm. It was a pretty big farm.” He gestured expansively with his hands.
“One day they flew into a cloud and never came out - they just disappeared. The plane must have crashed somewhere in the hills, but no one ever found the wreckage. The boy, who wasn’t much older than you, was brought up by his grandfather and, from the start, the two of them just never saw eye to eye. Much later, when he grew up he met this girl and told his grandfather that he was going to marry her. The old man went through the roof and told him that he was young and foolish and that he should know better. The boy decided to run away with the girl, but it didn’t work out.”
“Did he go back to his grandfather?” The boy was captivated, his eyes wide.
“No, he couldn’t. You see, he couldn’t bear to face that old man who was right all along.”
“What happened to him, then?”
“Well, he drifted around the country for a while, working on farms here and there. Then the war broke out in Europe. A lot of people from Rhodesia joined up to fight the Germans and he saw it as a chance to get away from the past. He enlisted with the RAF and came to England.”
“Was he very upset about the girl?” Penny asked.
Kruze turned round and looked at her. There was the trace of a smile upon her face.
“It all happened a long time ago.”
Billy frowned, lost in thought.
“Did you ever hear from your grandfather again?” he asked.
Kruze laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Billy’s enthusiasm showed that Kruze was more than his saviour now. He was an ally, someone who understood.
“I tried to write to him from England a few times to explain, but the words always seemed to come out wrong and no letter ever got sent. He never will get any explanation now, because he went and died a few years back; a lonely old man in the African bush. I was all he had and in the end, he had nothing.”
The old nurse walked back in and put a thermometer in Billy’s mouth.
“I’m afraid it’s time for rest now,” she said.
As Kruze rose to leave Billy held his hand out and Kruze shook it.
“Will you come and see me again, Kruze?” The thermometer became dislodged from under his tongue. The nurse clucked irritably and put it back in place.
“I’ll be back, feller. Don’t worry.”
When the nurse pulled the thermometer from Billy’s mouth, she was surprised to see that he was smiling.
* * * * * * * *
Staverton picked up the folder. The words “Arado Ar234 Blitz” were printed across the top left-hand corner. He opened the file and read the first paragraph. It was a resume of the detailed report that would follow in the ensuing pages.
* * * * * * * *
