by John Dalmas
Turning, Macurdy pushed open the entryway door, and with as little Baltic accent as he could manage, called: "For the love of God, come quickly!", then stepped back out of the way. He heard a brief exchange above the entryway, then one man ran down. As he passed, Macurdy shot him too, then stepped back into the room, took out one of his small, short-fuse blocks of TNT and lit it, intending to throw it out of the entryway and take out the other guard. With an eye on the sparking fuse, he stepped into the corridor—colliding with the other guard, who'd heard the unfamiliar boom of the .45, and after brief indecision, had run down to back up his buddy.
Both men recoiled with shock, then Macurdy pounced, at the same time tossing the block of TNT into the entryway. Wrapping powerful arms around the guardsman, he pinned the submachine gun between them, and wrestled him against the wall, out of line with the door. Felt, heard, smelled the man's weapon fire, bullets pocking the concrete near their feet. Squeezing with more strength than he knew he had— strength multiplied by desperation—he compressed the man's rib cage. For a long moment they struggled, the man's eyes bulging, then Macurdy found an added surge of strength, felt the man go limp, and staggered with him into the corner next to the entryway door. A quarter pound of TNT exploded just outside it. Macurdy let the German fall, and picking up the man's submachine gun, pointed it at him and squeezed the trigger, three rounds slamming into the fallen guard before the gun was empty.
Meanwhile there'd been a shout from somewhere up the corridor. Picking up the other guard's submachine gun, Macurdy started toward the magazines at a lope, then became aware of boots pounding on concrete, running toward the ell, so he slipped through an unlocked door, leaving a crack to peer through.
Landgraf himself rounded the ell first, followed by four guardsmen. An image imprinted on Macurdy's mind, of the colonel, tall riding boots freshly shined and a Luger in his hand. The others carried submachine guns. Seeing the bodies, they faltered, then one shouted, "Colonel! The door at the end of the corridor! It is open!"
The colonel led them on, half crouched now, no longer running. They'd almost reached the first two bodies when 1,800 half-kilo blocks of TNT exploded under the south wing. Even in the stone-walled cellar the sound was stupefying, and followed by the roar of floors, ceilings, roof, even sections of exterior walls collapsing into the cellar beneath. A thick cloud of dust rolled swiftly down the corridor and around the ell, and Macurdy closed his door, keeping it shut for half a minute, listening in darkness to the explosion's rumbling aftermath. Then he peered out again. The men in the corridor stood coughing in the settling dust, the colonel slightly bent, brushing it from his breeches, his tunic.
Turning to a sergeant, he chuckled. "Giesl, we are still alive! Is that not remarkable? One wonders why."
The five Germans were looking away, toward the ell. Macurdy stepped into the corridor and fired two long bursts into them at a range of thirty feet. Then, willing his hands not to shake, he quickly picked the locks on both magazines, swung their doors open, lit the fuses on two of his remaining pieces of TNT, tossed them gently onto the two stacks of explosive—and sprinted down the corridor, up the steps of the entryway, and across dewy grass toward the trees.
He'd almost reached the forest when the north wing blew. Glass flew. The roof heaved upward. Sections of wall burst out, others, an instant later, fell inward. Macurdy sprawled headlong, hands pressed tardily to his ears.
He lay there for perhaps a minute, perhaps several, while additional stone blocks fell individually and in masses onto the rubble. Temporarily deaf, he did not hear them. Stunned but still functional, he got up, groped in a pocket, and replaced the magazine in his .45. He would not, it seemed to him, be finished until he was sure no Voitu had escaped.
PART FIVE
Escape From Victory
37
Flight
If Edouard and Berta had escaped the schloss, they should be at the forest's edge near the stable, but for now, Macurdy decided, he'd leave them there. It was more important, and more urgent, to find and kill any SS and Voitar who might have escaped. He doubted that any Voitar had; their wing had blown without warning. The SS, on the other hand, had been warned in time for at least some, perhaps most, to evacuate the building.
And it seemed to Macurdy that any who had would be in front, on the lawn or by the road, probably stunned. His cloak had persisted through the shock, and with his .45 in hand, he trotted across the turf toward the front of the building.
As he cleared the building's northwest corner, he saw auras glowing softly in the night, eight of them, almost at the road, their owners no doubt staring at the ruin some seventy yards in front of them. As he drew nearer, he saw that none were Voitar. He wished now he'd brought one of the loaded submachine guns from the cellar. From close up, he could have taken these nine from a flank with a couple oflong bursts.
As it was ... There were problems with using the .45. The muzzle blasts would mark his location, and one or more of the SS would have submachine guns, depending on how many had been on duty, and how many rousted out of bed by the south wing blast, to flee without stopping for weapons. And the .45's clip held only seven rounds.
Closing in, he became aware that not all were SS: He recognized Edouard's aura, and Berta's. Another, which he'd missed before, was pressed close to Berta and much smaller; Lotta's. From their auras, all nine, psychics and SS, were more or less in shock, though none seemed wounded. Both blasts had taken them by surprise, whereas he'd been prepared, as much as he could be, for the enormity of sound and destruction. And probably, hopefully, their hearing hadn't fully recovered, as his hadn't. From ten yards he could see that both Edouard and Berta had their hands together in front of them, as if manacled.
Macurdy chose his target—the SS man beside Edouard— and Fairbairn in hand, moved up behind him. Quickly, smoothly, he reached around him with his left arm, clamping his forearm hard on the man's mouth, his hand gripping the submachine gun by the end of the short barrel, while the right slammed the fighting knife upward beneath the ribs, double edges slashing about, driven by a powerful wrist. Warm blood flowed down hand, wrist, forearm. He let the man down carefully, aware without seeing that Edouard stared, perhaps comprehending. He'd heard no sound—no gasp or groan, no thrashing or kicking, no clatter of weapon falling. But even so, it seemed incredible that no one had reacted, that only Edouard had noticed.
He wiped his blood-slick right hand on the dead man's woolen tunic, then hissed in Edouard's ear: "Bitte! Finde seine Schüssel!" Softly he stepped back and moved past Berta and Lotta. Berta still seemed unaware that anything had happened, even when Edouard, heeding Macurdy's order, knelt to find the dead guard's key ring, Macurdy transferred the guard's submachine gun from his left hand to his right, and fired a burst from it, sweeping it across the five remaining SS men at a distance of four to eight feet, right to left, then back before they'd had time to fall. Only one turned part way around, legs twisting and collapsing as he squeezed off a short burst of his own, into the ground, or perhaps a comrade.
Berta had screamed, but for an instant the sound didn't register on Macurdy. Nothing registered, except that it was finished—the Voitar and the blackbacks dead. He sank to his knees, emotionally spent.
"Montag?" The voice was Edouard's.
"Yes?"
"What do we do now?"
Thank you, professor, for the good question, Macurdy thought, and hands on thighs, got slowly to his feet. Don't get weak on me now, he told himself. You're not finished. You won't be till we're all four out of Germany. "Is there anyone else alive around here?" he asked.
"Only Manfred, I think. It was he who got us caught."
"You should have killed him, as I told you."
"I could not do it. And he seemed to be asleep. I thought we could get out without waking him."
"What about Philipp?"
"He is dead. When the south wing blew up, he ran crying toward the building, and a guard shot him." He paused. "Kurt,
I cannot see you. It's hard to talk with you when I cannot see you."
Macurdy dropped his cloak, telling himself it worked a lot better than he'd thought, if Edouard couldn't see him, even hearing his voice and knowing where to look. Apparently it concealed his aura, too.
"What about it, Berta? Any possibilities besides Manfred?"
"I don't think so, not even any of the blackbacks. Three of these were the guards Captain Kupfer told to take us outside. The other three ran out after the south wing blew up. No one else came out. When we left, they were running around in there like terriers chasing rats."
"How much does Manfred know?"
It was Edouard who answered. "Too much. Berta asked questions, and I told her about you. That you were American, in a uniform with many pockets. Then she told me you could make yourself invisible, and us when we were together. I was about to tie the rope under her arms. Then Manfred jumped out of bed shouting, and began to grapple with me. A hall guard came at once."
Macurdy scowled in consternation. "And Manfred overheard all of it."
"Yes, and made up more to go with it. He told Kupfer you were a commando, and more were in the forest, come to kidnap the Voitar." He paused. "You are right, of course. I should have killed him."
Macurdy looked into the forest, seeing nothing but darkness. With a little luck he could find Manfred, whose aura would give him away at night, but there wasn't time. The explosions would have been heard for miles. People would have called the authorities, and they'd arrive soon, even if they had to come from Kempten. "It's time to leave," he said. "We will take one of the trucks."
He picked up another submachine gun, then they hurried to the machine shed, Berta holding the silently compliant Lotta by a hand. Macurdy started a truck, backed it to the stable, then found a flashlight in the glove compartment and went inside. There he found a loading ramp and stock rack, and with Edouard's help, wrestled them into place on the truck. The colonel's horses he loaded and secured without help; Edouard's only experience with large animals had been riding rented horses on holidays.
By the time the horses were secured, Edouard had grown visibly agitated; it seemed to him the police or SS would arrive before they could possibly get away. Macurdy, on the other hand, was intent and intense. Working swiftly, he found and loaded saddles, bridles, and extra horse blankets, rough and coarse; the horses already wore large quilted blankets belted on. After everything else was loaded, he helped Berta and Lotta in back, wrapped the extra blankets around them, and had them sit against a side rack.
That done, he paused, squatting, and peered at Lotta, whose eyes avoided his not by shining away, but by focusing inward. In the "mental" layer of her aura were several small vortices. A moment's concentration turned one into an image that clarified for him what Edouard had meant by "ugly experiences."
"Herr Schurz told me your name is Lotta," he said quietly. "Berta and he call me Kurt Montag, but my name is really Curtis Macurdy, and I am American. You are the first person in Germany I have ever told my real name. I hope that when you know me better, you will be my friend, but that is up to you."
Then he cloaked Berta and the girl with a spell, got off the truck, and set the gate rack in place. "All right," he said to Edouard, "get in and let's go. You will drive."
"Um, Kurt—" Edouard spoke hesitantly. "I have never driven anything larger than a Volkswagen. Also I do not know how to get to Switzerland from here."
Macurdy frowned. With his bloody jumpsuit, he'd planned on sitting invisible beside Edouard, as navigator. But if anyone stopped them, they were out of luck anyway. With Berta and Lotta in back, and horses, they'd be in trouble if stopped. He'd probably gotten blood on things, too. So nodding but displeased, he got behind the wheel and drove away.
* * *
Alone, Macurdy could have walked to Switzerland unnoticed, even with the Alps in his way. But with two sedentary urban adults and a child ... The truck greatly increased the risk of detection, but it could also take them a long way to start with. The urgent first thing to do was get onto some other road, one that wouldn't be used by military or police vehicles headed for the schloss.
They met no one, and Macurdy turned off at the first crossroad, in the village of Wiesenbach, nine kilometers from the schloss. The relief he felt showed him how tense he'd been. The road sign said LINDENDORF 11 KM, but neither he nor Edouard knew anything about Lindendorf. This was not a route he'd studied in training.
Well outside Wiesenbach, he stopped. "Look in my pack," he said. "There is a flat canvas holder with folded silk maps. Let's see where we go next."
Edouard dug them out and handed them to him without a word. Macurdy unfolded one, and using the flashlight, plotted a course with his eyes. Lindendorf was not on a direct route to anywhere helpful, but at least this road wasn't so immediately dangerous. He thought of bringing Berta and Lotta in front with them—they would be miserably cold in back, but crowded in the front seat, whoever sat by him would get blood on their clothing, and that needed to be avoided.
The back roads they took kept them clear of anything larger than a village, and again they met no other vehicle. He wasn't surprised. Not only was it night and the country lightly populated; shortages of fuel, parts, and civilian vehicles, and distance from the war zones, dictated little traffic even by day. When dawnlight began to spill from the east, they were in higher, more rugged country than before, its farms mostly along the road, and even along the road, forest predominated. Pausing, he rechecked the map, not for the first time, then drove slowly on. After a few minutes he spotted a narrow truck trail that disappeared into the forest, and turned in on it.
"Where are we going?" Edouard asked.
"To hide the truck and take a nap."
"But—it is too cold out there to sleep."
Macurdy thinned his lips. He drove some 300 yards to the end of the road, then stopped, got out, and opened the door on the other side. "Out," he said to Edouard, and gestured with a thumb. Edouard got out. Then he had Berta and Lotta get in; any blood on the seat should have dried by now. "Get some sleep," he told them. "We have a long day ahead of us. Then he climbed in back, and without asking for help, manhandled the heavy ramp quickly into place, led the horses down it, tied their halter ropes to stout saplings, and removed their blankets.
"Here," he said, holding the blankets out to Edouard. "Take them. They won't be enough, but they'll help."
Edouard stared, not taking them. "What will you use?"
"Take the goddamn things!" Macurdy said sharply in English. "I know how to keep warm without them."
Flinching, Edouard took them, and Macurdy switched back to German. "You need to understand something: I am trying to save your life, yours and theirs." He gestured toward the cab. "I could have avoided a lot of trouble by forgetting you. You would be dead back there in the schloss, buried in the rubble, and I would be gone. Nobody could see me, and I would have no trouble hiking out of here. But you were my friends. I could not abandon you.
"Last evening I gave you a tool, a weapon, and told you to use it. You didn't. I was afraid you wouldn't, but I trusted you anyway. My error. By giving in to your own squeamishness, you have put us all in needless danger. Because if Manfred was dead, the police and SS would assume that everyone there had died in the explosions, except the handful of SS that I butchered outside. They would be watching for a force of airborne raiders, not a man, a woman, and a child; and me they would not see."
He took a deep breath. "So listen well: I am the commander on this mission. In emergencies, do what I tell you without questioning. Without hesitation! More lives than your own may depend on it. If it is not an emergency, and you have an objection, tell it to me once. If I do not agree, that is the end of it."
Macurdy paused. "If you cannot abide by those rules, tell me now. I will leave you a blanket and one of the four field rations I have left, and take Berta and Lotta with me."
Edouard's face had reddened, turned wooden. After a long mome
nt he replied. "I understand, and I will accept your orders. I appreciate what you have done for us, and you have every right to be angry. I regret that I had not learned to think like a soldier."
Macurdy gripped his shoulder, and his words were mild. "Thank you. It is not surprising you thought like a civilian, but it was unfortunate. For the next few days, you will think like a soldier." He smiled, and his voice softened further. "When we get to Switzerland, you can think like a civilian again, and in a year or so, when this war is over, I can too. Now scrape some fir needles together and lie down. I will set my mental alarm clock for three hours, then we will be on our way again."
* * *
Few motor vehicles passed them on the road. Now and then, in the vicinity of farms, a woman, older man, or youngster passed on foot, or riding a wagon or draft horse. What the passersby saw was a family on a day off, an outing. Usually a rather tall slender man on a horse, riding slowly southward, followed by a woman on another, their daughter holding on to her mother's waist from behind. The man and woman would wave cheerily, and sometimes received a wave in return. The daughter neither waved nor loosed her grip. Others, however, saw only one horse, led by the slender man on foot. On those occasions, Macurdy was riding, and had cloaked his horse as well as himself.
