Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  Desperate affairs require desperate measures.

  Horatio Nelson.

  Chapter 33 – THE RAILYARD

  0920 hrs Saturday, 4th August 1945, Persenbeug, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

  In the wagon, the summer temperature, combined with its effects on the detritus of the former occupants, was making the atmosphere unbearable.

  There was little by way of Soviet military traffic, but there was enough sporadic movement to keep the group tucked away in their hiding place until they had formulated a plan.

  Save for the four watchers, they huddled together, deep in discussion. As Braun listened, he opened letters from the mailbag and used both envelope and contents to remove ‘unsavoury’ items from his clothing and footwear.

  “I agree that we cannot sit here forever comrades, that’s for sure.” The last of their cigarettes was being passed from hand to hand. The foodstuffs had long gone.

  “From what we picked up during our time in the camp, we cannot be that far from where the Allied lines are, or at least, were.”

  In the habit of men throughout the ages, Rolf grabbed his chin and thought hard.

  “We must split up into small groups and try to make our way to the allies with the information we have. That duty is definitely clear.”

  Even Braun nodded along with the others, his previous concerns having been thought through now.

  A moment of pause was thrust upon them as a flight of Soviet single-engine fighter aircraft raced overhead. Rolf waited for the sounds to fade before continuing.

  “Moeller, you know this area best of all of us. What alternatives do we have?”

  “Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, we have few alternatives as I see it. Bear in mind kameraden, it is some time since I visited here. Firstly, there is the obvious one of the railway on which we presently sit. Without a doubt, there will be other traffic in due course, going the right way. Over the other side of the Donau there is another track; I think it’s a place called Ybbs, which could take us to Salzburg, but equally into Northern Italy or back in the direction of Wien. Into Italy should still see a meeting with the Allies obviously.”

  His face split into a grin in an effort to lighten the moment.

  “Obviously, crossing the river will not be without its interesting moments!”

  There were some smiles but mainly inner thoughts on swimming a river in their condition or having the audacity to cross a bridge undoubtedly guarded by watchful Soviets.

  “There is always river traffic; boats plying their trade up and down.”

  A grateful puff on the last cigarette doing the rounds and he continued.

  “Road is a possibility but would not be without its problems, particularly with security obviously.”

  “Lastly, there is always walking to fall back on, but I’m sure we are a minimum of twenty-five kilometres from the probable border as we understand it, so not for the faint-hearted.

  “Thank you Moeller. So unless anyone wishes to steal a plane and fly out of here, that’s the options.”

  Discussion quietly followed, as each man made a play for his preferred choice, surprisingly, agreement was reached quite quickly.

  Walking and the road had no takers.

  Moeller and three others would take their chance on crossing the river and finding a train direct to Salzburg.

  Olsen, the 12th SS Hauptsturmfuhrer, the Brandenburger Leutnant and one other would go for another train from their present location, heading north-west.

  All the others opted for the boats, and so Krantzschen and Kloss with two comrades would try their luck in one party, with Uhlmann, Braun, and Shandruk in the second.

  Now all they needed was the opportunity to get out of the small rail yard and into some decent cover.

  The group had already spotted some old sheds partially concealed in undergrowth on the Schloss side of the track, but there was a distance of thirty metres to run without a single shred of cover making life difficult.

  A watch had been set to try to establish the safety of these sheds, and it seemed there was no patrol that looked at them. They were probably safe. However, there were haphazard movements of uniformed men all round the area that did not bode well.

  The problem was exercising everyone’s mind until Kloss spoke a low warning. German eyes looked through the gaps in the wagon’s side at Soviet troops assembling down both sides of the main track. In short order, it was possible to see at least sixty Soviet soldiers guarding the rail line. More soldiers could be seen leaving two large huts to the north of the rail line. The activity grew as five old Wehrmacht trucks hove into view and were waved to a halt by the rail guards.

  The rain gently started to fall on this assembly, the sky becoming suddenly grey. The area took on a surreal aspect as yet another summer storm prepared to visit itself upon the locale.

  No one thought to question the fact that the Soviets were running their train security in daylight.

  Rolf watched as a few men climbed down from the trucks for cigarettes and was startled to identify them as German soldiers. Admittedly, it was a difficult light but the cut of the German panzer uniform was very evident on two of the figures, as was the fact that all bore the signs of blood upon their clothing.

  In a moment of pure clarity of thought, Uhlmann understood what he was seeing and what exactly those lorries contained and, more importantly, where the contents were going.

  “Listen to me Menschen. Those Soviets are waiting for a through train and we must move when it passes. We have no time to lose.” He gesticulated at the vehicles and shared a knowing look with Braun. “Those lorries are coming to this train to load up.”

  He gestured to one of the group.

  “Get ready on that door. First group out will be Moeller, second Krantzschen, third Olsen and lastly mine. Go on my order as I will observe.”

  Nods from all, the urgency of Uhlmann’s tone inspiring them.

  “Quickly tidy up anything that might show we have been here,” and looking at Braun and his pile of soiled letters and envelopes, “Anything.”

  Shandruk started picking up screwed up letters, stuffing them in his left trouser pocket before stopping dead as some words on one caught his eye. He put that one in his other pocket.

  Within seconds, the sound of an approaching train became evident, its noise growing in proportion with the sound generated by the increasing rain.

  Again, fortune favoured the Germans, for Mother Nature provided her own additional distractions as lightning preceded thunder once more.

  A train slowly came into view and Rolf prepared to send Moeller on his way with the drop of a hand.

  A burst of steam gave Uhlmann the only stimulus he needed to signal and Moeller and his group bolted from the wagon to the waiting shed. The slow moving train provided another quick opportunity and Krantzschen’s group swiftly followed.

  The partially uncovered load on one of the flatbed wagons gave Rolf a moment’s pause but he still managed to get Olsen’s group away.

  Before he could order his own group out, the train had passed and the Russian soldiers started to disappear in all directions, their duty, for the moment, done.

  Braun sidled up closer.

  “Did you see those vehicles Rolf?”

  “Ja, I did. Later Johan, for now we have a problem.”

  The lorries started up once more and made to move forward until a single soldier stepped forward to halt them with an imperious hand.

  This time, coming from the left as Uhlmann looked, emerged the little engine that had brought them through the night and which was about to be hitched to the other end of the train to take another grisly cargo back to be interred in secret around Edelbach.

  “Go!” screamed Rolf as the engine puffed across the line of sight.

  The group bolted for the huts and in seconds found themselves face down in the dirt gasping for breath, surrounded by their comrades doing exactly the same thing.

  All tried hard to control their br
eathing, especially as the trucks were now moving again and closing on the wagons.

  Uhlmann spoke softly, in spurts between breaths.

  “Kameraden, those lorries contain our comrades. They are about to be placed onto the wagons we escaped in. We can do nothing for them, for they are dead.”

  As if to prove his words, executed German prisoners were already visible through the open wagon door, as the remaining live German soldiers piled the corpses on top of each other.

  “The Russians are killing everyone in uniform it seems. It is not enough to win, they must eradicate!”

  Uhlmann controlled his speech, as every man was looking straight at him.

  “Now we know that we simply must get through to the allies and give them our information.”

  There was no dissent, only a grim resolution.

  “Braun and I both saw something on that last train which needs to be spoken of. There were American self-propelled guns there,” a pause for effect, “M-10’s … with American markings”

  Silent looks were exchanged.

  “We know the allies sent equipment to the Soviets. It would seem they intend to use it for mischief, much as our Skorzeny did in Wacht am Rhein. It is very important to pass this on I think.”

  “Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, there is more.”

  Attention turned to Shandruk, who did not look up from the soiled letter he was reading as he spoke.

  “I am holding a letter to our beloved Captain Skryabin. Please note the quality of the paper.” Shandruk rubbed the edge between thumb and forefinger as if to demonstrate the paper’s superior grade. “My Russian reading is a little rusty but I will give you my interpretation of what it says.”

  Shandruk looked up waiting for some sign from Uhlmann, who swiftly nodded.

  “It is a brief letter dated 17th July. It speaks of rumours of a loose tongue brought to the writer by someone called Chairman Lavrentiy, and how he will do nothing provided Viktor keeps his mouth firmly shut from now on. If Viktor must crow then wait until it all starts. Even he should be able to manage three weeks. Some of the usual pleasantries follow.”

  Shandruk looked up.

  “It is signed Uncle Vyacheslav.”

  More than one present let out an incredulous “Schiesse!”

  It was known Skryabin was connected, but now it was glaringly and surprisingly obvious to whom. It required no intelligence to work out whom the Chairman mentioned was, and only modest adding was needed to work out the timescales involved.

  “It is soon then kameraden. We must get the message through quickly.”

  His eyes took in the awful work in progress outside.

  “As soon as it is safe we must start off from here. Grab some rest while you can. My party will keep a lookout.”

  The rain suddenly became torrential, and talking over it was a danger in itself considering the proximity of the working party. One bonus of the downpour was the steady stream of clear cool water that flowed through a hole in the roof, and from which they quenched their thirsts.

  The men made themselves comfortable in the recesses of the shed, whilst Uhlmann, Braun and Shandruk kept watch, observing the continuing loading of the dead in their scores.

  Only those three saw the grisly detail conclude, the guards and live prisoners swiftly dive into the attached carriage and the little train with its awful cargo start off on its journey to the Waldviertel.

  Evening was drawing in when Uhlmann woke his sleeping comrades and, with handshakes and comradely hugs, sent each group on its way.

  The antidote for fifty enemies is one friend.

  Aristotle

  Chapter 34 – THE DANUBE

  2255 hrs Saturday, 4th August 1945, Ybbs an der Donau, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

  It was some time since the rain had stopped and whilst its absence was welcome, it had done an excellent job of masking their sound and keeping the Russians indoors.

  Even so, the trio had progressed more than a kilometre from the rail yard before coming to an abrupt halt.

  They had successfully passed by the river bridge, the security on which had made them think long and hard about the comrades who were intent on seeking escape to the other side of the Danube.

  As Saturday slipped unnoticed in Sunday morning, they had followed the bank as it curved to the north-west until they came upon the silent, sleeping camp of a Soviet infantry unit between the road and the riverbank. Silent and inviting shapes lay tethered to moorings, but while they lay tantalisingly close, they also lay within the patrol of some very obviously alert Soviet guards.

  Shandruk tapped Braun’s arm and motioned towards something considerably apart from the rest, Braun repeating the gesture to Uhlmann, whose eyes adjusted and recognised the shape of a rowing boat, albeit lower in the water than any of the others.

  The reason for that became apparent as they moved closer to it, for the craft was damaged and had taken on water.

  It was further burdened by a Soviet Lieutenant curled up in a sodden blanket across the central bench snoring softly. The evidence of his drinking lay witness around his feet, where empty bottles of local beer lay on and around the dead body of a young Austrian girl.

  Uhlmann quickly decided to take the vessel and give it a go. With urgent gestures and sign language, he sent Shandruk in to do the grisly work.

  Pausing only to pick up a large splinter of wood, Shandruk slipped slowly into the water up to his thighs and moved around to the side where the sleeper had his head. With as little thought as a cat dispatching a mouse, Shandruk clamped his hand over the drunken man’s mouth and slammed the splinter into the throat of the Russian four times in quick succession. No sound escaped the officer’s mouth as he died meaninglessly and swiftly.

  With no emotion, Shandruk and Braun lifted him from his deathbed and placed him partially in the water and partially in the long grass. The dead girl followed, arranged so those who discovered the corpse would see that it was she who had slain her assailant, even as he slid his own knife into her belly.

  It was all over within two minutes and the group slid into the water and pulled the sodden boat into the river, quietly kicking out for the far shore of the Donau.

  Using it solely as a flotation aid made sense, as the casual observer would probably see just a leaky damaged boat floating aimlessly by itself.

  The current took them back as it flowed eastwards but they moved slowly out into the middle until they were certainly out of immediate danger, when a brief word from Rolf made them kick out to fight against the flow. As they neared the south bank they saw a number of boats of all shapes and sizes tied up and were rejuvenated by the possibilities opening up to them. They made for a gap between two such larger vessels and permitted the boat to drift away downstream, its purpose served.

  It had already been decided what to do once a suitable craft had been found, so Braun looked around and found a way to get up onto the marina walkway, or at least get a better look around. A handy wooden piling helped him and within a moment, he was gone.

  Uhlmann and Shandruk remained in the water, the latter tightly holding the Nagant pistol taken from the destroyed guard hut at the camp.

  0155 hrs Sunday, 5th August 1945, Ybbs an der Donau, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

  Meanwhile, Braun stole quietly upstream on the modest quay, flitting from cover to cover, checking each vessel as he went, until one caught his eye. Or more exactly, the chink of light through a gap in the warped wooden door drew him in. He slid quietly onboard and stole a glance through the same gap, seeing a large civilian moving inside the modest quarters.

  Remaining on his belly, Braun used the fact that he was relatively well concealed to take in more of the quay and area. He was still deciding whether this was the right person to approach when he became conscious of something touching the back of his neck. That something was sharp and held in a very firm, unwavering grip.

  Speaking in broken Russian, a decidedly Austrian voice casually enquired. “Wha
t do you want Ivan? I have no vodka here. No women. What do you want?”

  Without the benefit of seeing who the man was, Braun could only take the gamble they had already decided upon.

  “I am an escaping German soldier and I am looking for a boat to take me up river.”

  If there was any relaxation on the part of the knife bearer, it was not evident to Braun.

  “You are about as German as I am. Try again.” The accompanying prod broke skin and he felt the trickle of blood from the wound.

  “I am Sturmscharfuhrer Braun, until recently of the Wiking Panzer Division. I have escaped from a prison camp and am trying to get back to Hamburg.”

  The blade withdrew simultaneously with a chuckle from the throat of the vessel’s Captain.

  “You may look round now Kamerad; this is your lucky day.”

  Braun sat up and turned around, he was greeted with the vision of a huge one-armed man of indeterminate age sliding his dagger back into a wooden scabbard. The leather jacket and cap belonged to the civilian Braun had seen moments before in the cabin.

  “Lucky day indeed. I am Pförzer, Hubert Pförzer, and I suspect you and I have shared the same dust in Russia. Until I lost my arm, I was Unterscharfuhrer Pförzer of the Totenkopf Division. Come into my home.”

  With a huge grin, teeth shining through the darkness, Pförzer took Braun’s hand in a vice-like grip of welcome.

  Braun hesitated.

  “There are more of us, two more to be exact.”

  “Then we must get them inside and out of the way quickly. There is a foot patrol along the quay every hour, and they will soon be upon us.”

  Pulling Braun to his feet, Pförzer stepped onto the bank and pulled him physically off the boat. Braun doubted he had ever been in a stronger grip in his entire life.

  “Oh, and if you ever want to sneak onto a boat, remember your weight will make it shift a little.”