by Jack Hayes
It was cold without its thermal layers but hypothermia was less of an immediate threat to him than a brilliant white pelt in amongst the greens and fawn of the forest.
Perhaps he could use it to his advantage?
His eyes scanned furtively across the leaf litter. He spied a broom-length branch, dry and old, poking from beneath the matt of pine needles. Nervous glances. He draped the coat on top of a bush and stepped across for the stick.
Crack and ping.
A bullet hit the Sten.
The gun lashed from his hand.
Maddox rolled.
Head tucked, shoulders curved, he clasped his pistol.
The Mark VI Webley was a formidable revolver – its .455 calibre cartridge fired a low velocity bullet giving mild recoil with high stopping power due to the sheer heft of the round. Maddox had heard anecdotal reports from the Boer War that the earlier models of the pistol had even been used to fell a buffalo charging down on a soldier in the bush.
Revolver in hand he was back on his toes.
Two shots.
The first was unaimed. It ‘thunked’ into a conifer.
But the German who’d shot at him ducked for cover. His shifting mass flashed in Maddox’s peripheral vision. The second shot was fired true.
A groan as it impacted the private.
Maddox was off balance as he spun and pulled the trigger.
He kiltered.
He fell.
Machine gun rounds flashed through the bushes.
He wounded but didn’t kill the soldier.
Maddox landed on his back.
With an ‘oomph’, his lungs emptied.
His finger contracted.
Another shot.
The German, scrambling from his position in the bushes was hit in the chest.
He slipped.
A fourth round.
The man slumped into a thicket of ferns.
Maddox crabbed backward.
His breathing was laboured, his eyes wide.
The Webley was an excellent weapon but it had one major drawback.
It was a revolver. It only chambered six bullets.
Four were gone.
The sniper and one other men were left.
“Two men, two rounds,” he cursed.
CHAPTER 28
Maddox slipped across to a narrow ditch.
It was barely two feet deep and a man’s height wide but he was glad to be below the level of the woodland floor. Rolling onto his chest, he powered his way through along the hollow. Mud from a thin trickle of snow melt caked his face and hands as he crawled.
It also splattered the metal of the Webley.
Carefully, he lifted his head above the ground line.
His eyes panned furiously for his earlier weapons.
Where was the Sten? His knife?
Or even the bloody corpse of a felled German – hopefully lying next to its disused weapon?
Another salvo of machine gunfire.
This one was distant and poorly targeted.
What was the idiot shooting at?
Maddox’s coat, perhaps?
He lowered back to his chest and crawled away.
“Two bullets, two bullets, two bullets,” whispered mantra. “Got to even the score or run away…”
Still on his elbows, he left the stream. He reached a briar patch. Ignoring the stinging barbs as tiny thorns snagged his uniform he shimmied beneath the lowest runners.
He was hidden.
He closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
He strained to listen past the faint whine of tinnitus from the earlier gunfire.
The timberland was eerily silent.
“I can’t run,” he thought. “Not without getting a bullet to the neck…”
A crackle.
The crunch of a pine cone underfoot?
Maddox held his breath.
His ears were gaining in sensitivity as he continued to listen.
Nothing.
He dared to take shallow breaths.
The handle of the Webley felt slippery beneath his fingers as his palms began to sweat. His spine shivered. Perspiration without his coat was going to be a problem. In cold environments, running made you sweat. Without insulation and wicking outer layers, the water froze on your skin. There were few surer ways to hypothermia.
If Maddox had to stay hidden long, the Germans might try waiting him out…
Another crackle.
He turned his head to see if he could catch sight of a leg or shoelace – anything that might provide him with a target.
His thumb toyed with the revolver’s hammer.
Two rounds left.
Two men.
“I’ve got to be sure…”
He twisted. A prickly spindle from the briars juddered across the naked skin of his neck. Scarcely daring to blink, his eyes swivelled to the furthest corners they could reach.
A crunch.
A boot landed.
Three feet from his nose.
He couldn’t move his right arm to bring the pistol to bear without risking a noise.
The second boot shifted into view. Delicately placed. The soldier was on guard.
Was this man alone?
Had Maddox killed more of them than he’d estimated?
There was no talking. But that meant nothing – they could have split up. Or be using hand signals.
The Nazi took another pace.
A wide stance.
He must be crouching.
Maddox could turn his neck now and keep both feet in view. He still was twisted, though. He could move his right arm and stay balanced.
He could hear the German’s breathing now.
Long and low.
Nervous.
Trigger happy?
Maddox closed his eyes.
He’d heard tales of men, hidden in camouflage, spotted only because of the human brain’s powerful ability to feel another’s gaze staring out at them. Maddox’s face was covered in mud from the ditch. Hopefully that and the thick shrubbery would keep him hidden.
Another step.
A waft of animal dung stuck to the soldier’s boot tread as his sole lifted from the ground.
“Come on… come on…” he thought.
He chanced opening his eyes again.
The boots were now two yards on and facing away from him.
Maddox slowly was able to move his right arm. Realigning himself, he could point the Webley upward.
The German took one more step.
Maddox fired.
The German teetered.
He fired a second time.
The soldier fell.
Maddox scrabbled forward. He ignored the clawing tendrils of the bush as he rushed for the soldier’s rifle. Chips and spindles and leaves. He rose to his feet and bolted for the weapon.
He grabbed the gun and kept running.
He knew he was making too much noise but wanted to put as much distance between himself and the body before he checked the magazine.
A distant cry to his rear.
“Halt!”
Maddox kept running.
The rapid spit of a machine gun.
“Good luck hitting me at that range,” he growled.
Ahead, there was a depression in the ground, filled with coppiced trees. Maddox dropped and rolled down the bank.
He landed on his feet and leapt through the bushes.
Using them for cover, he yanked the rifle’s magazine clean and stared inside.
“Tremendous,” he hissed.
It was empty.
He yanked the bolt to check the breach.
“The guy fired his last round?” he hissed. “You have got to be joking.”
Above him, at the edge of the coppice, he saw the outline of the German running down the bank.
CHAPTER 29
Kalb barged his way through the branches as he ran down the slope into the depression.
His pupils were wide with rage at the l
oss of his men.
He’d been counting the rounds as they were fired by his team. He’d known Gansk was out of ammunition as he stupidly stomped through the forest. And when he heard the two shots that ended the life of his corporal, he knew the British captain had used every slug in his Webley.
To catch up with his wayward team, he even passed the spent Sten gun and Fairbairn Sykes knife protruding from the chest of his soldier Petrag.
The fact that the Englishman had taken Gansk’s rifle was proof enough to back up his theory: the captain was out of bullets and out of options.
Kalb had nothing more to fear – with a submachine gun in his hand, he didn’t need to wait; all he wanted was to kill the bastard who’d murdered his men.
There was a snap in the undergrowth.
A twig broken.
Kalb, conditioned reflex, fired a volley into the bushes. There was a loud shriek and the sound of a hefty body falling. He pulled the trigger again. A second burst spat forth as he charged through the leaves.
“Damn,” he said.
A female deer lay shuddering on the snow, her legs quivering as though she were still trying to outrun death. Next to her, her terrified calf leapt away through the brush.
Maddox seized his chance.
He crashed through the underbrush, attacking the Nazi.
***
Maddox swung the rifle like a club, knocking Kalb’s MP38 aside.
A second ruthless swing, aimed to crack the German’s skull.
Kalb ducked.
With the gun butt sailing overhead, Maddox was off balance. Kalb kicked him in the knee. The strike was sloppy, but Maddox went down. Kalb jumped closer, another kick, aimed for the kidneys.
Maddox rolled.
He scissored his legs around Kalb’s. With a twist, he toppled the German.
Maddox was back on his feet.
As Kalb rose, he grabbed Maddox around the neck.
The German bobbed forward, tossing Maddox.
Caught unexpectedly, Maddox was lifted from his feet and flew through the air.
He landed hard on his shoulders.
He rolled.
He was back up.
Kalb punched him in the temple. As Maddox reeled, the German followed with a jab, then another, then third.
Maddox lifted his elbows to block the assault.
He was tired and bruised.
He struck out with a flat palm, crushing the German’s nose.
Blood spurted.
He then tapped under Kalb’s jaw and tried to hit his throat.
Kalb rebuffed the attack.
Red ooze trickling across his lips and down his chin, the German clasped Maddox’s shoulder and hit at the belly. Maddox replied with a head butt. There was no elegance to the battle, like a school yard brawl, they grappled and tumbled to the ground – rolling and biting and gouging.
Kalb landed on top.
Blood dripped from his broken nose onto Maddox’s cheek.
Before the Nazi could complete his punch, Maddox clasped Kalb’s lapels and put a knee to his testicles. Continuing the movement, Maddox threw the sergeant – Maddox had been trained in the SOE’s Closed Quarters Combat system, an expanded and aggressive form of the martial art known as Defendu.
Kalb grunted as he hit the ground flat.
Maddox huffed to his feet and prepared to end the fight.
Kalb was chuckling, prone in the mud.
Maddox’s eyes narrowed.
There were ten yards between them. Kalb was beaten. What could be so funny?
Kalb began to roll over.
Maddox saw it.
Horror!
He’d thrown Kalb on top of the German’s MP38.
Maddox dived through the bushes just in time as Kalb unleashed a frenzy of bullets where he’d been standing. Desperate groping on his hands and shins as he tried to get upright and run.
In standing, his head whacked a knotty branch.
He clutched his head.
He staggered.
He lurched into a clearing.
The inside of his head buzzed and his vision took a few seconds to return.
He slipped and fell.
Maddox lay bruised on the ground. His muscles ached from the skiing and fight. His breath was fitful, each intake of oxygen requiring conscious effort in the heavy raising of his chest and sending spasms of pain from his battered ribcage.
He glanced about for a weapon.
A rock – a stick – anything…
Through the bushes at the clearing’s edge, he saw the reindeer calf whose mother Kalb had slain mere minutes before.
It shivered with fear.
Everywhere else, there was nothing but ferns and mud and lichens.
Sergeant Kalb stalked headlong into the dell.
He ejected the magazine of his MP38 and checked it still contained ammunition. It did. He jammed the cartridge back home.
There was a leering sneer to his lips.
Maddox scrabbled to his feet and took several paces back.
Kalb cocked the weapon and advanced. He crossed in front of the bush with the calf. It hunkered down, terrified to do anything more than shudder.
“And now, Captain, you will die.”
Kalb raised the gun square with Maddox’s chest.
The Englishman stared down the barrel to his certain death.
With a rustle and a crash, the stag burst through the shrubbery. Kalb just had time to issue a surprised ‘oomph’ as its antlers gouged into his body. Its enormous bulk tossed him into the air. Kalb’s weapon was flung aside, landing with a pat on the snow.
Kalb was less fortunate.
He hit the ground hard. The reindeer turned and stomped its hooves on the earth as it stood to proud, protecting its calf from the predator who’d killed its doe. Kalb, winded, just had time to glance up, as the stag charged forward again, thrusting its pronged antlers deep into his chest.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then, with a rattle of its head, skewered him through the neck.
Maddox, slowly, inched across for the MP38.
Kalb’s broken body was a bloody mess. His chest still heaved. His eyes remained open as he gasped, staring up at the animal. The stag stomped a warning to Maddox as he reached the machine gun.
Maddox gently clasped the gun, careful not to cross anywhere near the beast or its errant calf.
The stag snorted through its nose in derision and bayed at its fawn. The calf meekly trotted forward.
All the while, both kept their gaze fixed on Maddox.
The stag, bowed its head, brandishing its formidable horns at the Englishman.
“I hear you,” Maddox said. “Stay away from your new born.”
Maddox backed cautiously away.
Then, with final snort, the reindeer shepherded its young away through the trees.
“Jesus,” Maddox murmured. “And I thought the bears were supposed to be the things to watch out for.”
With the animals gone, Maddox at last stepped cautiously toward Kalb.
The sergeant’s eyes swivelled up to look at him. Blood curdled through his teeth, mixing with saliva to form bubbles that blistered and popped with every exhalation.
A twitch of his fingers as he tried to move them.
Then, with a guttural hiss, the German breathed his last.
CHAPTER 30
Maddox staggered up the bank to the grove, using the MP38 for support.
When he reached the top, he sat down, leaning his back against a gnarled tree stump, surrounded by clusters of toadstools.
His lids felt heavy as night began to descend.
A glimmer of movement.
With a snap, the MP38 was firmly in his palm and pointed at a clump of bracken from where the motion had come.
“Whoa,” Peterson said. “Don’t shoot.”
Maddox said nothing, an exhausted wheeze that might have made a chuckle had he had the energy, issued from
his mouth.
“Jesus,” Marlowe said. “You look like shit.”
“You should see the other guys,” Maddox said.
Fallon came through the bushes to Maddox’s right. In his arms he held the captain’s Sten, his coat and his Fairbairn Sykes knife.
“We did,” Fallon said. “I counted ten. Not bad for a man on his own.”
“There’s another in the dell down the slope,” Maddox replied.
“What about Shield?” Marlowe asked.
Maddox shook his head.
“Tough break,” Marlowe replied. “When you didn’t make the rendezvous, we backtracked to find you. Came across evidence of the gunfight at the ravine and started following the carnage.”
“Walker?” Maddox asked.
“Here,” another voice said, passing through the shrubs behind Fallon. “Come on, let’s get him fixed up and then make camp for the night.”
“We’ll head back to Sledge and Conley,” Maddox agreed. “Hopefully, they’ve set up a fire and we can have something warm to eat.”
***
Half the village had turned out into the church hall.
Aku Jouhki stood in the vicar’s pulpit. Below him the faces of people he’d known his entire life stared back. In a back row, the local gossip monger whispered, hand over her lips to cover her mouth, to the woman next to her, whose face bobbed forward and back like a wagging dog’s tail.
Two-thirds of the way down the pews, a farmer and his brother, both nearing their seventies, sat with brows furrowed, deep as the troughs they ploughed in their fields in the spring. Their silver hair somehow added to the seriousness of their expressions.
In the front row, Jouhki’s wife, Ros, sat with their two children.
The youngest bounced on her lap as she tried to keep him still.
“Everyone,” Aku shouted, bringing the room to silence. “The Russians have broken through our lines. I’m sure you all saw the truck I had to steal from the Germans to get here ahead of them. The Red Army will be with us in just a few hours. I need you all to pack your belongings, bringing only what you absolutely must, and come with Ros and myself south.”
An eruption of disagreement and babbling between the people.
“Where is our army?” one shouted.
“Where is my son?” the mother of one of Aku’s comrades, who’d fallen earlier in the day, joined in.
“What of the Germans – they will protect us! That’s why they’re here.”
“Well, they would have, if he hadn’t stolen their truck…”
“Please,” Aku replied. “You must believe me – we tried to stop the Russians and lost many good men in doing so. They were too strong. You know what they will do when they arrive. There will be no quarter. Men will be shot. Women will be raped. Houses will be burned. If you value your lives and the lives of your children, you must join us and come south.”