by Jack Hayes
“There isn’t enough space in your truck for all of us,” a catcall.
The gossip.
“We will move in convoy,” Aku replied. I will take the old, the sick or children in my truck. But there are enough vehicles in the village – whether cars or tractors or sledges for us to bring anyone who wants to come. But those who do must know, that I will be leaving in one hour. That is the only way to stay ahead of their advance.”
“Coward! You should stay and protect us!”
Aku winced.
The deaths of his friends still hung heavy in his heart. Perhaps he’d been wrong to help the British – at least if he’d let the Germans get their supplies, they might have taken up the brunt of the Russian assault.
He closed his eyes.
No.
Maddox had promised him he would deal with the Russians.
But there was just no way he’d be able to do it before they overran this village. And, even if he’d let the Germans get their guns, they’d have only used them to defend the mine – that still meant the Russians would reach these farms before their final assault.
“We’re not leaving,” the farmer yelled from the middle of the congregation.
“I’m an old man,” his brother agreed. “The Russians won’t care about me.”
“Enough,” Aku shouted. “I’ve told you how it is. If you wish to stay, that is your choice. For the rest of you, know that 60 minutes from now, my truck will be on its way. It is dangerous to wait even that long. You have one hour.”
CHAPTER 31
A billy can of snowmelt boiled over the small fire. Fallon, gingerly wrapping a cloth around his hand, lifted the pot and poured tea into separate mugs. They were passed out around the group.
Marlowe sucked on the air above his drink, taking the heady vapours into his nose.
Sledge entertained Conley with tall tales of the group’s exploits in the jungles of Malaya.
Maddox smirked as the Australian reached the crescendo in his story. He’d heard it a dozen times before – and, of course lived through it. The legend being spun now was wholly different to the one he recalled taking part in. It involved wholly more giant snakes and a good deal less crawling through fetid swampland.
Maddox’s left forearm began to twitch with pain.
He rolled up his sleeve lightly and massaged the muscle to alleviate the itching. He traced his fingers along the network of worm-like scars that ran the length of his skin. As the blood recirculated, the sensation of being gnawed at subsided.
He found himself looking at his wedding ring.
Olivia.
He twisted the golden band between his fingers.
Walker had been watching Maddox in his deep period of thought.
“I didn’t realise you were married,” the lieutenant said.
“Oh, yes,” Maddox replied. “With a young son.”
Walker whistled through his teeth.
“That must be hard,” he said. “Being away from them so much. And tough on them never knowing exactly where you are.”
“You have no idea,” Maddox said, standing to leave.
“Still,” Walker said, realising he’d strayed into an area of conversation he should have left alone. “’Til death do you part, eh?”
Maddox stopped just as he was about to walk away and turned.
He smiled weakly.
“And even beyond,” he said.
As the captain headed away, Walker looked across to Patterson.
“What was that all about?”
Patterson shook his head slowly.
“It’s his story to tell,” Patterson said. “If he wants you to know, you’ll know.”
“Come on,” Walker said. “What was it? Did she leave him for another man? Run off with his baby?”
“She died,” Marlowe said. “March last year, in an air raid. The Bethnal Green Disaster, the papers called it. Now, drop the conversation.”
Patterson flashed Marlowe a death stare.
“What?” Marlowe said. “If the Walker’s going to shut up about it, he should at least know why. Otherwise it’s like having him walk around a mine field and not warning him of the danger.”
Walker mumbled about ‘condolences’ but even as he quietened, his face carried that pained expression of a child who had further questions but had been chastened to silence by the adults.
Patterson shook his head again and broodily went back to drinking his tea.
CHAPTER 32
“They should be back by now,” Major Nieder said.
Beck took a wet rag from the side of the sluice and wiped the dirt from his hands.
He was beginning to suspect there were no blue diamonds left in this hole in the ground.
“Give them time,” Beck said. “The Finns were probably just rattling our cage. Kalb probably bivouacked up for the night or laid a trap.”
“Even if he had stayed to set a trap for the Russians or Finns,” Nieder said. “the resupply group should have been here by now. They left the main base hours ago.”
Nieder paced across to the first row of tents of their makeshift camp. In the middle of the huddle, two of his privates were cooking a late dinner over a small fire. The background hum of the grease conveyor still chuntered in the background, as it always did.
The broken Russian slave labourers shuffled back and forth loading the gravel from the water troughs onto the leather belt.
After sending out a squad with Kalb, he only had 32 men – including himself and Beck – to defend the camp. If the Russians attacked, the first thing he’d have to have his men do is execute the slaves.
His soldiers couldn’t be expected to fight the Russian advance and keep an eye on the miners – who could easily create havoc when they saw the potential for freedom when their comrades arrived.
Any uprising would have to be nipped in the bud before it started.
He wasn’t going to get caught short by prisoners, like he had in Poland.
“What exactly do you propose?” Beck said. “If we leave before we’re done here, we’ll face a firing squad.”
“You don’t think we’ve enough diamonds to buy our lives?”
“We’ve enough to ensure we live fat and happy forever,” Beck said. “But anything short of what we’ve been sent here for and our masters in Labyrinth will be most unforgiving.”
Nieder nodded in agreement.
“So we need to hold this position or die trying,” Nieder said. “At least until we hit the payload we need.”
He pointed out into the forest.
“We’ll want a trench dug along the road there,” he said. “Five men in it. That should be able to exert a choke hold on the main approach.”
He turned around and pointed across to the snow line.
“A second, with another five men, will need to be there,” he said. “Then two more, one behind us on the bluff and another in the woods. The rest of the men, we’ll place around the mine and camp.”
“What about our escape,” Beck said.
Nieder smirked.
“That’s well camouflaged,” the major said. “It’s all ready to go. We just need what we need.”
“Blue diamonds,” Beck sighed.
***
The night was short.
Despite his tiredness, Maddox found sleep to be an elusive mistress. He climbed out of his tent and made his way across to the central fire. He poked the ashes, lifting a gentle flurry of grey dust into the air. Underneath, the final dying hints of red embers flickered briefly, exposed to fresh oxygen.
He knelt and clasped a handful of kindling. With the skill of a survivalist, he coaxed the dying fire back to flames.
“Couldn’t sleep, sir?” Conley asked from over his shoulder.
“Fits and starts,” Maddox replied. “And you don’t need the sir. I’m reasonably informal when in the field with men I trust.”
“Thank you, sir,” Conley replied.
Maddox smirked.
&
nbsp; “Anything to report?”
“All quiet since I took over from Fallon,” Conley said. “You want me to wake the men?”
Maddox stood and admired the crackling flames as they licked their way higher.
“Not yet,” he said. “Give them another hour. Most should come-to naturally as the light gets stronger. Then, shake the slug-a-beds.”
Maddox tipped the dregs from the billy can into the forest. He then crossed to a deep snow mound just clear of the treeline and scooped in a large dollop of snow. The men would need something to drink before they began the trek back along the ravine.
He stopped himself – they should amend their plan.
If the German attack had reached them from the mine, they had to have come in a vehicle of some kind. It made sense to see if they could find and make use of it themselves.
He paced back to the fire and slipped the pan on.
“You need to relax more,” Conley said.
Maddox raised an eyebrow.
“What says I’m not relaxed?”
“Lots of things,” Conley replied. “The way you stand. The way you play with your wedding ring when you think no-one’s looking. Lots of tiny signals.”
“I think you’re misreading things,” Maddox said.
The snow hissed as it slowly fizzled into water in the pot.
Maddox broke a branch into three pieces and fed them to the flames.
“I don’t know,” Conley said. “I’m usually pretty perceptive about people.”
“Oh, for the certainty of youth,” Maddox smiled. “There’s a difference between being tense and on guard. We had a lucky run in with the Finns. We’re in the middle of a Russian counter offensive. And we’re about to have a third entanglement with the German army. Relaxation might just get us all killed.”
“If you keep going like this you’ll be one of those people who has a heart attack at fifty,” Conley replied.
“Better than a bullet today,” Maddox said.
The billy can bubbled as the water reached boiling point.
Maddox poured himself out a mug of tea. He offered a second cup to Conley, who eagerly pulled off his gloves and used the steam rising from the beverage to warm his fingers.
They’d have to drink it black. Milk in the field was a luxury and Maddox didn’t fancy trying to get any from the reindeer given his encounter the previous day.
Conley hopped from one foot to the other. Clearly, for him, the conversation wasn’t over.
“It’s not hard,” Conley replied. “I learned this trick off a Chinese guy we did a mission with last year outside Shanghai. All you have to do is empty your mind and think of something simple like ‘cool, wet, grass’ or ‘slow, dripping, tap’. He used to repeat these things to himself – in Chinese of course – until he entered a sort of trace. Works wonders.”
Maddox’s eyes narrowed.
Sledge came out of his tent. The Australian tripped over a guy rope, clanked his nose on a branch and landed face down.
If any of their enemies were within 500 metres Sledge had just given their position away.
Maddox shook his head and took a belt of tea into his mouth.
The liquid gushed down the back of his gullet, almost scalding, but filling his body with the warmth of a passionate lover when it hit the bottom of his belly.
“It’s easier for some people than others to have empty minds,” he said.
“Don’t mind me,” Sledge said. “I’m not hurt or anything.”
The enormous sergeant drew himself to his full height and brushed the dirt from his trousers before continuing on his way.
“Look,” Conley whispered, “I know it sounds silly but just give it a try. Go with something that suits you and is relaxing. How about: ‘I am a leaf on the breeze’.”
Maddox stared at the young man in front of him. Conley took deep sips from his mug.
“Seriously?” Maddox said. “I didn’t have you down for one of those Blavatsky types.”
“Give it a go,” Conley replied. “If it doesn’t work, you don’t have to keep trying: ‘I’m a leaf on the breeze’.”
Maddox issued a long, deep sigh.
“I’ll consider it,” he said. “Now, get back to watching the perimeter.”
Conley tipped the tea in his cup out onto the snow. Maddox watched the sergeant walk away, the flashes of the fire lighting his coat with lonely flickers of orange slowly being overpowered by the rising daylight.
He closed his eyes.
“I’m a leaf on the breeze,” he thought. “I’m a leaf on the breeze…”
Maddox opened his eyes again.
“Pillock,” he said and tipped the dregs of his tea onto the ground.
CHAPTER 33
Komelkov drew his armoured column to a halt outside the village.
It was a ramshackle affair – a church, a few shops, a lumber mill and some farmsteads.
He counted fewer than twenty houses scattered like breadcrumbs on the earth. Hard to believe such a pathetic array of dwellings could do anything to halt his advance. But Komelkov was no fool. When every inch of road through this land contained the potential for a Finnish assault, a collection of buildings like this was a veritable nightmare of possible sniper holes and ambush sites.
Torn white bed sheets twitched anaemically on the breeze from windows and mop handles outside three of the structures and from the tympanum in front of the chapel.
“What do you propose?” his number two asked.
Komelkov pulled a cigarette carton from his pocket and with a veteran’s skill tapped a single cylinder from the carton. He stuck it in his mouth and lit the far end.
The ersatz blend of road tar and dried leaves that in the Soviet Union passed for a real cigarette washed over his tongue.
A lesser man might have coughed.
“It didn’t snow last night,” Komelkov replied. “So the answer is obvious.”
“Sir?”
Komelkov sucked heavily on the end of his cigarette until he could feel the heat of the end as it burned to his fingers. He flicked it out to the side of the tank and exhaled a brooding cloud of smoke.
“The tyre tracks,” he said. “Two sets. One is fresher than the second. No snow last night and their rate of decomposition means a truck came in, stayed a few hours and left.”
“How do you know it left? That there weren’t two trucks?”
Komelkov closed his eyes.
“Do you see a truck in the village?” he asked wearily.
“No, sir.”
“And what makes tracks like those?”
“An Opel Blitz.”
“So, now we know the inhabitants of the village have had contact with the Germans,” Komelkov said. “They have been warned of our arrival. A fact supported by the flags dangling from the windows.”
“How does this affect our actions?”
“That’s easy,” Komelkov replied. “It means we level the village. It’s that or take the risk of falling knowingly into a trap.”
“But,” the second said. “The white flags.”
“All that tells us,” Komelkov said. “Is that the inhabitants of those three buildings might – might – be willing to surrender.”
“The articles of war…”
“Very well,” Komelkov shrugged. “Target every building other than the ones with the flags. But if you see someone move or run from one structure to another, kill them. I’m not losing another man to these inbreeds.”
***
Maddox pulled the keys to the truck from his pocket and tried them in the ignition.
The motor coughed for a few seconds before clipping over. The brutal cold of just a single night out in the Finnish open.
“And this is summer,” he shook his head.
Walker poked his head in through the window.
“It’s working, then,” the lieutenant said. “That’s good. We can make up some of the time lost last night.”
“Indeed,” Maddox replied.
“We’ll take the road as close as we can, then hop back onto skis for the last mile or so.”
“So, is our target the Germans or the Russians?” Walker asked.
“Both,” Maddox replied. “Though I think our most prudent course of action may be to allow the two of them to knock seven bells out of one another and then step in to mop up the exhausted victor.”
Walker’s nose wrinkled.
“What?” Maddox asked.
Walker leaned back from the passenger window and checked the rest of the men were piling into the back of the vehicle.
“It’s just,” he replied, “I’m not sure how I feel about attacking an ally. We’ve already aided and abetted the enemy by teaming with the Finns. That’s technically a court martial offence. If we attack the Soviets…”
Maddox leaned forward and flicked the glass on the dashboard, behind which the fuel gauge sat. The needle flickered upward. He grimaced, there was only a third of a tank left. It wasn’t ideal – but better than nothing.
“Captain, did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Maddox replied.
“And?”
“And what?” Maddox asked. “We had an agreement with the Finns. They died helping us stop the Germans. Had that force made it through to the mine, this mission, which was suicidal in its stupidity from the start, would have been a total impossibility. Not even I would have been crazy enough to take on the firepower of that convoy we stopped yesterday, together with the soldiers killed in the forest and god knows what else they’ve got at the mine, dug in and waiting for us, altogether at the same time.”
“So,” Walker said, “you’re just going to ignore my concerns?”
Maddox stared thoughtfully through the windscreen for a few seconds.
He took a deep intake of breath, raising his chin as he considered his response.
“Would you feel any better if I derisively laughed at them?” he said.
A moment’s silence.
“Not really, no,” Walker said.
“Then don’t be so bloody stupid and get in the back of the truck,” Maddox replied.
“I must protest,” Walker said. “We cannot attack an ally.”
Maddox stared straight at Walker.
His eyes were a cold, brutal blue.
“Bullshit,” he said. “This isn’t the nice honourable end of the war. This isn’t sitting behind a desk on Oxford Street, or in the halls of Parliament, quaffing sherry and jaw-jawing about the front line. This isn’t even the niceties of advancing over the French countryside, where two-thirds of the infantry will never fire a shot in anger, pushing the German lines back mile by mile with a full belly; supporting supply chain and reinforcements on tap. This is war as war is. It’s a bunch of men, scared out of their wits in the back country, frozen, alone, dirty, brutal and begging for the kiss of their mother as their last breath curdles in their throat as they die swallowing a mouthful of mud. It is bloody and nasty; gouging in the eyes, gnawing through the sinews and – if you are very, very lucky – stabbing through the chest with the point of a knife, hoping to God that this thrust will give the man you’re grappling a painless passing as you watch his eyes widen in horror and his bowels empty into his trousers. It is piracy. It is the wrath of the Vandal horde. It is thuggish. And above all else: it is how it is. You either understand that or you will die – and it is my job to very much make sure you don’t.”