He took a quick look at Proschin. The Pope looked expressionlessly at the invaders, as if he was already beyond fear and intimidation. But then Mischka noticed an almost imperceptible movement of his eyes, a short wink, as if to say: Go, Michail Wulff! Get out of here! I'm gonna distract these guys.
Mischka dropped his clay bowl on the cave floor and hung his arms as if he had lost all hope. But his thoughts worked feverishly.
"End of the line, Comrade Wulff, we're finally going home. Your friend, Colonel Wdowetschenko, is waiting for you longingly. I'm sure he'll be happy when you enrich camp life with your presence again." Karatajew grinned gloatingly as he stepped aside to let two soldiers into the cave with their weapons released.
Mischka took a step back when the two men stepped next to him. At that moment Chrapow slipped forward like a cat and slapped Mischka in the face. The young man staggered back, struck against the carpet-covered cave wall, and only laboriously held on to a shelf of birch trunks.
"Leave it alone!" Litschenko shouted at the hunter. "You have no right to beat him up!"
"No right?" Chrapow snarled at the lieutenant. "Have you forgotten the last few months? Have you forgotten what he did to your men? Don't you realize that bastard crippled my brother? I shouldn't have the right to break his bones?"
Proschin stepped forward. "No, you have no right to beat anyone here!" he replied to the hunter fearlessly.
Without hesitation, Chrapow hit the old man with the back of his hand right in the face. "Let's see that!" he hissed coldly.
The Pope wiped the thin trace of blood from the corner of his mouth and replied firmly: "Violence is always a sign of weakness and the absence of justice!" At that moment Mischka grabbed his fighting sticks lying on the shelf and struck the two soldiers several times on their wrists at lightning speed. With an outcry, the men dropped their weapons. Their hands were paralyzed. At the same moment Mischka disappeared into the second cave exit hidden behind the tapestry. Litschenko and Karatajew looked after him in disbelief.
"Get out of the way, you idiots!" Chrapow yelled at the two soldiers his hunting rifle pointing at them. "Clear the way!"
When the men, shocked by the pain, did not react immediately, he stormed forward to pursue the refugee. Litschenko and Karatajew followed him with short determination. They had just stepped into the crevice when a hail of stones hit them from the ceiling of the cave.
"Back off!" screamed Chrapow. "That son of a bitch set us up again!"
"Come on, get out of here, we can still catch him outside!" Litschenko ordered.
The men stormed past Proschin without paying him a glance. The old man had no value for them for the time being. The soldiers also picked up their weapons and left the cave. Their faces were still pale with pain. Alexej Proschin smiled after them.
"Good luck, Michail Wulff," he said quietly, "I will pray for you that your dream of freedom will come true. – And that you will find inner peace."
Then he began to unerringly put some things into a leather bag, finally threw it around his shoulders, took an oak stick and went into the cave exit. Outside there was a soldier with his back to the rock face, an AK-47 at the ready. With a soft moan, the man sank to his knees and tilted forward as the oak stick hit him in the back of his head.
"You can learn a lot from the young people," giggled the old man as he made off with his leather bag between the bushes.
◆◆◆
After Mischka had disappeared behind the tapestry, he loosened the loop that secured the rockfall trap under the cave ceiling. Then he grabbed bows and quivers and the rucksack he had packed for all occasions, slipped out of the crevice and stormed down the path that led to the river. Arriving at the shore, he threw his equipment into the boat, pushed it into the current and steered over the river with strong strokes.
He was already a hundred yards away from the jetty when his pursuers reached the shore, especially Chrapow. The face of the hunter was reddened with anger and effort.
"Come back, you bastard," he shouted across the river, "or I'll blow your brains out of your skull!"
Mischka just laughed scornfully: "Try to catch me, you great man hunter! I won't come back voluntarily! By the way, how's your brother? Is he clear in his head again?"
Anger darkened Chrapow's gaze. He pulled up the hunting rifle and aimed for the fugitive. His index finger curved like in a compulsive spasm. The shot whipped through the air. Mischka flinched. An unbelieving amazement glided over his face. Then he collapsed, tipped over the boat's side and sank into the brown water of the river.
Wordlessly, the men stared over at the boat. Air bubbles came up from the depth and dissolved on the surface of the water. Then Michail Wulff's lifeless body appeared. He drifted down the river with his back up, next to him the rowing boat. His face was under water, arms and legs were spread out, as if his body was floating in a vacuum.
Lieutenant Litschenko breathed hard. Then he looked at Chrapow angrily. "You had no orders to shoot him like a mangy dog! I wanted to bring him back alive. Why did you do that?"
Chrapow looked at him coldly and only asked: "How long have we been following this Wulff now, Comrade Lieutenant? And how much longer would you have liked to have done it? It seems to me that life in the wild is beginning to be fun for you. But what do you think Lieutenant Colonel Wdowetschenko would say if the guy escaped us again this time?"
Litschenko kept silent. Chrapow was right, even if he was wrong. His superior would have raved if Wulff had slipped through their fingers again this time. That would have been the end of a hopeful military career for him, Litschenko.
Suddenly, a suspicion shot through his head. Was Michail Wulff really dead or was he playing another game with them? He bit his tongue not to say that thought. The hunter would only intervene again with his arbitrary action.
Chrapow once again took a look at the body floating in the water. Then he shouldered his gun and turned to walk. The soldiers returned with him to the cave.
Litschenko waited a moment at the shore. Then he followed the course of the river and watched the body. Ten minutes later it drifted together with the rowing boat around a river bend into a groyne. A light whirlpool turned the boat in circles, while Michail Wulff's body was stopped five yards further by the branches of a low-hanging willow. Small waves gently rocked him in the opposite current.
Litschenko stared at the other side of the river. Somehow he wished that Michail Wulff would suddenly lift his head out of the water, wave to him and shout, "Well, how did I do that?," and then disappear between the bushes. But the young man didn't move.
A hand lay on Litschenko's shoulder. "Come on, Comrade Lieutenant," said Jossif Karatajew quietly. "The hunt is over. The boy is dead as a doornail. Chrapow did a great job. He did what had to be done. You couldn't have dragged him back to camp anyway. He was a man no bars can hold. Let's go home."
Litschenko nodded, looked back at the body floating in the water and followed the soldier. Even though Michail Wulff swam dead in the river, he had the feeling that Karatajew was not right. Something disturbed him. He just couldn't tell what it was.
Oh, come on! he finally said to himself, the many months in the wilderness have driven you a little crazy. So, let's go home!
Fifteen minutes later they met the other men up at the cave. One of the soldiers sat dazed on the floor. Blood ran down the neck from a laceration in the back of the head. A man was digging in his bandage bag for a gauze bandage.
"The old man knocked him down and took off. Shall we follow his trail?" Chrapow asked the lieutenant.
"We don't have a mission for this. Let's let the madman go. He doesn't have many years left to live anyway. Besides, I want to go back to my family." Litschenko looked once again at the wound of the injured soldier. That's it! It shot through his head. Why haven't I noticed this before? He could slap himself!
Litschenko shouted to the soldiers: "Come on! We missed something important! The hunt is far from over!"
&
nbsp; The men stared at their superiors in disbelief.
"What did we miss, Comrade Lieutenant?" Karatajew wanted to know.
"A wound is bleeding. We missed that!" Litschenko exclaimed excitedly. "And this Michail Wulff didn't bleed. The water around him has not changed color, although he was hit by a heavy caliber!"
Litschenko hadn't quite said it yet when Chrapow stormed down the mountain past him already.
◆◆◆
After Karatajew and Litschenko had left, Michail Wulff waited a few minutes before he dared to turn his head carefully. From the corner of his eye he watches the shore. No one was seen! He pulled his legs under the body, turned slowly and lifted his head out of the water. In fact, they had thought he was dead and left.
Mischka took the fuel hose of the motorcycle, which had served him as a snorkel, out of his mouth. The hair had camouflaged the transparent fuel hose so well that Litschenko and his men could not detect it.
When the badly aimed ball buzzed past him, Mischka had immediately known how he could save himself. He had to play dead! His deception had been successful, thanks to the fuel hose in his jacket pocket! With the snorkel in his mouth, he slowly drifted to the surface of the river and carefully blew out the water with his breathing air. Then he let himself hang limply and played the fatally wounded one. In fact, the pursuers hadn't seen through his trick.
But now it was time to hurry. Finally, Lieutenant Litschenko could send someone to recover his body. Mischka swung into the boat, dipped the straps into the water and rowed down the river with all his might. A quarter of an hour later he turned into the course of a narrow stream, poked along the shore and hid the boat in a dense reed belt. If they were to look after him again, they would miss the boat and certainly search the river for him. That's why he had to make a run for it on foot.
Despite his heavy equipment and the wet shoes and clothes, he began to run west through the forest. As at the beginning of his escape, he wanted to bring as many miles as possible between himself and his pursuers. But this time he had the advantage. In the meantime he was well trained, hardened and experienced in the struggle for survival, while the soldiers could only follow his trail on foot if they discovered it at all.
One and a half hours later Mischka reached a hill. Down in the valley he saw an almost overgrown rough lane. Mischka immediately withdrew behind a bush when he saw two vehicles there, a truck, Ural type, and an Uas. Two soldiers sat next to a gasoline stove and prepared a meal.
While he watched them, Mischka wondered how he should behave. The story about the motorcycle came back to him. The vehicle had helped him to get a good lead over his pursuers. Here was again the opportunity to simplify his escape. With the Uas, he'd move faster. Besides, Litschenko and Chrapow would have to walk this time. A little physical training would certainly not harm them and the soldiers.
All the senses extremely tensed, Mischka sneaked down the slope until he reached a group of spruces. Hunched in the shadows of the trunks, he peered over to the vehicles. The two men were leaning against the bumper of the truck smoking cigarettes.
Mischka rose slowly and strolled casually towards the two soldiers, his right hand in his jacket pocket and one of his battle sticks in his left as if he were holding a child's toy.
"Hey, Lukasch, look. There comes one of Genghis Khan's heirs," laughed one of the soldiers and pushed his comrade into the side.
"What is this forest goblin?" he replied. "Bow and arrow, fur jacket and leather pants? Is there a movie being made here?" The man looked around amused, as if he was looking for the camera team.
Mischka pretended not to hear anything. He smiled stupidly at them, stretched out his right hand and said: "Abba, oh mota, oh, ... baba me, oh bau, ..."
"Huh? What did that guy say?" Lukasch shook his head. "Can't you talk sense? What's with the gibberish?"
"Abba mota me," Mischka answered him smiling and pointed his right hand at his ear.
"Oh, you can't understand us, you're deaf," Lukasch exclaimed. "And the way you look, you're probably a poor lunatic who wants to eat his way through our proviant ..."
He did not get any further, because in this moment Mischka pushed his baton into the solar plexus. The man shot forward. At the same time Mischka pulled his second baton out of the quiver and let the end of the baton whiz on the back of the soldier's head. Without a sound he fell to the ground and remained crouched. Even before the second soldier could bring his rifle into action, Mischka knocked the barrel aside and aimed the right stick at the man's temple. He instinctively tried to protect his head, but Mischka pulled the blow over the soldier's left arm, swirled the baton once over his head and hit the man on the ear. With a soft moan, the man sank to the ground.
Mischka disarmed the two, pulled them to two birches and turned them on their belly. Then he put their legs around the tree trunks and tied the shoelaces of their boots together. So, they couldn't be dangerous to him anymore. In addition, he cut open their shirt sleeves and knotted the two ends together on the back at elbow level.
He was just finished when one of them woke from his unconsciousness. Confused, he looked up, but then slowly it dawned on him what had happened. Angry, he began to pull on his shackles.
"You see, a poor maniac doesn't even need a rope to tie up a tall and strong man like you," Mischka grinned at him from a safe distance. "Your clothes make you as motionless as your attitude to life. But I'm sure that's too high for you!"
"Son of a bitch!" the man just cursed.
"Your supervisor already said that," Mischka replied laconically, "but that didn't help him either."
In the meantime the second soldier had also come to consciousness and moaned quietly: "You almost smashed my skull in. Wait till I catch you! I'll break every bone in your body!"
"These are just as empty promises as our politicians make them," Mischka waved off, "many words, but no deeds. Besides, you should be thankful. Better a bump on the head than in a wooden box under the ground."
The man just cursed when Mischka turned to leave.
"Incorrigible, these people," Mischka returned over his shoulder, "never learn, even if it is their misfortune."
Without losing any more time, he inspected the two vehicles, then loaded food, petrol canisters and reserve clothing onto the Uas and also took three rifles, two pistols and ammunition into the car. He also found two packed rubber dinghies in the Urals. Surely he'd really need them. Therefore he stowed them together with the other booty pieces.
"You can't leave us here like this, comrade!" one of the two soldiers shouted to him. "We're completely helpless. At least untie our arms."
"Yes, I can," Mischka replied. "Your comrades will soon arrive and set you free. You'll see how fast they are here."
Mischka started the Uas. The engine ran smoothly and trouble-free. Then he opened a petrol can and poured the contents over the truck. Too bad, actually, he thought, the Ural is a reliable vehicle. But that's why he has to destroy it. He also opened the tank and stuck a cloth soaked with gasoline into it. Finally he released the handbrake and let the truck roll into a ditch.
Mischka shouted "Goodbye, comrades!" to the two tied up, pulled the safety ring of a hand grenade, threw it into the truck, jumped into the Uas and raced down the rough lane. Behind him, the hand grenade detonated and set the Ural on fire. Only seconds later, further detonations shook the air. The ammunition boxes had caught fire!
Mischka observed in the rear-view mirror how black smoke clouds rose to the sky. He was sure Lieutenant Litschenko and Chrapow would immediately know what that meant. He could imagine their faces, first stunned, then red with rage. That gave him satisfaction. Happily whistling, he bumped down the lane and drove west through the high grass. It's gonna be a tough road for the men, he thought in a good mood.
Two hours later he stopped the car, rummaged through the bundles of clothes and put on a matching uniform. It was a strange feeling to be able to wear clothes made of fabric again after many months. He
also found some comfortable boots. He opened a can of cooked beef and studied various maps he had found in the side compartment of the Uas. If he drove further west, in less than an hour he would meet the road leading from Nakama to Chatanga in the North Siberian lowlands, a lonely road almost exclusively used by trucks.
Mischka got behind the steering wheel again. While he followed the overgrown rough lane, he planned the further course of his escape. There were basically two options open to him. He could paddle along the river Tunguska to Jenissej, and then hike through northern Tyumen to the Urals. From Salechard there was a railway line to the west. He certainly had the opportunity to get closer to Finland as a fare dodger in a freight train. Because it was already late summer, however, he did not have enough time for this escape route. Winter would surprise him halfway through. Besides, Chrapow and Litschenko would be on his heels, too high a risk for him. As a second possibility Mischka considered the way to the northeast to hide for another winter and to fool his pursuers. To do this, however, he had to lay a clear trace to the southwest.
He stopped again to study the map. As soon as he had opened it, he saw at once what he had to do. He'd fool Chrapow with that! Satisfied with himself and the world, Mischka continued on his path.
◆◆◆
When Litschenko heard the distant explosion and saw the black clouds of smoke rising above the treetops, he knew immediately. Michail Wulff had screwed them once again! At first they had believed that the young man had rowed further down the river to set off to the south. Perhaps he wanted to escape in a large southwestern arc via Kazakhstan to Afghanistan or Iran. He seems to have what he takes for a successful escape.
But now his plan was clear. He wanted to nail them here in the wilderness, so that he could start his escape to the west undisturbed. He called the men together over the handheld radio. They looked depressed and angry at their lieutenant, and many a curse could be heard. Karatajew reported that Chrapow had hurried back to their vehicles immediately after the detonation.
The Trace of the Wolf Page 21