‘It’s my bag. I found it!’ I shouted, continuing our little charade.
‘Halt! Kommen sie hir,’ the oldest of the three soldiers barked. ‘Was ist das?’ he snarled, pointing to the bag. ‘Was ist in der Tasche?’
Stopping, we peered at them as if they were rudely interrupting our game. Looking at each other, we shrugged, pretending we hadn’t a clue what the soldier was saying.
One took a step towards us and beckoned with a hand. In a no-nonsense manner, he spat, ‘Gib mir. Sofort!’
The soldier took delight in throwing his weight around and I think he’d grown used to people doing as they were told. Obligingly, Loki let go of his end of the strap. So far so good, I thought. The situation was unfolding exactly to plan. Clutching the bag close to my chest, I yanked at the zip as if gladly willing to share its secrets. With Fritz’s attention suitably distracted, Loki snatched the revolver from his belt. ‘Hände hoch!’ he ordered, flashing the gun about so it spent equal time pointing at each of them.
For a split second the soldiers were struck by astonishment and bemusement in equal measure. The eldest looked as though he might burst out laughing at our caper; as if it was a joke, or a dare of some sort. But the others failed to see anything amusing and moved to lift their machine guns. I whipped my Sten from the bag and beat them to it. ‘Hände hoch!’ I ordered and took delight in the look of horror that swept across their faces in the time it takes to blink.
It dawned on them that we were deadly serious. Flashing each other uncertain looks, slowly, apprehensively, they raised their hands. Pressing his revolver hard into each of their backs in turn, Loki set about disarming them. I covered him. Gesturing with the barrel of my Sten, we then frogmarched all three behind the bus shelter and forced them to stand facing a wall. We now had to work quickly if we wanted to catch the ten past seven train to Rochefort. We ordered them to take off their uniforms, which they only did after a few encouraging prods from the barrel of my Sten. The bandages from the first-aid tin and the straps from our machine guns proved perfect for tying them up and gagging them. Job done, we hurriedly changed into their uniforms and shoved our old clothes and the spare uniform into the bag. About to do the same with our weapons, Loki said, ‘Shouldn’t we kill them? That way they can’t talk.’
It was tempting, but to do so struck me as cowardly – and, of course, would also raise the alarm. I grabbed the barrel of the machine gun Loki was pointing at the huddled, debagged trio sitting on the ground in their underpants, shivering in the cold, and pushed it to one side. ‘No. By the time they’re discovered we’ll be …’ I was careful not to reveal our destination out loud. ‘Anyway, they’re not going anywhere in a hurry.’
With the soldiers taken care of and hidden from view, we emerged from behind the bus shelter and briefly inspected each other in the lamplight. Neither uniform fitted perfectly but they’d do. They’d have to. My grey trenchcoat felt heavy and was a size too big. It smelled funny as well, of somebody else’s stale body odour. It wasn’t nice. And the helmet’s strap bit into my chin.
‘That’s the hard part done, Finn. We’ve got to hurry or we’ll miss the train,’ Loki said.
We slung the straps of our newly acquired German machine guns over our shoulders and walked briskly through the murk back towards the station, this time out in the open, our strides confident, fearless even. After all, we were Nazis! We’d conquered this damn country. We had to look and behave as if we believed it. Along the way we startled a few locals. It must have been frightening for them to see us emerge through the mist like a pair of unwelcome ghouls. Most gave us a wide berth, stepping off the pavement or hopping into doorways. I thought I detected hatred in one or two eyes as we passed, but mostly it was fear, I think. Some simply ignored us. One old lady even nodded to us kindly. I supposed she was grateful for ‘our’ help the previous night in saving that little girl and ‘our’ assistance in fighting the flames.
‘Do we need to buy a ticket?’ Loki whispered as we approached the tiny station through the gloom.
‘Of course not, you idiot,’ I replied under my breath. ‘The spoils of victory – free travel!’
Loki managed a nervous laugh.
Trying to look purposeful and serious, we passed through the small ticket office and strode out onto the platform. There was a large clock suspended from the roof and the moment my eyes fell on its face the minute hand clicked forward a notch – it was five past seven. There was a woman with two small children waiting on a bench at the far end of the platform, a really scruffy old fellow ferreting through a rubbish bin in search of food and a few others dotted about, with several on the opposite side of the tracks. A single German guard clutching a rifle stood on the far platform. He saw us and nodded a hello. We nodded back.
Loki looked round anxiously and whispered, ‘We’re on the right side, aren’t we? And the next train is going to Rochefort, isn’t it?’
A distant blast of a train’s whistle told us we’d soon find out.
The locomotive panted and squealed as it drew to a stop. I counted six carriages, the front two occupying the full length of the short platform. A handful of people got off and the woman and her two children got on. ‘Come on, Loki. Once on board we’ll head for the rear of the train. Look as if you’re searching for someone. Glance at each person in turn. It’ll put the fear of God into the passengers and with any luck they’ll look the other way. And remember, if we come across a German officer, for God’s sake remember to salute him.’
It worked a treat. As the train pulled out, we slowly made our way along the corridor of each carriage in turn, our machine guns poised for trouble and our expressions deliberately grim. The train was quite full and those passengers unable to find seats in the compartments loitered in the corridors. Most stiffened at seeing us approach and I swear half of them held their breaths as we belligerently shoved our way past. I could almost taste their fear.
A strange and growing sense of power gripped me. It felt weird. These people were all at our mercy. One wrong look, one rude gesture, one word out of line, and they believed we’d arrest them, make their lives a misery, maybe even make them disappear! They wouldn’t dare question who we were, or think maybe I looked a trifle too young to be a soldier in the Wehrmacht. My confidence and swagger grew with every step. Although I’d never admit it, I was almost enjoying the experience, the total control over the situation, and I was even tempted to pick someone out at random and bark at them to produce their papers, to watch them fumble nervously, guessing that even the totally innocent would pray there wasn’t some discrepancy – a missing official stamp, an expired permit – that would dump a shed load of trouble on their head.
Loki was a couple of steps in front of me when, without warning, a door to one of the compartments slid open and a tall, immaculately dressed SS officer emerged. Startled, we both snapped to attention and saluted, announcing, ‘Heil Hitler!’ with what we hoped was sufficient enthusiasm and conviction. He didn’t even acknowledge us. Instead, he hissed at us to get out of his way, which we duly did. With my heart thumping like a nervous rabbit, we pressed on.
‘Ein Moment!’
I froze. The SS officer was talking to us. Slowly we turned.
‘What’s the latest news? Have they arrested anyone?’ he called out, heading back towards us.
Oh, Lord, time to put my German to the test. ‘Nein,’ I began. ‘We’ve been searching all day, sir. Seen nothing. Our orders are to return to Rochefort and to check the passengers on the train.’
The SS officer nodded thoughtfully. From his tunic pocket he removed a silver cigarette case embossed with a skull and crossbones matching the badge on his cap. Producing a gold lighter bearing the same hideous emblem, he lit up and took a long drag. ‘Do you think they’ve slipped through our net?’ he asked.
I shrugged and pulled a don’t-know face. Loki chipped in, ‘We’ve covered just about every square inch for miles. If there was anyone out there I think we would ha
ve caught them, sir.’
The officer nodded. ‘Perhaps. Tell me, where do you two come from?’
‘Cologne,’ I replied without hesitation.
Loki said, ‘Hamburg,’ simultaneously.
‘Ah! Cologne. Wonderful city. Let’s hope the RAF doesn’t bomb our splendid cathedral there.’
‘Yes, sir, let’s hope so.’ Sweat dripped down the back of my neck. And the way the officer looked at me, casting his eyes over first my uniform then the supplies bag, I couldn’t help but sense that he was suspicious about something. Was he testing me? Had the RAF already bombed Cologne’s cathedral? If they had, then any soldier from the city would surely have heard or read about it. Maybe Cologne didn’t even have a cathedral! Oh God! I desperately tried to hide my growing trepidation.
Dismissing us with a wave of his hand, the officer said, ‘All right. Carry on.’
We didn’t need to be told twice. Glad that particular close shave was behind us, and not wanting a repeat, we hurried towards the rear of the train. At the end of the last carriage we found ourselves in a small space next to a smelly lavatory, nicely hidden from the main corridor. We could go no further. Loki slid down the window in the carriage door, stuck his head out and took deep breaths. The train began to slow. ‘There’s a station up ahead,’ he said. ‘I can see lights.’
‘Do you think it’s Rochefort?’ I asked hopefully.
‘No. It looks too small.’
The train clunked and clattered into the tiny station. I heard voices and the slamming of carriage doors, then a loud whistle, and we set off again. As we trundled past the platform I peered out and saw several guards. They were stopping and checking every passenger as they headed for the exit. ‘See them?’ I said. ‘Good job we’ve got these uniforms on. If they’re doing similar checks at Rochefort we’d stand no chance without them.’
Loki leaned up against the wall of the carriage, pressed his eyes tightly shut and let out a long, drawn out sigh. The stress and strain were beginning to take their toll. I felt it too. ‘Not far now,’ I said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘We’ll find Monsieur Blanc and before you know it we’ll reunited with Freya and the others.’
He opened his eyes and stared down at the floor. I knew what he was thinking. Our journey was far from over.
The train accelerated and we were rocked by a series of jolts as each pair of wheels passed over a set of points. I figured our next stop had to be Rochefort. It couldn’t be more than just two or three miles away. In my head I was preparing myself for Act Two of our little play. We’d have to step off the train full of that arrogant confidence of the victorious and head straight for the station’s exit. I decided I’d try to avoid looking other soldiers in the eye. There were bound to be a lot of them about and I didn’t want us to enter into tricky conversations unless forced. I still had nagging doubts about that SS officer. If he was suspicious he might single us out and test us further. We’d stand no chance out in the open, surrounded by soldiers. An awful picture flashed into my head – we’d been rumbled and were escaping by running back along the tracks, bursts of machine-gun fire chasing us, catching us up and mowing us down, leaving us strewn over the rails, bleeding from a dozen bullet wounds. I shuddered and tried to shake the nightmare away.
Hearing something, Loki frowned. Edging to the corner, he glanced back up the corridor. Panicking, he turned to me. ‘Hell! That SS officer’s heading this way. We’re in really deep shit this time.’
‘Do we stand and fight? Maybe we can get onto the roof?’
Loki shook his head vehemently. ‘No. Too risky, Finn. We’ve got to get off. It’s the only way.’ Hurriedly he began unbuttoning his trenchcoat. ‘Take off your coat and put it back on inside out. Get a move on, we haven’t much time.’
The train was gathering pace. I estimated she was doing at least thirty miles an hour. All fingers and thumbs, I yanked at the belt and buttons of my coat, let it slip from my shoulders and set about turning it inside out. Loki had been quick thinking. To get off a train at speed would take its toll on our clothes when we struck the ground. Our coats would get ruined and our disguises compromised. At least by turning them inside out there was a chance we’d preserve the outer cloth. Loki risked another peek up the corridor and was consumed with alarm. ‘No time to put them back on, Finn. We’ve only got about twenty seconds.’ He shoved past me and flung open the carriage door. I felt a gush of air rush in and the noise of the train suddenly seemed ten times louder. ‘You go first.’
Every agent with Special Operations had been trained in how to do this, and every agent hoped they’d never have to do it for real. It was incredibly dangerous. Up in Scotland we’d been taken on a short trip by train from Arisaig, only we never reached our destination. About midway Major Baxter had our little steam train stopped, at which point the full horror of the exercise facing us unfolded. We learned that to jump blindly from a fast-moving train was tantamount to suicide. The safest way was to clamber out and lie down on the narrow step beneath the door called the footplate, with your feet facing forward. Then you count quickly to three, say a quick prayer, let go and roll off. Apparently it minimized injury, as you had less distance to fall. Trying it out at five miles per hour, we’d all believed it. It felt exhilarating, as if we were invincible. At ten we began to have our doubts. At twenty miles per hour all the bruises, grazes and twisted limbs suffered among the various students, not to mention lost teeth, suggested that safe was a very relative word. Right now we were going faster than in training – much faster!
Crouching down and holding onto the frame of the door for dear life, I slid my feet out onto the footplate and tentatively lowered myself down. I had to force myself to do it. My brain, my common sense, was telling me No, don’t, you’ll die. Loki rolled up my coat. ‘I’ll throw it out after you along with the bag, Finn. Go! For God’s sake, let go!’
Trees, bushes and telegraph poles flashed by. The huge wheels ground noisily against the rails and the carriage jolted and rocked on the uneven track. I felt sick. This was going to hurt. A lot! I counted to three but couldn’t bring myself to let go. I counted to three again. Still I couldn’t let go.
Loki cursed, placed his boot against my shoulder and gave me a shove.
As I tumbled, I braced myself. In training we’d been advised to pick a stretch of track with a nice sloping, grassy embankment, down which we could roll or slide. There’d been no time to wait for such a perfect spot. I struck the ground hard and it felt like I bounced. Spinning wildly, I rolled a full four times before I banged into something punishingly hard, my Nazi helmet clanging like a church bell as it hit something solid. My left ankle hurt with sudden shooting pains. And there was a ringing in my ears that took ages to fade. I tried to sit up but couldn’t. Disorientated, I struggled frantically. Something tore. Then I realized I was wedged in a low hedge that had a barbed-wire fence running through it. Carefully I felt around and unhooked myself from the barbs before scrambling to my feet. Upright, I felt slightly giddy, as if I was still being rocked by the trundling motion of the train. As I tried to flex my ankle, the shooting pains returned, striking me like daggers. Despite the hurt, a wave of elation swept through me. I’d made it! I was alive. Trying to put weight on my left foot, I cried out. I gritted my teeth and desperately tried to ignore the agony. Hobbling and cursing, I headed up the railway line in search of Loki. In front of me the train snaked into the distance, disappearing into the mist. The sky beyond glowed faintly – the lights of Rochefort!
I’d struggled barely ten yards before I spotted something: my coat. I found Loki’s draped over the hedge a little further on. Then I came across our emergency bag. Like me, it had survived intact, although it was badly scuffed and there was a small tear in the canvas. Gathering everything up, I grew increasingly anxious with every step. Where was he? I whispered, ‘Loki?’ then repeated it a little louder. Then louder still. I had visions of him still on the train, apprehended by that SS officer, his hands held high, a
Luger pistol pressed hard into his ribs. Then, seeing a shape, a figure lying awkwardly beside the track, I froze. The body was still, lifeless. ‘Loki!’ Horrified, I staggered towards it as fast as I could. Was he dead? Was I alone?
Chapter Twenty-two
Next Stop Rochefort
I COULD HARDLY bring myself to look. Throwing down our coats and bag, I dropped to my knees. I reached out, held my breath, grabbed his shoulder and turned him over. I gasped. It was the SS officer. And the front of his tunic was all wet and sticky – blood!
A scuffling noise from nearby bushes had me reaching for the bag and our Stens. A tall lumbering figure emerged from the gloom. ‘It was him or me, Finn. Something must have made him suspicious. Maybe it was that bag of ours, or that our uniforms don’t fit properly. Anyway, the bastard drew his pistol and tried to grab my tunic. We struggled but I got the better of him. You all right?’
‘Yes, I think so. Twisted my ankle. Hurts a bit. Hopefully I can walk it off. How about you?’
‘Fine.’ He stood over me and the body. ‘Best if we get him out of sight.’
Loki hauled the body into the undergrowth and then helped me put on my trenchcoat. I was struggling. My ankle was a far bigger problem than I’d initially realized. How on earth could we walk the rest of the way, let alone avoid drawing attention to ourselves? Our precarious situation suddenly overwhelmed me. ‘You know, we should have stayed on the train,’ I snapped angrily. ‘Dealt with that SS officer and thrown him out of the carriage. We’d be in Rochefort by now and I’d still be able to walk properly.’
Death Ray Page 16