by Alex Gerlis
‘And still no news of Leitner?’
‘No sir, nor of Rolf or Katharina for that matter,’ said Edgar. ‘Let’s not forget there have been tens of thousands of casualties, including very many civilians. Perhaps they were in a cellar that was hit and they’ve been killed, perhaps they’ve been captured, perhaps… Who knows?’
‘And if, as one has begun to suspect, Rolf had been with the Soviets all this time and had handed Leitner over to them then, well… Now would be an ideal time for them to produce him, would it not?’
Edgar looked at the man sitting next to him, hoping he’d reply, but Porter’s attention seemed to be taken up by the crease in his trousers.
‘It would indeed, sir,’ said Edgar. ‘I’ve slowly and most reluctantly come around to the view that we shouldn’t rule out the possibility that Rolf has been working for the Soviets and has handed Leitner over to them. Now would be the ideal time for them to produce him – it’d be pointless for them to delay doing so. Having Leitner on their side will legitimise their claim to Austria.’
Sir Roland leaned back further in his chair then sprang to his feet.
‘But we know where Leitner was being hidden, do we not?’
‘Yes, Sir Roland,’ replied Edgar. ‘The address Rolf and Katharina went to was where the nun had taken him – an apartment block on Obere Augartenstrasse, in Leopoldstadt, the 2nd District.’
‘Surely we could just check out that building?’
‘Well…’ Edgar paused, looking at Porter in the forlorn hope he might help him out. ‘… We could if we had anyone in Vienna. The city is under total Soviet control.’
‘The nun?’
‘There’s no way of contacting her. Father Bartolomeo’s been transferred to Madrid.’
‘Whatever happens, we need to know what’s going on. Agreed?’
Both men nodded. Edgar began to feel very uneasy.
‘And can we get in?’
‘Into Vienna? It’d be most difficult, Sir Roland…’ Edgar hesitated, struggling to find the most accurate description. ‘… It would have to be done in a covert way.’
‘Jolly good then.’ Sir Roland was now behind Edgar and had slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I think you’d better get out there, eh? In a “covert way”, as you put it.’
There was a brief discussion as they planned Edgar’s journey. ‘Ought to be simple enough,’ said Sir Roland. ‘I’d have thought it’ll a piece of cake after getting in and out of Germany while the war was on. Oh and do me a favour while you’re in Vienna, Edgar.’
‘What’s that sir?’
‘Find out about the opera, will you?’
***
When Rolf woke up it took him a while to work out where he was. It was dark as a cellar in the back of the ambulance and it was only when he opened the door that he remembered. Leitner was fast asleep, snoring loudly, and Rolf decided to let the old man rest. He strolled out into the woods: the ambulance was well concealed by the foliage and he reckoned if he manoeuvred it just a bit further into the woods then it’d be almost impossible for someone to see it until they were almost upon it.
When he returned to the ambulance Leitner was awake, shielding his eyes from the light creeping into the vehicle. Rolf checked the bags that Frau Egger had prepared for their journey. They were stuffed with food, bought with the money Rolf had given her to buy provisions on the black market. There were sausages, cheese, a couple of cakes, two loaves of black bread and some tins of fruit.
‘This’ll keep us going for quite a while,’ said Leitner. ‘Maybe we could stay here? All we need now is something to drink.’
To Rolf’s surprise, the old man smiled. Since escaping from Vienna, he’d been much more amenable. He was, it seemed, relishing his freedom, as precarious and uncertain as it was.
A few minutes later, Rolf found a small but fast-flowing stream, just yards from where they were hidden. He wandered around the woods for a while, checking there were no houses or farms nearby or footpaths that could lead people close to them. But it was clear he couldn’t have chosen a better hiding place if he’d planned it. He walked around a bit longer and came up with a plan, then went to tell Austria’s most eminent statesman about it.
‘We’re somewhere between Vienna and Linz, I don’t know exactly where, possibly near St Polten.’ Rolf had the school atlas of Austria open on the floor. ‘The point is, the Red Army will surround Vienna in the next day or so, then I imagine they’ll carry on heading west. What we do know is that the British and the Americans are also heading east. We’re in this area here. It’s between the two armies, but still controlled by the Nazis. I think it’s too dangerous to stay here.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We need to head west to reach the Allies and keep ahead of the Red Army – oh, and keep clear of the Germans…’
‘In that case,’ said Leitner, looking at the atlas, ‘this is where we need to head for.’ He was pointing at a narrow blue line marking an uncertain course north to south on the map. ‘The River Enns: it’s the natural border between the Lower Danube and the Upper Danube as the Nazis insist on calling it. I’ve spent enough time in briefings with generals to have an appreciation of how they think. The Enns has a strategic significance: my guess is the Allied and Soviet armies will regard the river as a border. Our best chance of reaching the Americans is to get to the western bank of the Enns.’
***
Rolf and Leitner remained where they were in the ambulance for the next five days. One night Rolf ventured out, walking through fields and woods for two hours until he could safely approach a small town to find out its name. Back in the ambulance he located it on the map. It was bad news: they were closer to Vienna than they thought, so they decided to head west the next day. It was around what must have been the 10th April when they resumed their journey, heading south at first then west, keeping on small country roads and lanes, and seeing little other traffic. The little towns and villages they drove through seemed to be deserted, though Rolf could often spot eyes watching them nervously from behind drawn curtains. It was obvious the inhabitants were waiting to be occupied, but they were unsure by whom. They saw scant evidence of the army or police, though sometimes they did have to pull in to allow a convoy to pass. They encountered a few road blocks, but were always waved through. Late in the afternoons, Rolf would find somewhere to hide overnight, which wasn’t difficult in an area generously dotted with woods and forests. On occasions they’d remain in their hiding place for days at a time, hoping the Americans or the British would reach them, but then they’d worry about the Russians behind them and move on.
They rationed their food but the main problem was the weather. It was bitterly cold at night, with an unforgiving wind bearing down from the mountains. Rolf began to worry about Leitner. At night the old man’s breathing was heavy and he looked pale and drawn. On the few occasions he left the ambulance, he moved with difficulty. Rolf wasn’t sure how long it had been since they’d fled Vienna: he estimated it was more than three weeks. It would soon be May if it wasn’t already.
Despite the urgency their progress was hampered by the fact the ambulance’s fuel tank was close to empty. Once they were in the Enns river valley, Rolf knew they needed to find fuel. They found an especially good place to hide, deep in a forest where thick banks of trees shielded them from the Alpine winds.
The following day he set out to find the nearest town or village. It was an idyllic walk at first, through a pretty forest then along the edge of fields yet to be harvested. For a while, he felt as if he was the only person in the world, a sensation he used to experience in the Vienna Woods. The sun was already strong, reflecting off the peaks of the Alps, which in turn sent down a welcome breeze.
For the first time in weeks, certainly since Unger had turned up at the bank with his blackmail attempt, Rolf felt relaxed, despite worrying about Katharina. He was well aware he was still in danger, but he felt that there was a possibility they may now be nearer to
the Americans or the British than the Russians. He just needed to be careful about the Germans.
This mood of optimism disappeared as he found himself approaching a small town, which he’d spotted from the top of a hill. As the houses began to build up there were no sign of life, other than dogs barking. But then he saw it, something dark and stiff swaying from a lamppost outside a small church. From a distance it looked like a scarecrow, but as he came closer he realised it was the body of a middle-aged man hanging from his neck, his head twisted at a sharp angle and his bulging eyes staring directly at Rolf. His hands and feet were bound and around his neck hung a large sign: ‘This is what happens if you talk of surrender!’
Rolf looked around, sure he was being watched by many more eyes than those of the dead man. The town seemed as deserted as every other one they’d been through. All shops in the small central square were shut, some of them boarded up. Just off the square was a garage, with a petrol pump outside. The doors to the garage were shut, but inside he could hear banging. He knocked on the door and an old man in overalls emerged. Rolf explained that his ambulance had run out of fuel. The old man looked him up and down, studying the uniform carefully.
‘Where have you come from?’
‘Vienna.’
‘I thought the Russians have Vienna now?’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Rolf.
‘Looking for the Americans, eh?’
‘Do you know where they are?’
The old man leaned out of the doorway and looked around before beckoning Rolf into his workshop. ‘How do I know you’re not Gestapo?’
‘Gestapo! If I was Gestapo I wouldn’t be coming asking you for petrol so politely, would I? Come on, where are they?’
‘The rumours are that they’re close to Salzburg,’ said the old man. ‘Apparently the Americans are coming in from the north, the British from the south – from Italy. Personally I’d prefer the Americans, just so long as they don’t bring any bloody Jews and blacks with them. I was told not to sell any petrol by the police last week; they said the military would need it, but I haven’t seen any of that lot for a few days now. I can let you have one jerry can, that’s all – and it’ll cost you.’
Rolf looked at the can the man was pointing to: he reckoned it would be enough to get them over the river.
They crossed the River Enns south of Steyr as Leitner had suggested and made good progress – until they drove into the war. Rolf remembered being taught something at school about how people could smell Roman armies long before they could see them. He was driving along a long stretch of road, the window down, when he smelt it: a bitter, burning smell that went straight to his lungs. He quickly wound up the window and, soon after, clouds of thick black smoke spiralled into the air ahead of them. From the west, two fighter planes raced low overhead before banking and returning along the same path. He heard the crack of gunfire ahead and spotted a cloud speeding towards them. He swerved off the road just in time: seconds later a dozen or so German armoured vehicles sped past them, pursued by the fighter planes. The ambulance clipped a tree and skidded. Rolf heard Leitner call out from the back and only just managed to retain control of the vehicle before bringing it to a halt, the side of the ambulance scraping against another tree. On the road there was an explosion and the sound of gunfire. From where the vehicle had stopped he couldn’t see the road, but after five minutes, when there had been no more noise, he quickly checked Leitner was safe then ventured out.
He crawled along the ground and surveyed the road from behind a tree. Two German armoured cars had been hit: one, further down the road was ablaze. The armoured car closer to him had rolled over on to its roof. The body of the driver was hanging out of the doors, his face a bloody mess. From inside the vehicle he could hear groaning, but what most attracted his attention was a large fuel can hanging off its side. Rolf crept to the kerb and looked up and down the road, but there was no sign of any activity, either on the ground or in the air. Cautiously, he walked over to the armoured car and removed the fuel can then carried it back to the trees and returned to the armoured car, hoping there’d be a can on the other side.
There was – and on the ground next to it, sitting in a large and spreading pool of blood, was a young officer in Waffen SS uniform. Both his legs were a pulp of blood and dirt below the knee and his head was slumped on his shoulder. As Rolf removed the fuel can, the young officer opened his eyes and looked directly at him. All the colour had drained from his face but this had the effect of accentuating his sharp, blue eyes – the only part of him that seemed to be alive.
‘An ambulance? You came quickly!’ He spoke in a rasping whisper. ‘It’s too late, there’s nothing you can do for me. Do the decent thing and finish me off… Please… I don’t have the strength.’ He patted a revolver holster on his side.
Rolf shook his head. Surely any time now someone would come along? The Germans or the Russians from the east or even the Americans. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to be found on the road like this. He continued to unlatch the fuel can then picked a water flask that was on the road, just beyond the officer’s pool of blood.
‘Come on… please,’ said the officer, distressed. ‘I’m in agony and I could never live like this.’
‘Who have you been fighting?’
‘Who do you think? The Americans… Bastards. Come on… Please.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Too near… Maybe five or six miles to the west, possibly a bit further but they’re closing in on us all the time. You’re an ambulance driver, why are you asking all these questions? Come on, I beg you… Just one bullet, please… I’ll tell you what to do.’
Rolf leaned over the officer and removed the Luger from the man’s holster.
‘Look, remove the safety catch… There on the side…’
Rolf looked up. He thought that he could see some movement in the distance, to the west, and there was certainly the sound of artillery fire. He flung the Luger as far as he could into the field and ran back to the ambulance with the fuel can and the water flask, the desperate pleas of the SS man ringing in his ears.
The two cans of fuel meant the ambulance now had more than half a tank: Rolf gave most of the water to Leitner, who was now coughing heavily and was obviously in some pain. Where, Rolf asked, does it hurt?
‘My chest,’ said Leitner. ‘Maybe I have an infection. I feel weak.’
Rolf made the old man more comfortable, pulling a blanket around his shoulders and arranging a pillow behind him. Leitner patted the younger man’s hand in a grateful, even affectionate manner.
‘Thank you, thank you for everything… I apologise if I’ve not been pleasant at times but I think I might have gone slightly mad being shut away like that. Tell me; are there any medicines in this ambulance?’
‘Only antiseptics and dressings,’ said Rolf. ‘But we’ve got fuel now and the Americans aren’t far away. As soon as we find them they’ll be able to help.’
***
They found the Americans early the following morning. Rolf had parked the ambulance overnight in a copse and he left it by foot at first light to see if he could spot anything. The countryside was deserted, with few signs of war other than pillars of smoke on the horizons, artillery fire somewhere in the distance and a dead horse lying in the road. When he returned to the ambulance he fashioned a white flag out of a towel he tied to a branch and attached to the front of the vehicle. He noticed Leitner had been sick and was now running a high temperature.
‘I’m fine,’ he insisted. ‘It’s just an infection.’
South west of the town of Wels they came across three Tiger tanks with SS markings abandoned by the side of the road. And when they reached the main Linz to Salzburg railway line, it Rolf could see more tanks parked beside it, with men moving around in the trees in the distance and the occasional crack of gunfire. He knew they needed to get to the other side of the railway line but he couldn’t see a crossing point for the ambulance. He�
��d have risked walking across but he doubted Leitner could manage it.
He pulled up at the side of the road and turned off the engine. Within seconds, a dozen men in light brown uniforms and rounded helmets emerged from the trees and surrounded the ambulance, rifles pointing at him.
Americans: Rolf felt tears of relief welling up in his eyes. He tried to call out but couldn’t manage it. One of the Americans was gesturing to put up his arms, which he did. Someone opened the passenger door of the cab and shouted ‘out’ in English and German.
‘I’m with you,’ said Rolf. ‘Are you Americans?’
‘We’re Bobcats.’ The soldier was leaning over the bonnet and chewing something, all the time training his rifle on Rolf.
‘I need to find American or British soldiers.’
‘Well buddy, you’ve found the Bobcats: the 5th Infantry Regiment of the United States Army, attached to the 71st Infantry Division. You just keep your hands up there and come down very slowly.’
When he exited the ambulance he was thoroughly searched. He told them they’d find a Steyr-Hahns revolver in the glove box. ‘And I need to talk to a senior officer,’ said Rolf.
‘And why would that be, buddy?’
‘I’m a British agent and in the back of the ambulance I have a very important passenger, Austria’s most important politician.’
‘So you’ve got Adolf Hitler in the back of your ambulance? Next thing you’re going to tell me you’re not a Nazi. We’ve been right through Germany and now we’re in Austria and you know what? We’ve yet to meet a Nazi!’
The other men laughed then fell silent as an officer joined them and asked what was going on.
‘My name is Rolf Eder, sir. I’m Austrian but I’ve been working for the British throughout the war. I can tell you the people in London you should contact who can vouch for me. In the meantime, I have a man called Hubert Leitner in the back of the ambulance. He’s Austria’s most important politician. It’s essential he’s looked after and is kept safe. If you have any medics with you I’d be grateful if they could have a look at him because I don’t think he’s very well.’