by Adam J Watts
Another swig of water passed the storyteller's lips. 'It wasn't as if I hadn't been trained' he chuckled, 'Apparently, espionage is something that comes naturally to me... Whatever that means.’
'So you got inside?' Max probed inquisitively whilst warming his hands on a small, concealed fire the pair had going.
'Yes. The search lights proved troublesome, as I could not study their movements or reach during daylight hours, but I made it inside the compound.’
'Despite your initial thoughts about me, I do not approve of killing people Max.’
Max could see from Seb's solemn expression that this comment was remorseful.
'I never believed you did. You and I are not so different.’
'In some respects yes,' Seb replied with the faintest of smiles, 'In others, we could not be more different. You are a good man Max. Someone with a moral compass. I think my soul may already be signed for... So to speak.’
He hoped his newfound comrade would understand, but the expression staring back at him betrayed this thread of optimism. 'I don't expect you to understand Max, but I do appreciate your trust.’
Max opened his cigarette case to be greeted by a solitary smoke.
'It is good job we move tonight Seb. I am running low on cigarettes.’
The friends shared a moment of laughter, before resuming the conversation.
'Once inside the base I located the sleeping quarters.’
'To find yourself a uniform?' Seb smiled.
'Exactly. People tell me that I am good at what I do, but one man cannot take down an entire airfield. Anyone who thinks so is either fool-hardy or deluded.’
'So we use the same approach tonight?' Max asked eagerly.
Seb nodded once.
'We take them down from the inside. How's your German?'
Max blinked. This was either a sign of recognition or fear.
'Sporadic,’ The big Russian replied.
'Okay don't worry; you can play the strong silent type.’ Once more the muted laughter flowed and their shoulders danced a merry jig under weather-beaten tunics.
'So the German was not at the airbase?' Max enquired, getting back to the story.
'Unfortunately not, but it was not an entirely wasted journey.’
'What did you find my friend?'
Seb waited and stared into the distance, as if the scene were being replayed in front of him.
'Let's just say that the trail of the stolen documents was still warm.’
Seb glanced at his watch. It was nearly time. 'I discovered the next move Max.’
'And what was that?’ The big Russian enquired.
'Hackbeil was in Africa as a punishment, but it wasn't long before the treacherous weasel was on the move again. His information about the new weapon led to his involvement in the project. He was placed in charge of development.’
Max threw Seb an inquisitive look.
'Babysitting scientists?'
'It would seem so. I think Rommel came to the conclusion that it was best to keep old Herman as far away from the real fighting as possible.’
Suddenly their muted conversation was interrupted by the sound of shelling. Max crawled over to the window and placed his eye to the lens of his rifle.
Seb waited patiently for his friend to inform him of the disturbance.
'It is Red Army. Katyusha rocket barrage.’
'Excellent.’
'Yes and no my friend.’
Seb knew exactly what Max was referring to. Without accurate coordinates they were firing blind.
'Even more reason to get to that radio tower.’
Seb's thoughts were in motion now and he was once again thankful for the suppressants coursing through his
veins. He shouted in an attempt to make himself audible over the rockets.
'Max! Use the rockets as cover for your shots. Take out the patrol and carve me a path... I'm going down there now.’
There was little time for debate. Max nodded and set to work picking off the German Soldiers disorientated by the shelling. There was certainly something poetic about the way his sniper friend flicked back a tin helmet from a few hundred yards.
Seb descended what was left of the stairs and the motion transported him - if all be it briefly -- back to the day of Gerald's murder and how he had bounded down the fire escape of the hotel.
Once at ground zero he crouched behind a wall. He checked the MP40 in his grasp, but hoped he would not need to use it. After all, it was not renowned for its stealth. Quickly Seb broke cover and scurried over to the fence of the compound. Under the cover of darkness he took out his wire cutters and set to work.
A few minutes had past and the Soviets were certainly giving it hell. Thankfully the combination of rockets and sniper fire had bought Seb enough time and he was finally on the other side.
He needed to get to the cabin in which the soldiers slept. If he stood any chance of working this from the inside, he needed a Waffen SS uniform.
Sticking to the shadows he moved slowly, using anything he could find as cover. The MP40 was slung
over his shoulder now and his weapon of choice was now the survival knife.
His luck had held so far, as he believed he had reached what appeared to be the sleeping quarters. He already knew that the cabin would be empty, as everyone was wide awake and trying in vain to extinguish a fire on the other side of the compound.
Unfortunately the bulk of the rockets had missed the base, but one or two stragglers had clipped an arms cache. To say it was like a firework display over there didn't do it justice.
Seb slipped inside the cabin unnoticed and began rummaging through the lockers. Until his forced career change, Seb had never really given his stature much thought. Nowadays however, he was grateful of his generic build, as it usually meant he could find something to wear with little trouble.
His disguise complete, he tucked the survival knife out of sight - it was hardly an SS dagger after all -- and left the confines of the cabin.
Despite feeling relatively safe in his sheep's clothing, Seb knew that the facade would not hold up against any senior officers.
What he really needed was to locate some form of transport and get away from the base. As he crossed the open yard, Seb walked with some purpose. Several times the searchlights lit him up, but not once did he falter.
On the other side of the yard, he could see the vehicle depot. That was all he could do for now, however, as a
shout came in his direction. It was one of the other soldiers fighting the fire. He didn't look best pleased.
'What are you doing?' he bellowed, 'Come and help us!' Seb had little choice in the matter if he was to maintain his cover, so he turned to face the blaze. The fire was raging out of control and every now and then another crate of ammunition would ignite, spraying out bullets in a random direction.
After quickly analysing the situation Seb realised that at any one time there were three men tackling the blaze. The others were running to and from a water tower some considerable distance away, carrying buckets as they went.
Suddenly the idea hit him. If he could time it right he could shoot the three men with his machine gun and nobody would be any the wiser. If he was quick to tidy up, anyone else would believe that either the fire or the spray of shrapnel had got them.
He was pretty certain nobody had seen him join the group, except for the one soldier who had beckoned him over. That was that, he'd made his mind up and in one swift move he took off his MP40.
Three taps of the trigger resulted in three head shots. The sound the killings made was no different to that of the incessant pops and cracks coming from the fire. There wasn't much time before the first of the water carriers returned, so Seb had to move fast.
The watch towers were still trained on both the courtyard and the exterior of the compound. He was safe to re-position the bodies. The large soldier who
had caught his attention was a pig to move. Nevertheless Seb managed to drag his
sorry carcass halfway into the flames.
There was no time to do anything fancy with the others. He would just have to take his chances and leave them as they were. He began running towards the vehicle depot. Once there he ducked behind the wall and began his search for some keys.
Seb hoped upon hope that they simply left the keys in the ignition of whatever vehicle they had. His logic being why take the keys out? Nobody was likely to steal them from inside the base.
He was right and beamed a smile into the darkness. The first car in the depot was a Volkswagen four piston personal command vehicle and would suit his purpose perfectly. With one flick of the wrist the German machine spluttered into life.
As he roared out of the depot and through the barrier at the entrance of the base, Seb couldn't help thinking what Max would make of his actions. He knew for a fact that he would be watching through the lens of his Mossin Nagant and didn't want him to think he was abandoning him.
He would never leave a friend behind.
He would return... with interest. But for now he had to reach that radio tower.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Reunion ~ Autumn 1961
'You look terrible,' the big Russian said with a smile.
'You don't look so good yourself,' retorted his old friend.
The pair embraced haughtily, before sitting at opposite sides of the table.
'It must be twenty years and you never write,' laughed Max.
'Nineteen actually and I couldn't find a pen.’
'Same old Seb.’
'Same old Max,' he nodded in agreement.
The cafe was relatively busy for a Thursday afternoon. A waitress bustled between the tables with both speed and agility in equal proportions and general background chatter could be heard across the room.
Seb supposed her precision at serving diners and collecting empty plates came with practice, but could not help but wonder whether she had once hoped for greater things. A future in the performing arts perhaps?
'Ballet.’ The single word startled him. Primarily because it was not something he would have thought
his old acquaintance would have a knowledge of and secondly, because knowing what he was thinking was absurd.
'Excuse me?' Seb enquired.
Max reached out a hand and grasped at the sugar dispenser. Methodically he poured a measured amount into his coffee.
'That was what you were thinking, yes?'
'The waitress...'
'I agree. She must have some form of training, even if this was as child.’
'But how did you...?'
Max looked confused.
'You told me Seb. No more than a minute ago.’
'I don't think I did.’ he exclaimed with some certainty. Max replaced the sugar, giving himself time to think before choosing an answer.
'How long have we been friends? I would not lie to you.’
Seb did not understand. Had he unwittingly told the man sitting opposite him? How could he forget such a thing if he had?
'Sorry Max. I've got a lot on my mind.’
'So much it is spilling out of your mouth and you are not noticing!' he laughed.
'It would appear so...'
Casually Seb removed a copy of the daily newspaper from inside his jacket and placed it on the tablecloth.
'I am aware of today's news comrade...'
'Late edition,' he winked, 'take a look at page twenty- eight.’
Max did as he was instructed, opening the tabloid to the desired page. A look of disbelief crossed his face as he saw the separate photograph taped to the inside of what was obviously a shroud.
'Is this...?'
'The one and only.’ There was no emotion to be found in Seb's voice on this occasion.
'Where was this taken?'
'The where does not matter. The when is the important factor.’
'When?' he asked firmly.
Seb paused to let the waitress pass by before answering his friend.
'Two weeks ago in Cuba.’
Max blinked and stared down at the black and white photo again.
'I knew there was a reason you contacted me.’
'You're the best Max...'
'I was the best, much water passes under the bridge since those days,' he retorted.
Slowly the long-since labourer's hands of the Russian folded up the newspaper and slid it across the table.
'I can get him this time Max, but I need your help.’
'This is your fight Seb. You can catch this man alone. You are more than capable.’
'Maybe, but I'd feel better with you by my side sobrat po oruzhiyu.’
Max looked around the room.
'Who is funding this little project?'
'How do you know anyone...'
'Do not insult my intelligence. That photograph was taken using a high-powered lens. I know all about those, remember?'
'Sorry.’
'Apology accepted' he smiled, 'now tell me the truth.’
Seb proceeded to inform Max of the arrangement with the American Government and watched as his bearded face gradually changed expression. Since the end of the war, the Russians and the Americans had not got on well. There was no love lost between the nations and political propaganda had not helped reduce the friction.
'You must not trust the American my friend. He is a deceitful creature.’
'I don't trust them, but that doesn't stop me from utilising their resources.’ Seb turned and nodded his head in the direction of the large, black vehicle parked outside the cafe.
'It is dangerous.’
'All the more reason to have you with me. We can watch each other's back... Just like the old times.’
Max did not look convinced. He would need another kind of sweetener to sign on the dotted line.
'What if I could help your county's cause?'
'Impossible. You would sign your own death warrant,' he exclaimed passionately.
'I do not take sides. I maintain equilibrium. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a mercenary. I have morals. I have a conscience. Help me serve justice and I will get you inside Cuba', he paused to draw breath, 'anything you do away from the job, is entirely up to you.’
Chapter Twenty-Four: Deadheading ~ Summer 1940
It was time for disguise number two. Something befitting that of a flier.
After the meeting with Henry at one of the ministry's very own nerve centres, Seb now had all the facts he needed.