“That’s at the bottom of my list of reasons why I want Schaeffer. He’s either murdered or ordered the murders of a dozen people, including friends of mine and a mother and child.” Mason lowered his voice and took a step closer to Densmore. “It’s now or never. Are you in? Or are you out?”
Densmore let out a big sigh. “I’m going to regret this.”
* * *
It was midafternoon when Mason drove over to the Sheridan barracks. Densmore and he had hammered out many of the details of the evening’s raid, though Abrams was still out trying to form their squad of MPs.
Mason entered the barracks’ cell wing and accompanied a jail guard to the end of the hall, to Kessel’s cell. Kessel sat on the bunk with his back to the door and his head leaning against the wall. He remained motionless as the guard unlocked the cell and Mason took two steps inside. Mason asked the guard to step back down the hallway and not let anyone approach the cell.
When the guard’s footsteps had faded down the hall, Kessel said, “You promised to take care of her.”
“You heard what happened?”
Kessel shot to his feet and swung around to face Mason. “You promised!”
“Yes, I did,” Mason said calmly. “It was an ambush. They knew exactly where to wait for us. They were trying to take us both out.”
“I should have known better than to trust an American. She was German and meant nothing to you. Like all German girls, you Americans think of them as playthings.”
“I felt more for her than you think.”
Kessel dropped to his bunk. “At least you were honorable enough to come and face me.”
“I underestimated Schaeffer’s reach. We can’t help Adelle, but we can bring the killers to justice.”
“Justice. There’s no justice possible when the cops are inept or corrupt.”
“There’s more than one way to carry out justice.”
Kessel looked at Mason, his eyes showing he knew what Mason meant.
“For instance,” Mason said, “thanks to you, I’ve got Volker. With a little persuasion, he gave me a way to get at Schaeffer. The one thing he refused to admit is any involvement in the murders of Adelle, her sister, Winstone, and all the rest. But I’m betting you know.”
“I had nothing to do with that. I told you that already.”
“But you know who did. And I don’t want to hear any crap about having no proof. You knew, and you let it go on. You did nothing to stop them, and now they’ve killed Adelle. That’s why you’re so upset. You had a hand in killing her just as much as Volker and Schaeffer. Now it’s time for you to have some balls and tell me what you know.”
Kessel jumped up and pointed toward the door. “I suppose now you’ll promise to keep me safe, too. A promise you know you can’t keep.”
“If you insist on being a coward, and Adelle’s killers stay free, then you’re right: It’s only a matter of time before they get to you.”
“Get out! We’re through talking.”
Mason slowly went to the cell door and called for the guard. He then turned back to Kessel. “I’m going to have you transferred to another prison. I won’t say which for obvious reasons.”
“They’ll have me killed for trying to escape.”
“I’ll get someone I can trust to drive you up there.”
The guard unlocked the door, and Mason exited. He looked back at Kessel as he walked away. Kessel had resumed his position, with his back to the cell and his head against the wall.
THIRTY-FIVE
Mason watched the road through his binoculars. “Here they come.”
He and Abrams sat in the front seat of a borrowed army ambulance. Abrams used his own binoculars, and they watched as a jeep and two troop transport trucks proceeded down the two-lane highway. The small convoy was too distant to see the occupants clearly.
“How do you know it’s them?” Abrams asked. “It could be just a convoy heading for Austria.”
Mason checked his watch. It was 7:45. “The timing is right.”
“What if Schaeffer isn’t with them? Maybe he decided to sit this one out. Or someone tipped him off.”
“Then we’ll make the army very happy we saved their cargo, but we’ll be screwed.”
Mason and Abrams’s ambulance was parked at the south edge of a wide, semicircular clearing in the narrow valley cut into the mountains by the Isar River. Less than a mile away from the Austrian border, a makeshift way station had been constructed as a border control point. Three train sidetracks branched off from the main line coming up from Austria and Italy, with each sidetrack divided by an open area of ten yards. A confiscated farmhouse and two outbuildings sat in the middle of the clearing and served as offices and housing for two officers, six MPs, and a clerical staff of three. Next to the farmhouse, a large tent had been erected as a triage center for seriously ill, injured, or half-frozen ex-POWs and civilian refugees from the Sudetenland, who were often transported in open boxcars. Other tents housed teams preparing hot soup or served as the register station to process the incoming ex-POWs. The POW-cargo train was scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes, and since the train carried close to three hundred ex-POWs and “prisoners of interest,” army headquarters had sent down an MP captain and eighteen MPs from a POW facility near Stuttgart to take over control of the train.
Four MPs dressed as medics sat in the back of Mason’s ambulance. Mason had already checked in with the chief surgeon in the triage tent and explained their presence by claiming that Third Army had sent them down as a combat-ready medical team to provide armed treatment for any of the “prisoners of interest” who might need it. On the north end of the clearing, Densmore, Wilson, and four more MPs hid just inside the tree line—half of them dressed as medical personnel and half dressed in Corps of Engineers’ uniforms. The plan was that once the train arrived and the POWs disembarked, they would use the inevitable chaos of dealing with so many POWs as a way to blend in with the rest of the crowd.
After a few tense minutes of watching the convoy, Mason said, “Schaeffer’s in the lead jeep.”
A few moments later the convoy turned into the clearing and pulled in behind the farmhouse. Schaeffer leapt out of the jeep and strode like a four-star general up to the MP captain. The way station’s lieutenant joined them, and the group shook hands, though the MP captain looked wary of Schaeffer’s unexpected arrival.
“That answers one of our questions,” Abrams said. “The captain’s probably not on Schaeffer’s payroll.”
“Unless Schaeffer’s buying his allegiance as we speak,” Mason said.
Schaeffer showed the lieutenant and MP captain what Mason assumed were the orders and other official paperwork. The captain frowned and gesticulated wildly, then jabbed the paperwork with his index finger. He was obviously not happy about orders directing him to relinquish control of the valuable cargo, but while Schaeffer continued to argue, he made a hand signal for his men to exit the trucks.
As Mason watched Schaeffer’s men climb down from their vehicles, he said to Abrams, “I count sixteen MPs and five railroad crew.”
Densmore’s voice came over the Handie-Talkie. “I recognize three of ours in that bunch.”
Mason picked up the Handie-Talkie and said, “Yeah, and there’s a couple of the MPs from Company A in Munich. And some of the MPs and railroad crew are Poles from the Casa Carioca.”
Schaeffer’s men milled around in groups of three and four. They avoided contact with the real MPs and slowly began to spread out, some heading to the north end and some the south. The Poles dressed as railroad crew headed in the general direction of Schaeffer’s carless locomotive that waited with steam billowing on the sidetrack closest to the main line.
Densmore’s voice came over the Handie-Talkie again. “Twenty-two to our twelve. This could get interesting.”
“We concentrate on Schaeffer i
f this gets messy.”
“There’s train smoke coming up from the south. It’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”
“Remember, we let that train pull in and disembark the POWs. We move only when Schaeffer’s crew starts to separate out the cargo cars from the POW cars.”
Mason watched as Schaeffer and the captain continued to have words. The way station lieutenant stood next to Schaeffer, butting in from time to time. Obviously the MP captain had no idea what was going down, but the lieutenant knew very well what Schaeffer had in mind.
Finally the low rumble and chug of a train came echoing up the valley floor. Then the train’s whistle blew, announcing its arrival. Moments later the cargo train slowed to a crawl on the main line, while one of the German railroad workers threw the switch. The train rolled onto the sidetrack closest to the farmhouse. The train had fourteen boxcars, with a single passenger car separating the first five cars containing the valuable cargo from the final nine holding the ex-POWs.
When the final car cleared the main line the locomotive stopped. Immediately, a dozen French and American MP guards climbed down from the tops of the cars and took up positions around the train. They were joined by another six French MPs, two French officers, and two American officers, who had exited the passenger car coupled in the middle. Then the captain’s MPs and the way station MPs formed a second line. Everyone readied their weapons.
At the same time, Schaeffer’s railroad workers set about preparing their locomotive and uncoupling the one that had brought in the cargo. The cargo train’s engineer jumped down and started yelling at them until two of Schaeffer’s “MPs” pulled him aside.
Except for Mason, little notice was taken of this altercation, as all eyes were fixed on the train and a French officer as he ordered his men to open the final nine boxcars. Three hundred haggard German ex-POWs, with worn and dirty uniforms, poured out onto the platform.
Mason said into the Handie-Talkie, “Okay. It’s time.” He then called to the men waiting inside the ambulance, “Let’s go, guys. Nice and easy.”
The four MPs dressed as medics hopped out and milled around the back of Mason’s ambulance. As Mason had hoped, no one seemed to notice him and his team. Mason watched as Schaeffer intercepted two American officers who had exited the train’s passenger car. The unhappy MP captain followed close behind.
Mason leaned in close to Abrams and said, “Volker said the two American train officers were in on it. The poor captain doesn’t have a chance.”
Schaeffer showed the two American officers his paperwork. They appeared content with the transfer, trading handshakes and nodding their heads—all a great theater for the MP captain’s benefit. The MP captain was having none of it, and now found himself fighting against three higher-ranked officers.
Meanwhile, the official doctors and medics began circulating among the ex-POWs. A group of men came out from one of the tents and set up tables on the ground between sidetracks. Large pots of soup were laid upon the tables along with metal bowls. Once the ex-prisoners were checked, they lined up hungrily for the hot soup.
At the opposite end of the clearing, Densmore and his men casually emerged from the tree line. They meandered or talked among themselves, and again, with all the activity no one seemed to be aware of them.
Mason and his men would wait until Schaeffer made a definitive move to couple the cargo to his waiting locomotive, but Schaeffer and the MP captain continued a heated argument.
“Come on, Captain,” Mason said to himself, “let Schaeffer take his train.” He said to Abrams, “The guy has to pick the one time to be smart and question orders and superior officers.”
Schaeffer’s train crew finished uncoupling the cargo train’s locomotive, with Schaeffer’s MPs forcing the cargo train’s real crew to assist. The now-cowed engineer tooted one warning and pulled forward onto a maintenance track. Mason’s and Densmore’s teams merged with the outer fringes of the captain’s MPs, the way station medics, and the soup detail.
Schaeffer’s locomotive tooted its whistle, and, with a great rush of steam, it slowly backed onto the inside track. It finally struck the coupling of the lead cargo boxcar, making the whole train shudder.
At the same moment, another train’s whistle sounded in the near distance. As if an air-raid siren warned of an imminent attack, everyone stopped and turned in the direction of the sound. A uniformed clerk suddenly rushed out of the farmhouse and went straight for the lieutenant. He spoke hurriedly, and, in turn, the lieutenant rushed over to Schaeffer.
Something was wrong.
Mason pulled his helmet down to his eyes, lowered his head, and intercepted the clerk returning to the office. “What’s going on?” he asked as offhandedly as he could.
“It ain’t good,” the clerk said. “Another train carrying Russian ex-POWs is making an emergency stop. Trouble with the locomotive.”
“Russian and German ex-POWs in the same station?”
The clerk nodded. “They’re one of the last groups of Russian ex-POWs to be forcibly repatriated back to Russia, and they ain’t happy about it. Not since they heard the stories of repatriated POWs being sent to Siberian gulags or executed for being exposed to the decadent West. The train is carrying guards, but the conductor radioed a warning that, somehow, a bunch of the Russians got hold of ten cases of schnapps. They’re angry, drunk, and rowdy.”
“Can’t they hold the train off?” Mason asked.
“Nope. There’s another train due to come through here in about thirty minutes.”
Mason kept his head down and took a circular route back to Abrams. By then the railroad crew had separated the cargo boxcars and the passenger car from the rest of the train.
“What’s happening?” Abrams asked.
“This could get really ugly.”
Just then, the Russian ex-POW train eased into the way station and onto the middle track. When it came to a stop, the U.S. guards aboard it jumped down. The engineer climbed down from the locomotive cab and waved at Schaeffer’s railroad crew to come check out the locomotive. Meanwhile, the Russians locked in the boxcars yelled and pounded on the doors. The lieutenant in charge of the second train ordered his men to form a line with guns ready. Then a sergeant moved down the line, opening each boxcar, yelling orders in Russian as he did so.
Seeing the line of MPs with their guns ready, the Russians calmly descended into the field dividing the two trains. They glared at the Germans, a few yelled insults, but they seemed intimidated enough by the armed guards.
Schaeffer’s locomotive, now coupled to the cargo boxcars, slowly pulled forward. Schaeffer and his men moved toward it, which signaled his train crew to walk away from the Russian-POW-train engineer who had demanded their aid. The engineer yelled at them to come back, but the men ignored him.
Mason waved his hand, and his men moved in. He felt a rush of excitement. If they could surprise Schaeffer’s men with guns drawn, then they had them. He hoped everyone knew their job, and that they could subdue and arrest all of Schaeffer’s men without it turning into a shoot-out.
Mason zeroed in on Schaeffer, hand on his pistol but not drawn. Schaeffer sauntered toward his waiting train as if stealing a train was all in a day’s work. Mason quickened his pace when Schaeffer got within ten feet of his train, but at that moment a gunshot rang out. All heads turned. A German POW dropped to the ground. A wild-eyed Russian held a pistol. He fired at the crowd of Germans again, and, as though it had been a starting pistol for a footrace, the Russians surged toward the Germans, blowing past the bewildered guards. Enraged, the Germans charged, and like a scene out of a battle on the Russian front, the two groups slammed into each other. The MP captain’s men and the Russian-POW-train guards fired their weapons in the air in a vain attempt to quell the riot.
The ruckus had also caused Schaeffer to look back. That was when he saw Mason. Then he noticed the ring of men comi
ng toward him. He yelled something Mason couldn’t hear over the Russian and German melee. He and his men pulled their weapons and fired as they ran for the passenger car. Densmore’s group was closer, and they opened fire. Mason’s group charged for the train, but they had to shove or dodge their way through the fighting Russians and Germans.
One of Densmore’s MPs went down, then one of Schaeffer’s.
Mason lost sight of Schaeffer, as he shoved or fought off enraged brawlers. Finally he broke through the crowd and saw several of Schaeffer’s men had clambered onto the slowly moving train. They fired back at Mason and his men. Bullets whizzed past, and another man went down. Mason tried to get the MP captain’s attention as he ran, but the captain looked confused as to what emergency to address first.
With a blast of smoke and steam, Schaeffer’s train began to pick up speed. Only a few of its cars remained on the curved branch, and once all the cars had moved onto the main line, the train could accelerate.
Mason broke into a sprint, with Abrams right behind him. He saw two of Densmore’s MPs had broken off from that scuffle and were also running alongside the train, but they immediately disappeared into the steam and smoke.
Finally the MP captain realized that the precious cargo was being stolen right in front of him. He rallied some of his MPs to help Densmore’s squad assault the men in Schaeffer’s gang who had yet to make it to the train.
As Mason closed in on the passenger car, a man stepped out on the car’s end platform and fired. Mason returned the fire. The man crumpled and fell to the tracks. With so many bullets flying around, he couldn’t tell if it was his bullet that had brought the man down.
A moment later, Schaeffer’s train cleared all the cars onto the main line, and it picked up speed. Mason’s lungs burned as he ran. He concentrated all his effort on catching the train. He stared at the handrail and pushed himself to the limit. Finally he grabbed the railing of the passenger car and hauled himself up onto the first step of the rear platform.
“Mason!”
Spoils of Victory Page 30