Hunting the Hangman

by Howard Linskey

  As he reached the tram stop, Valčík left the huddle of workers and started slowly up the hill without acknowledging his co-conspirators. He would take up a spot along Heydrich’s route that the general’s car could not avoid.

  Gabčík chose a position to one side of the tram stop, standing apart from the rest of the crowd. The coat draped over his arm provided cover as he set the briefcase down on the pavement then went onto one knee over it. To an onlooker, he could have been checking if his wife had remembered to pack the day’s lunch. Gabčík used the raincoat to shield the Sten and, without looking into the case, began to assemble it – a simple task as he had done it so many times in training. With the gun complete he was able to slide the strap onto his shoulder, which he concealed by hanging the raincoat over it. When he got to his feet he found he could hold the machine gun pointing barrel downwards and it was entirely obscured. It looked as if he had draped the raincoat over himself purely to save the bother of carrying it. When he was certain the weapon was hidden, he picked up the briefcase in his free hand and stepped back against the wall. With preparations complete he could begin his wait for Heydrich. Everything was now in place – except the target.

  Klein stood smartly by the passenger door of the Mercedes wondering what could be keeping the general – a man noted for his regimented punctuality in the mornings, even after the heaviest of drinking sessions. Usually the car swept up the gravel driveway at Panenské Břežany just before the stroke of nine, and Klein would clamber out in time to witness Heydrich emerge through the mansion’s main door. They would then be off again within seconds.

  But not this morning. Klein had been waiting for more than half an hour and he cut an irritable figure, craving a cigarette but not daring to light one for fear Heydrich might make an immediate entrance and take him to task for his ill-discipline.

  Was this some form of end-of-posting lethargy on the general’s part? Like everyone in the bars and barracks, Klein had heard the stories. Heydrich would leave him as soon as his trip to Berlin was over. The rumours were many and varied; he was taking over in France, he was going to work at Hitler’s side where they would jointly mastermind the winning of the war, he was replacing Himmler, whom the Führer had grown tired of. Who knew which story was true but the speculation kept the NCOs of the Waffen SS entertained over their beer. Klein liked to pretend he knew what was going to happen but could not possibly say, for reasons of national security.

  ‘Wait and see,’ he would tell them all with a knowing smile and they would curse his sense of loyalty. Of course, he had no more idea where Heydrich would end up than they did. The mighty general was hardly likely to confide in his loyal driver and bodyguard. That was never his style.

  Damn the man, thought Klein, what the hell is going to happen to me when he goes? It was the end of a cushy little number, that was for sure. And Heydrich, never one for sentiment, was not the sort to take a faithful bodyguard with him to Paris or Berlin. Klein was a realist. He knew by this time next week there’d be a number of middle ranking officers who would delight in bringing Heydrich’s man down a few pegs just for the mischief of it, and there would be no more cups of coffee in fine town houses while the Reichsprotektor was rolling around upstairs with a mistress. It was too bad really.

  Klein glanced at the closed main door of the mansion – still no sign of the general. He kicked the car’s front tyre bitterly.

  The rush hour crowds had long since dispersed, leaving Gabčík exposed, standing in an open spot. A casual observer would obviously assume he was waiting for a tram but might easily wonder why he never seemed to board one. Initially he had been able to move forward slightly with the crowds to avoid attention as each tram arrived. Then he would edge slowly and unobtrusively back again as if he had just noticed that it was not his tram after all and he would actually have to catch the next one.

  By now he had abandoned such follies, for he was a solitary figure. Gabčík imagined he could barely have looked more suspicious and was surely inviting the enquiries of any soldier or police officer passing. Of course he was armed and could easily gun down anyone who proved too inquisitive but the attack would have to be abandoned, Heydrich would escape his just fate and there would be no second chance.

  Where was the Nazi? What the hell was keeping this normally fastidious German officer? Had his plans been altered? Was he no longer heading for Hradčany? Perhaps he had left Prague a day earlier than Šafařík had thought. What if the nervous little joiner had tricked them? After all, he had no desire to be mixed up in an assassination. All of these thoughts and more raced through Gabčík’s over-heated mind. Opposite him, he could clearly make out Kubiš, who had positioned himself in the shadows at the other side of the road. Presumably his friend was also wondering whether all of their preparations were to be in vain.

  Heydrich led the pony along by its reins, glancing back over his shoulder to check that all was well with little Silke. Her mother held the child tightly in place while the little girl’s tiny hands loosely gripped the front edge of the fine leather saddle. She swayed contentedly back and forth, in time with the movement of the docile creature’s footsteps. Silke’s head was down and she seemed intrigued by the pony’s thick grey mane. Heydrich was delighted she showed no outward signs of distress.

  ‘I think we have a little champion on our hands here, you know. She has taken to it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.’ He could not help his pride.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Lina breathlessly, ‘always a good idea to start them young. Don’t you think?’

  Heydrich could hardly have been in a better mood. Last night’s concert had been an enormous success and everything was as it should be in the Protectorate. Soon he would be at the Führer’s side once more where, if he were not completely mistaken, the governorship of France would be the latest prize to be offered to the golden boy of the Fatherland. He noted with satisfaction that he would have to find even more of his legendary energy if he was to turn round the sluggish performance of the occupying forces in Paris.

  With this in mind he resolved to spend a little extra time with his children that morning. After all, who was senior enough to complain if he was late into the office? And if his job in Prague was almost done it mattered little if he arrived an hour or so after his normal time.

  Heydrich turned back to Silke. ‘We’ll have one more ride around the house then, shall we, Silke? Just one more then daddy really will have to get off to work.’

  Kubiš was communicating with his eyes. From across the narrow street he gave a questioning look, which revealed he was as baffled by the absence of their target as his friend was. He made a move as if about to cross the street for a consultation and Gabčík hurriedly raised his free palm to stop him. Kubiš returned to his vantage point with a bewildered look.

  Gabčík did not know what to do. It was nearly 10 am and still there was no sign of Heydrich. How long could they leave it until somebody inevitably became suspicious of the two men standing on opposite sides of the road all morning without any evident purpose?

  Had they been betrayed? Set up by Šafařík or one of the girls in the flat perhaps or maybe Bartoš had tipped off the Gestapo because of his fear of reprisals. Even now a lorryload of German soldiers could be about to round the bend and capture them. Outnumbered in that manner they wouldn’t stand a chance and would be gunned down. Then both their deaths would have been pointless.

  Gabčík cursed under his breath and told himself not to be so stupid. Bartoš may have strongly disagreed with the operation but he was no traitor and besides nobody but Valčík, Kubiš and himself knew the exact time and location of the attack. They would be safe as long as they remained calm and stuck to the task in hand. The delay was beginning to rattle him though. Where was this infernal Nazi?

  Heydrich sat tall in the passenger seat next to Klein as the driver took the road to Prague at speed. He held a document
case tightly on his lap and enjoyed the feel of a light May breeze in his face as the open topped car sped swiftly along.

  Sunshine brightened the countryside around them and in his good humour Heydrich took the trouble to enjoy the scenery. This wasn’t such a bad country after all. When it kept off from raining and the eastern chill did not cut through you like a knife, the place became really quite presentable. He’d had some fine times in Prague when he thought about it and would look back on the city with affection as his career progressed to the very heights.

  ‘The road is dry and clear, Reichsprotektor. I think we will make good time this morning,’ offered Klein.

  ‘There is no hurry today,’ Heydrich answered dismissively but his driver did not slow down.

  At a little after half past ten, with Gabčík wondering for the hundredth time if they should call off the attack and return home, the signal finally came. At first Gabčík convinced himself it was merely sunshine reflecting back off the mirror of a car but no, there it was again; a flash repeated at regular intervals that could only have come from Valčík’s position. Heydrich’s car was on its way.

  Gabčík shot a glance over at Kubiš but he had already seen the signal and confirmed as much with a single tense nod. His hand reached into a coat pocket for one of the adapted grenades.

  Gabčík ran across the road until he was positioned at the sharpest corner of the bend. He gripped the Sten gun tightly under the raincoat and glanced in the direction of Valčík’s signal. Sure enough, an indistinct dark shape was moving towards them along the road. Gabčík wiped each palm in turn against the sides of his trousers but found they were moist with sweat again within a moment. He could make out the state car more clearly now and, as it travelled steadily towards him, it became distinguishable as Heydrich’s Mercedes, a vehicle they had watched for five months on countless surveillance operations. Now it would pass him for the last time whether the attack was a success or not. Gabčík knew he would have one chance and only one chance to kill Heydrich. He had visualised this moment endlessly since the beginning of the operation and the realisation that Heydrich’s arrival was imminent shortened his breathing.

  The car would have to slow down to take the bend in the road. When it did, Gabčík would step forward and cut the Nazi general in half with a well-aimed burst of gunfire. Only when he was certain he had inflicted mortal wounds on the man would he turn his attention to the bodyguard, despatching him with a second burst. Then he would run to the bike and pedal away to a safe house, leaving Jan to decide whether the detonation of a bomb was still needed to cause a distraction.

  At that moment the tram appeared. It was packed with people and edging its way towards them from the foot of the hill. All of the passengers would be imperilled by an assault in its proximity but the two men had already agreed the risk of injuring, even killing, bystanders was acceptable as long as their mission was a success. The tram took an age to pass Gabčík and the moment that it blocked his view of the target seemed to stretch. Finally it crawled its way beyond him.

  The car was almost upon him now and reducing speed just as Gabčík had relied on; or was it that everything seemed to slow, as Gabčík’s senses went into a false state of adrenalin and deep concentration? He emptied his mind of all thoughts except the instinctive action required to raise the gun and fire. Now he could make out the gleaming silver star of the Mercedes mascot. It glistened against the sunlight and, as the car came nearer, he could see his target clearly behind the windshield. Heydrich seemed oblivious to Gabčík’s presence, shielded from it as he was by the bend of the road and the fortuitous angle of overhanging tree branches. Gabčík had a moment to steel himself, to take a breath and hold it, before stepping out to the edge of the pavement. He waited until the car’s momentum would have to take it beyond him, even if the driver applied the brakes suddenly, then he let the raincoat drop to the ground.

  Perhaps it was the sudden movement of the light material that caught his eye but Heydrich spotted Gabčík then, turning his head to stare straight at him. When their eyes locked, the German showed no emotion at all, as if this Czech was of no significance whatsoever. As the car drew level with Josef it was moving at little short of a walking pace. Gabčík raised the Sten gun, put his left foot forward for balance and pointed the machine gun straight into Heydrich’s chest. The range was point blank and the target unmissable. There was a fleeting fraction of a moment when he could take in the shocked and fearful look on the SS man’s face then he pulled the trigger.

  But nothing happened.

  Instead of a rattling wall of fire, which would shatter Heydrich’s rib cage and destroy his vital organs, there was a dull snick. The Sten was jammed.

  ‘No!’ Gabčík howled in frustration and immediately started to wrestle with the gun. He couldn’t let Heydrich get away but if his bodyguard did the sensible thing he would speed past Gabčík in a moment.

  There was a hastily barked command from Heydrich and the car came to an abrupt halt. That was fine by Gabčík. There would be a second chance to kill the bastard if he could just clear the stoppage in the gun. He tugged at it frantically, holding the Sten high so he could check if the mechanism was jammed or if he had somehow inexplicably failed to assemble it correctly even though he had done it so many times before.

  As Gabčík tugged at the gun, his peripheral vision picked up Heydrich’s figure rising from the car. He realised the SS man had turned to face him and was now standing tall in the passenger seat. Heydrich raised his Luger and pointed it calmly into Gabčík’s face. Jesus no, he has beaten me to it.

  Before Heydrich could fire there was a deafening bang and the whole car shook with the force of an explosion that could only have come from Kubiš’ grenade. Heydrich let out a sharp cry, a mixture of pain and distress, and fell against the back of his seat. As he lolled forward again it was clear he was still in one piece and Gabčík realised the bomb had missed its target. Jan must have been as astonished by the failure of the Sten gun as he was and had thrown the grenade early to try and save his friend. In his haste it had not landed inside the car, as they had practised so many times, but instead exploded near the rear wheel of the vehicle, sending lumps of shrapnel flying up at all angles.

  It was then Gabčík noticed Jan. He was running blindly towards his bicycle but was holding his face in his hands, letting out an alarming cry of pain as he went. Even from a distance Gabčík could make out the blood that poured through his fingers. Too close to the impact of his own bomb, Kubiš had taken some of the blast himself and now he ran frantically for his bike but Klein was after him. Kubiš pulled the bicycle away from the wall and swung his leg over it in virtually one movement. He then pedalled madly away in the opposite direction, heading straight for a crowd of stunned onlookers, made up of passers-by and those who had hurriedly disembarked from the tram at the sound of the explosion. At this rate, thought Gabčík, they would surely block his path.

  With no way to help his friend, Gabčík dropped the useless Sten gun and attempted to make his own escape. He could not reach his bike as the damaged car was between it and him and he was cut off. Already Heydrich was hauling himself from the wreckage of the vehicle. The Reichsprotektor was on his feet hollering and gesticulating after the fleeing Kubiš.

  ‘Get after that bastard!’ he grimaced and Klein pulled a Luger from his holster then broke into a full sprint, which threatened to bring him quickly within range of Gabčík’s injured friend.

  Gabčík ran in the opposite direction. Looking back, the last thing he saw of Kubiš was the bike going full pelt towards the crowd of onlookers. Just as it seemed Kubiš could make no further progress, he drew a pistol from his coat and, with one hand holding the handlebars of the speeding bicycle, he fired two shots into the air. There were screams as the crowd scattered, parting like the Red Sea and onlookers were knocked over to left and right in their haste to get out of his way. As the bicycle
reached the edge of the crowd a large gap had opened up. Jan shot through it to safety and disappeared.

  Gabčík, now running at full pelt, was about to round the corner when a bullet from Heydrich’s Luger whistled past his ear. Another hit the ground between his feet and he was forced to fling himself behind a telegraph pole as the German sent a third after him. Gabčík drew his Colt and instinctively returned fire but he could not get a clear sighting of Heydrich who was slumped on one knee, attempting to clamber unsteadily to his feet and give chase.

  A bullet slammed into the far side of the telegraph pole and Gabčík realised he was cornered. If he tried to move, Heydrich would easily gun him down in the street. From this range he could barely chance exposing his position to return fire but he knew he must move soon or be completely trapped when reinforcements arrived.

  Gabčík bent his wrist round the pole and let loose a blind round in Heydrich’s direction. He then risked a glance at the advancing German. At first he thought Heydrich was hit, for the Nazi toppled forward, collapsing like a drunk. As Heydrich sprawled onto the pavement clutching his ribs, he shouted at the returning Klein to once more give chase.

  Gabčík needed no further prompting and he ran flat out from the scene. Klein pursued him and the two men hared at full speed down the hill towards the city. Gabčík pumped his arms like a sprinter, trying to power his way free from the athletic German following him. The pavement passed beneath his feet like a blur and he had to flail his arms wildly more than once as his momentum threatened to send him crashing to the ground.

  As he went round the corner at the foot of the hill, Gabčík realised he had a head start on his pursuer but he was too exposed out here and who knew what he might bump into around the next bend? Surely by now there would be German soldiers heading towards the sound of the blast. Gabčík had to get off the main road and hide himself in the alleyways, until he could plot a route back to one of the safe houses, but he couldn’t do that with Heydrich’s bodyguard in full pursuit.