Hunting the Hangman

by Howard Linskey

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Švarc desperately.

  ‘We dig,’ answered Valčík.

  ‘What?’ asked Švarc as if he had suggested they make wings and fly out of the crypt.

  ‘We dig. Here, through the walls and into the sewers. If we make it through the wall we can get away. What difference does it make if we create noise? They know we are down here anyhow. Two of us can dig while the other two hold the place. Then we swap over.’

  Švarc thought for a while. ‘I think it could work,’ he said eventually.

  ‘I’d say it is better than just sitting here waiting for the end,’ confirmed Gabčík, grateful for the distraction. ‘Get the shovels and the climbing axes from the packs.’

  The area around the vent had been deliberately cleared of men and machines to allow the negotiations to take place. The majority of the troops had retired to side streets, leaving a contingent covering the church from vantage points on the ground and high up in surrounding buildings. Another group covered the two entrances to the crypt from within the church. Consequently, Čurda found himself walking across an almost empty and silent street, his eyes fixed on the gap in the wall from which Gabčík’s familiar voice had resounded so clearly a moment earlier. He had no idea what he would say to his former comrades in response to such fervour but knew he had to try. Events were now moving at a pace entirely of their own making and Čurda was caught up in them. Shame burned his face as he trudged towards the vent and prepared to call out to the doomed men in the crypt. Sweat poured from his torso and he had to spit on the ground before he was capable of speaking at all.

  ‘Lads, it’s alright, it’s alright. It’s Čurda, boys. Everything will be fine if you just give yourselves up.’

  ‘Čurda? Is that really you?’ asked Valčík unsurely, wary of some Gestapo trick.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve been well treated and so could you be if you just give up this hopelessness and come out.’

  ‘Well treated?’ asked Hrubý quietly to himself, as he contemplated the implications of that phrase.

  ‘Oh my God, what have you done, Čurda?’ Valčík called in frustration when the realisation dawned on him.

  ‘What I had to do, Valčík. This is the only way to survive and you must surrender too. It will be okay if you do.’

  ‘You led them here.’ This was not a question but a bitter accusation from Valčík and it was the final word as far as Gabčík was concerned.

  ‘Murdering, treacherous bastard!’ he screamed in fury and before anyone could say another word he grabbed the Sten, pulled it up to his shoulder and aimed a burst of fire through the vent. The bullets tore through the hole in the wall and sailed above the panicked figure of Čurda who turned on his heel and ran back the way he had come, expecting at any moment to be cut down. SS men on the other side of the road returned fire at the vent and Čurda found himself fleeing in terror across an open stretch of road transformed into a killing ground. He ran with the fear of a man who knew just one stray bullet could end his life. As he flew at full pelt back towards Frank and Pannwitz he noticed they were actually laughing at him.

  ‘Looks like your friends are not so happy with you, eh, Čurda?’ called Pannwitz.

  Frank became impatient as soon as the firing ceased.

  ‘Let’s stop this nonsense now. Get the fire brigade down here.’

  Valčík swung the short handled axe into the brickwork and a sizeable lump of masonry fell to the floor. Encouraged, he hefted the axe repeatedly at the stones while Hrubý stabbed at the emerging hole with the blade from his shovel.

  ‘How far do you think it is?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he called to his comrade. ‘Just keep digging.’

  At that exact point a press-ganged fireman was climbing warily up a ladder outside to bring him within touching distance of the vent. With one hard swing of a large axe he knocked the metal grille clean out and it tumbled down inside the catacomb, narrowly missing Valčík’s head in the process. Gabčík grabbed the Sten once more and shot out at the fleeing fireman. Covering the vent with the Sten he called to Valčík.

  ‘Keep digging!’

  Before his comrade could answer the first hose appeared in the vent above them; another closely followed it. Gabčík was about to fire but could see no target. A second later the hoses twitched into life. Gabčík and Švarc were instantly soaked from the force of the water, which cannoned off the walls behind them and rebounded in an icy spray.

  ‘They’re flooding the place!’ shouted Gabčík and he sent a couple of bullets out through the vent, which carried harmlessly through the air beyond.

  The hoses were too high for them to reach and they continued to relentlessly pump water at a rate of over six hundred gallons a minute. Before too long the men in the crypt were standing in puddles of freezing water. Valčík and Hrubý began attacking the masonry with a new urgency. Bricks were loosened and smashed with axe and shovel but the progress was slow. They were able to move only slivers of brick with each assault and it was some time before deep scars began to form in the ancient walls.

  A German soldier appeared at the vent. He held a grenade and Gabčík, using the automatic he now preferred to the Sten, shot him in the face.

  ‘Grenade!’ he shouted and everyone ducked to avoid the effects of the blast that reverberated outside. There was pandemonium in the street and Gabčík hoped the explosion had taken some more Germans.

  Hrubý held a knife in his hands and shouted above the din. ‘Help me cut those hoses!’

  Valčík stopped what he was doing and linked his hands together to form a foothold for Hrubý to step into, so he could grab for one of the hoses. At the second attempt he reached it and swung the knife into the rubber, ducking under the force of the water. After sawing for moments Hrubý managed to slice off the end and he pushed the remainder of the hose back into the street – an act that triggered a hail of machine gun bullets that ricocheted above his head and sent him tumbling backwards from Valčík’s grip. He landed heavily but his fall was partly cushioned by the rising water level, which now reached the men’s knees.

  Outside, Frank surveyed the scene as small groups of SS men rushed the hatch. Some attempted to reattach the damaged hose that was now pumping water harmlessly out onto the road, others fired bursts from Schmeisser machine pistols or scaled the ladder in an attempt to send grenades down into the crypt. Invariably they were forced back by well-aimed volleys of fire from within.

  ‘Get some tear gas down there!’ Frank commanded the leader of the assault team and two men were sent to carry out the Brigadeführer’s request.

  ‘Swap with me, Švarc!’ shouted Valčík, exhausted from his digging.

  His hands were cut and bleeding and he handed over the axe. As Švarc took his place at the hole, which now went back two feet into the masonry, a grenade was dropped into the crypt from above, closely followed by another. Again the cry went out from Gabčík and he fired a shot to keep German heads down. Sticking the automatic in his belt, he scurried forwards and scooped up both grenades from the water. Valčík once again cupped his hands together, Gabčík stepped into them, was hoisted aloft and in one movement he pushed the grenades back through the vent. They exploded on the street simultaneously.

  ‘Hrubý, cover the vent with a Sten!’ Gabčík screamed. ‘They almost had us!’

  The heavy machine gun was in place and the burst commenced on an officer’s signal. The firing chipped away at the masonry around the grille and sent the four men inside stumbling for the cover of the near wall. As soon as the covering fire ceased, two volunteers ran forwards to the grille and lobbed three tear gas grenades through the vent. Hampered by the deepening water, the prospect of further covering fire and the impossibility of instantly returning so many grenades, Gabčík gave the order.

  ‘Fall back!’

  The four men waded, w
aist-deep now, away from the hole in the wall, turning to their right into the larger section of the L-shaped crypt, just as the grenades exploded sending clouds of tear gas billowing after them.

  ‘The gas is not working, Herr Brigadeführer,’ reported the commander of the assault team moments later. ‘There are too many gaps in that old brickwork. It is seeping out into the church and affecting my men. For the same reason the water is not flooding the crypt quickly enough. At this rate it will take half a day to get to a sufficient level to force a surrender.’

  ‘We can’t tolerate that,’ insisted Frank. ‘All of Prague woke this morning to the sound of gunfire and explosions. What sort of message does it send to the population? That Germans cannot control their own city? It took three hours to remove three parachutists from the church loft and now we take hours more to drive a handful of men out of a crypt without success. It is simply not good enough.’

  The SS commander bridled. ‘That is because our friends in the Gestapo will not allow us to do the job properly. We are soldiers, an assault group. We are not meant to negotiate or bring people out alive. Our way is to take the target and that means nothing less than a full frontal assault.’

  Pannwitz had listened to every word and replied with astonishment, ‘And how will that achieve our goal? We need these men alive. If we had wanted them dead we could have accomplished it hours ago. They must confess their crimes and be put on display before the world. It is the only way to prove they were sent by the British and not the product of some mythical, heroic home resistance force.’

  ‘But you will kill them anyway,’ retorted the captain.

  ‘I agree. This farce has gone on long enough,’ said Frank. ‘They are making us a complete laughing stock and the longer it takes the more those assassins become an example to misguided nationalists everywhere. Do what you have to do to end this.’

  ‘No, you cannot…,’ began Pannwitz.

  ‘Cannot? I am acting Reichsprotektor, until Reichsführer Himmler advises otherwise. I think I know his will in this matter better than you, Pannwitz. He would want us to end this intolerable situation now even if we have to kill every last man down there. We have one prisoner who may yet recover and you are welcome to him but I will not allow the Czechs to laugh at us in our own backyard. Is that understood, Pannwitz?’

  ‘Completely, Herr Brigadeführer,’ replied the Gestapo man sullenly but he resisted no more.

  Valčík and Gabčík were just above the water level, lying horizontally on their bellies in an empty catacomb each. Hrubý and Švarc were opposite, adopting a similar position, as the freezing water gradually rose towards chest height and showed no sign of abating.

  ‘I don’t think we could have made it through the wall even if… we only got three feet in all that time,’ said Valčík.

  ‘What matters is you tried,’ Gabčík consoled him.

  ‘Up till now,’ said Hrubý, ‘I had always assumed we would somehow get away. Now I realise there is no hope for us. Oh God, I don’t want to die down here, like this.’

  ‘It is not over yet, Hrubý. Myself, I want to kill more Germans before this day is over,’ answered Gabčík.

  ‘Me too,’ Švarc assured them all, ‘and if I am going to die, what better place to do it than a church. At least here we are close to God.’

  ‘Let them come for us then,’ Gabčík announced, ‘and we will be ready.’

  The explosive took the hatch off the entrance to the crypt as if it was the top off a beer bottle. As soon as the smoke died, a volunteer inched his way onto the first of the stone stairs that led down into the crypt. He placed a rag to his mouth with one hand, to protect himself from any last residue of the tear gas, and in the other held a borrowed Luger. Four more men followed behind him.

  Subdued light came from the air vent on his left but this was some yards away and around a corner so he was unable to make out his surroundings in the gloom. He cursed the fact he had been standing in daylight a few moments ago and could now see little ahead of him as a consequence. His boot made contact with another step and it disappeared under the water. He made a slight splashing sound as the second boot went deeper and he began to wade cautiously forward, the gun pointed ahead of him ready for any movement. As he touched the bottom step the water level reached his chest and he was forced to hold the Luger high and at an unnatural angle out in front of him. He took more steps and could hear the slight splosh as each man entered the water behind him and was reassured by their presence. The sergeant’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he noticed a shape stir to his left but he was too late to prevent what happened next. The man behind him saw the flash from the barrel of the Colt but the sergeant did not, as the bullet from Gabčík’s pistol had already passed through his forehead. There was a cry of alarm from one of the Germans and they began to fire at the shadows around them. As the sergeant fell backwards into the water, dead before he hit it, Valčík fired at the next man and was gratified to hear a cry of pain and distress. Hrubý and Švarc opened up too and the four men of the assault team beat a hasty retreat through the water, crying out in pain as they took wounds from well-aimed pistol fire.

  With the attack successfully repelled, the crypt fell momentarily silent.

  ‘They will come again and there will be more next time,’ said Hrubý and nobody disputed it. ‘I don’t have much ammunition left, just two or three bullets. There’s no hope anymore. None.’ Then he concluded firmly, ‘I don’t want to be taken alive.’

  There was a long pause. Finally, Gabčík answered him. ‘It’s alright, Hrubý.’

  There was another devastating silence, which went on for seconds that felt like minutes, until it was broken by the clearly discernible snick of a pistol being cocked. When the shot finally came, it echoed around the crypt.

  Gabčík and Valčík did not look over at the space in the catacomb now occupied by Hrubý’s body but they could tell that, close by, Švarc was praying; his mumbled message to God barely audible above the noise of the free-flowing water still gushing through the vent, almost at shoulder height now. Then Švarc suddenly stopped and Gabčík turned his head away until he heard the shot.

  Valčík climbed down into the water then and Gabčík followed him. The level reached almost to their chins in the centre of the crypt and they had to hold the pistols above their heads to keep them dry. The water was paralysingly cold. They were shivering and their breath was visible. They instinctively waded away from the bodies of their comrades and back to the open area beneath the vent, taking care to avoid the gushing water. Then they stopped and Valčík turned around to face his friend. Gabčík could see he was tearful and when Valčík spoke his voice was weak.

  ‘I don’t want to be last, Josef.’

  ‘That’s good because I do.’

  Valčík’s eyes showed his gratitude. ‘I’ll see you in heaven or hell, Josef, whichever will take us.’

  Valčík cocked his pistol and slowly raised it to the side of his head. He held out the other arm until it reached his comrade’s shoulder and gripped onto it tightly, needing human contact to help him complete the act. Valčík screwed up his eyes and Gabčík, motionless now, closed his. Even though he knew it was coming, the crack from the pistol still made Josef start. Valčík’s hand went limp on his friend’s shoulder and he fell sideways from the force of the shot then his body toppled over and dropped into the water. Gabčík stepped backwards from the body of his friend. He was entirely alone now.

  The crypt seemed darker somehow, and the sound of the water as it cascaded onto the flooded floor filled his senses. It seemed to be urging Josef on.

  There was no point crying for Liběna. It was not in his nature, would do no good anyway and he told himself he had been lucky to have her at all. Their brief weeks together were as good a time as he had ever known. He prayed he had used up all of their bad luck and she would somehow find the st
rength to carry on without him.

  There was a commotion from above, prompted by the shots. Orders were shouted in haste and activity seemed to centre on the area around the sealed hatch that was the crypt’s second entrance. At the same time he could hear footsteps close to the already exposed western entrance. They were going to come at him from both sides this time and he realised he had seconds left before explosives blew the sealed entrance.

  Gabčík should have realised it could never have turned out any other way. He was not the sort for wife and family and happy endings belonged in children’s stories. Any ideas he once had to the contrary were just vanity. It had never entered his mind to use the cyanide capsule and he now realised his life was always destined to end with a bullet. Good then, it’s fitting.

  He cocked the Colt and aimed it at the side of his head, then immediately altered the pistol’s position so the end of the barrel was now pressed tightly against his temple. Gabčík would not be carried from here half dead. He needed to be sure.

  As the commotion above him grew louder and the shouts of his pursuers ever more urgent, as the men from the second wave inched down the steps into the crypt to get him, Josef closed his eyes for the last time and squeezed the trigger.

  44

  ‘Where once the Swastika flies, there it will fly forever’

  SS Brigadeführer Karl Frank, State Secretary of Bohemia and Moravia

  The SS corporal had been gone less than a minute. The fearless man volunteered to lead the group and investigate the three shots they had heard from within. Stripped to his vest, he had entered the catacombs armed with only a pistol. As he descended the stone steps, a fourth shot made him freeze and aim his gun towards it. It was a moment before he could be sure it was not directed at him and he inched forwards to examine the site. Emerging moments later, his grimy head appeared, water dripping from his hair and face onto the smashed stonework below.

  ‘Finished,’ he told them.