The Bavarian Gate

by John Dalmas

  "I am not subject to the Abwehr station chief. On the contrary, I can command him, within limits. His function in this is to do whatever is necessary to support you."

  She caught his gaze and held it. "I do not doubt that you understand me. You are considerably more intelligent than Colonel Landgraf imagines. You have been concealing your intelligence, pretending to be dull-witted. Herr Doktor Professor Schurz agrees with me on that. If I am to work with you in dangerous situations, I will have to know why you pretend to be otherwise."

  "It is nothing very complicated," Macurdy said. "Even with my crippled leg, I could be called into the army in a clerical role, or manning some flak battery. But if I am thought to be feeble-minded, there is much less risk. Also, fewer demands are made on me."

  Her aura reflected skepticism. "Is your limp as bogus as your feeble-mindedness?"

  In answer, he pulled his left trouser leg above the knee. She grimaced at the scarring.

  "It appears to be genuine," she said, and ended the briefing.

  As Macurdy walked the few yards to Greszak's office, he examined the morning and what he'd learned, both about the mission and Anna Hofstetter.

  She'd talked with Schurz about him. Schurz knew he spoke English—dreamed in it!—but apparently hadn't told her. Meanwhile, Anna's aura showed that she mistrusted him, had for some time, yet she hadn't blown the whistle.

  Schurz, Berta, and now Anna had covered for him. He would never have imagined such a thing. Strange, very strange.

  * * *

  For several more days, Macurdy continued his training under Greszak. On one of them, Anna took him to the room he thought of now as their private conference room. On their way, they passed Tsûlgâx in the corridor. As usual, Tsûlgâx scowled at him.

  "I wonder why Herr Tsûlgâx dislikes me so?" he murmured. "I have never said or done anything to him."

  "He doesn't simply dislike you," Anna said drily. "He hates you. He considers you a threat to his father."

  Macurdy's buzz-cut crawled. "His father? Who is his father?"

  "The Crown Prince. To whom he is thoroughly devoted."

  "But—how am I a threat to the Crown Prince?"

  "I don't know. Nor does Tsûlgâx. It is simply something he feels. He believes that he senses the future. Not sees it, but senses it."

  Macurdy turned her answer over in his mind without saying anything. A threat to Kurqôsz? He didn't even dislike Kurqôz, really.

  They entered the room. "So you read their minds," he murmured.

  "Not the Voitar's minds. They are totally opaque to me. But Tsûlgâx has no more shielding than he has compassion."

  "Do you read mine?" Montag asked.

  "I think you know the answer to that. No, not yours. Some people, and most psychics, have a shield which, if they feel sufficient trust, they lower, knowingly or not. But even if they do not lower it, I can sense their emotions and attitudes, and learn much from those. I have learned much about you."

  Macurdy met her gaze mildly. "I know what people feel sometimes."

  "I am sure you do. Herr Schurz thinks you read auras, and I believe he is right."

  Macurdy neither verified nor denied it. "You do not show very much what you feel," he said, "even to me. But I don't mind. It is not necessary that I know."

  Her aura and face both reflected wry irritation. "Do not be coy with me, Herr Montag. If we are to work together, please show me some respect."

  "My apologies. I do respect you, and I am ready to listen."

  She looked away, gathering her thoughts, then returned her gaze to him. "There is serious risk in what they have planned for us," she said, "but considering everything, I believe we can succeed." She paused. "Of course, if we are captured, we may be executed."

  He ignored the comment. "Can you read the Colonel's thoughts?"

  "As necessary."

  "Does he know that?"

  "He knows I am a telepath, but has decided not to be troubled by it."

  "What have you learned from him?" He asked the question as much for her reaction as for information.

  Her gaze was direct, calm but intent. "He has considerable confidence in both of us. Remarkably, he trusts us."

  "Have you learned anything from him about the Voitar?"

  "Quite a bit. It seems they came here through some 'opening' on the Witches' Ridge. But you know more about that than I. Apparently in their country, explosives are useless, but they are interested in steam engines and water pumps. Also in ship building."

  Ship building? That definitely seemed false.

  "In return they train us, mostly without useful results, probably because of our shortcomings as psychics, rather than theirs as teachers. Also, eight of them will travel to northern France, to help fight the invasion when it comes. To do what it seems we cannot—create terror monsters that are real, physical, and set them against the enemy."

  Macurdy tried to imagine what those monsters would be like. Physical, she'd said. Vaguely he remembered nightmares, and a chill ran over him.

  "When do they leave?"

  "In May. On the tenth, unless it's been changed again."

  "How will they get there?"

  Anna seemed unhappy with the question, as if she'd struggled with it before, to no good conclusion. "Not by rail," she said. "They will travel on rivers and canals. There was also something about walking. Or"—she shrugged uncomfortably—"running, actually. Accompanied by a motorized escort. It makes no sense."

  To Macurdy it did. Certainly more sense than an interest in shipbuilding. "When do we leave?"

  "I don't know. But soon, obviously." Anna got up. "It is time you returned to your drills."

  Montag nodded. The drills were definitely a waste of time now, but orders were orders, and anyway there was nothing else to do. If he had his way, they'd leave the next day.

  * * *

  That evening, leaving the dining room, Anna's aura reflected repressed excitement, though physically she seemed her usual calm self. She paused outside the door, and as he passed, she murmured, "Very soon now. Very soon."

  Tomorrow? he wondered. The next day? She should have been explicit. Or maybe she didn't know explicitly.

  * * *

  Afterward, in the reading room, Berta sat down beside Montag while he played solitaire. "You've been back for a week now," she murmured.

  He nodded, then got up. "Let's talk in the corridor," he replied, and they went out.

  "The rumor," Berta said, "was that you went somewhere with the Voitar. To wherever they came from." She put light fingers on his arm. "You and I should go to the party room. I've missed you. And I am curious."

  "I'd have invited you," Montag said, "but while I was gone, I had more sex than I could handle. For the first time in my life. I'm not sure I've recovered yet."

  "I've seen you with that scrawny little Hofstetter lately. Perhaps you have enough energy to take her downstairs."

  "You live in the same room with her. You should know whether she slips out at night."

  "Perhaps you screw her during the day. You are known to go into an empty classroom together. Apparently with permission."

  "You might ask Schurz why we do that. Or Colonel Landgraf. They know. We are under orders, she and I."

  Berta sulked. "Orders! She is a Jewess. That sharp face, scrawny body..."

  "If she was sent here by the Gestapo, as I was, that is hardly possible."

  Berta deflated. "Shit, Kurt, I know that. And I have nothing against Anna. I'm just jealous. She has the hots for you, and you're allowed to spend time together. Can we go downstairs tonight? I want you badly."

  He considered. This was no time to get caught out after hours. The mission with Anna was his chance to report what he'd learned to Grosvenor Square. Or—If he was caught with Berta tonight, with the mission so close, what would they do to him? He had an assignment, and there seemed to be no one else they could send. He'd simply say it had been his last chance to go to bed with Berta. Besides,
there was that old saw about Hell having no fury like a woman scorned.

  "And I want you," he told her. "Who knows if I will have another chance. The usual time?"

  Berta nodded, her excitement not primarily sexual. What is that about? he wondered.

  * * *

  He found out. After having sex, they talked, as usual. She thought perhaps he was getting ready to run away, escape to Switzerland, and wanted to go with him. That wasnt it, he told her. He'd gone with Kurqôsz through a sort of gate on the Witches' Ridge, "a hole in space," realizing how preposterous it must sound, even given the outlandish appearance of the Voitar. And on the other side, he added, they'd trained him to do a special job.

  To his surprise, she merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Hmm. And who was it there," she asked, "who gave you more ass than you could handle?"

  "Kurqôsz assigned a slave to keep me company, and to tell me things."

  "A slave? She must have been something, if you couldn't bring yourself to say 'no more.' "

  "She was not an ordinary slave. She was Kurqôsz's daughter."

  "Kurqôsz's daughter? A slave?"

  "She's a half-blood, like Tsûlgâx. She's a slave, but has slaves of her own. In a way I was one of them."

  Berta laughed. "I wish you were my slave! I'd wear you down to a Vogelscheuche!" She leaned against him then, kissed his lips, his shoulders, his chest, her right hand fondling him until he was ready.

  When they were done, they went back upstairs, both of them quiet.

  30

  Surprise in Albion

  The next morning he was told to pack, that they'd leave at 1000 hours. Packing took only a few minutes, then both he and Anna were called to Landgraf's office for a final briefing. Afterward they were driven to the military transportation office at the railyard in Kempten, where they were met by an SS 1st lieutenant. His orders identified them as an intelligence team enroute to England; he was to accompany them, get them to the submarine base at Saint-Nazaire through any difficulties that might arise. In these times one could expect difficulties.

  Theirs was an army train, mostly freight cars, but with a flak car, three troopcars, and a sleeper car for officers. Macurdy, Anna, and the lieutenant were assigned to the sleeper, along with the several officers of coast artillery replacements.

  In peacetime the 650-mile trip would have taken a day. It took them nearly four, partly because other, strategically more urgent trains were given the right of way, leaving them on sidings for as long as an hour at a time. Mostly, however, the problem was bomb damage. The bridge at Breisach had been knocked out the night before, so they'd detoured south, and crossed the Rhine on the newly repaired bridge at Müllheim. At numerous locations, railyards had been heavily bombed, and damage, debris, and ongoing repairwork seriously reduced the rate at which traffic could be moved through, causing long delays. In other places, temporary bypasses and hasty repairs meant reduced speeds.

  The first day, Macurdy wondered what night would bring. Berta had said Anna had the hots for him, but he'd brushed it off as petulance. Certainly he'd seen no indication of it, even auric. He was interested despite himself, and that troubled him. In the army he'd had opportunities for sex from little Rock to England, and had avoided it because he was married. Then there'd been Berta, and a great deal of Rillissa, and having sex with them seemed to have weakened his resistance. He vowed not to have sex with Anna.

  The railroad car had blackout curtains, of course, and at twilight they were drawn. At nine o'clock the corridor lights were dimmed. The lieutenant appraised Anna. "Fräulein, for security it is necessary that you share a compartment with one of us." He gestured at Kurt Montag. "Which one do you prefer?" He had no doubt, of course. Her companion looked like a peasant, limped, and wore a suit of ill-fitting tweed that looked distinctly British.

  She saw through him of course. "I will share this one with Herr Montag," she said. "We are old friends."

  The lieutenant locked his jaw without answering, telling himself she was thinner than he liked anyway, and nodding curtly, went to the next compartment.

  Anna set the bolt, drew the compartment curtains, and took pajamas and a robe from her bag. Her aura showed only light sexuality: awareness, not desire. In fact, she put on her robe, turned her back to him, changed clothes beneath it, removed the robe and went to bed, pulling the cover over her. Physically he felt disappointed; mentally relieved.

  "Anna," he said, "I have no robe. But if you would turn your back..."

  She did, and he removed his outer garments. Then, after opening the compartment curtain just a bit to let in some of corridor light, he turned off the night light and went to bed. Anna watched him in the dimness.

  "I had wondered if there would be a problem between us," she said. "Thank you for your good behavior."

  He focused on her aura. Her sexual energy had increased but was still unfocused. "I have a wife," he answered. "A very good wife, whom I love. I owe her my loyalty."

  Her auric response equated to raised eyebrows. "Oh? And what about Berta? She would wait for you very much aroused, and return sated." She paused. "But then, Berta is much sexier than me, much more tempting."

  "That wasn't it. I wanted to snoop around the schloss, but I was afraid I'd be caught and perhaps shot. With Berta, I had a good excuse: If we were caught, I could say we were looking for a place to make love. We would have been punished, but hardly executed."

  "Ah. And how many nights did it take to complete your snooping?"

  "One. But by then she had learned things about me. So when she asked me to be with her again, it seemed best not to offend her."

  Anna smiled, not cynically. "And besides, it was such fun, nicht wahr?"

  "She was good. I can't deny it."

  "And what was it she learned about you that you wanted to safeguard?"

  "You already know: that I am not a Schwachsinniger."

  "All right. And how did you manage to move around in the building without being caught? Even slipping down the corridor to the reading room or dining room would have been dangerous."

  He said nothing. Undoubtedly she was reading his feelings, analyzing them.

  "I must tell you," she said, "that for a time I supposed you were a spy, put here by some office that disapproved of the Bureau. I could see no other explanation for your ability to move around at night."

  It seemed to him he could sense her mind perching at the edge of his, watching for a crack, a chink. Still he said nothing.

  "Well, I can understand your silence, and I will let these questions lie for now. You have shown me respect; I will do the same for you. Good night, Kurt Montag, and pleasant dreams."

  * * *

  Saint-Nazaire had been a small city; now it was an expanse of rubble. But the submarine pens—heavily reinforced tunnels— still operated. The railyard was closed, had been heavily bombed again, and the two psychics rode the 35 miles from Nantes in a command car, over a road heavily and hastily patched.

  After leaving their SS lieutenant at the harbormaster's office, they were taken aboard a submarine in midaftemoon, and assigned quarters. Though his was in a crowded crew compartment, Macurdy was privileged: He didn't alternate in his narrow fold-down bunk with someone on a different watch, as the seamen did; it was his full-time. Anna was even more privileged: She occupied the tiny cabin normally used by the 1st officer, who would double up with the captain while she was aboard.

  The craft stayed in its cavern till after dark; a submarine moving down the channel in daylight was at serious risk. One never knew when American or British planes might visit.

  Eventually the vessel began to move, its throbbing diesels pushing it out of the pen, into the estuary. Despite himself, Macurdy sweated a bit, and raised a brief prayer, less to God than to allied destroyers and planes, that he might arrive safely in England. Not that I wish you guys bad luck or anything, he murmured inwardly, but my mother didn't raise me to drown in some Nazi Unterseeboot.

  The seame
n were calm enough though, and before long he slept, despite the strange sounds and smells.

  For the sake of speed and the batteries, the vessel ran on the surface till dawn, then the humming electrics were cut in, and the diesels shut oft. Then bells jangled. Without pausing, the submarine tilted downward slightly and submerged.

  * * *