London had sanctioned the job, but it was a calculated risk. The base was heavily defended, and the mission relied on stealth. There were many unknowns, not least the state of Professor Mayer. Escape depended on Mayer’s mobility. Doubtless, the old boy would be slow, but they both needed to make it to the rendezvous point alive.
Nash flicked on a small torch, and checked his identity papers again. He had to admit, the boys in London had excelled themselves this time with a brilliant forgery. It would do the job.
He checked his watch – time to go – the charges would blow in ten minutes.
The car started first time, and bumped along the forestry track without getting stuck in the mud. The headlights finally picked up the perimeter fence as the vehicle swung onto the road. If this was to succeed, it would need to be the performance of a life time. If it didn’t; well, that came with the job.
Nash started the charade on cue. He switched on the main beam, and flashed the headlights, pressing the horn repeatedly as he swerved the car back and forth along the road. Hopefully the sentries on the main gate would get the message: a comrade in distress.
He pulled up sharply at the main gate and stepped from the vehicle, pacing urgently towards the sentries; chest out, with as much swagger as he could muster.
‘I am Commandant Filsner! I have urgent orders from Berlin!’ reported Nash in perfect German. ‘We were attacked on the road, and my orderly has been shot! He needs medical attention, open the gate!’ The sentries looked perplexed.
Right on schedule, the explosive charges went off. Flashes of brilliant, white light blinded the sentries for a few moments. Drifts of thick smoke and noise added to the confusion.
Nash shouted over the noise. ‘Quickly! Open the gate, we are under attack!’
The two sentries, disorientated by the sudden change in circumstances, gaped at each other.
‘See for yourself!’ Nash waved his papers at the nearest sentry, and gestured towards the vehicle.
The sentry poked his head through the driver’s door. One glance at the German orderly covered in blood was enough. ‘Hans! Open the gate! Quickly!’
His comrade duly complied with a sudden burst of efficiency.
‘That’s more like it!’ Nash headed for the car.
The sentry held the driver’s door open. Nash piled in, revving the engine in an instant. At the same time the sentry started waving his arms at the machine gun post to signal his intent. He didn’t need to bother; the machine gun was already turned away from the main gate and trained in the direction of the explosions.
Nash slammed the vehicle into gear, and sped through the main gate, across the open ground of the artillery field, following the short road to the main accommodation block. Lights flashed on in most of the buildings, as soldiers poured out of their barracks and into the small parade ground that marked the entrance to the laboratories.
There was still time – but not long – the soldiers would soon be organised; five minutes, maybe less.
He stepped briskly from the car and walked smartly to the first building in the accommodation block, hoping the Oscar-winning performance would hold.
‘I have orders to escort some of the scientific staff to safety! Take me to Professor Mayer!’ Nash spoke again in perfect German with a hint of the aristocracy for good measure.
The young soldier sitting at the reception desk stared back nervously and barely got his mouth open before Nash interrupted.
‘On your feet soldier! Move! Quickly now! Take me to Professor Mayer!’
The soldier gulped as his spotty teenage face registered the order. Another explosion sounded outside. ‘But… but sir, I… forgive me… I just man the desk and keep track of the domestic matters. I don’t have the authority to move inmates… ’ The desk clerk reached for the phone.
Nash pressed home the advantage. ‘What is this?! Do you not salute a senior officer?! On your feet!’
The young soldier decided it was best to do as he was told. He jumped to his feet with a crisp Nazi salute.
‘Good, now to your files, where is Professor Mayer? Hurry, the enemy is closing in!’
‘Yes sir, his bunk is… ’ The young soldier flipped through the register, hastily trying to find the right room.
‘Quickly! Take me to him,’ urged Nash.
‘Ah! Here it is… bunk room number seven… ’ The soldier memorised the room number and dropped the file on the desk. ‘This way Commandant… ’ Suddenly keen, the young soldier moved smartly along to the next block in the building.
Nash took over as the desk clerk pushed the door open to the bunk house. It was clean and tidy, with a row of eight bunks along each wall. Just like any other military quarters. However, all the occupants were out of bed and milling around, wondering what the noise was about outside.
‘Mayer! Professor Gustav Mayer!’ shouted Nash.
Silence – the gathering of scientists turned to face Nash, uncertain as to what was going on.
‘Mayer! Professor Gustav Mayer!’ he repeated.
This time he got a response from the back of the room.
‘I am Mayer.’
The sea of bodies parted to reveal the Professor standing in his night clothes.
Nash stepped through the crowd. ‘Get dressed quickly, you have one minute. Then you are leaving; dressed or otherwise.’
Mayer glanced at the officer’s insignia – a commandant – there was no point arguing. His eyes studied Nash’s face for a second. Had he met this Commandant before? It was possible of course; there were so many soldiers on the base.
Nash grabbed the Professor firmly by the arm and began to steer him out of the door before anyone could protest. The young soldier followed at a good pace, almost jogging to keep up.
‘Commandant, beg my interruption… ’ Nash kept walking. ‘… If you are taking the Professor… there are papers to sign… sir… ’
Nash cut him off with a wave of his hand. ‘No time for that now! Phone through to the main gate, let them know I am coming! Move!’ He kept moving briskly towards the car with Mayer in tow.
The young soldier scurried off to find a phone as he had been ordered.
It was a long shot, but it might work. The access road would soon be clogged up with military vehicles. If they were going to escape, it would have to be now.
Nash opened the rear passenger door of the staff car, and pushed the Professor into the back. Mayer instantly recoiled at the sight of the dead orderly in the front seat.
‘Don’t worry about him… ’ Nash smiled as he shut the driver’s door and started the engine.
‘What is going on? Where are you taking me?’ Mayer glanced again at the dead orderly.
‘I am here to protect you, Professor. Do not be alarmed,’ Nash spoke reassuringly in fluent German. There would be time for explanations later.
He gunned the engine and moved off, keeping the speed to an urgent pace in a business-like military fashion; but not too fast to draw unwanted attention. They joined the main access road.
‘Shit!’ Nash cursed to himself. A small convoy of vehicles were already on the move. There wasn’t much choice. He slipped in behind the lead car, just squeezing in front of two trucks. The vehicles headed for the main gate. With luck, he would simply be waved through with the rest of the convoy.
It was not to be. The convoy stopped at the barrier.
A sentry stood in front of the barrier, gesticulating with his weapon. A heated exchange started up with the driver in the lead vehicle, but the guard was having none of it, shaking his head and waving his weapon around. The convoy was going nowhere. A second sentry was on the phone in the small booth adjacent to the barrier. With lots of nodding down the phone, it looked like the sentry was taking orders from a senior office. No doubt, it was the order to close the main gate.
The sentry finished up on the telephone, and jogged out of the booth, clicking off the safety on his machine gun. He planted himself squarely in front of the barrier,
raising his weapon at the first vehicle in the convoy, and stood firm.
The game was up.
Suddenly, Nash slammed the car into reverse, crunching into the truck behind. Then, he hit the accelerator.
The car sped forward, miraculously swerving around the side of the lead vehicle without losing speed; but the nearest sentry was quick to act. Rounds thudded home, mostly into the dead orderly on the passenger seat. Realising his mistake, the sentry tried to adjust his fire – all too late – he was swept aside as the car smashed through the barrier at break-neck speed.
Nash brushed splinters of wood and glass from his eyes as the windscreen shattered. Seconds later a blast of steam engulfed him.
The radiator!
Flooring the accelerator, and ignoring the boiling radiator, he headed back towards the forestry track. A glance in the rearview mirror showed the headlights of the first truck already swinging out onto the road, only a few hundred yards behind.
He gunned the accelerator and switched off the headlights. Seconds later, he swerved the car off the road onto the forestry track. He put his foot down, ignoring the protests from the Professor being thrown around in the back. Both men bounced around violently as the car lumbered through potholes. A loud metallic whip announced the cracking of the rear axle – what the hell, they would ditch the car soon enough.
He checked the rearview mirror; as if right on cue, the first truck sped past the entrance to the track, closely followed by the second. Nash gave a sigh of relief; it would buy a couple of minutes at least.
Suddenly, he was thrown forward, with ribs burying deep into the steering wheel, his head slammed into the door frame. Dazed, he glanced up at the tree trunk protruding from the now crumpled engine. Christ knows, they were lucky to have made it this far in the pitch darkness. The engine shuddered in a spout of steam and died.
‘Are you injured?’ The Professor seemed perplexed by the question. ‘Any gunshot wounds?’ repeated Nash in German.
‘Well… err… no… I don’t think so… ’ Mayer patted himself down looking for blood.
‘We have to go, follow me.’ Nash pulled the Professor from the wreck. There was no time for etiquette. Shouldering the Professor to give him some support, Nash stumbled away into the woods.
The ground rose steeply and, with fallen branches hampering each step, Nash pumped hard, ignoring the cramp building up in his thighs. Adjusting his sweaty palm to keep a grip of the Professor’s waist belt, Nash heaved; but it was no good, Mayer was a dead weight.
‘Stop… please… stop.’ Mayer puffed and panted. Despite the cold night air, sweat poured from his face.
Nash released his grip. Mayer collapsed at the base of a tree trunk.
‘Professor, look at me! Listen to me, do exactly as I say!’ Nash maintained perfect German.
‘Where are you taking me? Who are you?’
Nash spoke calmly with authority. ‘A full explanation will come later. For now you must trust me.’
‘No, tell me now!’
Nash spoke in English. ‘I come with a message from Professor Einstein.’
‘Albert?! Message! What message?!’
‘Come with me, you can ask him yourself.’
‘Come where? Where are we going?’
‘Look, I know it’s been rough going, but about two kilometres away over the next hill is a lake. That’s our rendezvous point – someone will pick us up.’
‘Someone? Who? Where are we going?’
‘You’re going to have to trust me… ’ Nash smiled as he flipped open a compass to take a bearing. ‘It’s this way, not far… ’
Mayer shrugged.
Nash hauled the Professor to his feet. Mayer wheezed as he gave him support.
‘Look, we have to keep going.’ Nash prayed they could cover the necessary ground in time; within less than an hour the place would be swarming with troops.
He hauled the Professor along, ignoring the discomfort of the stolen German uniform and the ill-fitting boots.
The Professor got worse as each minute passed. They were forced to stop again and again. They finally came to halt at a fire break in the tree line which seemed to mark the ridge above the lake. Both men collapsed to the ground.
‘See… ’ Nash pointed. ‘The lake, and easier going from here: downhill.’ He grinned. The Professor just wheezed. ‘Come on, it’s less than half a kilometre now. We can go straight down the fire break, and be there in ten minutes.’ Nash gave another smile of white teeth in the darkness, and patted the Professor on the shoulder to give encouragement.
Suddenly, the sound of an officer barking orders broke the silence behind them. Multiple pairs of boots trampled through the woodland. Noise bounced around the forest as the soldiers fanned out along the hillside. Nash calculated the odds – not good – they would be on the ridge in no time. Even if it was only the two trucks from the convoy, it would be at least thirty or forty men.
He grabbed the Professor and started off down the fire break. Pushing hard, tripping over sticks and half-sawn timbers in the darkness, the loud crack of braking branches gave their position away.
‘This way! This way! Cut them off!’ The bright white of a phosphorus flare lit up the shadows. A German officer stood silhouetted on the ridge. ‘There! There! After them!’
Soldiers poured over the ridge and into the fire break as the flare petered out.
Nash tightened his grip on Mayer, almost lifting him off the ground, and increased the pace. Blundering down the fire break, with shouts going up behind, speed was now everything. Nash jolted his way down the hill, focusing hard on covering the rough ground, with his legs burning and shoulder aching under the Professor’s weight.
The rough grass and timber finally gave way to sand as they stumbled on to the shoreline at the south end of the lake. Dumping the Professor to the ground, Nash stood over him, pistol drawn, firing controlled rounds up the fire break – it would slow them down – nothing more.
‘Keep your head down!’ Nash dropped into a crouching position to load a fresh magazine. The telltale noise of an engine rumbled in the distance.
‘The plane!’
With renewed vigour Nash fired the next clip into the hillside. The tone of the engine changed as the seaplane touched down on the water.
‘Let’s go!’ Pulling up the Professor, Nash sprinted for the water’s edge. He squinted into the darkness; some white fuselage appeared about fifty yards away.
More shouts went up on the hillside; the breaking of branches signalled the rush of men down the fire break.
The first silhouettes came into view. Conserving ammunition, Nash gave a gentle double tap on the trigger. A silhouette crumpled to the ground. Another double tap, another soldier, then another.
‘Can you swim?!’ Nash fired again – another corpse.
‘What?!’ Mayer looked at Nash, then at the water.
‘I said, can you swim?!’ Another double tap; spent shell casings rattled onto the Professor cowering at his feet.
‘Yes, but… ’
The plane slowed to a taxi at the end of the lake, and went into a search pattern.
‘Good. The plane will find us! Into the water – swim!’ Nash didn’t wait for a reply; firing one last burst, he pulled the Professor into the lake.
Suddenly stunned by the ice-cold water, Nash gasped an involuntary deep breath. With his heart skipping erratically, his limbs turned to jelly – cold shock immersion – he wasn’t sure if the Professor could handle it.
Mayer flailed hopelessly.
‘Breathe! Breathe! Fight it! Kick with your legs! Swim!’ He gripped the Professor by the shirt collar, and kicked hard as the first few rounds zipped into the water.
The noise and white foam on the dark lake made an easy target; more bullets slashed into the water, much closer than the first volley.
‘Swim! Swim!’ Heaving with numb fingers and with the Professor struggling aimlessly, Nash lost his grip.
Mayer disappear
ed under the water, bullets danced around their position.
Ducking under, grabbing hair, Nash pulled Mayer to the surface. Rounds landed ever closer. Locking his arm around the Professor’s chest, kicking with his legs and using his spare arm to get some kind of rhythm going, Nash headed into deeper water.
Suddenly, the plane loomed out of the darkness, only twenty feet away.
More rounds splashed into the water as the plane attracted gunfire. Not fancying an icy death, Nash kicked for the fuselage door.
The deafening noise of a heavy-calibre machine gun, the rattle of hot shell casings, and the smell of cordite greeted him as he touched the aluminium skid of the fuselage.
About bloody time! Some return fire from the plane.
There was no cover on the gravel beach. Screams went up in the darkness as the gunner found his mark.
A hand grabbed the Professor by the collar and unceremoniously hauled him onto the skid. ‘Heave! For God’s sake! Heave!’ The crew man shouted over the din of the engines, rearranging his grip. The sodden Professor weighed a ton but, with purchase under the Professor’s arms, and with Nash pushing from underneath, they bundled him through the small door into the plane. Nash hauled himself up onto the skid.
The crew man reappeared in the doorway, putting out a hand to assist. A thud of bullets sprayed blood from the crew man’s chest, and punched holes in the surrounding airframe. He fell forwards, over Nash, and into the water.
Half hauling himself into the doorway, half lying on the skid, Nash poked his head through the door.
‘Go, go, fucking go!’
The pilot didn’t need a second invitation, and pushed the throttle forward. The plane accelerated, engines roaring.
Nash dug his hands into the lip of the doorway, desperately struggling to hold on as his feet dragged in the freezing water.
The soldiers on the shoreline sensed the departure and renewed their efforts. They were in luck. The cabin rattled to the popping sound of rounds hitting home; a real choice collection of small arms fire. A staccato of machine gunfire hit the cab. The pilot pushed the controls forward, flat out. Rounds clattered into the control panel; the pilot ducked instinctively as bullets peppered into the fuselage around his head.
The Reich Device Page 12