Hitler's Angel

by William Osborne

Otto shook his head, and Leni supposed he was right. It was too late, anyway.

  A convoy of army vehicles was coming towards them. Thanks to MacPherson's briefings, Leni knew what they were. First to roll past were a dozen Kübelwagen, the standard German army field car. After them came perhaps thirty Opel lorries, built to carry troops, and even more tank transporters. Otto tugged at Leni's sleeve. She glanced at him and saw he had his right arm raised in a Nazi salute. Quickly she followed suit.

  But the sight was intimidating, and a shiver ran down Leni's body as she held a salute she had never imagined making in her life. She hated herself for doing it. Walking through the countryside on a bright sunny morning, she had almost forgotten the war. But seeing these tanks, with the black-and-white crosses on their turrets, she was reminded sharply of the terrible fighting going on all over the world.

  When the last vehicle had passed and the rumble of engines had begun to fade, Otto and Leni decided to cross the Autobahn. As they were about to do so, a battered old Daimler car puttered towards them.

  “Let's hitch,” said Leni.

  “It's too risky,” said Otto. He looked on edge. “Remember what MacPherson told us? Avoid all unnecessary contact with strangers. He drilled it into us.”

  “But he also told us to use our initiative – and my feet are killing me already.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Otto, we've got to talk to someone eventually and the driver's an old man. He looks all right.”

  Before he could protest any further, Leni jumped on to the road and waved enthusiastically. The car slowed to a stop.

  “Just don't say anything you don't have to say, all right?” said Otto, but he still seemed reluctant.

  “Good morning, sir. Are you going east by any chance?” Leni smiled politely at the grizzled old man.

  “North, towards Rosenheim, but only for a few miles. Is that any good?” the man said.

  “That would be perfect,” replied Leni, in her sweetest voice.

  “Jump in, then. So long you don't mind sharing with Gunter.” The man thumbed his finger towards the back seat. A large spotted pig was lying there, bold as brass.

  “Oh, we don't mind,” Leni said, quickly opening the front passenger door and bagging the seat next to the farmer.

  Otto scowled and climbed in the back. The pig appeared to appreciate the company and farted a loud welcome.

  “He's happy, going to visit his girlfriend in Rosenheim. Make some little piglets for me.” The farmer chuckled and slammed the car into gear. The Daimler accelerated down the road.

  “That was a big convoy,” said Otto.

  The driver grunted. “Been like that for the last month or more. All coming back from Italy and whatnot, heading east. Something big's about to happen, if you ask me. Where are you two headed?”

  “East,” said Otto, shortly.

  “Well, that doesn't sound like a good idea, does it?” The farmer laughed.

  Leni was inclined to agree.

  *

  Half an hour later, the car pulled up on the side of the road. To the left a track led towards a Bavarian timber farmhouse. A sturdy-looking woman in a black skirt and red blouse was herding some cattle out of a pasture towards the milking shed.

  “Well, young people, this is Gunter's stop.”

  Leni turned to the back. Otto was sound asleep, his head resting on the pig's buttocks. She giggled. The farmer whistled loudly, and both Otto and the pig woke with a start.

  Otto and Leni scrambled out, and watched the car bounce down the track to the farm where Gunter's girlfriend was waiting. Then they set off down a country lane towards Prien. They walked in silence for a good ten minutes, alone with their thoughts, the only chatter coming from the birds in the hedgerows and the grasshoppers in the verge.

  “What was MacPherson talking to you about?” Leni suddenly asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday, before we left. When I went up to my room, he kept you behind. What did he say?”

  “Nothing,” said Otto.

  “Well, he must have said something.”

  Otto shrugged, but Leni could see he was blushing. “He was just running through some details about our family.”

  “That's all?” said Leni. She was unconvinced. Otto might be good at shooting but he was rubbish at lying.

  “That's all.”

  They walked on. “We have to trust each other, Otto,” Leni said, eventually.

  “I know and it wasn't important, I promise.” But he was looking straight ahead and not at her. Leni decided not to push it any further for now. She'd get it out of him in the end, whatever it was.

  “Fine, let's talk about something else,” she said.

  Otto smiled. He seemed relieved. “All right, let's practise. What do we like to do on a Sunday afternoon after lunch?”

  Leni thought for a moment. “Ah, the Fischers are creatures of habit. We don't often leave Salzburg. In the summer we go to the park for the concerts in the Mirabell gardens.”

  “And in the winter?”

  “Skating. We go skating at Hellbrunn.”

  “I love skating,” said Otto. He sounded wistful, as if he really did. “Your turn.”

  “All right, what's the name of the girl you like in our street?”

  “What? There isn't a girl I like,” said Otto, frowning.

  Leni smiled. “Good,” she said.

  CHAPTER 10

  FLY BOYS

  Otto and Leni reached Prien by midday, keeping mostly to the lanes and walking across farmland in places They had seen plenty of people along the route, working the land and going about their daily business in little villages, but no one had stopped or questioned them except to wish them ‘Guten Tag’. Now they were waiting in Prien's pleasant main square for the train to the lakeside port of Stock. A brass band was playing military tunes.

  MacPherson had briefed them about the area, and the lake in particular, but Otto already knew that the Chiemsee was the largest lake in Bavaria, at least forty kilometres long and ten wide. It was deep, too, teeming with fish, and had three islands. The largest was the Herreninsel, and the smallest the uninhabited Krautinsel. But, as MacPherson had told them, it was on the middle island, the Fraueninsel, that the child was being held. Otto and Leni were to take a pleasure boat to visit King Ludwig's nineteenth-century summer palace on the Herrreninsel in the afternoon and from there make their way across to the second island by nightfall.

  After a year away from Germany, Otto found sitting in this town square strangely alien. He didn't feel connected to the country any more. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he was there under an assumed identity. Every other person seemed to be wearing some kind of uniform, and most buildings were draped with Nazi flags. Had it been like this before he'd escaped? Maybe he was just more sensitive to it now. He listened to the brass band and tried to take his mind off the situation.

  “Maybe we should walk to Stock. It's only a few kilometres,” he said.

  Leni was sitting with her bare feet in the stone fountain in the centre of the square. She took her left one out and examined the blister on the side of her big toe. “My feet are on fire. I'm not walking anywhere except to the station.”

  “I don't like hanging around here,” Otto muttered.

  Leni took out a small printed timetable and consulted it. “The train'll be here in twenty minutes, and no one's taking a blind bit of notice of us.” She plunged her foot back into the water. “Can't you buy us some lemonade at least?”

  “All right. Wait here. I'll be back in a minute.”

  Otto walked across the square towards a small store. It was a traditional, family-run business with long salamis covered in peppercorns hanging above the counter. At the back was a tin bath full of ice and water and floating bottles of beer and lemonade. He plunged in his hand, took out two bottles and went back to the front of the shop. There was a queue and the woman in front of him took an age buying her weekly shop – a
little bit of this and a little bit of that, all interspersed with a good long chat about local events. Otto shifted from one foot to the next, anxious not to be separated from Leni for too long. Five minutes later, he stepped outside and knew immediately there was something wrong.

  A truck towing a glider on a trailer had arrived in the square, but for a moment Otto couldn't see Leni. Then he spotted her near the truck, surrounded by teenage boys. She was looking round nervously, trying to locate him. He hurried over, trying to stem the rising panic in his chest. There was a logo on the truck around the initials NSFK. A winged man, Icarus, with a swastika at his feet. Otto recognised it as the emblem of the national gliding club. The boys around Leni were tall and broad-shouldered, mostly blond or sandy-haired. They looked fit and handsome and strong. They looked like trouble.

  As Otto reached Leni, he saw she'd put her shoes back on.

  “Come on, let's get to the station,” he said to her.

  She picked up her bag. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said to the three boys closest to her. Then she started to walk away with Otto.

  He could tell she was ready to run. “Don't hurry,” he whispered to her. “They'll get suspicious.”

  “What took you so long?” she hissed back.

  “Hey, you!” one of the boys shouted.

  “Just keep walking!” said Otto sharply. This was not looking good. He heard the sound of footsteps behind them. Then a hand grasped his shoulder, pulling him to a halt. He turned round. A strapping boy, who looked about sixteen, was standing in front of him, his hands on his hips. Two others stood beside him. They all had the silver Icarus badges on their shirts.

  “That wasn't very polite, was it?”

  Otto tried to stay calm and keep his voice even. “I'm sorry, we are in a hurry.”

  “Actually, we have a train to catch!” Leni said.

  The boy glanced over to the station. So did Otto and Leni. The train was approaching. “So get the next one,” he said casually.

  “What do you want with us?” Otto asked.

  The boy smiled, showing white, straight teeth. “Well, your girlfriend is very pretty . . .”

  “She's not my girlfriend,” said Otto.

  “Really? Then you won't mind if I buy her an ice cream.”

  “Actually, he's my brother and he would mind,” said Leni.

  The three boys stared at Otto.

  “Your brother?” They didn't look convinced.

  “Yes, and she's right, I do mind. So please leave us alone.”

  “Tell you what,” the first boy said pleasantly, “I'm going to ignore your advice, little man, and take your sister for an ice cream anyway.”

  He drove his fist into Otto's solar plexus and Otto pitched down on to the ground, gasping, all the air driven from his lungs.

  “No!” cried Leni, reaching down to help him.

  The boy grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “There's really no need to be rude.” He pulled Leni towards him, all the while smiling at Otto. “Particularly when you're so pretty. My name's Rudi. What's yours?”

  “Let go of her.” Otto was back on his feet, but Rudi was bigger and stronger than him and there was no way he could beat him and the other two in a straight fight.

  “And what if I don't want to? What are you going to do about it?” Rudi said, laughing. His companions joined in.

  For a moment Otto thought of the pistol inside his pack, then put the thought right out of his mind.

  “I'll fight you,” he said instead, and stepped towards him.

  “As you wish,” Rudi laughed. He turned to Leni. “This won't take long, beautiful, then there'll be an ice cream for you and a kiss for me, I think.” He let her go. As he did so, she twisted to one side and it was then that Otto saw the glint of her knife in her hand.

  The train's whistle sounded again, louder this time.

  “Perhaps an apology would be better.” Leni's voice was icy.

  “What is this?” The young man stared down at the knife.

  “It's an apology to my brother from you,” she said, stepping in close and pressing the blade against his ribs.

  Rudi looked into her eyes. “You wouldn't dare.”

  “Try me.” She returned his stare and pressed the point of the blade harder into his side. He winced.

  “Say it.”

  “Never.” He spat the words back at her, a fleck of spittle hitting her on the cheek.

  “As you wish,” Leni repeated, then her hand moved and the boy looked down at the red stain that suddenly bloomed on his shirt. Leni had sliced through cotton and opened the skin just below his ribs. Not deep enough to do any serious damage, but sufficient to wound his pride. And hurt like hell.

  “Run,” she said to Otto.

  He didn't need telling twice. Together they sprinted towards the station and pulled themselves up into the last carriage just as the train began to move. As they unslung their packs, Rudi appeared outside their window, hammering on the carriage's glass as he ran along the platform.

  “You're dead!” he screamed at them. “You hear me? Dead!”

  Then the train was clear of the platform and he was gone.

  Otto sat down. He was suddenly conscious of other passengers in the carriage staring at them. “My God, Leni,” he whispered, “did you have to do that?”

  Leni smoothed her blouse, tucking a stray hair back behind her ear. “He won't tell anyone. Think about it, if word gets round that a younger girl got the better of him, he'll be a laughing stock.” She glanced at Otto. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, I'm fine. I could have beaten him. He took me by surprise, that's all.”

  Leni nodded. “Of course,” she said, but Otto could see she was hiding a smile.

  “Well, maybe a thank you is in order.” Otto closed his eyes and sighed. “But please don't do it again.”

  After a while he opened his eyes and gazed out at the view. The train was travelling along the edge of the Chiemsee, and scores of little boats were bobbing on the sparkling water. His heart began to beat more calmly.

  But he wasn't sure what had alarmed him most. The confrontation with the young thug, or the fact that Leni had shown herself to be tough as well as fearless. Now he couldn't help wondering: would she get them out of danger – or into it?

  CHAPTER 11

  BICYCLE THIEVES

  Leni caught Otto staring at her during the train ride and felt herself blushing under his intent gaze. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn't quite believe what she'd done. It had just sort of happened, as if it was out of her control. When the youth had postured and bullied and then hit out at Otto, something inside her had just flipped, like a switch, and she'd found the knife in her hand. But she was pleased with herself, even if it might cause trouble down the line. It was like the time she'd come upon her youngest brother being taunted by some older boys, his shorts pulled down around his ankles. Without thinking she'd waded into them, her fists flying, feet kicking, until they turned and fled, noses bleeding and shins bruised. Her father had received several complaints, she knew, but he had kissed her on the top of the head and told her how proud he was.

  The train started to slow and she focused once more on the present. They stood up together to reach for their packs just as the train braked sharply. She lurched forward into Otto, who caught her in his arms. They stayed like that for a moment or two, frozen, then Otto stepped back, letting go of her as if he'd been scalded.

  “I'll get your bag,” he said, not meeting her eye.

  “Thank you,” Leni replied formally, as he lifted it down.

  They exited the station at Stock and walked the length of the promenade, carefully examining the shops and businesses before they reached the landings where the tourist ferries were moored. Just beyond them, at the end of the town, they could make out a dozen or more large tents erected in a field, with a small armada of sailing dinghies and canoes tethered at the water's edge nearby. A large group of teenagers
seemed to be getting ready for an afternoon's sailing on the lake. The Hitler-Jugend sailing camp. Otto and Leni had been issued with papers to use if need be, showing their late enrolment on the camp. Leni hoped they wouldn't need them. If anyone started questioning them, the mission might be compromised before it had even begun.

  “Just keep away from any more boys offering to buy you an ice cream,” said Otto as they stood together, leaning on the promenade rail. Leni wondered for a moment if there wasn't a smidgeon of jealousy in his voice.

  “I can take care of myself,” she replied, tartly.

  “That's what I'm worried about,” said Otto.

  Leni managed a small smile. “We'd better synchronise our watches. I have ten past two . . . now.”

  Otto looked down at his father's gold watch and adjusted it. “Check,” he said and pushed the crown in, setting the time. “See you in one hour. Good hunting.”

  “You, too,” said Leni, and hurried back down the promenade.

  Each of them had the task of stealing a bicycle to use for their getaway from the town in the early hours of the following morning. That was, of course, if everything went according to plan. The rendezvous point was at the back of a deserted boat yard they had identified while walking through the town.

  Fortunately, it was a little after two o'clock and people were enjoying a late luncheon in the numerous cafés along the promenade. It was only a matter of minutes before Leni found a suitable bike and satisfied herself it was safe to steal. Minutes later, she had ridden it along to the boat yard, which was still deserted. She hid the bike at the back under a large piece of canvas, then slipped out unseen, anxious to complete the other task she had been assigned.

  She walked along the parade of shops and eventually found the chandlers. She went inside and the owner nodded a greeting to her as he finished serving another customer. It gave Leni time to select the sort of rope they would need later that night. Ropes of different widths and materials were on rollers by the window. She made her choice and went over to the shopkeeper once the other customer had left the shop.

  “I'll like twenty metres of this one please,” she said, indicating the rope she wanted.