by Peter Haden
Hedda and Tadzio tactfully turned away but then they, too, were tearfully embraced. Frau Brantis quietly closed the door behind them and with a heavy heart turned to the washing up. Frau Raschdorf was already at the sink. ‘Come on,’ she said quietly, putting a sudsy arm round the older woman’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze, ‘let’s get this lot done then we’ll go back into the drawing room, have a few more drinks and forget about the war.’
Frau Brantis did not leave the house that evening. She woke up early next morning fully dressed on the chaise longue, just her shoes on the floor, with two soft pillows beneath her head and an enormous eiderdown keeping her warm. For the first time in her life, Frau Brantis had a hangover.
They took a Kübelwagen on Tuesday morning. Johann drove Jan to the same small inn that he had used on the previous trip, explaining that he had known the owners for years and there would be no questions asked when a seafarer appeared to keep strange hours.
‘There’s no point in trying to find something from the road,’ Johann explained. ‘Most of the river bank is taken up with the grounds of expensive private property. Many of them have their own boat-house, or at least a small pier or jetty.’
After an early supper, they drove to the southern outskirts of the city, where the occasional field or park gave access to the river. Walking downstream along the river bank, for the most part they had to cross the grounds of substantial residences, almost all of them in darkness. ‘Most of the owners are so rich they live in Berlin and only come here for weekends and holidays,’ Johann told him, ‘but it helps that all the big houses are set well back from the river in case of flooding.’
It was not long before Johann found what he wanted – a boat-house, but also a small jetty on which lay an inverted, clinker-built rowing boat. ‘There are no oars,’ Jan whispered, although they had to be a good three hundred metres from the house, which was in darkness anyway.
‘They’ll be inside the boat-house,’ Johann told him, walking to a side door at the rear of a long shed and unrolling a canvas strip wrapped round a selection of tools. It was a clear night and there was just enough ambient moonlight to see what he was doing. It took only a few minutes to extract a hacksaw blade and split the arch of a rusty padlock. Inside, Johann switched on a small flashlight and searched around. The boat shed housed a luxury open motor launch covered for the winter with a huge piece of canvas. ‘No use to us,’ he said quietly to Jan, ‘but this is what we need.’ Resting on twin brackets screwed to the wall were two oars, obviously for the tender.
Back outside, Jan waited whilst Johann wrapped a small strip of tape round the cut section of the padlock. ‘Doubt they’ll notice until summer,’ he said quietly. ‘In fact, they probably won’t even notice that the dinghy is missing – at least not for weeks, anyway.’
They set off downriver, keeping as close as they could to the bank. Most of the bridges were guarded by a single sentry, rifle slung over one shoulder, standing at one end or the other – doubtless with a half section of men keeping warm nearby. Well short of the first bridge Johann nudged the tender into the bank and watched patiently. Occasionally the sentry walked from one side to the centre. But for the most part the guard spent long intervals at one end. ‘Probably trying to keep warm,’ Johann whispered quietly. ‘More wind and a lot colder mid-stream,’ the old mariner observed. As soon as the sentry settled down Johann let the tender drift downstream hard under the same bank. ‘If we had floated downriver opposite,’ he said quietly to Jan once they were safely away, ‘he might have seen us. But hard up in the lee of the bridge and the bank we were pretty much invisible.’
Finally, Johann rowed gently into the channel that led to the port area. Here he stopped for a full minute and listened. ‘No engines,’ he said quietly. ‘I think they only patrol at intervals, so if we follow the line of the dock and just leave it to go round any shipping we should be fine – if we hear a patrol launch we just melt into the darkness between a ship and the jetty.’
Gradually Jan’s tension eased. Johann obviously knew exactly what he was doing and thus far no alarm had been raised. Unbeknown to Johann, Jan had a Walther in his jacket pocket, but this would be absolutely a last resort. If he had to use it they would probably finish up dead anyway.
After what seemed an eternity of crawling round the edge of the port and the occasional merchantman, they came to an area reserved for the fishing fleet. There were empty spaces alongside, and vacancies on the mooring buoys, which suggested that quite a few of the fleet were at sea. But one vessel swinging to her mooring was in darkness. Johann rowed gently to her stern ladder and threw a practised hitch with their painter. He leant towards Johann, still seated in the stern.
‘There’s no gear or nets on deck,’ he told Jan, ‘so she’s almost certainly in lay-up. Don’t be put off by the rust streaks – that’s superficial. She’s about twelve metres, made of steel, and if she’s fuelled up, more than capable of taking us to Sweden. Let’s climb aboard and find out.’
The wheel-house door was not even locked. ‘Nobody ever steals a fishing boat,’ Johann said with a grin. Once inside he ran his flash lamp over the console. A narrow companionway led below to a small saloon and the engine compartment. Jan was out of his depth, but Johann was clearly in his element. Back in the wheel-house he hot-wired an ignition switch and flicked over three orange circuit breakers. Instruments glowed dimly and Johann studied them intently before disappearing below again. ‘As I expected,’ he enthused. ‘Both tanks are full of fuel.’
‘How come we are so lucky?’ asked Jan.
‘You leave big tanks half empty,’ Johann explained, ‘and you get condensation. Also, at the interface water and diesel produce a bacteriological fungus. It clogs up the fuel filters. So, in the long run it’s much better to diesel up if she’s going to be left for any length of time.’
‘I have opened the seacock for the generator,’ he told Jan. ‘The main engine battery is no more than half-charged so there probably won’t be enough to fire up the big diesel. And the house batteries are a bit low. But the generator battery has held its charge – more than enough to start the ’genny’s small diesel. If we run it for a couple of hours the main and house batteries should be fine. I’ll switch everything else off, and it’s going to be boring, but all I need you to do is keep a look-out for any patrol launches. Almost certainly they’ll be showing navigation lights, so you might see them before you hear them. If so, we’ll just shut down till they have gone away.’ With that he pressed the starter button, and when the little diesel coughed to life he moved another switch to initiate the charge. The diesel slowed as the electrical load came on then settled to a steady hum. It was not that audible on deck.
They were not disturbed. By two in the morning Johann pronounced himself satisfied with the state of all batteries. With the ’genny off and the engine seacock open he selected a quarter throttle and pressed the starter button. The first time, the diesel coughed and died. Jan realised he was holding his breath. ‘Might need to bleed the system to the injectors,’ Johann muttered quietly, almost to himself. But the second time she coughed, missed, cough-missed, then settled into a steady rumble, just a small cloud of grey-white smoke followed by spurts of cooling water from the exhaust near the water line giving away the fact that the engine was running. Johann throttled back to tick-over at eight hundred revolutions a minute then left her to warm up. An hour later he pressed the shut-off button and the diesel went quiet.
‘That’ll do for now,’ he told Jan, turning off the electrics. ‘We’ll close up here then row to somewhere a bit nearer where we can hide the rowboat and use it again another night.’
‘Then what?’ asked Jan.
‘Then, my boy, we have to collect the Kübelwagen. At a guess, it’s going to be a good ten kilometres. If we step out and keep an eye open for any police patrols, we should be able to get back to the inn soon after daybreak.’
The innkeeper and his wife seemed to take no exception when Johann and Jan turned up looking oil-stained, unshaven and grubby just after eight in the morning. But they were starving. Johann ordered a hearty breakfast of ham, eggs, fried potato and dark bread. Instead of just coffee he also asked for a couple of decent brandies. The requested checking-out time was midday, so they set the alarm clock for eleven-thirty, slept for a couple of hours and left on time. It was late Wednesday afternoon when they arrived back at the estate. Johann dropped Jan off within walking distance of the cottage, then parked up the Kübelwagen and walked to the main house.
They reconvened at lunchtime the following day, this time at the cottage as Hartmann Schultz was back in residence. ‘So we go tonight,’ Günther concluded after some discussion. ‘Johann says the fleet will be out on Friday night, but then back in harbour until Monday – there’s no fishing on Saturday night through to Sunday, so there will be more boats out on Friday than at any other time in the week.’
‘There’s one thing we haven’t made clear,’ said Jan. ‘I realize that Johann has to be on board when we make a break for Sweden, but I would be interested to know what he will do afterwards, assuming we arrive there safely?’
‘Ja, ja, I have to come,’ Johann confirmed. ‘I could give you a course to steer and you might make it, but if anything happened on the way, like a blocked fuel filter, or there were signals from other ships, you would not have a clue what to do. I have talked this over with Herr Günther,’ he went on, ‘and he has kindly agreed to leave it to me. Assuming we make it safely to Sweden, I’m hardly likely to steam the fishing boat back to Germany. I could take ship commercially, but in truth I am not happy here. I don’t like working for the Nazis and even less so having to use slave labour. If I don’t come back, and I doubt if I will till the war is over, Herr Günther will inform anyone who asks that despite my age I have volunteered again for the merchant navy or the Kriegsmarine. We doubt that anyone will bother to check, because in any case that will still leave two fully qualified German engineers in the workshop.’
‘One last thing,’ said Günther. ‘Weapons – I assume you’ll take with you the ones you arrived with, but Johann feels that they won’t be enough if you are challenged by a German patrol boat. Cannon would be too heavy for the rowing boat,’ Günther went on, ‘but I could lift a couple of 7.92 mil machine guns from those taken off in the workshop, together with a few belts of ammunition. It might give you a fighting chance, as a last resort.’
A Kübelwagen would have been too small, so from several on the park Johann chose a commandeered civilian delivery van repainted in Wehrmacht livery. They could take only one vehicle because Günther would be the sole person available to drive it back to the estate. They set out late on Thursday evening, Günther and Johann up front, Jan, Tadzio and Hedda in the back, together with weapons, ammunition and yet another hamper of rations. They found the rowing boat where they had left it, just outside the port area.
Günther shook hands then embraced all of them, adding a kiss on both cheeks for Hedda. ‘Let us pray that we meet again,’ he said softly as they pushed off, ‘and may God look after us all.’
Once loaded, there was not much freeboard, more than a gentle rocking and water would slop over the side, but fortunately it was flat calm. They followed the same procedure as before and reached the fishing boat without incident. ‘It’s going to be a long day,’ said Johann, ‘but once it gets light we can’t afford to go on deck – we have to stay below.’
Jan raised an eyebrow – not sure why this was necessary.
‘It’s like this,’ Johann explained, ‘people scan the harbour, often with binoculars, all day long. Usually just for interest. Also, there is the returning fleet. But you only need one person to see that there is activity on this boat when there hasn’t been any for months and we could be reported.’ Jan nodded his acceptance. As it got light they closed the wheel-house door and went below.
Johann found a pack of cards in one of the lockers and they took it in turns to play from time to time. Meals also provided something of a break, but in truth time passed interminably. Finally, in the gathering dusk, crews boarded other boats where deck, cabin and navigation lights came on. Johann turned to Jan. ‘Please take the dinghy, and row to the nearest empty fishing boat,’ he requested. They all have nets, buoys and fishing gear on deck. Take a knife. I want you to stay low, but cut away a few items, load them in the dinghy and row back here.’
‘What’s that for?’ asked Hedda curiously.
‘This vessels’ been laid up,’ Johann explained. ‘We have no fishing gear on deck at all – it’s probably stowed safely ashore somewhere. But if we set off with the fleet, and we’re the only boat without any, we will stand out. We have to blend in with the rest.’ Jan came back with a small mountain of bits and pieces that he piled haphazardly on deck. They were now indistinguishable from the rest of the fleet.
A coastal patrol boat appeared near the harbour mouth; its deck lights ablaze. One by one, the fleet started engines. So did Johann. As their escort turned to leave buoys were slipped. Johann released their chain and Jan secured the dinghy astern. Together, as the bows were beginning to pay off, they returned to the wheelhouse where the other two were waiting, their faces just visible in the glow from the instruments. Johann shoved the gear lever from neutral to ahead and the screw began to bite. Outside the harbour, the fleet formed into a loose convoy formation. Johann managed to position his boat so that they were port side and rear. The first turn in an easterly direction and they would be well placed to fall back to a position from which they could cut and run.
Chapter 23
Late into the afternoon Doreen Jackman relaxed in her chair whilst Colonel Bill Ives, elbows on his desk in front of her, went over the latest messages from Poland. He was a widower, she a spinster – although she had enjoyed her moments. Both lived only for their work. It was Friday, the beginning of the weekend, but neither was in a hurry to go home.
‘Bit confusing, really,’ he said quietly. ‘We had that broadcast from Jan, saying that he was nearly ready to hand over the radio duties to the partisans. Then not long afterwards one from a different “fist” – ‘farm compromised, partisans moving south, returning to UK with two relatives.’
He steepled his fingers. ‘Trouble is, the sender didn’t say when or how. Come to that, we don’t know where the partisans are now, either. But if they are on the move, that might explain why there hasn’t been another message.’
‘I think, Bill,’ she offered, ‘this is one of those times when what’s needed is masterly inactivity. If I know Jan, unless his luck runs out, he’ll turn up sooner or later and probably where we least expect it. Come on,’ she urged, ‘first round’s on me. Let’s go and spend an hour in The Sherlock Holmes.’ Together, they set off for Baker Street.
In contrast to the balmy evening in London, it was blowing a good force four in the Baltic, white caps cresting the waves. Johann had told Jan to keep his eyes as much as possible on the horizon. So far, he felt fine, as did Hedda, but Tadzio did not seem to be coping so well – twice he had rushed out of the wheel-house to retch over the rail, although he had not actually been sick.
‘It’ll wear off,’ Johann advised him, ‘but drink plenty of water. Don’t get dehydrated. And if you can, you’ll be better off staying up here in the fresh air than down below on your bunk.’
Tadzio nodded, still looking uncomfortable. The old mariner couldn’t resist a grim smile. ‘Try to put something in your stomach,’ he advised. ‘I saw some oats in one of the lockers. You only need to add milk or water.’
‘What do they do for seasickness?’ asked Tadzio.
‘Not a lot,’ came the reply. ‘But if the worst comes to the worst, it’s one of those foods that tastes the same in either direction!’
Although they couldn’t be seen in the faint glow of the wheelhouse, both Jan and He
dda attempted but failed to hide something of a grin. Tadzio suppressed another heave then opened the door to the side deck and rail.
‘So far, we’re steaming north, out into the Baltic,’ Johann observed once Tadzio was back, wiping his mouth. ‘We’re port side rear, so ideally, we need the fleet to make a turn to starboard before it starts fishing. That would put us in the ideal position to fall back and break for Sweden.’
But the patrol craft turned west and they found themselves on the inside of the fleet nearest to the German coast. ‘Damn,’ said Johann. ‘Too risky to break now – the fleet’s spreading out so we would have to cross all the way over. The patrol boat’s bigger and faster than us, so if we were reported trying to make a run for it they would only have to steam north to make an intercept. We are far enough from the others for them not to see what we are doing, so we won’t bother to stream nets – just put the deck lights on to make it look as if we are working.’
For a nerve-racking hour, the fleet steamed slowly west just outside German waters. Finally, the patrol craft, all lights ablaze, executed a wide turn away from the shore and settled on an easterly course. The rest of the fleet followed.
At the rear, and with further to travel on the outside of the turn, it was logical that Johann’s vessel would take the longest to change course and take up station. They were now well into the manoeuvre and therefore at forty-five degrees north-west of the fleet.
‘Here goes,’ said Johann grimly, simultaneously turning off all deck and navigation lights. In pitch darkness, he opened the throttle and turned to port, directly for Sweden. Anxiously they watched as the lights from the rest of the fleet dropped astern. There was no sign that their break for freedom had been observed.
Finally, the lights of the fleet faded into the night. Johann throttled back to about eight knots and their mood brightened as the distance from the fleet increased. In the pre-dawn, entering their dead-reckoning position on the chart, as he had done every hour on the hour, he told them that they were over a third of the way to their destination.