Faked Passports

by Dennis Wheatley

  The Colonel shrugged. “I apologise. But you shall take my word that nothing we can do will make them to spare her, since she shelter us here.”

  “That’s so.” Gregory gave a grim chuckle. “You don’t know these Nazis, Freddie, my boy. They’d butcher a twelve-year-old child for having given a drink of water to a blind man if he had ever raised a finger against Hitler. Come on, let’s get the other shot-guns and see if we can’t dust up some of these embryo Himmlers before they rush the place.”

  For the past two minutes there had been a lull in the firing, only an occasional bullet whacking through the curtains of the window or splintering the woodwork of the door. The cottage consisted of only two rooms and the loft above which had been used by the three fugitives during the past fortnight.

  “You two stay here and I’ll take the bedroom in case some of them try to get in through the window there,” said von Lutz, and he left the others abruptly.

  There was only one window in each room and both fronted on the lane; so Gregory felt that they might be able to hold the place for some time if they were careful not to expose themselves unnecessarily, although he knew that sooner or later there could be only one end to such an uneven combat.

  “We must try to draw their fire,” he said to Freddie. “We’ll use that fur-cap that Hans left behind. Put it on the end of that stick and thrust it up under the curtains when I give the word. It will part them just enough to show a streak of light and they’ll see the cap outlined against it.”

  Charlton grabbed the cap and stick and together they crawled across the floor. Gregory put his hand up and felt along the lower part of the window. The Nazis’ bullets had shattered the glass leaving only the empty frame. Very cautiously he poked his shot-gun out of one corner and warily raised his head until he could see along the barrel; then he whispered: “Ready now?”

  Still kneeling on the floor Freddie thrust up the big fur-cap and parted the curtains a little where they met across the centre of the window. Instantly there was a burst of fire and a hail of shots smacked into the cap, knocking the stick on which it was supported out of his hands.

  Gregory had marked the nearest flashes and loosed off both barrels of his gun, hoping for a double. As he ducked back yowls of pain told him that some of his pellets had found a resting-place in human flesh.

  A second later the Nazis brought a sub-machine-gun into action. There was a deafening roar as it sent a stream of lead through the empty window-frame; cutting one of the curtains nearly in half so that the torn part sagged down disclosing a large triangle of the lighted room. With extraordinary daring Freddie raised himself until the bullets were zipping only a few inches above his head; then, aiming carefully at the perfect target presented by the flame-spitting barrel of the gun, he let the gunner have two rounds from his revolver. There was a loud cry and the firing ceased.

  “Well done! Well done!” murmured Gregory. “But for God’s sake don’t try any more of those tricks or you’ll get yourself shot to pieces.”

  “What’s it matter?” Freddie was crouching on the floor again and turned his head to grin. “We’ll be dead anyway within the next half-hour.”

  Gregory shrugged. “I’m afraid so. Still, we might as well try-to hang out as long as we can.”

  The sound of sharp explosions in the next room told them that von Lutz had come into action and it seemed that the Nazis had turned their attention to the bedroom window. But a moment later bullets descending at a sharp angle began to spatter the floor of the kitchen within a foot of the place where Gregory and Charlton were crouching.

  “Hell!” whispered Gregory. “One of them’s got up a tree and is firing down on to us. He can see through the rent in the curtain; we must put out that light.”

  With a swift wriggle he scrambled across the floor and, raising his hand, turned down the oil-lamp that was on the kitchen dresser. Instantly the room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the soft glow of the fire.

  The shooting died down again and after a few minutes it ceased altogether. The silence was uncanny after the almost continuous banging of explosions and thudding of bullets that had created pandemonium for the last ten minutes. The Nazis were evidently planning some new form of attack and Gregory anxiously strained his ears for any sounds which might give the first intimation of it.

  Suddenly it came: a rush of footsteps at the front of the cottage and a terrific battering upon the door. Freddie was nearest and, turning, he began to fire with his revolver at the panels of the door, hoping that the bullets would go through the wood and wound some of the men who were trying to smash it in.

  “That’s no good!” yelled Gregory. “Here, give me a hand with this table.” Sweeping the things that were on it to the floor they heaved the table over sideways and dragged it up against the door; then hastily stacked up all the furniture they could lay their hands on behind it to form a barricade.

  Snatching up his gun Gregory ran back to the window. He meant to lean out, shoot along the side of the house and take the Nazis who were trying to force the door in a flank attack. But the second he raised his head under the tattered curtain the submachine-gun was brought into play again; a bullet zipped through his hair and others began to splinter the woodwork of the window-frame.

  After three minutes of furious thudding the Nazis gave up their efforts on the door and silence fell once more. This time it continued for much longer and Gregory had a feeling that it forebode yet more serious trouble. A quarter of an hour later he began to hope that he had been wrong and that some of the Nazis had gone to fetch reinforcements, in which case the time had come to attempt a sortie.

  He estimated that at least five out of the ten or twelve attackers must have been killed or seriously wounded. If one or two more had been sent off to Dornitz to get help, that considerably reduced the odds. To break out and rush the remainder, who would certainly have been left to watch the exits of the cottage, was a most desperate venture; but even if only one of the besieged party got through that would be better than their all remaining there to be massacred, as they undoubtedly would be in due course, unless they could manage to break out.

  Leaving Charlton for a moment he slipped into the bedroom to consult the Baron, but before he had a chance to put up his suggestion he was struck by something peculiar about the atmosphere of the room. It was not the close fugginess in which Hans Foldar and his wife usually slept, since the window of this room, too, had been smashed to atoms by the Nazis’ bullets. It was something else. Gregory sniffed quickly twice—then he knew. It was the faint smell of wood-smoke.

  Von Lutz was almost indistinguishable in the darkness but his voice came from near the window.

  “How does it go with you?”

  “We’re still all right. But what are they up to now? Can you smell anything here?”

  The Baron drew a long, deep breath through his nostrils and, exhaling it, suddenly exclaimed: “Himmel, ja! I haf not notice it before but it comes from the window. I can smell smoke.”

  “That’s it. I had a hope just now that they’d sent to Dornitz for reinforcements and we might stand a chance of breaking through while their numbers were reduced; but my first hunch—that they were planning something pretty nasty for us—was right. They’ve been collecting wood all this time and now they’ve fired the place.”

  As he ceased speaking a faint hissing and crackling caught their ears, proving him to be right. The Nazis had piled up all the loose wood they could find against the blank wall at the bedroom end of the cottage and the bonfire was just beginning to get well alight.

  The smell of smoke grew stronger; soon great puffs of it were drifting in through the broken window and the crackling of the flames increased to a low roar. Gregory put his hand on the far wall of the bedroom and withdrew it quickly; the timbers were already scorching to the touch.

  There was nothing they could do about it—nothing whatever. They could not get at the blaze to attempt to put it out, while it was still small, an
d once the flames had eaten their way through the wall it would have much too strong a hold for them to get it under. Even the possibility of delaying its action by throwing buckets of water from the kitchen tank against the threatened wall was denied to them since they were compelled to crawl about the floor; not daring to stand upright in case the Nazis started shooting again through the shattered windows.

  Von Lutz began to cough from the acrid smoke which was now filling the room, so Gregory called to him and they both returned to the kitchen. Freddie looked up quickly from where he was kneeling behind the barricade. “They’ve fired the place, haven’t they? There’s been a strong smell of smoke for some minutes.”

  Gregory nodded and the airman went on: “Well, what are we going to do? Break out or stay here to be roasted alive?”

  “Break out,” said von Lutz; “but not yet—not till the flames haf goot hold. They will gif us light to see by so we can shoot more of these swines before we ourselves are shot.”

  “That cuts both ways,” Gregory replied promptly. “The brighter the light the easier it will be for them to pick us off from a distance as we come out.”

  Although his argument for an immediate sortie was sound they still hesitated, knowing that once they were outside with their backs against the flames they would make a perfect target for the sub-machine-guns of their enemies. It was a foregone conclusion that within two minutes of crossing the threshold they would all be dead.

  The voice of the flames had swollen to a sudden roar and, now that it had properly caught, the old wooden cottage was going up like tinder. Von Lutz stepped across the narrow passage and opened the door of the bedroom. A great cloud of smoke billowed out, choking and half-blinding him. The far wall was now a solid sheet of flame. Curtains, bedding and draperies had also caught, making glowing red patches in the blackish murk. He hastily thrust the door to again, brushed his hand over his watering eyes and gasped:

  “We haf another few moments only—at the most. Let us go now to die like brave men.”

  Gregory picked up his shot-gun then he smiled at Charlton. “Sorry I let you in for this, Freddie.”

  Charlton smiled back. “I might just as well die riddled with bullets on the ground as in a plane; and that would have been my end for certain if this filthy war is going on for long.”

  Frau Foldar was still seated in the corner where Freddie had put her, well out of danger from shots coming through the windows. During the fight she had remained there, wide-eyed, terrified, unspeaking, seeming hardly to understand what was going on. Glancing towards her he said to the others:

  “We can’t leave her here, although I am afraid having to lug her along with us puts paid to any chance we might have had of getting through by a sudden dash.”

  “I’ll take her,” said Gregory and von Lutz simultaneously, but the Baron added:

  “This my affair is. She is one of my peoples. Go, please—both of you. Good luck! Make no delay—it is an order.”

  Gregory did not argue. He knew that whoever led the way would make the target for the first burst of the Nazis’ fire, whereas whoever took the old peasant-woman would be screened behind the leaders of the party; so if it could be considered that there was a chance of any of them getting through at all the odds were about even.

  Their eyes were smarting from the smoke that now filled the kitchen. The heat was stifling and the fierce crackling of burning wood—much nearer now—showed that the flames had advanced from the bedroom and were already devouring the partition wall beside which they stood.

  “Let’s go,” said Gregory, and they moved out into the tiny corridor which gave out on to the back door. As he lifted his hand to pull back the heavy wooden bolt a fresh burst of shooting suddenly broke out behind the house. Pausing with his hand outstretched he exclaimed: “What the devil’s that?”

  They listened for a moment but no bullets thudded into the woodwork of the cottage so the Nazis were not now firing at it. What then, they all wondered, could this fresh shooting mean?

  “It is Hans!” cried von Lutz, his eyes showing joy and excitement. “I know him forty years. When the Nazis first surprise us and he runs away I am as much ashamed as if I haf run away myself. But I was unjust. Now all is clear. Hans has the goot sense. He knows we cannot hold out here. He rushes his fellow-woodmen to get and they are now the enemy from the rear attacking.”

  Gregory hesitated no longer. Pulling back the bolt he wrenched open the door and yelled: “Come on, then! Now’s the time to give him a hand; we’ll save our necks yet.”

  He dashed from the cottage, the others hard on his heels; Von Lutz and Charlton each grabbing Frau Foldar by an arm to support her as they ran. No hail of shots came at them; the Nazis were now fully engaged with the woodmen who had attacked them in the rear. Spurts of flame stabbed the darkness of the woods from half a dozen different directions and the night echoed to the roar of explosions as automatics and shot-guns were pitted against each other.

  The glare from the burning cottage lit the scene for some distance but threw up great black shadows here and there so that the ground looked broken and uneven. When Gregory had covered twenty yards he could see vague figures moving among the trees. A splash of flame came from the weapon of the nearest; it was one of the Nazis who had suddenly turned and seen the fugitives rushing from the blazing building. His bullet might have ended Gregory’s career had he not at that second tripped and gone crashing headlong over the body of another Nazi who had been shot down earlier in the attack.

  For a few moments utter confusion reigned. Von Lutz pistolled the man who had fired at Gregory but others had turned their weapons upon the escaping party. As they crouched together beside Gregory, who was struggling to get back his breath, bullets whistled overhead and scores of pellets from the woodmen’s shot-guns rattled on the dry branches and the leaves of the undergrowth. Someone was wailing piteously further in among the trees; a sharp cry told of another who had been hit. The S.S. officer was shouting to his troopers, now caught between two fires, as Gregory, the Baron and Charlton again came into action. Von Lutz was yelling to Hans so that his men should not shoot at them by mistake in the semi-darkness. Then Hans’s voice came in the near distance and next moment, crying: “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he came blundering through the trees towards them.

  “Hans! Hans!” The Baron rose to meet him and grasped his arm. “We should have been dead now but for you; and Frau Foldar is here, unhurt, with us.”

  “Gott Sie dank?’ gulped the woodman, stooping to embrace his wife as she struggled up from her knees.

  “Quick!” urged Gregory in German, “or they’ll get us yet. We shan’t be safe until we’re deep in the forest.”

  They all began to run again and did not pause until they had covered another three hundred yards. By that time they were well clear of the flickering glare from the cottage which was now a roaring column of smoke and flame.

  “How many men did you bring with you, Hans?” asked von Lutz breathlessly.

  “Three only, Herr Oberst-Baron; the others lived too far away. But I fear we have lost Joachim; I heard him cry out as though he were badly wounded just before I reached you.”

  The shooting was still going on a couple of hundred yards to their left as the Baron replied with swift instructions: “Then you must call them off now and if Joachim is still alive get him away somehow between you. He and the other two will be safe from arrest later as the Nazis cannot know who they are, but you and your wife must go into hiding for a time; then, with any luck, the Nazis will believe that both of you were killed when the cottage was attacked and that both your bodies were burned inside it.”

  “Ja, ja, Herr Oberst-Baron. We shall find shelter and no-one in the district will betray us; but what of you and your friends?”

  “We must take care of ourselves. You have done more than enough for us. We are eternally grateful. Go now and get your men away while we create a diversion from this side of the enemy.”

&n
bsp; “God be with you!” muttered the tall woodman, and with his arm about his wife’s shoulders he hurried away through the trees.

  “Come!” said von Lutz, breaking into English. “Of these swine there cannot many be left. Let us attack with stealth a final settling to make.”

  With Charlton and Gregory beside him he crept about a hundred yards until they could see the flashes of the Nazis’ pistols more distinctly; then they crouched down behind the undergrowth. Just as they were picking their men the hoot of an owl came from the near distance and the Baron whispered:

  “That is Hans; he calls to the others. It’s our turn. Make ready? Together now. Fire!”

  At his word all three of them squeezed the triggers of their weapons. There was a scream of pain as one of the enemy was hit; but they had now given away their own position and the remaining Nazis turned their fire upon them.

  Suddenly von Lutz gave a strangled cry and lurched forward. Gregory was kneeling behind a tree and Freddie had flung himself flat to escape the bullets. Both of them grabbed the Baron’s shoulders and, pulling him from the bramble patch into which he had fallen head foremost, dragged him away from the spot at which the Nazis were still firing.

  When they had covered a dozen yards they laid the wounded man down and Gregory made a quick examination of him. The Baron’s body had gone limp but owing to the darkness they could not see where he had been hit. Gregory’s hand came in contact with blood, warm and sticky, on von Lutz’s face. Next moment his fingers found a great rent in the Baron’s forehead and he knew that this friend who had stood by them so loyally had been shot through the head and had died instantly.

  In the attempt they had been planning to get; clear of the Brandenburg district Gregory and Freddie had been counting on von Lutz for advice, clothes and supplies. Now he was dead; and as they lay beside his body they both realised that he could no longer lift a finger to help them. For the first time in many days the fugitives were again alone and on the run in the country of their enemies.