Yet he knew that he was still terrifyingly far from succeeding in his bid to rescue Erika and was only now entering upon the most dangerous and difficult stage of his journey. While by no means an impossibility, seventy-two miles is a terrific distance for horses to cover without at least one interval for prolonged rest and recuperation; yet in that bitter cold there could be no question of halting for any length of time, as there was no shelter for the teams and if they were given more than a breather at stated intervals the cold might affect them too severely for them to proceed further. He remembered, too, what he had been told about Finnish patrols often penetrating between the Russian outposts on the Lake. For the first six or eight miles, at least, there was the added risk of being shot or captured, and he could not possibly afford the time to make a wide detour which would have carried him outside the limits of this very definite danger.
Recovered now from his hellish scrap with Grauber, except for dull aches which he knew would not leave him for many hours, he began to calculate times while the sleigh ran smoothly forward, drawn at a fine pace by the fresh, well-fed horses. The distance from Leningrad to Petrozavodsk along the great bend in the railway was just over three hundred miles, and Gregory knew from his own experience that on that line the Russian trains averaged only eighteen miles an hour, so the journey would take the Gestapo agents seventeen hours. If they had not left Leningrad until that evening—say, at eight o’clock—they would not get into Petrozavodsk before one o’clock the following afternoon; in which case, if he succeeded in crossing the Lake and managed to maintain a reasonable speed in doing so, he should arrive well before them.
On the other hand they might have left Leningrad much earlier. It was possible that they had departed as early as two o’clock in the afternoon. If so, they would get into Petrozavodsk at about seven o’clock in the morning.
Gregory asked Boroski what speed he thought they could make over the ice and the Sergeant replied: “Twelve miles an hour in normal conditions; I might do even better with such fine horses, but if we encounter broken ice we may be badly held up. As we have such a great distance to cover I must husband the strength of the horses or we might never get there at all, so we cannot hope to do more than nine or ten miles an hour at the most.”
The man spoke of versts but Gregory translated the Russian measure into English distances as he listened and began another series of calculations. Nine miles an hour would bring them to Rabaly in eight hours—about half-past two in the morning. They would then have to make arrangements for fresh horses and cover another seventy miles to Petrozavodsk. The going would be better along the road—say fifteen miles an hour with halts—which meant another five hours. It seemed doubtful if they would arrive at Petrozavodsk before eight-thirty at the earliest. He could only pray that the Gestapo men had not left Leningrad until the evening.
Behind them the guns still thundered and, looking over his left shoulder, to the west, Gregory could see a constant flickering in the night sky as shells and Verey lights burst upon the Finnish defences at Taipale, although the rising shore of the lake and the pinewoods which fringed it hid the actual explosions from him. To his front and right the darkness was unbroken, but the snow and stars enabled them to penetrate it for some distance. Orloff had gone ahead with the spare horses to act as an advance guard and give warning if he sighted any detachments of troops out on the ice of the Lake; but Gregory and Boroski also kept their eyes strained to the north-west, as in this first part of the journey there was a constant danger that a white-coated Finnish ski-patrol might suddenly emerge out of the shadows. Twice they caught the flash of rifles out there to the left and heard sharp reports; once a single wailing cry of a man in his death agony echoed over the snow-field.
While keeping alert Gregory began to think about Grauber and wonder if he would die from his injuries in the night. He hoped so, and cursed himself for his weakness in not having killed him when he had the chance. If Grauber survived he would be found, at the latest, when the soldier-servants came to call their officers at seven o’clock in the morning and he would have a fine story to tell von Geisenheim and the Russians. The General already knew that Gregory was an impostor but he could not possibly admit it and would have to press the Russians for the speedy capture of the false Colonel-Baron. That would make things damnably tricky once the hunt was up. But Gregory thought he knew how to cheat them. He would not come south again; that would be running into trouble. He would maintain his lead of it by heading north. Murmansk was only a hundred and seventy miles north of Kandalaksha and from there, with Voroshilov’s order, they could get a ship along the coast to Norway. They would be out of Russia before the news that they were wanted reached the Arctic port. If only he arrived in time to save Erika, if only he arrived in time.…
Suddenly a challenge rang out right in front of them. Boroski swerved the sleigh to the right with the intention of making off at a gallop towards the east. Gregory snatched up the sub-machine-gun that was part of the sleigh’s equipment; but Orloff answered the challenge as he was nearer the point from which it had come and had heard it clearly enough to recognise that the men ahead of them were Russians. Having shouted a pass-word he called to the others that it was all right and Boroski turned the sleigh back towards the north again. A moment later they passed a group of a dozen silent, ghost-like figures on skis, who waved to them before being swallowed up in the darkness.
At the end of the first hour they halted to rest the horses and swap teams. The men changed over duties, too, Sergeant Boroski mounting the spare riding horse to lead his team and Orloff’s mount, while the Corporal got into the sleigh as driver. They felt considerably easier now, as it was hardly likely that any Finnish patrols would be so far out on the ice, and Gregory decided to try to get some sleep. His eye was hurting him abominably and his shin ached acutely where Grauber had landed a heavy kick on it; but the mutter of the guns had sunk away to a dull rumble in the distance, which only served to make him drowsy, so after a little time he managed to get off.
When he awoke it was just after ten o’clock and he asked at once how they were going. Boroski was driving again and he replied: “Quite well. We are nearly half-way across the Lake now.”
Gregory was surprised and elated. If that were so, as they had been going for about two and three-quarter hours they must be averaging thirteen miles an hour, which was much better than anything he had hoped for; but his jubilance was abruptly checked as Boroski went on.
“There is trouble ahead now, though. It must have been that bad bump that woke you up.”
“What was it?” Gregory inquired.
“Broken ice. A ship, or perhaps an ice-breaker, must have ploughed her way through here just as the ice was forming and churned it all up so that it is hilly and uneven.” As he spoke Boroski brought the horses to a walk and strained his eyes into the semi-darkness to catch the signals of Orloff who was riding ahead and picking out the best route for them to follow between the hummocks. For half an hour, while Gregory sat there fretting, impatient and freezing, it was impossible for them to move faster than a walking pace; but at last they got on to smooth ice again and with renewed energy after their change of gait the horses were able to go forward at a trot once more.
They were now over thirty miles from either shore and even the booming of the great guns could no longer be heard. The only sound which broke the stillness was the gentle clopping of the horses’ hoofs and the swish of the snow as the sleigh cut into it. The stars overhead were brilliant and enabled the drivers to find their way in this forlorn, white wilderness without reference to the compass which Boroski was carrying.
An hour later they struck another patch of broken ice which delayed them further; by the time they got through it midnight had come and they still had another twenty miles to go. The horses were flagging now as, apart from the distance they had covered, the strain of pulling the sleigh up and down over the big hummocks on this second patch of bad ice seemed to have taken a l
ot out of them. The drivers were changing teams at shorter intervals and at each halt they were giving the horses a handful of grain soaked in vodka.
By one o’clock, when they pulled up again, the horses stood with splayed legs and their heads were hanging dejectedly down in front of them, breathing heavily. The lead team seemed in little better condition than the one which had just been unharnessed from the sleigh.
“They’re in a bad way,” Boroski commented, “and, poor beasts, they will be in a worse state before we reach Rabaly; but it cannot be helped, as there are many miles to go yet and we cannot afford the time to walk them.”
When Orloff took over he drove the horses at a steady trot, for the first time using his whip to keep them up to their work. Gregory noticed that he did not halt at the half-hour as usual, so some minutes later he asked: “What about giving them another breather?”
Orloff shook his head. “If I do, they will lie down and we may have difficulty in getting them on their legs again. It is better that we should drive them as far as they will go now and, if necessary, walk the rest of the distance.”
Gregory’s heart sank. If they had to abandon the sleigh and walk in the snow it might be hours yet before he reached the far shore of the Lake. His only consolation was that the night continued fine and that there were no signs of approaching snow; as a heavy fall during the next hour or so would trap them on the Lake and they might die there. He could now hear the sound of gunfire once more and for some time there had been a flicker in the sky, to the north-west, where the Russians were pounding the Finnish lines before Sortavala.
At ten minutes to two the near-side horse of the troika stumbled and fell, bringing the sleigh to an abrupt standstill. The other two stood by it moaning for breath, their heads hanging down within a foot of the snow. Orloff got out and unharnessed the dead horse, then he freed the other two while Boroski brought up the team he had been leading and harnessed them.
For another twenty minutes they drove on, then a second horse fell dead in its tracks; the other two lay down beside it. The Russians replaced the dead horse with the fittest from Orloff’s team and, using their whips ruthlessly now, got the others on to their legs. At a slow amble the sleigh slid over the snow again.
Ten minutes later a third horse died, upon which both its companions and the led horses lay down directly they were halted. It was a nightmare business getting them up again and Gregory, numbed by the cold as he was, in spite of frequent pulls at his flask of vodka, had to leave the sleigh and give his assistance. Both men and beasts were nearly exhausted from the terrific strain which they had undergone, but somehow the job was done and, driven by the whips, the horses went forward once more.
It was with inexpressible relief that a few moments after the last halt, on Orloff’s giving a loud shout, they saw a long, low patch of deeper darkness ahead of them and knew that they were in sight of the north shore of the lake. The horses, too, knew it, and made a last effort. But the course of the sleigh across the ice had only been plotted roughly, so they still had to find the little town of Rabaly.
Here luck was with them. They were still scanning the dark, desolate foreshore for lights when a challenge rang out. By great good fortune they had run into another Russian patrol which was able to direct them. The town was only a mile away; just round a small headland to their left front. Another horse was lost before they reached it and they had to put the spare saddle-horse in to make up the team; but when Gregory stepped ashore in the small harbour he was smiling for the first time that night as he saw from his watch that it was only 2.30. They had made the crossing of the lake in seven hours and ten minutes.
Three soldiers from the patrol had accompanied them on the last lap of their journey, running beside the sleigh, and they roused some of their comrades who were quartered in the houses along the harbour. These took over the remaining horses and the sleigh while with an N.C.O. as guide Gregory, Boroski and Orloff proceeded on foot up the main street of the town to a building which housed the local military headquarters.
It was here, while they were waiting for an officer to be fetched, that Gregory had his first chance to see his two guides properly. The tall Sergeant Boroski was a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Baltic type, while the shorter Corporal Orloff had a red beard, freckled face and snub nose. They had evidently been specially picked from the Divisional Staff, as they were much above the average Soviet soldier that Gregory had seen during his time in Russia, both for liveliness and smart appearance.
When an officer who was on night duty joined them Boroski acted as interpreter and Gregory produced his chit from Voroshilov with the Russian phrase that he had learnt: “It is by order of the Marshal and my business is most urgent.”
On the officer’s learning that they had just crossed the Lake he expressed great astonishment but agreed at once to provide them with a sleigh and order relays of horses to be ready at every point to get them to Petrozavodsk as quickly as possible. Dispatching two orderlies from the room he sat down to a telephone.
After a few minutes one of the orderlies returned carrying a tray with steaming cups of tea and some hunks of bread and sausage for the half-frozen travellers. They had hardly finished their meal when the second orderly reappeared to say that the sleigh was ready. The officer told Gregory, through Boroski, that he had arranged for a relay at the first village along the road and that directly they had gone he would telephone through to further points with instructions that they were to be given the fastest horses available. Then he took them outside and saw them off.
The magic name of Voroshilov had performed, wonders. Instead of the usual Russian delays they had spent barely twenty minutes in Rabaly. Orloff took the reins of the new sleigh while Boroski sat beside Gregory. The hot tea had not thoroughly warmed them through but they were in much better spirits now that they had fast horses again and the really dangerous part of the journey was over.
The road was long and straight, mainly through forest country, but as that part of Russia was much more thickly populated than the far north they passed through villages every few miles. At nearly every village a fresh relay of horses was waiting for them as the whole area was under military control and plenty of horses were available. Whenever possible, while the horses were being changed, they had further hot drinks in Russian troop canteens to warm them as the cold was bitter, and if it had not been for their thick furs they would have got frost-bite through sitting still for so long in the sleigh. On and on they drove through the long night, the miles falling away behind, yet new vistas of tree-lined road ever opening before them; but now that they constantly had fresh relays that they could count on they did not spare the horses and were making far better going than they had done across the Lake.
The stars were paling in the sky when they came out of the forest to see buildings ahead of them and, from their inquiries at the last halt, knew that they had reached Petrozavodsk. As the sleigh drove up before the railway-station Gregory saw from his watch that it was 7.10; they had done the seventy odd miles from Rabaly in four hours and twenty minutes, averaging sixteen miles an hour, and he had accomplished the whole, almost incredible journey from G.H.Q. of nearly two hundred miles in just under fourteen hours.
Since it was only just after seven in the morning Gregory’s hopes were high. Even if the Gestapo men had left Leningrad early the previous afternoon they could hardly have reached Petrozavodsk before him. There was a military guard at the station and having handed over the horses and sleigh Boroski and Orloff accompanied him into the building. Thrusting their way into the station-master’s office they inquired at once about the next train to Kandalaksha.
The sleepy official, who had been on duty all night, shrugged in the true Russian manner. “There should be another at about nine o’clock, or perhaps ten.”
“Is there no hope of one arriving before nine?’ Gregory said, through Boroski. “We are in a great hurry.”
“Then you should have got here earlier,” the man gru
nted, “and you would have caught the one which left here ten minutes ago.”
When Gregory heard that they had just missed a train he swore profusely; then, producing Voroshilov’s order, he demanded to know at what time the train had left Leningrad.
The official suddenly came to life and said that he would do his best to find out. It took him a quarter of an hour to get through on the telephone to Leningrad and while he was speaking Gregory asked that he should also ascertain at what hour the one before the train they had just missed had left.
Boroski interpreted after the man had hung up the receiver. The train they had missed had left Leningrad at 3.45 the previous afternoon, and the one before that at 1.40.
Gregory bit his lip. Although he thought it unlikely that the Gestapo men had caught a train as early as 1.40, there was just a chance that they had. If so, they were two trains ahead of him, and both trains had made a much better speed than he had assumed likely; probably because the permanent way was in better condition at this end of the line than further north; a point that he had left out of his calculation. It was quite definitely on the cards that the Nazis were on the train that had just gone through. If they were, and he had to wait for the next, they would have between two and three hours’ start, which he would never be able to make up. Given that much time in Kandalaksha they might execute Erika before he could get there. Somehow or other he had to get on the train he had just missed.
Turning to Boroski he tapped the Marshal’s order and said: “Tell the station-master that he is to hold the train at the next station; we will go on by sleigh and catch it there.”
Boroski translated. At first the official demurred but Gregory rapped out his solitary phrase of Russian: “Prikaz Marshala ie srotchnya prikaz”
The station-master shrugged and got through on the telephone to a place called Baylik, which, it transpired, was about ten miles further north. After an excited conversation arrangements were made for the train to be held there until the Supreme Commander’s emissary could join it. Gregory and his two henchmen then hurried outside to reclaim their sleigh and demand another relay of horses, as the ones which had brought them in had just been watered and fed.
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