Tomb of the Lost

by Julian Noyce

  “May I ask which country you’re from captain.”

  “Of course. I am from the Ivory Coast.”

  “Which is where Captain?”

  Mufasa got down and crudely drew a map of Africa in the dust. In the poor light the others strained to see. Then he drew his country roughly.

  “Ah then your country is a French province. That’s what I can trace in your accent, French.”

  “Yes Sir the Cote D’Ivoire.”

  “Excellent,” Wurtz was pleased. He extended his hand and shook Mufasa’s vigorously.

  ’What are you about? Wurtz?’ Koenig asked inside his head ’What treachery is going through your mind?’

  He couldn’t have been further from the truth. Wurtz loved the French, their food, their drink, their women.

  “You like my country?”

  “I like the French,” Wurtz cleverly twisted it, “Especially their wine.”

  “In that case Major. I have a very fine bottle of cognac in my cabin. I’ll go and fetch it.”

  “Lead the way man.”

  They soon returned with the bottle and an array of drinking vessels. The one, clean glass they filled and offered to the Doctor. He accepted it but didn’t sip. Once they each had a drink Wurtz raised his cup high.

  “To the Fuhrer.”

  They drank the toast. Wurtz refilled his cup. Behind his back Mufasa jammed the cork back into the bottle.

  ’This damned German will drink it all.’

  “You have not touched your drink Herr Doctor.”

  “No Major, it’s not to my liking,” inwardly Von Brest was irritated at how easily Wurtz had been distracted by the alcohol.

  “May I?” Wurtz held out his hand for the glass.

  “Of course,” Von Brest handed him the glass accompanied by a sickly smile, “Now if you’ll excuse me we have work to do.”

  Von Brest went over to the heavily guarded truck that carried the sarcophagus. The guards at the tailgate moved out of his way. He handed his walking cane to one of them and spoke to the soldiers inside.

  “Help me up.”

  Hands took his outstretched fingers and a guard pushed from below and together they hauled the Doctor into the back of the lorry. Once inside he smacked his hands together to dust them off.

  The sarcophagus was huge. Nearly a ton in weight and almost as wide as it was long. He squeezed around it patting it with pride. When they had first discovered it a week ago he had been ecstatic at the discovery. This was archaeology’s greatest ever find. The resting place of Alexander the Great. The most important single find in the history of his profession. Howard Carter and Tutankhamun were nothing compared to this. Alexander the great, the greatest conqueror the world had ever seen and Von Brest now owned him. If only for a brief time. Von Brest once again thought about opening it. The overwhelming urge to gaze at the remains of the young King. But once again he resisted the temptation.

  ‘No. The first man to look at him in over two thousand years will be the Fuhrer. Alexander the great, once the most powerful man on earth will be looked upon by the current most powerful man on earth, Adolf Hitler.’

  Von Brest studied the intricate carvings on the surface of the lid in the light from the spotlights the Germans had erected in the town when they had first arrived two years ago. Von Brest almost felt the power emanating from within. He had done it! He had his man!

  “Soon you will sit in Berlin my friend alongside the man who admires you the most.”

  As Alf and Johnny watched Wurtz, Koenig, Mufasa and his men all turned and stared westward. Then suddenly the bottle of cognac was heading for the ground where it smashed. Wurtz and Koenig sprinting towards the truck that they’d seen Von Brest climb into. Mufasa and his men raced for their ship.

  “Now what the devil has got them so spooked?” Alf said.

  Then they too heard the gunfire.

  Wurtz made it to the truck first, Koenig a whisper behind. Von Brest was standing with his hands resting lovingly on the sarcophagus.

  “Herr Doctor,” Wurtz began “Something is happening. There is machine gun fire coming from the west side of town.”

  “Dear God! Is it the British?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so Sir. Probably just some fool getting spooked in the dark. My best advice is that Colonel Koenig and his men go to investigate and I and my men stay here to protect you. Agreed?”

  “Yes. Yes Major. I’m not a military man so I agree with whatever the two of you decide.”

  Wurtz turned to Koenig.

  “Agreed?”

  Koenig knew he was beaten. Wurtz had got there first.

  “Very well. Gentlemen,” he said saluting “It has been an honour to serve with you.”

  Wurtz returned the salute.

  “Just get back here as quickly as you can Sir.”

  Koenig took a whistle out of his jacket pocket and blew it.

  “Come on men. Follow me at the double.”

  He set off up the street, his Luger drawn and out in front of him. His men jogging directly behind as they fell into place.

  “Bloody hell Alf our cover’s blown.”

  “Well whoever is doing the shooting has just done us a favour lad.”

  “How so?”

  “Because they’ve just drawn off half our problem.”

  Johnny swallowed hard.

  “You’re not surely still going to try for those boats.”

  “While those SS bastards are distracted that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  The freighter’s engine coughed into life.

  “That’s it lad. Stay close to me.”

  Alf set off back the way he and Johnny had come, the handful of Rushton’s men assigned to them following. Watching the scene before them Alf had decided their best way forward was to skirt around and approach the boats from the East side. The side Alf now hoped was furthest away from the gunfire. They moved silently, helped by the lack of street lighting on this side of the town. Unlike the cities in Europe there wasn’t much left out here to bomb, therefore no need for blackouts. Alf’s shoulder had ached so much now it was very much a part of him. Suddenly Johnny tripped and fell. He gave out a grunt as he hit the road face first. His Sten gun clattered on noisily for a couple of yards. Alf helped him to his feet. Johnny’s hands were grazed. Someone else picked his gun up and handed it to him.

  “Are you all right lad?”

  “Yes. It’s just my head is thumping again. I’m never going to get rid of these headaches am I?”

  “Do you want to stay here son?”

  Johnny was shaking his head.

  “I don’t want you jeopardising this mission. If you’re not up to it say so now Johnny.”

  “I’m all right Alf. It’s just sometimes my eyesight is blurred and in this darkness….I just lost my footing that’s all.”

  “It’s up to you. You can stay here but you’ll be on your own. I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Might be better if we leave him here,” Doyle said.

  Johnny got to his feet.

  “I told you I’m all right to continue,” he said snatching his gun out of Doyle’s hand.

  “Suit yourself mate. But if you fall behind you’re on your own. That goes for both of you,” he said pointing with his gun barrel at both the engineers. Doyle ran off , the rest of the S.A.S right behind him.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “If we don’t,” he said looking after the running men “We’d never hear the end of it.”

  Alf laughed and thumped Johnny on the back.

  “Come on then. Let’s show them.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Rushton raised his head again. He was behind a large stone water trough. It was hundreds of years old, used by generations of traders to water their animals. He was received with another burst of bullets from the MG42’s. Rushton was totally pinned down. Tosh Wilkes wa
s the closest man to him, he was pinned down too, behind a Volkswagen Kubel. Tosh was guessing it belonged to an officer because of the command pennants hanging limply from the front wings. Remarkably not one shot had been fired at Tosh. The gunners obviously not wanting to hit their commandants car. More Germans were coming down the stairs, an officer at their head. He ordered that the alarms be switched off. An eerie silence fell over the square inside the Medina.

  “I am Leutnantoberst Von Kessel. You are surrounded. Throw down your weapons.”

  Rushton slowly raised his head. The machine gunner on the left panicked and fired. Von Kessel yanked on his arms making the bullets spatter the wall behind the L.R.D.G commander. Angrily he pulled out his Luger and pointed it at the machine gunner’s temple who gave out a surprised yelp.

  “The next man who shoots I shoot!” he bellowed.

  Tosh was able to wriggle into a position of where he could see Von Kessel between the wheels of the Kubel. He glanced across at Rushton’s position and was now able to see Rushton’s face. Rushton was staring back. He said something but Tosh couldn’t hear him as Von Kessel continued. If he could get these men to surrender.

  “You may as well give yourselves up. There is no escape, no where to run to. My men won’t shoot if you show yourselves right now. You have my guarantee.”

  Tosh managed to slowly unhook the scoped Enfield and bring it up to his side.

  “Give yourselves up. There is nothing to fear. We soldiers of the Fatherland, of the third reich. We welcome our friends, the Americans, the British. Surrender yourselves now. There is nothing to fear from us. I give you, the commander, whoever you are to the count of ten to throw down your weapons and give yourselves up. After that my men will be ordered to shoot.”

  Rushton had heard the words and he didn’t believe them. He knew that Doyle and the rest of his men wouldn’t believe them either. Doyle was still watching Rushton. Rushton shook his head. There would be no surrender. Von Kessel was counting out loud, for effect. He knew a ten count wouldn’t be enough.

  “One….Two….Three….” he paused to take his hat off to wipe his forehead with his handkerchief.

  Doyle raised the rifle and fired.

  The top of von Kessel’s head disappeared. A look of surprise spread across his face. He staggered forward a couple of steps and pitched forward flat on his face. His blood pumped out thickly. The Germans, horrified and now leaderless began firing at everything and everyone. Doyle sighted again. His second shot took the left machine gunner cleanly in the temple. His head was thrown back and this pulled the MG42 up. His finger was still on the trigger and the bullets ricocheted off the far wall. He collapsed to the ground pulling the gun down on top of him. The hot barrel sizzling. The other machine gunner had seen where the single shot had come from and he swung his gun around and sent a wicked burst at the Kubel. Doyle lay still as the bullets ripped up the ground around him. The gunner waited anxiously for his gun to cool before he could continue firing at his invisible enemy.

  Doyle couldn’t see him from where he lay.

  Now the British returned fire. Their Stens superior to the German Karbiner rifles. Rushton was suddenly aware of more Germans arriving through a side gateway and he rolled into position and sent a burst from his Sten at them. He killed the first two easily as they rushed headlong through the gate and into the courtyard. Koenig right behind them was able to throw himself against the wall in the nick of time. He peered around the wall. Rushton fired at him but at this distance Koenig was able to move back out of the way. Rushton pulled the clip out of the side of his Sten and inserted a new magazine. He kept the gun trained on the gate. More bullets hit the Kubel puncturing it’s bodywork, ripping up the bonnet. Doyle was splashed in the face by black oil. He looked under the vehicle and could see engine oil leaking onto the road. Rushton heard a tell tale clink of metal on stone, two of them and he knew without seeing that they were Stiel hand grenades. He jumped to his feet and ran for Doyle as they exploded.

  “You all right Sir?”

  “Yes. Well done for taking that Colonel out.”

  “I couldn’t resist it Sir. The arrogant bastard was stood there asking for it.”

  Rushton and Doyle stood and fired at the gate where Koenig’s men were. They stopped and kept still, waiting. They saw Koenig look around the corner.

  “It’s another officer,” Doyle said.

  “High ranking judging by his hat.”

  Koenig checked again and sent his men through the gate. Rushton and Doyle sent hand grenades at them. The grenades exploded and the air was filled with the screams of dying and injured men. Rushton’s men jumped up and rushed forward at the much slower firing Germans. One man sent a burst from his Sten into a German’s chest at point blank range, literally shredding the soldier’s chest. Another S.A.S. man pulled his trigger to just a click. His gun had jammed. Without hesitation he swung the barrel and floored his enemy. He stomped on the German breaking his neck with a sharp crack. Another found himself grappling with a German, both men with hands on the German’s rifle. The S.A.S. man was stronger and he forced the German down onto his back and pushed down with the rifle across the German’s throat until the German stopped kicking and breathing. The Englishman turned the gun around and smashed the butt into his enemies skull just to make sure.

  On they surged, rushing for the steps now. The Kubel, which had been smoking, now exploded so violently it shook the very walls of the Medina. Burning fuel sprayed the air. Some of it landing on the canvas tops of the trucks parked nearby. These quickly began to burn. Soon they were an inferno.

  Rushton and Doyle sprinted across the courtyard. Koenig saw them go. He fired his pistol at them, missing completely.

  One of Rushtons men ran in front of his Major and was brought down by the remaining MG42 gunner. His death gave Rushton and Doyle the vital seconds to turn and kill the German with their Stens. Doyle made it to the MG42 and got behind it to use it. Koenig sent more of his men through the gate and Doyle mowed them down. They fell like skittles at a bowling alley. No more came. Doyle pulled a pin on a grenade and threw it through the gateway. It landed at Koenig’s feet. Koenig looked down at the knobbly thing and facing death, in the supreme moment of his life, he did what he thought was necessary, the only thing he thought he had left.

  He turned and fled.

  “Cowardly bastard,” Doyle said “Why doesn’t he stand and fight.”

  Rushton nodded to two of his men.

  “Get him!”

  They grinned excitedly and dashed off. The thought of bagging a Colonel an opportunity too good to miss.

  Doyle made it to the bottom of the steps first and bounded up them two at a time, only stopping to fire from the hip at Germans coming down the stairs. Rushton came up after him, much slower, allowing his other men to overtake him on the ancient stone steps. Others of his group still below in a stalemate with well hidden Germans, neither side taking casualties at the minute. Rushton pulled a pin on a grenade and threw it. It landed behind three unsuspecting German’s and exploded, ripping into their backs. As they fell his men rushed their position and finished them off. Now the S.A.S. had control of the courtyard. The area was littered with dead bodies and burning vehicles.

  Doyle was at the top of the steps now. He waited against the wall as two more German’s came running out. Incredibly they didn’t see him. The first one ran past, the second Doyle shoulder barged clean off the stairs. He fell twenty feet to the courtyard and lay screaming with a broken back. Rushton killed the man rushing headlong down the stairs and sent a burst into the screaming German. Normally he wouldn’t have wasted the bullets but the man’s cries were getting through to his nerves. Now the S.A.S. ran up the steps single file keeping close to the wall. Rushton moved up so that he was at their head. Doyle right behind. The swastika flag was hanging limply from a pole. The light breeze when it came, playing with it. There was a double wooden door at the top, the only way in to the fortress building, a square tow
er eight hundred years old. The other entrances came from other stairs. Rushton quickly scanned the crennelated walls for signs of trouble. There didn’t appear to be any Germans on the walls. In the old days of various empires siege weapons and cannons once adorned these battlements. Today on top of the square stone tower there was a German 88. This was used to protect the harbour.

  “There is an 88mm gun on the roof Doyle. We need to capture it.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Rushton poked his head once inside the door. There was no one in sight.

  “Go. Go. Go!”

  Doyle led them in. Almost instantly they were fired upon from the far end of the hall. Two German soldiers were using an over turned table as cover. Doyle sent a burst at them. The table top splintered as the bullets hit it. He reloaded. The Germans both raised their heads. Doyle fired again missing them just as they ducked into cover. Men on either side moved up. The Germans looked up from their cover. They instantly saw the danger and decided to run for it. The S.A.S. fired into their backs, killing them. Further back in the hall Germans could be seen retreating through the building. From behind a door Doyle could hear a voice talking quickly. He kicked the door in. The radio operator turned as he stood. Doyle pulled his pistol out and shot him twice in the chest. He fell slumped over his equipment. Doyle took the operator’s head phones off his head and held one of them to his ear to listen to the frantic voice at the other end. Doyle spoke in German into the headset. The voice at the other end fell quiet, then calmly asked who had spoken. The voice repeated the question.

  “You’ll never know,” Doyle said.

  He reached out and ripped the headset out of the radio then pulled its main power supply out. The lights on it slowly dimmed. Doyle fired two shots into it smashing the dials on the front.

  Rushton was in the doorway.

  “What were they saying?”

  “There is no help coming for them.”