The Kammersee Affair

by John Holt

  Hartman was visibly shaken. “How close?” he asked.

  “They’ll be in here in a week,” Jurgen said. “Possibly less, who knows?”

  “A week?” repeated Hartman. “We will never dispose of everything in time.”

  “I know, so this is what you should do,” Jurgen said. “Firstly room C should be sealed.”

  “Sealed,” repeated Hartman puzzled.

  “Just block up the doorway,” Jurgen explained. “Make it appear that the room never existed.”

  “And the other items?” asked Hartman

  “Everything is to be thrown into the lake,” replied Jurgen. “Weapons, ammunition, torpedoes, papers; everything. Are there any questions?”

  Hartman stood to attention, clicked his heels together and saluted. “No sir, there are no questions. I understand perfectly.”

  “As soon as you are finished you are to report to your headquarters in Berlin. The troopers will return to their barracks.”

  * * *

  By four o’clock that afternoon the centre was completely deserted apart from Hartman, and the twelve troopers. Jurgen and Lehmann had been picked up, as promised, and were now on their way to Berlin. Everyone else had left some time earlier.

  Works blocking up the doorway to room C were already underway. Another few hours and these works would be completed. Over at the lake large quantities of ammunition, weapons and documents were being thrown into the water.

  The test centre had been evacuated for three days, and the Americans were now very close. Hartman had almost completed his task. And not a moment before time, the Americans were expected at anytime now. The last report indicated that they were no more than thirty miles away. There were only a few more items now remaining, and he expected to be finished by the middle of the afternoon. He could then dismiss the troopers, and could then proceed with his own plans. Not that he had any intention of returning to Berlin. Of that he was certain. Those days were over. There was no more Reich, no more SS, and certainly there would be no more Major Deitrich Hartman.

  * * *

  As Hartman sat at the main entrance steps, he suddenly heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. He looked up as a truck came into view. He stood up, and moved a few steps forward. “Sergeant Mueller,” he called out. “Over here, on the double.”

  The truck drove slowly along the track to the north of the lake, and turned in at the front of the complex, coming to a stop close to where Hartman was waiting.

  The driver stepped down from the cab. He walked over to Hartman and saluted. “Major Hartman, special orders from Berlin,” he said as he handed over a sealed envelope.

  Hartman returned the salute, and took hold of the envelope. He torn the envelope open, and took out a single sheet of paper, on which were written his orders. The convoy contained twelve crates. The crates were to be taken to Kammersee and hidden.

  Hartman cursed. This would take hours. It was unlikely that he would get finished that day.

  The crates were quickly unloaded and stacked in front of the complex. The driver returned to his vehicle and without further delay, hurriedly drove away. Hartman stood watching as the truck disappeared.

  Hartman looked at the stack of boxes lying in front of him, and cursed once again. With time running out fast, the twelve crates had to be disposed of, and quickly. The instructions were quite specific. The crates were to be transported to Kammersee, and hidden. And Hartman knew exactly where to hide them. On a previous trip he had seen a cavern, high up, just beyond the small waterfall, it was an ideal hiding place.

  “Sergeant Mueller, take three men and come with me,” he instructed. “Those crates are to be taken to Lake Kammersee. The rest of your men are to carry on here.”

  * * *

  Just over an hour later three crates had been loaded on to specially prepared sledges. They had then been dragged through the forest, following the river, towards Kammersee. By late evening a total of nine crates had been transported to the lake, and were now stacked in a clearing by the lake edge.

  It was too dark to continue and Hartman instructed two troopers to be left on guard overnight.

  The next day the three remaining crates were taken to Kammersee. Arrangements were then put in hand to take the crates by boat, across the lake, to be hidden in the cavern that Hartman had previously seen. Two crates were loaded on to the boat. Two of the soldiers climbed on board, and shoved off. Slowly the boat made its way to the other side. The two men disembarked, and took hold of one of the crates. They then commenced the short climb up to the waterfall, and disappeared. A few minutes later they returned to the boat, and picked up the second of the crates. Twenty minutes later they had returned, joining their companions, and Hartman, on the other side of the lake. Two further trips were made, without incident.

  Six crates were now left. They were making good progress, another hour or two and they would be finished. It hadn’t taken as long as he had imagined. If this kept up he would get away that day. They started to load the boat for a further trip. The seventh crate had been secured on board. As they were loading the eighth crate the leading soldier suddenly stumbled and fell. As he lost his grip, the crate fell smashing the front of the box, and shattering the prow of the boat. As though in slow motion, the crate turned over and fell to the ground. It then slid along the sandy bank, into the lake and slowly sank below the water. As it did so part of its load fell onto the ground, just in front of the boat. The five men looked down. There, lying on the ground in front of them were four small oblong bars.

  Hartman instinctively moved forward. It was gold bullion. That was why the instructions had been so precise. That was why the crates had to be hidden, and not destroyed. He had been sure that there was something special about those crates. He had known it all along, ever since the first of the crates had arrived all those weeks ago. Then the realisation hit him. Somebody had planned to recover these crates. He decided that person would, in fact, be himself. He realised that he knew the precise whereabouts of almost fifty crates, most of which probably contained gold bullion. He was the only one who knew. Then he looked at the four young troopers standing in front of him. I’m the only one who knows, apart from these four. His hand went to his side, and patted the gun lying in its leather holster. Not for much longer, though.

  There were still four more crates to hide. The boat was no longer of any use, but he realised that he could not just leave it lying around. It had to be disposed of, somehow. If he put it into the lake it would merely float on the surface. That would never do, he had to hide it elsewhere. He ordered his men to drag it into the forest, and cover it with branches.

  With the boat gone, the remaining crates had to be hidden in the lake. Hartman realised that he had no choice. Time was running out, fast. He ordered the remaining crates to be placed in the water, and allowed to sink. As the last one slid into the dark water, and sank to the bottom Hartman walked a short distance away from the lake. He then turned to face the four men who were still standing by the water’s edge. He slowly took out his gun, and cradled it in his arm. Then, without uttering a sound, he extended his arm, took aim, and fired. The sound echoed loudly along the mountain slopes. A flock of birds rose into the air, screeching, adding to the deafening sound.

  The first shot hit one soldier in the back of the head, killing him instantly. The second soldier was hit in the chest as he turned, and he fell backwards. The two remaining soldiers realising what was happening, turned and ran toward the forest. Hartman shot one in the back, piecing his lung. He fell to the ground dying. A second shot hit the last man in the leg, and he too fell to the ground. Hartman casually walked over to him, and shot him in the throat.

  He then ran back to where the four gold bars were lying on the ground. He picked up the bars and slowly made his way out of the clearing heading into the forest, and back toward the complex. As he reached the edge of the clearing he suddenly heard a noise. Someone was coming.

  Quickly he ran into the for
est, and dropped to the ground. Then he saw somebody run out from the forest, twenty metres away. It was a soldier, an American soldier. Hartman dropped the gold bars, and took out his gun. Raising it he took aim. He fired two shots in quick succession, and ran back into the forest toward the complex. Lying on the ground where he had dropped them, were four shiny gold bars.

  Chapter Nine

  The Pathfinders Squadron 1945

  The US Pathfinders Squadron had fought their way up from Sicily, through the entire length of Italy. Along the way there had been many major battles, Salerno, Monte Cassino, and Anzio. They had all been hard fought, and won at great cost. Now following the collapse of the German forces, they were proceeding through the underbelly of Europe. In recent days they had met with little resistance, and had made speedy progress into central Austria, liberating the small towns as they went. Although in truth, in most cases the German troops had pulled out several weeks earlier.

  The unit was now on its way to Salzburg, planning to go on to Munich, and into Southern Germany. It was the beginning of March 1945 and the end of the war was now very close. They could almost feel it. The small company that had spearheaded the drive through Italy was now camped on the outside of a small Austrian town, Bad Aussee. They had been given a few days leave, awaiting the main force to catch up.

  When the company had arrived in Sicily, in 1943, it consisted of ten officers, ninety-six enlisted men, and four career soldiers. Now they were down to thirty-eight men. Twenty-seven had been killed, the rest wounded and shipped back to the United States. Lieutenant Johnson, 28 years old, from Milwaukee now led the group. His promotion had been rapid, over the past few months. As his superior officers had died, or had been wounded, he had risen up through the ranks. He was inexperienced, but apart from one other, Sergeant Kadowski, he was the eldest survivor. He relied heavily on Sergeant Kadowski, a career soldier from the Bronx.

  Kadowski was 48 years old, and of Polish descent, second generation. He had been a soldier since he was seventeen, and had seen some service during the final months of the First World War. He was a heavy set man, physically strong, but as gentle as a kitten. From a military point of view, he had seen it all before, and had done it all before. He knew all of the military ways, all of the angles. You wanted something done, he would do it; you wanted something got, he would get it. He was steady, trustworthy, and dependable. The Lieutenant was virtually lost without his guidance and help.

  Then there was Corporal Tom Bannister, twenty-six years old, from Texas. He was totally reliable, and always there when he was needed. In civilian life he had worked in a store in a small town.

  Corporal Reynolds, twenty-five years old, came from Iowa. He worked as a clerk in an insurance office. A good soldier and well thought of by the other men.

  The remainder of the unit was made up of conscripts in their early twenties, from all walks of life.

  There was foolhardy Private George Scott. Aged twenty-four, he was from Detroit. The son of a steelworker, he worked for the Chrysler Motor Company before the war. He had been there since he was fifteen. He had earned a number of citations during the march through Italy. Not so much for bravery, although he was far from being a coward. Quite the opposite, he was undoubtedly brave, but he was also reckless. He never considered the risks, and would always act first, and ask questions later. He had been in many a difficult situation, usually due to his own fault, but somehow he had always managed to turn the thing around, and survive.

  Private Terry Roberts, just twenty years old, a farm boy from Oklahoma. He kept himself to himself, a shy, quiet man. He had seen and done things that no farm boy should ever be required to see or do. He wanted nothing more, than to just go home, back to his family. Although they were total opposites Scott and Roberts were great friends. Scott looked out for Roberts like an older brother.

  Then there was Private Antonio Bartelli, the radio operator. Aged twenty-two, Bartelli was born and raised in Chicago, he was fourth generation American. He was a loveable rogue, but with no hint of malice. He wouldn’t harm anything, or anyone – except if you crossed him, then his Italian blood would rush to the surface, and boil over. Then woe betides anyone who got on to his wrong side.

  Their camp was located just to the west of the town. The group had already been there for three days. The main force wasn’t expected for another six or seven days. They were enjoying a well-earned rest, trying to top up their suntans, playing volley ball, and generally just relaxing. They had had a tough six months fighting through Italy, and the break was welcome, a break which was to be cut short.

  * * *

  “Sergeant,” Private Bartelli, yelled. “I’ve got head-quarters on the radio sir.”

  “What do they want now?” asked Kadowski, as he slowly got up and walked over to Bartelli. “Okay, what is it this time?” he asked.

  “Intelligence reports coming in concerning rumours of a German military testing facility approximately ten kilometres from here, on a Lake Toplitz. We are instructed to send out a recon party to check it out.”

  Great, so much for the rest, thought Kadowski. Never mind, orders are orders, and this war must end soon. “Right, let’s check the map. Let’s see exactly where this place is.” The maps were spread out, and they started to search. Private Roberts joined them, and he found the spot instantly. “There it is,” he said. “It’s the middle one of those three lakes.”

  “Okay, that’s it,” Kadowski said, re-folding the maps. “Better inform the Lieutenant, come on.” Kadowski went to find the Lieutenant, Bartelli and Roberts following close behind.

  The Lieutenant was in the radio tent. He was deep in conversation with headquarters, when Kadowski and the others walked in. The Lieutenant saw them as they came in. He raised a hand, stopping them, and then raised a finger to his mouth. “Very good”, he said. “Understood, we’ll get right on it, over and out.” He placed the handset back on to the cradle. “Sergeant”, he said, beckoning him, and the others, over. “According to the intelligence reports the test centre is alleged to have been located at the eastern end of the lake. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s all right, sir,” said Kadowski. “We have, at least, found where the lake is located, thanks to Private Roberts. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find. There it is, sir.” Kadowski indicated the area on the map.

  “Good,” the lieutenant responded. “Sergeant, I want you to take a small party to check on the situation, and report back here as soon as you can.” Johnson was still considering his options, and chose to be cautious. “Remember, this is merely a reconnaissance unit,” he said. “If any enemy are sighted, radio back here and call for backup, understood.”

  Kadowski understood, he knew precisely what to do. He would deal with it in his own way, without worrying the Lieutenant. “Yes sir,” he said, standing smartly to attention. “I’ll take Bannister, Reynolds, Chandler, Scott, Bartelli on the radio, Morris, and Roberts, who apparently knows the way.” He looked at his watch. “It is now ten hundred hours. We’ll leave at 10.30. We should be there by 11.15. We’ll take two jeeps, and drive to the eastern end of Lake Grundl. From there we’ll march the rest of the way.”

  “Fine Sergeant,” said the Lieutenant. “Carry on.” The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, and then he looked straight at Kadowski. “Frank,” he continued quietly. “We are very much in the dark about this place. We’ve no idea what could be there. So just be careful.”

  Kadowski didn’t need to be told that, but he was appreciative of the Lieutenant’s concern. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll watch out,” he said. He then saluted the Lieutenant smartly, turned and quickly walked out of the tent, once more closely followed by Bartelli and Roberts. Once outside, he issued his instructions. “Roberts, load up the supplies, enough for eight men, for two days.”

  “Check,” Roberts responded, and left.

  “Bartelli, you round up the others; tell them we’ll be leaving in thirty minutes.”

&
nbsp; “Right, Sarge,” Bartelli said, and started to move away.

  “Tony,” Kadowski called after him. “Tell Scott to check out two jeeps. Make sure they are roadworthy, with full tanks.”

  Bartelli raised his arm, and waved acknowledging the order, and hurried away to find the others.

  They left the campsite, and headed toward the northeast. The road was completely deserted. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the small village of Grundl, which nestled on the northwest shore of Lake Grundlsee. The village was silent. The streets, and fields, were deserted. Maybe they saw us coming, Kadowski thought, or maybe there are still some Germans around. Leaving the village the road ran along the northern shore of the lake. At the northern end of the lake there was a small track which ran into the forest, leading to Toplitzee.

  “That looks like the only way in, Sarge,” said Bartelli.

  “Yeah, and it’s probably the only way out, as well. If there is anyone in there, and they come this way they’ll run straight into us,” Kadowski said. “We’ll leave the vehicles, and walk from here. Roberts how far would you say it is?”

  “To the lake it’s about half a mile,” Roberts replied. “Then to the eastern end, where the test site is supposed to be is another mile, maybe a little less.”

  “Okay guys let’s get on,” Kadowski ordered.

  They parked their jeeps off of the road, and tried as much as possible to hide them within the undergrowth. It wasn’t a great success, but they were unlikely to meet up with any enemy patrols in the area. Most of the Germany troops had either surrendered, or been captured, or retreated northwards to possibly re-group. They left the vehicles, and entered into the forested area.

  “Bannister, you take the left flank, and go forward. I’ll take the right flank,” Kadowski issued his orders. “The rest of you guys, spread out behind us, and keep your eyes open. Remember we are not to engage any enemy unless we have to. Which means they must not see us, got it. Okay, let’s go.”