by John Holt
Standing at the shoreline, Kadowski looked back toward the edge of the clearing. It seemed that a pathway of some kind had recently been cut through the undergrowth. He could see that small branches had snapped off of the adjacent bushes. Grasses close by had been crushed. He walked over to the spot. There in the watery, muddy soil, he could clearly see footprints, and that same mark, the same gouge in the ground. He began to follow the roughly formed pathway. Other footprints could be clearly seen. A few more yards further on, and then he found it, or what was left of it. It was a small rowing boat, about twelve feet long. The prow had been smashed, and the keel had been broken in several places. That boat would never travel across water again.
Kadowski turned around, and began walking back toward the lake. He was now certain that whatever was in those crates, had been transported by that boat. The deep gouge obviously showed where the boat had entered the water, with its heavy load. The other mark clearly showing where it was taken out of the water after the load had been hidden. It was obvious that the cargo had been taken somewhere, but where. Was it to the centre of the lake, and the crates then dropped over the side? Not likely, he reasoned. Firstly, if it was merely intended to sink the crates that could easily have been done from the shore, a boat would not have been necessary. Secondly, if the crates did contain gold, whoever had hidden them would almost certainly have had plans to recover them at a later date. To do that, from a depth of sixty, seventy, or whatever, metres below the surface of those waters would not have been easy. In fact, it was quite possible that it could not have been done at all.
Kadowski was becoming more and more convinced that the crates had, indeed, contained gold bullion. He deduced that one of the crates must have fallen. It had probably been dropped by one of the German troopers. The crate had broken open, leaving pieces of shattered timbers on the ground, and exposing the gold bars. That made sense, that’s why the soldiers had to be killed. But, of course they were only killed after the bullion had been hidden. One puzzle solved, but he was still no nearer actually finding the gold. Where could it be hidden? It did not make sense to just throw the crates into the lake. No. That gold was buried or hidden somewhere, on dry land. That somewhere must have been on the opposite side of the lake. Otherwise they would not have needed the boat.
He took up his field glasses, and began scouring the opposite shore. As far as he could see it looked exactly the same as his side of the lake. The area was thickly forested, tall conifer trees covering the steep limestone slopes. Then something caught his eye. It was a waterfall, cascading perhaps fifty or sixty yards or more. Although not very wide, it was a spectacular sight. At the bottom of the waterfall, just to the left hand side, there was a sandy outcrop stretching into the water. It was small, but still big enough for a rowing boat, he calculated. Was it possible that somewhere there, in the vicinity of those falls, was located the hiding place? Kadowski looked again, slowly panning across the area. Then he saw what he was looking for. It looked like an indentation in the rockface, just behind the waterfall. He could not be sure but it looked like a cave of some kind. It is a cave, I’m sure of that, he told himself. Yes, there it is, that’s where the gold is hidden, or at least some of it.
Bartelli suddenly came running into the clearing. “Sarge,” he called out excitedly. “Sarge.”
Kadowski turned toward him. “I’m here, what’s with the yelling.”
“Headquarters called. The guys are moving out. We are to get going, now. The unit is re-grouping at Innsbruck. We have been ordered to join them as soon as possible.”
Kadowski was not pleased. He looked over the lake toward the waterfall. He hadn’t yet found any firm indication of the existence of the gold. Sure, he had one or two possible places in mind. The cavern behind the waterfall looked promising, but he had wanted to search a little more. However, he knew that he had no more time. He had to move, orders were orders.
Disappointed he looked back at Bartelli. “Okay guys,” he called out. “Scott, Bannister, on the double. We’re moving out, now.” He looked back at the waterfall, and vowed that one day he would return.
Scott and Bannister ran back over to Kadowski. “Did you find anything?” Kadowski asked them.
“Well I’m not sure,” said Bannister. “Just what looked like freshly dug soil. Could be something buried I suppose.”
“It wasn’t anything,” interrupted Scott, abruptly. “Just damp mud, that’s all, nothing more.”
Bannister looked at Kadowski, and shrugged his shoulders, and then moved away.
“Okay,” said Kadowski, disappointed, but resigned. “We’ve had orders to move out. So let’s wrap it up, we’re out of here, come on.” Kadowski marched away, back toward the centre, the others quickly following.
“I shan’t be sorry to get out of here,” Bartelli said to Bannister. “That lake gives me the shivers.”
“It’s only water,” said Scott, coming from behind, and brushing past them. “A drop of water ain’t gonna hurt anyone.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later they arrived back at the test centre. “Collect up all of the papers, and files that you can, they may be useful to the back room boys back at head quarters,” Kadowski instructed his men. “Scott, fetch the map. Let’s see where we are going, and how we get there.”
“Here it is, Sarge, Innsbruck. It’s right there,” said Scott, pointing to it on a map. “It’s not too far.” He checked the map. “Looks like about one hundred and fifty kilometres.”
“About three hours drive,” Bartelli said trying to be helpful.
“Okay, fine,” Kadowski said, as he took hold of the map, and placed it inside his tunic. “We move out in one hour forty minutes, at 1300 hours.”
“Sarge, I’ll see what food I can rustle up,” volunteered Bannister.
“Good idea,” said Kadowski. “When you’ve done that start collecting as much information as you can, files, papers, you know. We’ll take as much as we can with us. Bartelli, get on the radio. Tell headquarters our plan. Then go and help Bannister. Scott, check around, see if there are any weapons that have been left. If there are, throw them into the lake. That’s it, all done, ready to move in, say one and half hours.”
* * *
“Okay guys, it’s time to go,” instructed Kadowski, and moved over to the door. He was carrying a suitcase, which contained a number of files that had been collected. Bartelli came next, carrying the radio, and a rucksack full of papers. Bannister followed, with two similar bags. They walked down the corridor to where Kadowski was waiting.
“Scott,” Kadowski shouted. There was no response. He called once again. “Scott, come on, at the double.” A few moments later Scott appeared at the doorway. He was carrying a number of sacks containing more documents over his shoulder. He was particularly pleased with regard to one of those documents. It was a buff folder simply labelled Hartman, D. He intended keeping that one for himself. He also carried a small sack containing a luger pistol, and some ammunition. It was the pistol that he had taken away from Hartman. A small souvenir, he told himself, a little memento. Apart from that, it might just come in handy.
Another small souvenir that he had picked up was a bundle of counterfeit United States dollars, twenty-five thousand of them to be precise. They too might come in handy. He stopped at the doorway, and looked back into the room, for one last look. He then turned into the corridor, and hurried after the others.
Chapter Ten
Hartman Escapes
Scott and Bartelli had been assigned to find a secure area for their prisoner, Major Deitrich Hartman. It had been decided that he should be kept in one of the small rooms located below ground level. This was considered to offer the greatest security. It also represented a longer distance that Hartman would need to travel in order to effect any escape that he might possibly attempt. Furthermore, Kadowski had reasoned that it would be necessary for Hartman to go past their room in order to reach the building exit. In which case, they would
almost certainly hear him.
* * *
Scott and Bartelli moved slowly along the main corridor in the basement area. Scott was on the right hand side of Hartman. His revolver was drawn, and held in his right hand. He pressed the muzzle firmly into Hartman’s side. The safety catch was still on, but he would not have hesitated to squeeze the trigger, if it had become necessary. Bartelli walked a few paces behind, and to the left of Hartman. He too had his revolver drawn, and ready if needed. It was aimed at the small of Hartman’s back. As they slowly walked along the corridor each room was checked as they came to it. They would stop, go to the room, open the door, and look to the rear. They were looking for a room with a key in the lock. They had almost reached the end of the corridor, and had so far been unsuccessful. None of the rooms, so far, had possessed a key. It was looking as though another course of action would be needed.
“Here’s one, at last,” Bartelli yelled. “I was beginning to think that we would never find one.” Bartelli reached behind the door and removed the key, and held it up triumphantly. He then walked into the centre of the room, looked all around, and then beckoned Scott to follow, bringing their prisoner with him.
Scott pushed Hartman into the room, across to where Bartelli was standing. “In you go,” he said. Scott then followed him inside. The room appeared to be a storeroom of some kind. All around the walls was metal shelving, extending from the floor right up to the ceiling. The shelves were almost empty, although there were a few papers, and boxes. Many more papers, and containers were scattered all over the floor. Several of the documents were scorched, as though somebody had tried to burn them. The room had obviously been vacated in a hurry.
Scott bent down and picked up a handful of the papers that were lying there. They made little sense to him. As far as he could tell they were technical documents relating to various weapon systems. He threw them back down onto the ground. He looked around the room. “This should do just fine,” he said. “There’s no way out of here. There’s no windows, and no doors, except that one,” as he pointed to the doorway they had just come through. “And we can lock that.”
“I better just check it out though,” said Bartelli. “We don’t want him finding anything that might help him, do we?”
“Right,” said Scott. “You look around, and I’ll keep an eye on him.” He moved closer to Hartman, released the safety catch on his revolver, and pointed it precisely at Hartman’s head. “Don’t do anything stupid, no sudden moves,” he said. “I’ll have no problem using this if I have to.” There was no doubt in Hartman’s mind that Scott meant every word he said.
Bartelli slowly walked around the room, checking behind the shelving, and underneath the racking. He didn’t exactly know what he was looking for. He just wanted to be sure that there was nothing that might have been useful to Hartman. Anything that might help him to escape, or anything that maybe he could use as a weapon. Another key perhaps, or a metal bar, or maybe there was a small hand tool lying around. A screwdriver could make a handy weapon. After a few minutes he was satisfied. “There’s nothing here. The room seems to be okay,” he said to Scott. He then turned toward Hartman. “So make yourself comfortable Major. You’ll be here for some while.”
Scott moved closer to Hartman. “Tony, keep him covered,” he said.
Bartelli looked at his friend, and wondered what he was up to. “What are you gonna do?” he asked, as he took out his revolver, and aimed it at Hartman.
Scott either did not hear, or chose to ignore him. Either way there was no reply. He holstered his own weapon, and then took a short length of rope from his belt. “Turn around, and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered Hartman. Hartman had not expected that. He looked toward Bartelli, and slowly turned, placing his hands behind him.
“What are you doing, George?” Bartelli asked. Scott said nothing, his eyes staring hard at Hartman. He began to tie the rope around Hartman’s wrists. He twisted the rope tightly causing the wrist to swell, and red marks to appear. Clearly Hartman was in severe pain. Hartman’s hands were beginning to turn blue, as the rope cut off the blood supply. Bartelli was becoming more and more concerned. He walked over to Scott, and placed a hand onto his arm. “George,” he said quietly. “That won’t be necessary. He ain’t going no-where.” Scott was not listening, and continued to twist the rope tighter and tighter. “George,” Bartelli shouted, as he pulled at Scott’s arms. “George, that’s enough.”
Scott suddenly stopped turning the rope, and looked toward Bartelli. “Okay Tony,” he said, letting the rope fall. “Have it your way.” He started to walk toward the door. Bartelli removed the rest of the rope from Hartman’s wrists, and dropped it on to the ground. He started to follow Scott out of the room. He stopped at the doorway, and looked back at Hartman. Hartman was gently massaging his wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again. “I’ll bring you something to eat later.” Hartman gave a slight nod in acknowledgement.
“Okay Tony, we’re done for now, come on,” said Scott aggressively. Bartelli did has he was bid, and walked out into the corridor. He handed Scott the key to the room, and stepped to one side. Scott turned to face Hartman. “We’ll deal with you later,” he said, and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He inserted the key, and turned it. He pushed hard on the door several times, to make sure that it was securely locked. It did not budge. Satisfied, he put the key into his tunic pocket, and the two soldiers turned, and went back along the corridor to rejoin the others.
Hartman went to the door, and pressed his ear against it. He could hear the footsteps of the two men gradually fading in the distance, as they moved further and further away. They’ve gone, he said to himself. They hadn’t even bothered to search him. And these fools were actually winning the war. He un-buttoned his jacket, and took it off, laying it on the ground in front of him. He then reached round to his left side. There attached to his leather belt, was a heavy metal clip. On the clip were a number of keys. As the Security Officer of the test centre, Hartman possessed a master key for every room in the complex. In his quarters he also possessed keys to every lockable cupboard, or safe, within the building. He decided that they should be hidden somewhere, just in case his captors did decide to search him when they returned later. He took off the clip. He then went over to the far corner of the room. Above him was a small metal grill, which formed part of the ventilation system. He managed to pry one corner of the grill open. He placed the clip inside and re-secured the grill. He then returned to the centre of the room, and waited. If they eventually did decide to search him they would not find anything. Furthermore, they have already checked the room, so there would be no reason for them to look over at that vent, he reasoned. Now I just sit and bind my time, he said quietly.
* * *
A short time later Bartelli returned with some food for the prisoner. This time he was accompanied by Corporal Bannister. This had been Kadowski’s idea. Safety in numbers he had said. He was concerned that Hartman could have overpowered Bartelli on his own, and made good his escape. Deep down Bartelli was more than happy to have someone with him. He had no desire to be in the presence of an SS officer, alone.
As they reached the storeroom, Bannister stopped and held up his hand. “We better be very careful, now,” he said. “Hartman is expecting you, Tony, and not the two of us. He could be waiting behind that door, right now, ready to strike.”
He placed his ear to the door. He could hear nothing. “Okay, Tony, unlock the door, and then step to one side,” he whispered, and signalled indicating where he should stand. He took his gun out from its holster. “Alright, Tony. Now!”
Bartelli unlocked the door, and then stood aside as instructed. Instantly, Bannister turned the handle, and threw the door open. It swung back through ninety degrees, crashing against the adjacent block wall. Bannister stood at the doorway, with his gun pointing straight ahead. There, standing in the middle of the room, facing the door was a startled Hartman.
�
�Here’s the food, I said I’d bring,” said Bartelli nervously, as he placed some sandwiches, and coffee on to one of the shelves. Bannister stood by the door, blocking the path, in case Hartman decided to try to make a break for it. In his outstretched hand was a service revolver, his finger at the trigger. It was aimed directly toward Hartman.
Hartman looked toward the gun, and then turned away. He walked over to where the food had been placed, and looked at Bartelli. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and then for a brief moment looked back at Bannister.
Bartelli walked toward the door. Bannister stepped to one side to allow him to pass into the corridor. Bannister then closed the door after him, and waited for Bartelli to lock it. He then pressed on the door hard, until he was satisfied that it was firmly secured. The two men turned and walked back down the corridor toward the staircase.
* * *
They probably won’t be back for some time now, Hartman thought, as he heard them leaving. He went over to the ventilation grill, and took the clip down. He then checked the keys, until he found the one he required, the key to the very room in which he was imprisoned.
He now had his way out. The first thing to do he decided was to get out of this room, and hide somewhere they would not find him. He would then stay there until the Americans had left. Once they had gone, he could make his escape. He reasoned that they would not be there too long. Firstly, they were a small group; secondly they were not equipped for a long stay; and thirdly, most importantly, the test centre had obviously been abandoned, and was, therefore, no longer of any significance, so why would they wish to stay. They were part of a Pathfinder Unit, so the main group must be some distance away. Surely they must re-group soon ready for the final push on Munich. That cannot be much longer now, a matter of a few days only. I must get away before then. I must get into Munich, and away again, before the Americans arrive. He checked his watch; it was almost midnight. It is very unlikely that they would leave that night.