the Valhalla Exchange (v5) (10 page)

He paused at the bottom of the steps to adjust his gloves. Strasser said, 'Why do you call me that, Major?'

'You mean I'm mistaken?'

'To the best of my knowledge, Reichsleiter Martin Bormann is at present in his office in the Fuhrerbunker in Berlin. Even in this day and age, it would take a rather large miracle for a man to be in two places at once.'

'Simple enough if there were two of him.'

'Which would raise the problem of who is real and who is only the image in the mirror,' Strasser said. 'A neat point, but relevant, I think you'll agree.'

'True,' Ritter said. 'And perhaps in the final analysis, an academic point only.' He smiled ironically. 'Shall we go in now?'

He opened the door and stepped into the light. At first he and Strasser went completely unnoticed, which was hardly surprising for the men who crowded the tables before them were mostly drunk. There were perhaps a dozen girls huddled into a corner at the far end of the room - hair unkempt, tattered clothes, faces grimy with dirt. In fact, the faces were the most interesting feature about them, the eyes dull, totally without hope, the look of trapped animals waiting for the butcher's knife.

There was a burly Hauptsturmfuhrer seated at one end of the longest table. He was a brute of a man with slanting eyes and high Slav cheekbones. He had a small, dark-haired girl on his knee, an arm around her neck, holding her tight, while his other hand was busy under her skirt. She couldn't have been more than sixteen.

And she saw Ritter first, her eyes widening in amazement, and the Hauptsturmfuhrer, becoming aware of her stillness, turned to see what she was looking at.

Ritter stood, hands on hips, legs slightly apart, and it was as if a chill wind had swept into the room, Death himself come to join them. The Hauptsturmfuhrer took in that magnificent black uniform, the decorations, the dark eyes under the peak of the service cap, the silver death's-head gleaming.

'You are in charge here, I presume?' Ritter inquired softly.

The captain shoved the girl off his knee and stood up. The room had gone absolutely quiet. 'That's right,' he said. 'Grushetsky.'

'Ukranian?' Ritter said, his distaste plain. 'I thought so.'

Grushetsky turned red with anger. 'And who in the hell might you be?'

'Your superior officer,' Ritter told him calmly. 'You're aware that there are Russians out there in the dark who might have a more than passing interest in getting their hands on you, and yet you don't even post a guard.'

'No need,' Grushetsky said. 'They won't come in before dawn, I know how they work. We'll be driving out of here long before then. In the meantime ...' He put an arm around the girl and pulled her close.

'Sorry,' Ritter said. 'But you won't be driving anywhere, I'm afraid. We need your petrol for our aircraft.'

'You what?' Grushetsky cried.

'Show him your orders,' Ritter said casually to Strasser. He glanced at the girl again, ignoring Grushetsky, then walked to the end of the room and looked at the others.

Strasser said, 'I'll read it to you. From the Leader and Chancellor of the State. Most secret. You recognize the name at the bottom of the page, I trust. Adolf Hitler.'

'Yes, well, he's in Berlin and this is here,' Grushetsky said. 'And you take that petrol from those tanks over my dead body.'

'That can be arranged.' Ritter raised his right arm casually and clicked his fingers. A window was smashed as a Schmeisser poked through, Berger's smiling face behind it. The door crashed open and Hoffer came in holding another Schmeisser.

'You see,' Ritter said to the girl whom Grushetsky had released now. 'It is still possible for the best to happen in this worst of all possible worlds. What's your name?'

'Bernstein,' she said. 'Clara Bernstein.'

He recognized her accent instantly. 'French?'

'That's what it says on my birth certificate, but to you bastards, I'm just another dirty Jew.'

In a strange way it was as if they were alone. 'What do you want me to do - say I'm sorry?' Ritter asked her in French. 'Would that help?'

'Not in the slightest.'

'Positive action then, Clara Bernstein. You and your friends go now. Out there in the darkness beyond the perimeter wire there are Russian soldiers. I suggest you turn towards them, hands high in the air, yelling like hell. I think you will find they will take you in.'

'Here, what in the hell is going on here?' Grushetsky demanded in his bad German.

Ritter rounded on him. 'Shut your mouth, damn you. Feet together when you speak to me, you understand? Attention, all of you.'

And they responded, all of them, even those far gone in drink trying to draw themselves together. The girl called to the others in German. They hesitated. She cried, 'All right, stay and die here if you want, but I'm getting out of it.'

She ran outside and the rest of the girls broke instantly and went after her. Their voices could be heard clearly as they ran across the runway to the perimeter wire.

Ritter paced up and down between the tables. 'You believe yourselves to be soldiers of the German Reich, a natural assumption in view of the uniforms you wear, but you are mistaken. Now, let me tell you what you are, in simple terms, so that you can understand.'

Grushetsky gave a roar of rage and pulled out his Luger, and Strasser, who'd been waiting for something like this to happen for the past few minutes, fired twice through the pocket of his leather coat, shattering the Ukranian's spine, killing him instantly, driving him across one of the tables.

Several men cried out and reached for weapons and Berger and Hoffer both fired at the same moment, dropping four men between them.

Ritter said to Hoffer, 'All right - collect their weapons and hold them here until we're ready to go.'

One of the Einsatzgruppen took an involuntary step forward. 'But Sturmbannfuhrer. Without weapons we shall be totally unable to defend ourselves, and the Russians -'

'Can have you,' Ritter said, and he walked outside, followed by Strasser.

Frankel walked to meet them. 'It's worked quite well. We've managed to get about fifteen gallons of aviation fuel out of the Junkers. Mixed with petrol from the trucks, it means we can give you full tanks.'

'How long?' Strasser asked. 'Before we're ready to go?'

'Five or ten minutes.'

Ritter offered the young Luftwaffe lieutenant a cigarette. 'I'm sorry we can't take you with us, you and your men. We leave you in a bad situation.'

'The moment you've gone, I'm going to go out there and ask for terms,' Frankel said. 'I can't see much point in any other course of action, not at this stage.'

'Perhaps you're right,' Ritter said. 'And I'd keep those bastards back there in the mess hall under lock and key until the Russians get here, if I were you. It might help.'

A sergeant hurried towards them and saluted. 'The Storch's all ready to go now, Herr Leutnant.'

There was some movement out there in the darkness beyond the perimeter, the sound of an engine starting up. Ritter turned and shouted, 'Berger - Erich! Let's get out of here. It looks as if the Russians are starting to move in.'

He ran back towards the hangar, followed by Strasser. As they scrambled up into the cabin of the Storch, Hoffer and Berger arrived. Berger didn't even bother to strap himself in. He got the door closed and started the engines instantly so that the Storch was moving down the runway and turning into the wind in a matter of seconds.

The flames from the burning planes had died down and the field was almost totally dark now. 'If you believe in prayer, then now's the time,' Berger cried and he pushed up the engine revs and took the Storch forward.

They plunged headlong into darkness and Ritter leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, totally unafraid, consumed only by curiosity to know what it would be like. Was this it? he asked himself. Could this possibly be the final moment after all these years? And then the Storch lifted as Berger pulled back the stick and they climbed up into the darkness.

Ritter turned to find Strasser examining the bullet holes in his coat. 'My thanks, but I hardly expected to see the day when you would lay yourself on the line to defend the rights of Jews.'

'What happens to those girls back there is a matter of complete indifference to me,' Strasser told him. 'You on the other hand, are an essential part of this operation which could well fail without you. That was the only reason I shot that Slavic ape back there.'

'I should be thankful for small mercies, it would seem.'

'No more empty gestures, my dear Ritter, I beg you.'

'Empty?'

'A fair description. I should imagine the Russians will rape those girls with an enthusiasm at least equal to that of Grushetsky and his motley crew, or had you really imagined it would be different?'

Dawn was a gradual affair from about 4.30 as they flew onwards through heavy cloud -at first merely an impression of light, no more than that. Strasser and Hoffer both slept, but Berger seemed as cheerful and relaxed as ever, whistling softly between his teeth.

'You love it,' Ritter said. 'Flying, I mean?'

'More than any woman.' Berger grinned. 'Which is saying a lot. For a long time I worried about what I would do when it was all over - the war, I mean. No more flying, not for the defeated.'

'But now you don't?'

It was a statement as much as a question and caught Berger off guard. 'Plenty of places to go, when you think about it. Places where there's always work for a good pilot. South America, for instance. The Reichs -' He pulled himself up quickly. 'Herr Strasser already has a pipeline organized that should ensure that some of us live to fight another day.'

'A charming prospect,' Ritter said. 'I congratulate you.'

When he leaned back, he realized that Strasser was awake and watching through half-opened eyes. He smiled and leaned forward, a hand on Berger's shoulder.

'He likes to talk, my young friend here. A conversationalist by nature. A good thing he's such a brilliant pilot.'

Strasser was smiling genially, but his fingers were hooked into the shoulder so tightly that Berger winced with pain. 'I'll take her up now,' he shouted. 'Try and get above this shit and see what's what. We should be nearly there.'

He pulled back the stick and started to climb, but the heavy cloud showed no signs of diminishing. Finally, he levelled out. 'No good. I'll have to try it the other way. Nothing else for it. Hang on and we'll see what the state of things is downstairs.'

He pushed the column forward, taking the Storch into a shallow low dive. The cloud became darker, more menacing, boiling around them, hail rattling against the fuselage, and Berger had to hang on to the column with all his strength. They were at 4,000 feet and still descending, Berger hanging on grimly, and Hoffer gave an involuntary cry of fear. And then at 3,000 feet they emerged into the light of day and found themselves, as Berger levelled out, drifting along the course of a wide valley, pine trees very green against the snow, the peaks of the Bavarian Alps rising on either side of them.

'Somebody on board must live right,' Berger said. 'Now have a look on the Luftwaffe area map and see if you can find Arnheim, Major.'

It was no more than a feeder station, had never been more than that. There was a single runway, two hangars. No control tower -simply a couple of single-storeyed concrete huts with tin roofs.

Snow was falling gently, but there was no wind to speak of and the Fieseler Storch came in from the north like a grey ghost, her engine barely a murmur. Her wheels touched and there were two puffs of white smoke as snow spurted beneath them.

Strasser said, 'Straight up to the hangars. I want her under cover.'

'All right.' Berger nodded.

When they were close enough, Strasser, Ritter and Hoffer all got out and opened the hangar doors between them. Berger taxied inside and cut the engine. He laughed out loud as he jumped to the ground.

'So we made it. The Victory Column to Arnheim in five and a half hours.' He helped Ritter pull the door across. 'Smell that mountain air.'

Hoffer had gone through the connecting door into the next hangar, and now he returned. 'There's a field car in there, Major,' he told Ritter. 'A basket in the back.'

'Good,' Strasser said. 'I've been expecting that.'

He led the way in and the others followed. The basket was of the picnic type. There was also a small leather suitcase with it. Strasser placed it on the bonnet of the car and opened it. Inside there was a radio transmitter and receiver of a kind Ritter had never seen before.

'Excellent,' Strasser said. 'The best in the world at the present time. Came to us by courtesy of an agent of the British Special Operations Executive.' He checked his watch. 'Five-thirty - am I right?'

'So it would appear,' Ritter said.

'Good.' Strasser rubbed his hands briskly. 'There's a nip in this mountain air. We'll have something to eat, a hot drink and then ...'

'Something to eat?' Berger said.

'But of course. What do you think is in the basket?'

Berger unstrapped it and raised the lid. Inside there were three loaves of black bread, sausages, butter, boiled eggs, two large vacuum flasks and a bottle of schnapps. Berger unscrewed the cap of one of the flasks and removed the cork. He inhaled deeply, an expression of delight appearing on his face.