Alphabet House (2 page)

‘North of Chemnitz. Yes, please, Bryan!’

‘We must be crazy!’

‘Not us! The situation!’

The railway line below them was no minor branch line. Sooner or later an ammunition train or troop transport would turn up. Small, easily aimed twin cannons or Flak 38 20-millimetre anti-aircraft guns would be able to finish them off quickly. And then there were the Messerschmitts. For them, the Mustang was easy prey. Close combat. Shot down. That’s how brief the report would be.

Bryan thought of suggesting they land the plane before the enemy did it for them. His philosophy was simple and practical. Captivity was preferable to death.

He took hold of James’ upper arm and shook it slightly. ‘They’ve spotted us,’ he said quietly.

Without further comment James let the plane lose altitude.

‘Naundorf ahead. Here you go north of…’ Bryan saw the enemy only as a shadow above them. ‘There he is, James, straight above us!’ James tore the plane away from low altitude with a violent wrench of the controls.

The whole plane was vibrating with protest as he accelerated. During the sudden ascent the hole behind Bryan practically sucked the cabin empty of air. James’ machine guns started rattling even before Bryan had seen their target. A merciless salvo into its belly paralyzed the Messerschmitt instantly. The explosion that followed proved fatal. The pilot never knew what had hit him.

There were several bangs that Bryan couldn’t quite place, and suddenly they were lying level in the air. Bryan glanced at the back of James’ neck as if he expected to see it react in some special way. The draft blasting through the shattered front windscreen signalled that the triangular bit of cowling had been torn off during their brutal ascent.

James shook his head without making a sound.

Then he slumped forward with his face turned to one side.

The roar of the engine increased. All the aeroplane’s joints rattled in time with the fuselage’s descent through the air strata. Loosening his harness, Bryan threw himself over James, got hold of the control stick and forced it towards the lifeless body.

A delta of small bloodstreams trickled down James’ cheek, emanating from two long superficial gashes above and in front of his ear. The piece of metal had hit him in the temple, taking most of his earlobe with it.

Without warning, another piece of cowling came loose with a bang and tumbled over the left wing. Creaking sounds told Bryan there were more to come. Then he made a decision for them both and pulled James free.

The cockpit canopy almost exploded off, sucking Bryan out of his seat. In spite of the howling, icy wind, he grabbed James under the armpits and pulled him out onto the wing in the lacerating air. At the same moment the plane disappeared from under them. Jerked out into space, Bryan lost his grip on James, who plunged downward like dead weight, but he still felt the life-redeeming tug of James’ ripcord. For a second James lay poised in midair with arms hanging limp as a rag doll’s. Then his chute opened with a sudden jerk. His flapping arms made him look like a fledgling just out of the nest, tumbling through the air for the first time.

Bryan’s fingers were like ice as he tugged at his own parachute ripcord. He heard the crack of the chute opening above him as shots began rattling towards him from the ground, sending faint, treacherous flashes of light up through the snowy haze.

The plane banked and plunged slowly earthward behind them. Anyone searching for them would have to do a thorough job. Until then, Bryan had to make sure that James, the small fluttering grey ball, did not disappear from sight.

The ground rose to meet Bryan with unexpected brutality. Hard plough furrows were like concrete gutters in the severe frost. As he lay moaning, the wind filled his chute again and dragged him over the earthen ridges, ripping his flying suit to pieces. The powdery snow froze any bloody scrapes to ice before he could register the pain.

Bryan saw James hit the ground. It seemed violent, as if his body had been crushed from the waist down.

Contrary to all regulations Bryan let his chute blow away from him as he hobbled over the furrows. Isolated fenceposts marked an old corral. The horses were gone, slaughtered long ago. James’ parachute had wedged itself between the bark and wood of one of the posts. Bryan glanced around. There wasn’t a sound. Amid cascades of whirling newly fallen snow, he took hold of the dancing parachute with both hands and with
even tugs guided himself along the seams and straps towards James.

It took three shoves before James slid onto his side. The zip of his flight jacket gave way reluctantly. Bryan’s icy fingertips dug down under the rough clothing. The warmth he found there was almost painful to the touch.

Bryan held his breath until he felt a faint pulse.

The wind finally subsided and the snow stopped drifting. All was quiet for the moment.

James began panting feebly as Bryan dragged him towards a thicket. Sky could be seen through the treetops. Alongside the trunks lay debris from generations of storms, offering shelter and cover.

‘With so much uncollected fuel around, there’s not much chance of anyone living here,’ Bryan said to himself.

‘What’d you say?’ came a voice from the limp body, as it was being dragged through the carpet of snow.

Bryan dropped to his knees and carefully pulled James’ head onto his lap.

‘James! What happened?’

‘Did something happen?’ His eyes were still not focusing. He stared up at Bryan, his gaze wandering the air above him. Then he turned his head and surveyed the black and white landscape. ‘Where are we?’

‘We crashed, James. Are you badly hurt?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can you feel your legs?’

‘They’re cold as hell!’

‘But can you feel them, James?’

‘You bloody well bet I can. They’re cold as hell, I told you! What’s this godforsaken place you’ve dropped me?’

The morning sky was deceptive. There was a starlit strip just above the horizon, but the heavens looked altogether threatening.

They could see around for several miles, but unfortunately that meant they also could be seen.

The remains of James’ parachute lay in the middle of a field so vast that its crops would be able to feed a whole village. Clear, dark drag marks led straight from the field to the thicket where they were hiding.

All this was starting to worry Bryan, now that he knew that James wasn’t in as bad shape as he could have been. The frost had stopped his ear from bleeding long ago and the cold had considerably reduced the swellings on his face and neck. They had been extraordinarily lucky.

Now it looked as if their luck had run out.

The frost that had cracked the corners of their mouths was gradually working its way further into their bodies. If they were to survive, they would have to find shelter.

James listened. If any planes had spotted them, the faded-green bloodhounds would soon appear.

‘As soon as we’ve gathered up the chutes I think it we ought to make for the hollow over there.’ James pointed northward at some dark grey patches, then looked back again. ‘If we go south, how far do you think it is to the nearest village?’

‘If we’re where I think we are, we’d be making straight for Naundorf. It’s probably a couple of miles away. But I’m not sure.’

‘Then the railway line is south of us?’

‘Yes, if I’m not mistaken. But I’m not certain.’ Bryan glanced around again. There were no landmarks. ‘I think we should do whatever you suggest,’ he said.

A good bit further along the first windbreak the snow lay in drifts, helping to conceal the two of them. They followed the
row of trees for a few minutes until the first hole in a snowdrift appeared. James was gasping heavily for breath, and while Bryan tried to stuff the parachute through the hole and down into the ditch, James pressed his folded arms tight against his chest in a vain attempt to defeat the cold. Just as Bryan was about to ask him how he was doing, they both stopped instinctively to listen. The plane appeared a short distance behind them, dipping its wings slightly as it swept over the thicket they had just left. By then they were lying flat on the ground. Then it swung southward over the field and behind the trees. For a while the droning of the plane grew deeper, as though it were leaving again. James raised his head from the snow just enough to breathe.

A whistling sound had them instantly craning their necks. There were some small, dark patches of sky above the trees. Out of one of these, the plane turned up again, this time flying straight at them.

James threw himself on top of Bryan, forcing him down into the snowdrift.

‘I’m freezing my ass off,’ breathed Bryan indistinctly from under him, his face buried in the snow. He tried to smile. James looked down the length of Bryan’s back, pursing his lips at the sight of the lacerated flying suit and the cakes of snow slowly melting with the warmth of his body, then streaming down over his hips and thighs.

‘You just keep freezing for a while,’ he replied, tilting his head upwards. ‘If that guy has spotted us, it’ll be plenty hot soon enough!’

Just then the plane roared over them and disappeared.

‘Who was that clown? Could you see?’ asked Bryan, trying to get the snow off his back.

‘Possibly a Junkers. It seemed kind of flimsy. Do you think it spotted us?’

‘If it had, we wouldn’t be alive now. But it must have noticed our tracks.’

Bryan grabbed hold of James’ hand and pulled himself up-right. They both knew it could all be over soon. If they reached the village, they might have a chance. Hopefully the villagers would understand they weren’t a threat, which wouldn’t be the case if they were spotted by the plane or one of the patrols that had inevitably already been dispatched to ferret them out.

They simply wouldn’t have a chance.

They ran for some time without stopping. Their movements were clumsy. Every bootstep in the frozen earth sent a jolt up their spine. James didn’t look too good and he was deathly pale.

Far behind them came a gentle hum. They glanced at each other. From in front of them came another sound. A different sound, more like a heavily loaded train.

‘Did you say the railway line was to the south of us?’ panted James, pressing his ice-cold hands to his chest again.

‘God, James, I said I wasn’t sure!’

‘Some navigator you are!’

‘Should have spent ages poring over the map rather than heaving you out of that idiotic Yankee soup tin?’

James didn’t answer. Putting his hand on Bryan’s shoulder, he pointed towards the bottom of the greyish slope that stretched in both directions, and from which came the unmistakable pumping sound of a steam engine. ‘Maybe now you have a better idea where we are?’

A single nod from Bryan made him relax. Now that they knew where they were, the question was whether that would help them. They squatted down behind some bushes prickling with dry, dead branches. The straight stretch of track lay like thin stripes in the white landscape. The distance to the railway was about a quarter of a mile and the ground was fairly open.

So they had been south of the railway line all the time.

‘Are you OK?’ Bryan tugged gingerly at James’ fur collar, so he turned his head and faced him. James’ pale skin colour made the contours of his skull stand out more clearly. He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to the railway line.
It was growing gradually lighter and the shadows in the hollow of the slope took on animated shapes. A magnificent yet terrifying sight. Small gusts of wind carried up to them the sound of the enormously long train. Carriage after carriage glided past like a deadly lifeline between front and fatherland. Snorting armoured engines, endless goods wagons protected by big guns, machine-gun nests hidden behind sandbags and greyish-brown troop carriages from which no light escaped through the rolled-down curtains. As soon as the train had passed, new sounds heralded another one on the way.

There were only a few minutes between each transport. In this short space of time, during which their knees were beginning to go to sleep beneath their doubled-up bodies, thousands of human lives must have passed by. Exhausted, battle-scarred veterans heading westwards, frightened and silent reserves heading eastwards. Just a few bombs on this stretch daily, and the Russians’ job on the hellish Eastern Front would be a bit easier.

Bryan felt a tug at his sleeve. James put his finger to his lips and sat perfectly still, listening. Now Bryan could hear it too. The sounds came from behind them on both sides.

‘Dogs?’

Bryan nodded. ‘But maybe only in the one group.’

James turned down his collar and straightened up a bit. ‘The other group is motorized. That was the humming sound we heard before. They must have got off their motorcycles where we crossed the ditches.’

‘Can you see them?’

‘No, but it won’t be long.’

‘What should we do?’

‘What the hell
can
we do?’ James squatted down again and rocked back and forth. ‘We’ve left tracks even a blind man could follow.’

‘We give ourselves up, then?’

‘Do we know what they do with shot-down pilots?’

‘You haven’t answered my question. Should we give ourselves up?’

‘We’ve got to go a bit out into the open so they can see us, otherwise they might think we’re up to no good.’

Bryan felt the treacherous slap of the wind as soon as started down the slope after James. It made his cheeks tingle.

A few rapid strides and they were out in the open. They stood waiting, facing their pursuers with their hands in the air.

Nothing happened to begin with. The sound of voices stopped and all movement in front of them ceased. James whispered softly that the soldiers might have passed behind them. He half dropped his arms.

That was when they started shooting.

The dull, greying winter darkness was to their advantage. Falling heavily to the ground they lay side by side, flat on their stomachs, staring at one another questioningly.

Bryan immediately began worming his way towards the railway line, glancing constantly over his shoulder at James, who was struggling on knees and elbows over the knolls and frozen branches with a wild look in his eyes. The wound beside his ear had opened up again and with every move, small red spots mixed with the whipped-up frosty snow.

Short rounds of machine gun fire ticked crisply, blasting the air above them to pieces. The soldiers were shouting as they fired.

‘They’re going to let the dogs loose,’ James panted, gripping Bryan’s ankle in front of him. ‘Are you ready to run?’

‘Where to, James?’ A wave of heat moved down Bryan’s diaphragm and his guts contracted spontaneously in panicky defence.

‘Over the railway line. There’s no train just now.’ Bryan raised his head and checked out the long, treacherous open slope. And then what?

James got up and grabbed hold of Bryan just as a long burst of machine-gun fire ceased. The slope was steep. It was extremely dangerous to charge down it in their stiff boots, not to mention
their stiff, frozen feet that were incapable of feeling any unevenness in the ground. The bullets started whistling over their heads again.

Bryan reached some flatter ground a few hundred yards further on and glanced quickly behind him. James was running after him as if all his joints were frozen, fingers splayed and his head cocked backward. Behind him a torrent of soldiers poured softly over the hillside and slithered down the first steep incline on their backs as they approached.

This delayed the soldiers a bit and the shots ceased for some valuable seconds. When they started firing again they were off target. Maybe the bastards were already tired! Perhaps they would leave the rest of the work to the dogs.

Lithe and muscular, the barking killing machines broke rank without hesitation as they’d been taught.

When Bryan reached the bottom of the slope he could see a fair distance in both directions in the pale morning light.

In front of him two trains were approaching, one from each direction, thus preventing them from disappearing into the windbreaks on the other side of the tracks. A loud explosion made Bryan jump. James had managed to draw his Enfield revolver on the run. A sprawling black patch in the snow behind him confirmed that James had wounded an attacking dog.

The three remaining dogs made instinctively for the two men’s tracks and headed straight for James’ back.

In its thirst for blood, a German shepherd had torn itself away from its master so the chain entangled between its legs slowed it down somewhat compared to the two Dobermans.

The snow whirled around Bryan and James again. The scattered gunfire was sure to get them before long.

James fired again. Bryan fingered the flap of his revolver holster and took hold of the butt. Then he stepped to one side and took aim as James dashed past him.

For a fatal second the dog James had just wounded was distracted by Bryan’s manoeuvre, snapping in the air just as
the shot rang out. The animal rolled over several times before lying still. Without hesitation the other dogs made instinctively for Bryan’s arms and chest. He was knocked over, managing to shoot one of them as it fell on him, but not wounding it seriously.

He struck a hard blow to the neck of the German shepherd on his left with his revolver butt. It fell beside him, lifeless. Jumping to his feet, he faced the first animal, which was already springing towards him.

The instant the dog seized hold of his arm, it began shaking its victim. It had no intention of letting go in this lifetime. A hard kick from Bryan lifted the cur off the ground, making it possible for him to turn his hand and fire his revolver. As the animal’s body hit the ground, he slid and dropped the revolver. Then the sub-machine guns began rattling again. There was no longer any danger of them hitting their dogs, since all three were now lying stretched out in the snow.

James was about a hundred feet ahead, stooping as he ran, his leather jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders. His whole body quaked every time his foot hit the ground.

Then, a few hundred feet further down the hollow to the east, another patrol came into view. Their aim was unsure but their very presence left Bryan and James no other alternative than to keep running straight down towards the railway line and the two trains that would soon block their path.

Bryan was out of breath, casting his head from side to side in an attempt to catch up with James. A crazy idea had struck him. If they were hit, which seemed inevitable now, it would nevertheless be better to die close to one another.

The first train to cross their path arrived from the east along the line nearest to them.

The engine crew watched passively as the patrols gained on them from behind and from the sides. One after another, the absurd sight of brown, wooden carriages with red crosses
painted on them rumbled past in the barren white countryside. Not a single face was to be seen in the carriages’ few windows.

Next, two joined armoured engines pulling their grey-green string of carriages came snorting along the eastbound track and soon disappeared out of view behind the engine of the hospital train in the foreground. The soldiers on the roofs of the armoured train’s rear carriages had already caught sight of them and were making a move, but couldn’t fire at such an oblique angle for fear of hitting the hospital train.

Bryan took long strides forward, stepping in the bootprints James had made a moment before. James’ laboured breathing in front of him made a whistling sound. Bryan slowed down and looked back.

James reached the train just as two carriages were passing. He set up his pace and reached for the nearest handrail. In a flash, he was caught in a grip so far down the metal railing that it was impossible to swing his foot up on to the bottommost step. The sweat in his palm had instantly frozen to ice. He was just about to lose his balance and fall under the axles when Bryan caught up and tried to grab hold of him.