Faked Passports (11 page)

“We haf another few moments only—at the most. Let us go now to die like brave men.”

Gregory picked up his shot-gun then he smiled at Charlton. “Sorry I let you in for this, Freddie.”

Charlton smiled back. “I might just as well die riddled with bullets on the ground as in a plane; and that would have been my end for certain if this filthy war is going on for long.”

Frau
Foldar was still seated in the corner where Freddie had put her, well out of danger from shots coming through the windows. During the fight she had remained there, wide-eyed, terrified, unspeaking, seeming hardly to understand what was going on. Glancing towards her he said to the others:

“We can't leave her here, although I am afraid having to lug her along with us puts paid to any chance we might have had of getting through by a sudden dash.”

“I'll take her,” said Gregory and von Lutz simultaneously, but the Baron added:

“This my affair is. She is one of my peoples. Go, please—both of you. Good luck! Make no delay—it is an order.”

Gregory did not argue. He knew that whoever led the way would make the target for the first burst of the Nazis' fire, whereas whoever took the old peasant-woman would be screened behind the leaders of the party; so if it could be considered that there was a chance of any of them getting through at all the odds were about even.

Their eyes were smarting from the smoke that now filled the kitchen. The heat was stifling and the fierce crackling of burning wood—much nearer now—showed that the flames had advanced from the bedroom and were already devouring the partition wall beside which they stood.

“Let's go,” said Gregory, and they moved out into the tiny corridor which gave out on to the back door. As he lifted his hand to pull back the heavy wooden bolt a fresh burst of shooting suddenly broke out behind the house. Pausing with his hand outstretched he exclaimed: “What the devil's that?”

They listened for a moment but no bullets thudded into the woodwork of the cottage so the Nazis were not now firing at it. What then, they all wondered, could this fresh shooting mean?

“It is Hans!” cried von Lutz, his eyes showing joy and excitement. “I know him forty years. When the Nazis first surprise us and he runs away I am as much ashamed as if I haf run away myself. But I was unjust. Now all is clear. Hans has the goot sense. He knows we cannot hold out here. He rushes his fellow-woodmen to get and they are now the enemy from the rear attacking.”

Gregory hesitated no longer. Pulling back the bolt he wrenched open the door and yelled: “Come on, then! Now's the time to give him a hand; we'll save our necks yet.”

He dashed from the cottage, the others hard on his heels; Von Lutz and Charlton each grabbing
Frau
Foldar by an arm to support her as they ran. No hail of shots came at them; the Nazis were now fully engaged with the woodmen who had attacked them in the rear. Spurts of flame stabbed the darkness of the woods from half a dozen different directions and the night echoed to the roar of explosions as automatics and shot-guns were pitted against each other.

The glare from the burning cottage lit the scene for some distance but threw up great black shadows here and there so that the ground looked broken and uneven. When Gregory had covered twenty yards he could see vague figures moving among the trees. A splash of flame came from the weapon of the nearest; it was one of the Nazis who had suddenly turned and seen the fugitives rushing from the blazing building. His bullet might have ended Gregory's career had he not at that second tripped and gone crashing headlong over the body of another Nazi who had been shot down earlier in the attack.

For a few moments utter confusion reigned. Von Lutz pistolled the man who had fired at Gregory but others had turned their weapons upon the escaping party. As they crouched together beside Gregory, who was struggling to get back his breath, bullets whistled overhead and scores of pellets from the woodmen's shot-guns rattled on the dry branches and the leaves of the undergrowth. Someone was wailing piteously further in among the trees; a sharp cry told of another who had been hit. The S.S. officer was shouting to his troopers, now caught between two fires, as Gregory, the Baron and Charlton again came into action. Von Lutz was yelling to Hans so that his men should not shoot at them by mistake in the semi-darkness. Then Hans's
voice came in the near distance and next moment, crying: “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!” he came blundering through the trees towards them.

“Hans! Hans!” The Baron rose to meet him and grasped his arm. “We should have been dead now but for you; and
Frau
Foldar is here, unhurt, with us.”

“
Gott Sie dank?
' gulped the woodman, stooping to embrace his wife as she struggled up from her knees.

“Quick!” urged Gregory in German, “or they'll get us yet. We shan't be safe until we're deep in the forest.”

They all began to run again and did not pause until they had covered another three hundred yards. By that time they were well clear of the flickering glare from the cottage which was now a roaring column of smoke and flame.

“How many men did you bring with you, Hans?” asked von Lutz breathlessly.

“Three only,
Herr Oberst-Baron
; the others lived too far away. But I fear we have lost Joachim; I heard him cry out as though he were badly wounded just before I reached you.”

The shooting was still going on a couple of hundred yards to their left as the Baron replied with swift instructions: “Then you must call them off now and if Joachim is still alive get him away somehow between you. He and the other two will be safe from arrest later as the Nazis cannot know who they are, but you and your wife must go into hiding for a time; then, with any luck, the Nazis will believe that both of you were killed when the cottage was attacked and that both your bodies were burned inside it.”

“
Ja, ja, Herr Oberst-Baron.
We shall find shelter and no-one in the district will betray us; but what of you and your friends?”

“We must take care of ourselves. You have done more than enough for us. We are eternally grateful. Go now and get your men away while we create a diversion from this side of the enemy.”

“God be with you!” muttered the tall woodman, and with his arm about his wife's shoulders he hurried away through the trees.

“Come!” said von Lutz, breaking into English. “Of these swine there cannot many be left. Let us attack with stealth a final settling to make.”

With Charlton and Gregory beside him he crept about a hundred yards until they could see the flashes of the Nazis' pistols more distinctly; then they crouched down behind the
undergrowth. Just as they were picking their men the hoot of an owl came from the near distance and the Baron whispered:

“That is Hans; he calls to the others. It's our turn. Make ready? Together now. Fire!”

At his word all three of them squeezed the triggers of their weapons. There was a scream of pain as one of the enemy was hit; but they had now given away their own position and the remaining Nazis turned their fire upon them.

Suddenly von Lutz gave a strangled cry and lurched forward. Gregory was kneeling behind a tree and Freddie had flung himself flat to escape the bullets. Both of them grabbed the Baron's shoulders and, pulling him from the bramble patch into which he had fallen head foremost, dragged him away from the spot at which the Nazis were still firing.

When they had covered a dozen yards they laid the wounded man down and Gregory made a quick examination of him. The Baron's body had gone limp but owing to the darkness they could not see where he had been hit. Gregory's hand came in contact with blood, warm and sticky, on von Lutz's face. Next moment his fingers found a great rent in the Baron's forehead and he knew that this friend who had stood by them so loyally had been shot through the head and had died instantly.

In the attempt they had been planning to get; clear of the Brandenburg district Gregory and Freddie had been counting on von Lutz for advice, clothes and supplies. Now he was dead; and as they lay beside his body they both realised that he could no longer lift a finger to help them. For the first time in many days the fugitives were again alone and on the run in the country of their enemies.

The Nazis continued to fire into the patch of shrub where von Lutz had been killed but it was difficult to estimate how many of them were still in action. Gregory did not think that there could now be more than two or three who had remained unscathed in the attack on the cottage and in the fight against Hans Foldar's woodmen afterwards; but several of the wounded were apparently still capable of using their pistols so even such a depleted force was too large for Charlton and himself to tackle now that the woodmen had withdrawn.

Freddie had raised his revolver again and was drawing a bead on a dark hump from which a flash had just appeared when Gregory checked him.

“Don't fire any more for the present or you'll disclose our new position. Give me a hand here instead and help me to undress the Baron.”

“Undress him?” breathed Freddie in a horrified whisper.

“Yes,” Gregory whispered back. “Beastly thing to have to do but I want his uniform and I know he wouldn't grudge it to me.”

“All right. But what's the idea?”

“I mean to swap clothes with him. The ones I'm wearing were made in Germany so when he's found in them they won't give anything away; while in his colonel's uniform I'll be practically immune from suspicion if only we can get out of this blasted wood and reach a town.”

“That's a brain-wave; but better still, dress him up in my Air-Force kit and let me have your civilian clothes.”

“No. They have no idea that the two men who were shot down on the night of the 8th are still in the district. If we did as you suggest, directly they found his body the R.A.F. outfit would give away the fact that we took shelter with him, that we've
been here all the time and that one of us is trying to make a getaway dressed in his uniform. They'd catch us then before we could cover ten miles.”

“They'll catch us anyway if I can't find a change of clothes.”

“Not necessarily. One airman looks very like another and at the moment they're not looking for airmen at all. I shall be wearing the Baron's greatcoat so you can have the one I've got on. You'll look like a flyer who's made a false landing and been lent an Army greatcoat on account of the cold.”

When they had stripped von Lutz of his outer garments with as little noise as possible Gregory began to change. As they were both slim men of about the same height the Colonel's uniform fitted him fairly decently. He was also able to acquire the dead man's automatic which still had a few rounds in it and one spare clip of unused ammunition. After they had finished the grim business of getting Gregory's garments on to the body Charlton put on the German officer's overcoat in which Gregory had escaped from Berlin.

“I should have thought that by wearing this thing I'm falling between two stools,” the airman said in a low voice. “It won't hide the fact that I'm an R.A.F. officer if an inquisitive policeman questions me and asks to see what's underneath it; yet it's enough to damn me utterly if we're caught.”

“On the contrary. It will prevent ninety-nine out of every hundred Germans giving you a second glance and in the event of our being cornered, whereas I shall be shot as a spy whatever I am wearing, by retaining your R.A.F. flying-kit under that coat the worst they'll be able to do to you is to send you to a prisoners-of-war camp.”

“Perhaps you're right.”

“Of course I'm right,” Gregory muttered impatiently. “Don't waste any more time in arguing; we haven't got a moment to lose.”

“You've thought out a plan, then?”

“I wouldn't say that; it's just a hunch that we might be able to pull a fast one on these swine while they're collecting their wounded. Tread as softly as you can now and follow me.”

For some moments now the Nazis had given up sending potshots into the wood. Cautiously at first, and then more loudly, they had been calling to one another until, reassured by their continued immunity from attack, they evidently believed that their surviving enemies had given up the fight and made off. The unwounded were now emerging from their hiding-places to give
first aid to the wounded and to search for their dead. The woods were silent once more, except for the sound of their voices which came quite clearly and gave a good indication of their positions.

Using extreme caution Gregory and Charlton moved in a wide semi-circle round the area occupied by the Nazis, until they struck the lane on the right-hand side of the cottage and about half a mile from it. The little building was now almost burnt out and the flames had died down, but a red glow from the ashes still lit its surroundings for some distance. At the edge of the wood Gregory paused and pointed. The motor-truck which had brought the S.S. men from Dornitz was still there, parked on the roadside about half-way between the place where they stood and the remains of the cottage.

The wood was higher than the road by about four feet; so having warily tiptoed along, weaving their way in and out among the trees on the top of the bank until they were opposite the truck, they were able to look down into it.

As they paused there, holding their breath, two S.S. men, one of whom held a torch, were just lifting a dead or unconscious companion into the back of the open vehicle, and a minute later the torch moved disclosing the bodies of two other Nazis who had been laid out on its floor-boards. After the third body had been placed beside the others the man with the torch muttered something and set off at a quick walk down the road towards the cottage, leaving his helper—who presumably was the driver—just below the place where Gregory and Charlton were crouching. Lighting a cigarette he remained there, his back towards them, facing his van.