Faked Passports (62 page)

It was with inexpressible relief that a few moments after the last halt, on Orloff's giving a loud shout, they saw a long, low patch of deeper darkness ahead of them and knew that they were in sight of the north shore of the lake. The horses, too, knew it, and made a last effort. But the course of the sleigh across the ice had only been plotted roughly, so they still had to find the little town of Rabaly.

Here luck was with them. They were still scanning the dark, desolate foreshore for lights when a challenge rang out. By great good fortune they had run into another Russian patrol which was able to direct them. The town was only a mile away;
just round a small headland to their left front. Another horse was lost before they reached it and they had to put the spare saddle-horse in to make up the team; but when Gregory stepped ashore in the small harbour he was smiling for the first time that night as he saw from his watch that it was only 2.30. They had made the crossing of the lake in seven hours and ten minutes.

Three soldiers from the patrol had accompanied them on the last lap of their journey, running beside the sleigh, and they roused some of their comrades who were quartered in the houses along the harbour. These took over the remaining horses and the sleigh while with an N.C.O. as guide Gregory, Boroski and Orloff proceeded on foot up the main street of the town to a building which housed the local military headquarters.

It was here, while they were waiting for an officer to be fetched, that Gregory had his first chance to see his two guides properly. The tall Sergeant Boroski was a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Baltic type, while the shorter Corporal Orloff had a red beard, freckled face and snub nose. They had evidently been specially picked from the Divisional Staff, as they were much above the average Soviet soldier that Gregory had seen during his time in Russia, both for liveliness and smart appearance.

When an officer who was on night duty joined them Boroski acted as interpreter and Gregory produced his chit from Voroshilov with the Russian phrase that he had learnt: “It is by order of the Marshal and my business is
most
urgent.”

On the officer's learning that they had just crossed the Lake he expressed great astonishment but agreed at once to provide them with a sleigh and order relays of horses to be ready at every point to get them to Petrozavodsk as quickly as possible. Dispatching two orderlies from the room he sat down to a telephone.

After a few minutes one of the orderlies returned carrying a tray with steaming cups of tea and some hunks of bread and sausage for the half-frozen travellers. They had hardly finished their meal when the second orderly reappeared to say that the sleigh was ready. The officer told Gregory, through Boroski, that he had arranged for a relay at the first village along the road and that directly they had gone he would telephone through to further points with instructions that they were to be given the fastest horses available. Then he took them outside and saw them off.

The magic name of Voroshilov had performed, wonders. Instead of the usual Russian delays they had spent barely twenty
minutes in Rabaly. Orloff took the reins of the new sleigh while Boroski sat beside Gregory. The hot tea had not thoroughly warmed them through but they were in much better spirits now that they had fast horses again and the really dangerous part of the journey was over.

The road was long and straight, mainly through forest country, but as that part of Russia was much more thickly populated than the far north they passed through villages every few miles. At nearly every village a fresh relay of horses was waiting for them as the whole area was under military control and plenty of horses were available. Whenever possible, while the horses were being changed, they had further hot drinks in Russian troop canteens to warm them as the cold was bitter, and if it had not been for their thick furs they would have got frost-bite through sitting still for so long in the sleigh. On and on they drove through the long night, the miles falling away behind, yet new vistas of tree-lined road ever opening before them; but now that they constantly had fresh relays that they could count on they did not spare the horses and were making far better going than they had done across the Lake.

The stars were paling in the sky when they came out of the forest to see buildings ahead of them and, from their inquiries at the last halt, knew that they had reached Petrozavodsk. As the sleigh drove up before the railway-station Gregory saw from his watch that it was 7.10; they had done the seventy odd miles from Rabaly in four hours and twenty minutes, averaging sixteen miles an hour, and he had accomplished the whole, almost incredible journey from G.H.Q. of nearly two hundred miles in just under fourteen hours.

Since it was only just after seven in the morning Gregory's hopes were high. Even if the Gestapo men had left Leningrad early the previous afternoon they could hardly have reached Petrozavodsk before him. There was a military guard at the station and having handed over the horses and sleigh Boroski and Orloff accompanied him into the building. Thrusting their way into the station-master's office they inquired at once about the next train to Kandalaksha.

The sleepy official, who had been on duty all night, shrugged in the true Russian manner. “There should be another at about nine o'clock, or perhaps ten.”

“Is there no hope of one arriving before nine?' Gregory said, through Boroski. “We are in a great hurry.”

“Then you should have got here earlier,” the man grunted,
“and you would have caught the one which left here ten minutes ago.”

When Gregory heard that they had just missed a train he swore profusely; then, producing Voroshilov's order, he demanded to know at what time the train had left Leningrad.

The official suddenly came to life and said that he would do his best to find out. It took him a quarter of an hour to get through on the telephone to Leningrad and while he was speaking Gregory asked that he should also ascertain at what hour the one before the train they had just missed had left.

Boroski interpreted after the man had hung up the receiver. The train they had missed had left Leningrad at 3.45 the previous afternoon, and the one before that at 1.40.

Gregory bit his lip. Although he thought it unlikely that the Gestapo men had caught a train as early as 1.40, there was just a chance that they had. If so, they were two trains ahead of him, and both trains had made a much better speed than he had assumed likely; probably because the permanent way was in better condition at this end of the line than further north; a point that he had left out of his calculation. It was quite definitely on the cards that the Nazis were on the train that had just gone through. If they were, and he had to wait for the next, they would have between two and three hours' start, which he would never be able to make up. Given that much time in Kandalaksha they might execute Erika before he could get there. Somehow or other he had to get on the train he had just missed.

Turning to Boroski he tapped the Marshal's order and said: “Tell the station-master that he is to hold the train at the next station; we will go on by sleigh and catch it there.”

Boroski translated. At first the official demurred but Gregory rapped out his solitary phrase of Russian: “
Prikaz Marshala ie srotchnya prikaz
”

The station-master shrugged and got through on the telephone to a place called Baylik, which, it transpired, was about ten miles further north. After an excited conversation arrangements were made for the train to be held there until the Supreme Commander's emissary could join it. Gregory and his two henchmen then hurried outside to reclaim their sleigh and demand another relay of horses, as the ones which had brought them in had just been watered and fed.

A quarter of an hour later they were on the road again. Their conversation with the station-master and military had
occupied the best part of three-quarters of an hour but they reached the village of Baylik at 8.25, and found that the train had been waiting for them for only just under an hour; which, as Gregory pointed out to his companions, was nothing abnormal for any train on that railway.

The train was packed, mostly with troops, but as Gregory's warrant conferred almost limitless powers upon him he determined to see to it that his two men had good accommodation. Both of them had alternatively ridden or driven during the seven hours' crossing of the lake, and for a further five hours they had taken turns in driving the eighty miles from Rabaly to Baylik; so, tough, hefty fellows as they were, they were both nearly asleep on their feet. Having tackled an officer he had a carriage cleared of troops and made Boroski and Orloff lie down at full length on the two seats so that they could sleep in such little comfort as it was possible to secure for them.

He was in slightly better trim as, although it was nearly twenty-six hours since he had got out of bed at General Headquarters the previous morning, he had lent a hand with the horses only during the last stages of the terrible journey across the Lake and, not having had to drive at all, he had been able to doze for a good part of the time. Moreover, he yet had work to do. It was essential to his peace of mind that he should ascertain as soon as possible whether the two Gestapo men were on the train, and directly it moved out of the station he set about the job.

The wintry daylight now disclosed the snow-covered landscape. To the left of the track the forest stretched almost unbroken with only a clearing round a village here and there; but to the right there were sometimes gaps between the trees several miles in length as the railway ran alongside the creeks on the west of Lake Onega which stretched, a vast expanse of frozen snow, as far as the eye could see. Slowly but methodically Gregory pushed and bumped his way along the crowded corridor of the train, peering at the sleepy, dirty faces of the occupants of each carriage. The Gestapo men would almost certainly be wearing furs in such a climate but he felt sure that he would have no difficulty in recognising them both from their appearance and their luggage; yet none of the few civilians that he could see in the crowded compartments looked the least like Germans.

However, the train was not connected by corridors all the way along, so having examined one portion of it he had to
wait until it had pulled up, get out, and reboard another portion of it to examine that. The business was a long and tiring one and took him the best part of four hours; but when the train pulled into the town of Perguba, at the head of Lake Onega, he had fully satisfied himself that the Gestapo agents were not on it.

Rousing his two companions he took them to the station buffet to give them a good meal and while they ate he considered the position. It now seemed probable that the Gestapo men had not started until the previous evening, in which case they were one or perhaps more trains behind him; but there was still just a chance that they might have caught the 1.40 from Leningrad. If they had, it would normally have given them a lead of two hours and five minutes over the train he was on, but he himself had held that up at Baylik for just under an hour, whereas in the ordinary way it would probably not have stopped at such a small place for more than twenty minutes. The train ahead, therefore, now had a lead of approximately two hours and forty minutes; five times as long as was necessary to arrange the formalities of the most ceremonious firing-squad.
Somehow
he had
got
to get on the train ahead and make dead certain that the Gestapo agents had not caught it.

When they had finished their meal he got Boroski and Orloff to take him to the station-master and, producing his famous order once again, he demanded that the train ahead should be held until the train in which they were travelling could catch up with it; but here, for the first time, he met with determined opposition.

To hold a train for an hour or so was one thing, said the man, but to hold it for three hours was quite another. In peacetime Perguba was a quiet little town where officials led a pleasant life and were not bothered with such mad requests, and a couple of trains a day were quite sufficient to satisfy everybody. But now that there was a war on things were very different; everyone had to work night and day; the traffic on the line was chaotic; military officers were always demanding impossibilities. To do as Gregory suggested would upset all the traffic and make bad infinitely worse.

“It is by the order of the Marshal and my business is
most
urgent,” Gregory snapped with a cold authority which he had often found extremely efficacious when forced to browbeat petty officials; but the man was obdurate. He pointed out that the order said that Gregory should be given every assistance to facilitate his journey, but
not
that trains should be held up for
him unnecessarily; and that in this case it was
not
necessary to hold up the train ahead, because it would have to wait until Gregory could reach it and, therefore, would not get to Kandalaksha any quicker than the train he was on at the moment.

Seeing that it was useless to argue further Gregory began to insist that his train must put on more speed in order to get him to Kandalaksha as soon after the other train as possible. In consequence, the engine-driver was summoned.

He shrugged his shoulders a great deal and waved his hands, asking if they thought that his engine was an aeroplane. They knew quite well, he said, that it dated from pre-Revolution days and was held together only by bits of wire and his own brilliance as an engineer. Moreover, how could anyone get more than twenty-five miles an hour out of an engine when they had only wood fuel on which to stoke it?—and that was all that was procurable in this part of the country.

Gregory produced his order again and told the driver that whatever his difficulties might be he had got to catch up the other train because, if he did not, Marshal Voroshilov would have him shot as a saboteur and an enemy of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

The engine-driver's mouth fell open in comical dismay and promising to do his best he hurried out to get his ramshackle engine going. Five minutes later they started off at a pace quite unprecedented and with such suddenness that a number of the passengers were left shouting indignantly on the platform.