They Used Dark Forces (31 page)

While Gregory sipped at the scalding soup, Malacou confirmed in words the misfortunes that had befallen him during the past six months, giving a brief version of the thoughts he had conveyed by telepathy. As soon as they had finished he led them outside and round to a woodshed at the back of the cottage. It was lit by another oil lamp and Gregory saw that the two farm workers had already left with a first load. But Kocjan was there and the hunchback Tarik, who was helping him load a packing case on to a low, two-wheeled truck. Beyond them lay a pile of at least a score of roughly made crates and bundles. As Gregory's glance fell on them, he exclaimed uneasily in German:

‘Good God, what a mass of stuff! If all that pile contains metal parts they must weigh a ton.'

‘No, nothing like it,' grunted the Pole. ‘It is the awkward shape of many pieces that makes them appear so bulky, and several of the cases contain documents we succeeded in stealing in a raid we made on a German headquarters. They may prove valuable, although not in the class of the rocket. We managed to prise off the tail, so have the whole works and have reason to be proud of our achievement.'

‘You certainly have,' Gregory agreed. ‘I'm only wondering if the aircraft can take it all. She's fitted with additional fuel tanks, of course; but she needs every gallon for her fourteen-hundred-mile flight here and back.' Then he turned to Williams and asked him in English what he thought.

The Flight Lieutenant shrugged. ‘We have room enough for it, but there's more of it than I expected. If he is right about the pieces not weighing a great deal we'll make it.'

‘Come now! You waste time talking,' cut in the Pole angrily. ‘Do you not realise that those S.D. swine are now out hunting for us? Every moment counts. Grab anything you can lift, all of you, and hurry with it to the aircraft.'

The crate was now on the trolley and, at a stumbling run, he set off with it. The other four picked up loads and followed him. As Gregory staggered along with a big box balanced on his shoulder, he saw that the searchlight beams no longer raked the sky. That fact confirmed the Polish leader's statement that the enemy knew the 'plane must have landed and now had their patrols out searching for it on the ground.

Ten minutes later they reached the aircraft. Culliford had taxied it up as near as he could get to the path between the reeds, then turned it round ready to take off. The farm workers had already stowed their first loads in her and were about to return for others. Altogether they made a party of eight, but they all had to make two more trips before they had cleared the woodshed. By then, as the result of Gregory's exertions, his bad leg was beginning to pain him; and the aircraft had been on the ground for an hour and ten minutes.

By the time the last package had been stowed clouds had piled up so that the sky was three-quarters overcast, and Wing Commander Frencombe was a little worried that his pilot might not be able to keep to the road during the run-up for the
take-off. He then suggested that the two farm hands should be given torches and asked to take up positions on either side of the road some way ahead of the aircraft. Szaajer translated the request and the two men agreed. They then said good-bye to their leader and the Polish Flying Officer went off with them in the direction of Rózan to show them exactly where they should stand.

Seeing that it would be some minutes before Szaajer returned, Gregory walked a little way along a path among the reeds to relieve himself from a pain in the stomach that he had been feeling during the past half-hour. Kocjan meanwhile climbed into the aircraft and Williams followed him. A minute later Gregory caught the sound of voices raised in an altercation. Then Frencombe shouted to him:

‘Sallust, where are you! Your friend wants us to take him and his servant back with us. That wasn't in the understanding, was it?'

‘No,' Gregory shouted back. ‘Certainly not. I'll be with you in a minute.' Hastily he pulled up his trousers and ran towards the ‘plane. On emerging from the reeds he saw that Malacou was half in and half out of the hatch, and clinging to it, while Tarik stood just below him.

Suddenly there came a shout from Szaajer, who by then was three hundred yards up the road. ‘Take off! Take off!
Die Sicherheitspolizei
are coming.'

Under the wing of the aircraft Gregory glimpsed distant headlights approaching swiftly from the direction of Rózan and caught the roar of motor-cycle engines. In a mixture of German and French Malacou was pleading desperately with Frencombe, who was barring his way into the aircraft.

‘Please! Please! You must take us! You must! This country is accursed. You cannot deny me the chance to leave it.'

‘I can't,' Frencombe shouted at him. ‘It was agreed that we should pick up Mr. Kocjan, because he's found out all about the rocket's mechanism. But no-one else. We've all the weight we can carry as it is. Let go, damn' you, so that Sallust can come aboard.'

The duty of the Captain of the aircraft was to save it at any cost from falling into the hands of the enemy. Its engine was
already ticking over and next moment he snapped an order to his pilot. The engines burst into a roar and the Dakota began to quiver. Thrusting Tarik aside Gregory seized Malacou by the legs and dragged him from the hatch. They fell together in a heap.

As Gregory staggered to his feet, Frencombe cried, ‘Come on! Come on! Quick!', then leant from the hatch and stretched out a hand to help him up. But Tarik, seeing his master attacked, gave an angry grunt, charged Gregory and grappled with him. It was no time for half-measures and, knowing the Turk's strength, Gregory kneed him hard in the groin. With another grunt, Tarik released his hold and doubled up.

By then the aircraft had begun to move. Swinging round, Gregory ran beside it. His bad leg began to give him gyp, but he was only a few feet behind the still-open hatch and Frencombe was yelling encouragement to him. As the Dakota bumped along the road its pace increased, but Gregory put on a desperate spurt and succeeded in clutching the lower rim of the hatch. For one wild minute he was dragged along while Frencombe knelt down to grasp his wrist. But just as their hands met the aircraft lifted. The force of the slipstream against which Gregory had been battling proved too great. His aching fingers lost their precarious hold. He fell to the road and rolled over and over into the reeds.

The roar of the aircraft's engines had drowned that of the approaching motor-cycles, but as it soared away he heard a burst of Sten-gun fire. Half stunned, he lay where he had rolled, partly submerged in shallow muddy water, wondering if the S.D. men had seen him. Excited shouts in German came from some fifty yards away, then the sounds of the motor-cycle engines and more shots, but they seemed further off, and gradually the purring receded into the distance. Crawling out of the marsh he looked about him.

The moon had come out again, but the aircraft had disappeared and the road was empty. He realised that after shooting at the Dakota as she took off the S.D. men must have turned their machines about, pursued her as far as they could, still firing, and by now were searching for Szaajer and the two farm hands, whom they must have seen in their headlights.
For the wretched position in which he found himself his only consolation was that there was now a good hope that the Dakota with its precious cargo would get home safely.

Walking back to the place where he had left Malacou, he called to him at first softly then louder. He received no reply so it was evident that while he was still hiding among the reeds Malacou, Tarik, Szaajer and the two farm hands had all made off into the marshes and were now well away from the road.

Crossing it, he made his way some distance along the path that led to the cottage then, in a well-sheltered spot, sat down to consider his position.

It could hardly have been worse. He had had no chance to ask Frencombe to return and pick him up the following night, or on the next when conditions were suitable. Yet, as he thought of that, he decided that even if he had it was unlikely that the Wing Commander would have agreed. Now that the Germans in that area had been alerted it was certain that they would keep a sharp look-out for further landings; so for Frencombe to return would have meant the crew running their heads into a noose. Grimly, Gregory faced the fact that he was stuck there and would have to make his way home by whatever way he could.

Suddenly it crossed his mind that it was now early morning on the 26th, a derivative of the fatal 8 which Malacou had declared to be so unlucky for him. It was on the 17th, another 8, eleven months before, that he had been overtaken by disaster at Peenemünde. His evil number had caught up with him again, but he strove to ignore this unlucky omen and again to regard his situation objectively.

When he had set out he had known there was a risk that the aircraft might be shot down or that they might be surprised while loading the parts of the rocket into it, but he had never visualised himself being left stranded in Poland, and although he could pass anywhere as a German he could not do so as a Pole. He had not even a smattering of the language; so his only
asset was that, under the roomy flying kit that he had left in the aircraft, he had been wearing old but good-quality country clothes in which he would be inconspicuous.

Two things caused him special anxiety. The first was that the Germans would be scouring the district for anyone who might have landed from the aircraft and, if challenged, he had no papers to show; neither was there any means of transport by which he could get out of the danger area while it was still dark. The second was even more serious. As it had not even crossed his mind that he might be left behind he had not brought any Polish money with him. For that omission he cursed himself roundly, as he felt that he should at least have foreseen that the aircraft might be shot down and, if he survived, find himself in more or less his present situation.

His mind naturally turned to Malacou. Placing himself in the occultist's shoes, he tried to divine how the middle-aged Jew would react to his near escape from capture. It seemed probable that he was still hiding somewhere not far off in the marshes. But he could not remain there indefinitely. He would have either to resume his unhappy search for a new refuge or return to his cottage and, when the S.D. men paid it a visit, as they certainly would, trust in his ability to persuade them that he knew nothing about the Polish Resistance group or the landing of the aircraft.

Even if he made use of the rest of the night to put as great a distance as possible between himself and his cottage he could not get far on foot; so there was still a chance that he would be picked up next day. And if he were the very fact of his flight would be taken as proof of his guilt. Therefore it seemed he would stand a better chance if he stayed put and gambled on being able to bluff things out. If he had decided to take that line it followed that the sooner he got back to his cottage the better, so that he would be in bed and, apparently, asleep when the S.D. men arrived.

It then occurred to Gregory that somewhere in the cottage Malacou would almost certainly have hidden a considerable sum of money against an emergency and it was money, above all else, that he himself needed at the moment. If Malacou was there he could be persuaded to part with some of it; if not,
the place could be ransacked until it was found. As against that, going to the cottage would entail a certain degree of danger, as the S.D. men might already be there or come on the scene while the money was being searched for. But after weighing the pros and cons for a few moments Gregory decided to risk that.

Getting to his feet, he set off along the path. At intervals other paths led off from it, and for a while he feared he would lose his way. But he had made the trip three times that night, so only once got off the right track. Shortly after having got back on to it, he caught sight of the roof of the cottage silhouetted against the night sky.

Cautiously he approached it. The door stood open and a faint light from it dimly lessened the surrounding gloom. It seemed unlikely that Malacou would have left the door open, so the inference was that the S.D. men had already visited the place and either found it empty or carried him off. Still treading with great care, although he now believed the cottage to be deserted, Gregory continued to advance and stepped into the small, square hall. The light was coming from an inch-wide crack down the edge of the living-room door, which had been left ajar. Just as he was about to push it open he heard a gruff voice say in German:

‘Talk, you Jewish pig, or it will be the worse for you.'

For an instant Gregory remained standing with his hand raised, as if frozen. Only by the man speaking at that moment had he been saved from blundering in and almost certainly being shot down. The scene being enacted in the room leapt to his mind as clearly as if he could see it through the door. The S.D. men had caught Malacou there and were questioning him. Next minute the occultist's voice came in a tremulous whine:

‘I tell you I know nothing. I was about to go go bed. I swear it!'

‘At three o'clock in the morning?' sneered the German. ‘You lie! You had just …'

Gregory lost the rest of the sentence. With infinite caution he had stepped back. Turning, he stole away in the direction from which he had come. The snatch of conversation he had
overheard made it clear that the S.D. men had arrived before Malacou had had time to get his clothes off. The irony of it was that he often stayed up until the small hours making involved calculations from his astral charts and pondering over occult operations. But the Nazis would never believe that. And they would now treat his Turkish passport as waste paper. They would haul him off to a concentration camp and beat the truth out of him with steel rods. He would be lucky if he escaped the gas chamber. Gregory could only pity him, for he was far from owing him anything; and any attempt to rescue him would have meant a more than fifty-fifty chance of being killed himself.