Waiting for Orders (3 page)

I looked round quickly and saw the stairs. Before I had even begun to wonder if I might not be doing something excessively stupid, I was up the stairs and opening the first door I came to on the landing. In the half-light I caught a glimpse of a bed; then I was inside the room with the door slightly ajar. I could see across the landing and through the wooden palings along it to the top of the window at the far side of the room below.

I knew that someone had come in: I could hear him moving about. He lit another lamp. There was a sound from the door and a second person entered.

A woman’s voice said in German, ‘Thank God, Johann has left a good fire.’

There was an answering grunt. It came from the man. I could almost feel them warming their hands.

‘Get the coffee, Freda,’ said the man suddenly. ‘I must go back soon.’

‘But Bruno is there. You should take a little rest first.’

‘Bruno is a Berliner. He is not as used to the cold as I am. If Kurt should come now he would be tired. Bruno could only look after himself.’

There was silence for a moment. Then the woman spoke again.

‘Do you really think that he will come now, Stephan? It is so late.’ She paused. Her voice had sounded casual, elaborately casual; but now, as she went on, there was an edge to it that touched the nerves. ‘I can keep quite calm about it, you see, Stephan. I wish to believe, but it is so late, isn’t it? You don’t think he will come now, do you? Admit it.’

He laughed, but too heartily. ‘You are too nervous, Freda. Kurt can take care of himself. He knows all the tricks now. He may have been waiting for the first snow. The frontier guards would not be so alert on a night like this.’

‘He should have been back a week ago. You know that as well as I do, Stephan. He has never been delayed so long before. They have got him. That is all. You see, I can be calm about it even though he is my dear husband.’ And then her voice broke. ‘I knew it would happen sooner or later. I knew it. First Hans, then Karl, and now Kurt. Those swine, those – ’

She sobbed and broke suddenly into passionate weeping. He tried helplessly to comfort her.

I had heard enough. I was shaking from head to foot; but whether it was the cold or not, I don’t know. I stood back from the door. Then, as I did so, I heard a sound from behind me.

I had noticed the bed as I had slipped into the room, but the idea that there might be someone in it had not entered my head. Now, as I whipped round, I saw that I had made a serious mistake.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in which he had been lying was a very thin, middle-aged man in a nightshirt. By the faint light from the landing I could see his eyes, bleary from sleep, and his grizzled hair standing ludicrously on end. But for one thing I should have laughed. That one thing was the large automatic pistol that he held pointed at me. His hand was as steady as a rock.

‘Don’t move,’ he said. He raised his voice. ‘Stephan! Come quickly!’

‘I must apologize …’ I began in German.

‘You will be allowed to speak later.’

I heard Stephan dash up the stairs.

‘What is it, Johann?’

‘Come here.’

The door was pushed open behind me. I heard him draw in his breath sharply.

‘Who is it?’

‘I don’t know. I was awakened by a noise. I was about to get up when this man came into the room. He did not see me. He has been listening to your conversation. He must have been examining the plant when he heard you returning.’

‘If you will allow me to explain …’

‘You may explain downstairs,’ said the man called Stephan. ‘Give me the pistol, Johann.’

The pistol changed hands and I could see Stephan, a lean, rawboned fellow with broad, sharp shoulders and dangerous eyes. He wore black oilskins and gum-boots. I saw the muscles in his cheeks tighten.

‘Raise your hands and walk downstairs. Slowly. If you run, I shall shoot immediately. March.’

I went downstairs.

The woman, Freda, was standing by the door, staring blankly up at me as I descended. She must have been about thirty and had that soft rather matronly look about her that is characteristic of so many young German women. She was short and plump, and as if to accentuate the face, her straw-coloured hair was plaited across her head. Wisps of the hair had become detached and clung wetly to the sides of her neck. She too wore a black oilskin coat and gum-boots.

The grey eyes, red and swollen with crying, looked beyond me.

‘Who is it, Stephan?’

‘He was hiding upstairs.’

We had reached the foot of the stairs. He motioned me away from the door and towards the fire. ‘Now, we will hear your explanation.’

I gave it with profuse apologies. I admitted that I had examined the folders and read one. ‘It seemed to me,’ I concluded, ‘that my presence might be embarrassing to you. I was about to leave when you returned. Then, I am afraid, I lost my head and attempted to hide.’

Not one of them was believing a word that I was saying: I could see that from their faces. ‘I assure you,’ I went on in exasperation, ‘that what I am telling …’

‘What nationality are you?’

‘British. I …’

‘Then speak English. What were you doing on this road?’

‘I am on my way home from Belgrade. I crossed the Yugoslav frontier yesterday and the Italian frontier at Stelvio this afternoon. My passport was stamped at both places if you wish to …’

‘Why were you in Belgrade?’

‘I am a surgeon. I have been attending an international medical convention there.’

‘Let me see your passport, please.’

‘Certainly. I have …’ And then with my hand in my inside pocket, I stopped. My heart felt as if it had come right into my throat. In my haste to be away after the Italian Customs had finished with me, I had thrust my passport with the customs carnet for the car into the pocket beside me on the door of the car.

They were watching me with expressionless faces. Now, as my hand reappeared empty, I saw Stephan raise his pistol.

‘Well?’

‘I am sorry.’ Like a fool I had begun to speak in German again. ‘I find that I have left my passport in my car. It is several kilometres along the road. If …’

And then the woman burst out as if she couldn’t stand listening to me any longer.

‘Don’t you see? Don’t you see?’ she cried. ‘It is quite clear. They have found out that we are here. Perhaps after all these months Hans or Karl has been tortured by them into speaking. And so they have taken Kurt and sent this man to spy upon us. It is clear. Don’t you see?’

She turned suddenly, and I thought she was going to attack me. Then Stephan put his hand on her arm.

‘Gently, Freda.’ He turned to me again, and his expression hardened. ‘You see, my friend, what is in our minds? We know our danger, you see. The fact that we are in Swiss territory will not protect us if the Gestapo should trace us. The Nazis, we know, have little respect for frontiers. The Gestapo have none. They would murder us here as confidently as they would if we were in the Third Reich. We do not underrate their cunning. The fact that you are not a German is not conclusive. You may be what you say you are; you may not. If you are, so much the better. If not, then I give you fair warning, you will be shot. You say that your passport is in your car several kilometres along the road. Unfortunately, it is not possible for us to spare time tonight to see if that is true. Nor is it possible for one of us to stand guard over you all night. You have already disturbed the first sleep Johann has had in twenty-four hours. There is only one thing for it, I’m afraid. It is undignified and barbaric; but I see no other way. We shall be forced to tie you up so that you cannot leave.’

‘But this is absurd,’ I cried angrily. ‘Good heavens, man, I realize that I’ve only myself to blame for being here; but surely you could have the common decency to …’

‘The question,’ he said sternly, ‘is not of decency, but of necessity. We have no time tonight for six-kilometre walks. One of our comrades has been delivering a consignment of these folders to our friends in Germany. We hope and believe
that he will return to us across the frontier tonight. He may need our help. Mountaineering in such weather is exhausting. Freda, get me some of the cord we use for tying the packages.’

I wanted to say something, but the words would not come. I was too angry. I don’t think that I’ve ever been so angry in my life before.

She brought the cord. It was thick grey stuff. He took it and gave the pistol to Johann. Then he came towards me.

I don’t think they liked the business any more than I did. He had gone a bit white and he wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I think that I must have been white myself; but it was anger with me. He put the cord under one of my elbows. I snatched it away.

‘You had better submit,’ he said harshly.

‘To spare your feelings? Certainly not. You’ll have to use force, my friend. But don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. You’ll be a good Nazi yet. You should knock me down. That’ll make it easier.’

What colour there was left in his face went. A good deal of my anger evaporated at that moment. I felt sorry for the poor devil. I really believe that I should have let him tie me up. But I never knew for certain; for at that moment there was an interruption.

It was the woman who heard it first – the sound of someone running up the path outside. The next moment a man burst wildly into the room.

Stephan had turned. ‘Bruno! What is it? Why aren’t you at the hut?’

The man was striving to get his breath, and for a moment he could hardly speak. His face above the streaming oilskins was blue with cold. Then he gasped out, ‘Kurt! He is at the hut! He is wounded – badly!’

The woman gave a little whimpering cry and her hands went to her face. Stephan gripped the newcomer’s shoulder.

‘What has happened? Quickly!’

‘It was dark. The Swiss did not see him. It was one of our patrols. They shot him when he was actually on the Swiss side. He was wounded in the thigh. He crawled on to the hut, but he can go no farther. He …’

But Stephan had ceased to listen. He turned sharply. ‘Johann, you must dress yourself at once. Bruno, take the pistol
and guard this man. He broke in here. He may be dangerous. Freda, get the cognac and the iodine. We shall need them for Kurt.’

He himself went to a cupboard and got out some handkerchiefs, which he began tearing feverishly into strips, which he knotted together. Still gasping for breath, the man Bruno had taken the pistol and was staring at me with a puzzled frown. Then the woman reappeared from the kitchen carrying a bottle of cognac and a small phial of iodine of the sort that is sold for dabbing on cut fingers. Stephan stuffed them in his pockets with the knotted handkerchiefs. Then he called up the stairs, ‘Hurry, Johann. We are ready to leave.’

It was more than I could bear. Professional fussiness, I suppose.

‘Has any one of you,’ I asked loudly, ‘ever dealt with a bullet wound before?’

They stared at me. Then Stephan glanced at Bruno.

‘If he moves,’ he said, ‘shoot.’ He raised his voice again. ‘Johann!’

There was an answering cry of reassurance.

‘Has it occurred to you,’ I persisted, ‘that even if you get him here alive, which I doubt, as you obviously don’t know what you’re doing, he will need immediate medical attention? Don’t you think that one of you had better go for a doctor? Ah, but of course; the doctor would ask questions about a bullet wound, wouldn’t he? The matter would be reported to the police.’

‘We can look after him,’ he grunted. ‘Johann! Hurry!’

‘It seems a pity,’ I said reflectively, ‘that one brave man should have to die because of his friends’ stupidity.’ And then my calm deserted me. ‘You damn fool!’ I shouted. ‘Listen to me. Do you want to kill this man? You’re going about it the right way. I’m a surgeon, and this is a surgeon’s business. Take that cognac out of your pocket. We shan’t need it. The iodine too. And those pieces of rag. Have you got two or three clean towels?’

The woman nodded stupidly.

‘Then get them, please, and be quick. And you said something about some coffee. Have you a flask for it? Good. Then we shall take that. Put plenty of sugar in it. I want blankets, too. Three will be enough, but they must be kept dry.
We shall need a stretcher. Get two poles or broomsticks and two old coats. We can make a stretcher of sorts by putting the poles through the sleeves of them. Take this cord of yours too. It will be useful to make slings for the stretcher. And hurry! The man may be bleeding to death. Is he far away?’

The man was glowering at me. ‘Four kilometres. In a climbing hut in the hills this side of the frontier.’ He stepped forward and gripped my arm. ‘If you are tricking us …’ he began.

‘I’m not thinking about you,’ I snapped. ‘I’m thinking about a man who’s been crawling along with a bullet in his thigh and a touching faith in his friends. Now get those poles, and hurry.’

They hurried. In three minutes they had the things collected. The exhausted Bruno’s oilskins and gum-boots had, at my suggestion, been transferred to me. Then I tied one of the blankets round my waist under my coat, and told Stephan and Johann to do the same.

‘I,’ said the woman, ‘will take the other things.’

‘You,’ I said, ‘will stay here, please.’

She straightened up at that. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I will come with you. I shall be quite calm. You will see.’

‘Nevertheless,’ I said rather brutally, ‘you will be more useful here. A bed must be ready by the fire here. There must also be hot bricks and plenty of blankets. I shall need, besides, both boiled and boiling water. You have plenty of ordinary salt, I suppose?’

‘Yes,
Herr Doktor.
But …’

‘We are wasting time.’

Two minutes later we left.

I shall never forget that climb. It began about half a mile along the road below the chalet. The first part was mostly up narrow paths between trees. They were covered with pine needles and, in the rain, as slippery as the devil. We had been climbing steadily for about half an hour when Stephan, who had been leading the way with a storm lantern, paused.

‘I must put out the light here,’ he said. ‘The frontier is only three kilometres from here, and the guards patrol to a depth of two kilometres. They must not see us.’ He blew out the lamp. ‘Turn round,’ he said then. ‘You will see another light.’