in total darkness, which it will be when we take off.'
'Yes, I was aware of that fact,' Berger said. 'On the other hand, it does mean that the Russians won't be expecting us. They aren't likely to have any fighters up. No need now they've taken Templehof and Gatow. With any kind of luck, we could be away before they know what's happening.'
'But you would still have to take off along the avenue in the dark,' Ritter said. 'And the Victory Column ...'
'I know. Very large and very solid. Still, I expect I'll manage to think of something.' There were a couple of old sacks on the floor and he lay down on them, cradling the Thompson in his arms. 'I think I'll get a little shut-eye. Something tells me I'm going to need it. If you wouldn't mind watching the front door and give me a push when Strasser comes.'
He pulled the peak of his service cap over his eyes. Ritter smiled slightly and turned to Hoffer, who looked bewildered. 'What's going on, Major? What's he playing at?'
'He's sleeping, Erich. Very sensible under the circumstances. Now, do you want to take the first watch or shall I?'
It was towards evening when Oberleutnant Schenck and Schmidt drove into the village of Graz on the road to Innsbruck. It was completely deserted, not a soul in sight. They had travelled a distance of approximately forty miles since leaving Arlberg, had lost nearly three hours on the way due to a fault in the field car's fuel system. It had taken Schmidt that length of time to diagnose what was wrong and put it right.
They hadn't seen a single soldier, of either side, and there had also been a total absence of refugees on the road. But that made sense. Typical peasants, these mountain people. They would stick with their land, whatever happened. No running away for them. Nowhere to go.
A curtain moved at a ground-floor window of a house opposite. Schenck got out of the field car, crossed the street and knocked at the door. There was no response so he kicked impatiently. 'Come on, for God's sake!' he called. 'I'm Austrian like you. I'm not here to cause trouble.'
After a while, the bolts were drawn and the door opened. An old, white-haired man with a bristling white moustache stood there, a young woman cowering behind him holding a baby.
'Herr Leutnant,' he said civilly enough.
'Where is everybody?'
'They stay inside.'
'Waiting for the Americans to come?'
'Or the British or the French.' He managed a smile. 'As long as it isn't the Russians.'
'Are there any German units left in this area?'
'No - there were some Panzers but they pulled out two days ago.'
'And the other side? Have you seen anything of them?' The old man hesitated and Schenck said, 'Come on. It's important.'
'This morning I visited my son's farm just to see if everything was all right. He's away in the army and his wife here is staying with me. It's three miles down the road from here. There were English troops camped in the meadow and using the farm buildings, so I came away.'
'What kind of troops? Tanks - infantry?'
The old man shook his head. 'They'd put up a great many tents, large tents, and there were ambulances coming in and out all the time. All their vehicles carried the red cross.'
'Good.' Schenck felt a surge of excitement. 'I won't bother you any more.'
He hurried back to the field car and climbed in. 'Three miles down the road, Schmidt. A British Army field hospital from the sound of it.'
It's going to work, he thought. It's going to be all right. It couldn't be better. Schmidt accelerated out of the square, bouncing over the cobbles, between the old medieval houses that leaned out, almost touching each other so that there was only room for one vehicle along the narrow street.
They came round a corner and entered another smaller square and found a British Army field ambulance bearing down on them. Schmidt spun the wheel desperately, skidded on the light powdering of snow. For a single frozen moment in time, Schenck was aware of the sergeant in the leather
'Yes, I was aware of that fact,' Berger said. 'On the other hand, it does mean that the Russians won't be expecting us. They aren't likely to have any fighters up. No need now they've taken Templehof and Gatow. With any kind of luck, we could be away before they know what's happening.'
'But you would still have to take off along the avenue in the dark,' Ritter said. 'And the Victory Column ...'
'I know. Very large and very solid. Still, I expect I'll manage to think of something.' There were a couple of old sacks on the floor and he lay down on them, cradling the Thompson in his arms. 'I think I'll get a little shut-eye. Something tells me I'm going to need it. If you wouldn't mind watching the front door and give me a push when Strasser comes.'
He pulled the peak of his service cap over his eyes. Ritter smiled slightly and turned to Hoffer, who looked bewildered. 'What's going on, Major? What's he playing at?'
'He's sleeping, Erich. Very sensible under the circumstances. Now, do you want to take the first watch or shall I?'
It was towards evening when Oberleutnant Schenck and Schmidt drove into the village of Graz on the road to Innsbruck. It was completely deserted, not a soul in sight. They had travelled a distance of approximately forty miles since leaving Arlberg, had lost nearly three hours on the way due to a fault in the field car's fuel system. It had taken Schmidt that length of time to diagnose what was wrong and put it right.
They hadn't seen a single soldier, of either side, and there had also been a total absence of refugees on the road. But that made sense. Typical peasants, these mountain people. They would stick with their land, whatever happened. No running away for them. Nowhere to go.
A curtain moved at a ground-floor window of a house opposite. Schenck got out of the field car, crossed the street and knocked at the door. There was no response so he kicked impatiently. 'Come on, for God's sake!' he called. 'I'm Austrian like you. I'm not here to cause trouble.'
After a while, the bolts were drawn and the door opened. An old, white-haired man with a bristling white moustache stood there, a young woman cowering behind him holding a baby.
'Herr Leutnant,' he said civilly enough.
'Where is everybody?'
'They stay inside.'
'Waiting for the Americans to come?'
'Or the British or the French.' He managed a smile. 'As long as it isn't the Russians.'
'Are there any German units left in this area?'
'No - there were some Panzers but they pulled out two days ago.'
'And the other side? Have you seen anything of them?' The old man hesitated and Schenck said, 'Come on. It's important.'
'This morning I visited my son's farm just to see if everything was all right. He's away in the army and his wife here is staying with me. It's three miles down the road from here. There were English troops camped in the meadow and using the farm buildings, so I came away.'
'What kind of troops? Tanks - infantry?'
The old man shook his head. 'They'd put up a great many tents, large tents, and there were ambulances coming in and out all the time. All their vehicles carried the red cross.'
'Good.' Schenck felt a surge of excitement. 'I won't bother you any more.'
He hurried back to the field car and climbed in. 'Three miles down the road, Schmidt. A British Army field hospital from the sound of it.'
It's going to work, he thought. It's going to be all right. It couldn't be better. Schmidt accelerated out of the square, bouncing over the cobbles, between the old medieval houses that leaned out, almost touching each other so that there was only room for one vehicle along the narrow street.
They came round a corner and entered another smaller square and found a British Army field ambulance bearing down on them. Schmidt spun the wheel desperately, skidded on the light powdering of snow. For a single frozen moment in time, Schenck was aware of the sergeant in the leather
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