Authors: Richard D. Handy
Nash stepped out of the car, pulling the pistol from his pocket. He screwed the silencer into place and after instinctively checking the balance of the gun, he flicked off the safety. He popped open the trunk.
‘Up, on your feet.’ He waived the weapon, gesturing the half-naked officer out of the vehicle. Muffled protests issued through the gag.
‘Silence.’ Nash shoved the pistol against his forehead – instant compliance. He grabbed the officer by the scruff of his long johns, and frogmarched him towards the tree line. More urgent muffled protests issued through the gag. Straining at the rope binding his hands, the prisoner dug his heels into the mud.
Nash shoved hard. ‘Just fucking move.’ He lifted the prisoner by the scruff, as he made his way into the trees.
‘Stop.’
The prisoner complied.
Raising his pistol to the back of the officer’s head, Nash fired. The body slumped to the floor. Another double tap in the back ensured the outcome. He lifted the corpse by the ankles, and dragged the body into some brush. Nash dusted himself down. ‘Christ!’ he whispered to himself, shaking his head. He unscrewed the silencer and made his way back to the car.
He gave the car the once-over. Everything seemed ready. The neatly arranged bullet holes in the windscreen and those in the driver’s body would be convincing enough in the dark. Exactly the sort of damage one would expect from a single burst of automatic gunfire. He repositioned the driver’s body a little more. It had to look right. Something was missing – then he twigged it – fresh blood. He leant across to the corpse, and squeezed the wounds on the dead man’s chest. It did the trick; a fresh upwelling of blood appeared on the tunic. Details were important if the plan was going to work.
London had sanctioned the job, but it was a calculated risk. The base was heavily defended, and the mission relied on stealth. There were many unknowns, not least the state of Professor Mayer. Escape depended on Mayer’s mobility. Doubtless, the old boy would be slow, but they both needed to make it to the rendezvous point alive.
Nash flicked on a small torch, and checked his identity papers again. He had to admit, the boys in London had excelled themselves this time with a brilliant forgery. It would do the job.
He checked his watch – time to go – the charges would blow in ten minutes.
The car started first time, and bumped along the forestry track without getting stuck in the mud. The headlights finally picked up the perimeter fence as the vehicle swung onto the road. If this was to succeed, it would need to be the performance of a life time. If it didn’t; well, that came with the job.
Nash started the charade on cue. He switched on the main beam, and flashed the headlights, pressing the horn repeatedly as he swerved the car back and forth along the road. Hopefully the sentries on the main gate would get the message: a comrade in distress.
He pulled up sharply at the main gate and stepped from the vehicle, pacing urgently towards the sentries; chest out, with as much swagger as he could muster.
‘I am Commandant Filsner! I have urgent orders from Berlin!’ reported Nash in perfect German. ‘We were attacked on the road, and my orderly has been shot! He needs medical attention, open the gate!’ The sentries looked perplexed.
Right on schedule, the explosive charges went off. Flashes of brilliant, white light blinded the sentries for a few moments. Drifts of thick smoke and noise added to the confusion.
Nash shouted over the noise. ‘Quickly! Open the gate, we are under attack!’
The two sentries, disorientated by the sudden change in circumstances, gaped at each other.
‘See for yourself!’ Nash waved his papers at the nearest sentry, and gestured towards the vehicle.
The sentry poked his head through the driver’s door. One glance at the German orderly covered in blood was enough. ‘Hans! Open the gate! Quickly!’
His comrade duly complied with a sudden burst of efficiency.
‘That’s more like it!’ Nash headed for the car.
The sentry held the driver’s door open. Nash piled in, revving the engine in an instant. At the same time the sentry started waving his arms at the machine gun post to signal his intent. He didn’t need to bother; the machine gun was already turned away from the main gate and trained in the direction of the explosions.
Nash slammed the vehicle into gear, and sped through the main gate, across the open ground of the artillery field, following the short road to the main accommodation block. Lights flashed on in most of the buildings, as soldiers poured out of their barracks and into the small parade ground that marked the entrance to the laboratories.
There was still time – but not long – the soldiers would soon be organised; five minutes, maybe less.
He stepped briskly from the car and walked smartly to the first building in the accommodation block, hoping the Oscar-winning performance would hold.
‘I have orders to escort some of the scientific staff to safety! Take me to Professor Mayer!’ Nash spoke again in perfect German with a hint of the aristocracy for good measure.
The young soldier sitting at the reception desk stared back nervously and barely got his mouth open before Nash interrupted.
‘On your feet soldier! Move! Quickly now! Take me to Professor Mayer!’
The soldier gulped as his spotty teenage face registered the order. Another explosion sounded outside. ‘But… but sir, I… forgive me… I just man the desk and keep track of the domestic matters. I don’t have the authority to move inmates… ’ The desk clerk reached for the phone.
Nash pressed home the advantage. ‘What is this?! Do you not salute a senior officer?! On your feet!’
The young soldier decided it was best to do as he was told. He jumped to his feet with a crisp Nazi salute.
‘Good, now to your files, where is Professor Mayer? Hurry, the enemy is closing in!’
‘Yes sir, his bunk is… ’ The young soldier flipped through the register, hastily trying to find the right room.
‘Quickly! Take me to him,’ urged Nash.
‘Ah! Here it is… bunk room number seven… ’ The soldier memorised the room number and dropped the file on the desk. ‘This way Commandant… ’ Suddenly keen, the young soldier moved smartly along to the next block in the building.
Nash took over as the desk clerk pushed the door open to the bunk house. It was clean and tidy, with a row of eight bunks along each wall. Just like any other military quarters. However, all the occupants were out of bed and milling around, wondering what the noise was about outside.
‘Mayer! Professor Gustav Mayer!’ shouted Nash.
Silence – the gathering of scientists turned to face Nash, uncertain as to what was going on.
‘Mayer! Professor Gustav Mayer!’ he repeated.
This time he got a response from the back of the room.
‘I am Mayer.’
The sea of bodies parted to reveal the Professor standing in his night clothes.
Nash stepped through the crowd. ‘Get dressed quickly, you have one minute. Then you are leaving; dressed or otherwise.’
Mayer glanced at the officer’s insignia – a commandant – there was no point arguing. His eyes studied Nash’s face for a second. Had he met this Commandant before? It was possible of course; there were so many soldiers on the base.
Nash grabbed the Professor firmly by the arm and began to steer him out of the door before anyone could protest. The young soldier followed at a good pace, almost jogging to keep up.
‘Commandant, beg my interruption… ’ Nash kept walking. ‘… If you are taking the Professor… there are papers to sign… sir… ’
Nash cut him off with a wave of his hand. ‘No time for that now! Phone through to the main gate, let them know I am coming! Move!’ He kept moving briskly towards the car with Mayer in tow.
The young soldier scurried off to find a phone as he had been ordered.
It was a long shot, but it might work. The access road would soon be clogged up with military vehicles. If they were going to escape, it would have to be now.
Nash opened the rear passenger door of the staff car, and pushed the Professor into the back. Mayer instantly recoiled at the sight of the dead orderly in the front seat.
‘Don’t worry about him… ’ Nash smiled as he shut the driver’s door and started the engine.
‘What is going on? Where are you taking me?’ Mayer glanced again at the dead orderly.
‘I am here to protect you, Professor. Do not be alarmed,’ Nash spoke reassuringly in fluent German. There would be time for explanations later.
He gunned the engine and moved off, keeping the speed to an urgent pace in a business-like military fashion; but not too fast to draw unwanted attention. They joined the main access road.
‘Shit!’ Nash cursed to himself. A small convoy of vehicles were already on the move. There wasn’t much choice. He slipped in behind the lead car, just squeezing in front of two trucks. The vehicles headed for the main gate. With luck, he would simply be waved through with the rest of the convoy.
It was not to be. The convoy stopped at the barrier.
A sentry stood in front of the barrier, gesticulating with his weapon. A heated exchange started up with the driver in the lead vehicle, but the guard was having none of it, shaking his head and waving his weapon around. The convoy was going nowhere. A second sentry was on the phone in the small booth adjacent to the barrier. With lots of nodding down the phone, it looked like the sentry was taking orders from a senior office. No doubt, it was the order to close the main gate.
The sentry finished up on the telephone, and jogged out of the booth, clicking off the safety on his machine gun. He planted himself squarely in front of the barrier, raising his weapon at the first vehicle in the convoy, and stood firm.
The game was up.
Suddenly, Nash slammed the car into reverse, crunching into the truck behind. Then, he hit the accelerator.
The car sped forward, miraculously swerving around the side of the lead vehicle without losing speed; but the nearest sentry was quick to act. Rounds thudded home, mostly into the dead orderly on the passenger seat. Realising his mistake, the sentry tried to adjust his fire – all too late – he was swept aside as the car smashed through the barrier at break-neck speed.
Nash brushed splinters of wood and glass from his eyes as the windscreen shattered. Seconds later a blast of steam engulfed him.
The radiator!
Flooring the accelerator, and ignoring the boiling radiator, he headed back towards the forestry track. A glance in the rearview mirror showed the headlights of the first truck already swinging out onto the road, only a few hundred yards behind.
He gunned the accelerator and switched off the headlights. Seconds later, he swerved the car off the road onto the forestry track. He put his foot down, ignoring the protests from the Professor being thrown around in the back. Both men bounced around violently as the car lumbered through potholes. A loud metallic whip announced the cracking of the rear axle – what the hell, they would ditch the car soon enough.
He checked the rearview mirror; as if right on cue, the first truck sped past the entrance to the track, closely followed by the second. Nash gave a sigh of relief; it would buy a couple of minutes at least.
Suddenly, he was thrown forward, with ribs burying deep into the steering wheel, his head slammed into the door frame. Dazed, he glanced up at the tree trunk protruding from the now crumpled engine. Christ knows, they were lucky to have made it this far in the pitch darkness. The engine shuddered in a spout of steam and died.
‘Are you injured?’ The Professor seemed perplexed by the question. ‘Any gunshot wounds?’ repeated Nash in German.
‘Well… err… no… I don’t think so… ’ Mayer patted himself down looking for blood.
‘We have to go, follow me.’ Nash pulled the Professor from the wreck. There was no time for etiquette. Shouldering the Professor to give him some support, Nash stumbled away into the woods.
The ground rose steeply and, with fallen branches hampering each step, Nash pumped hard, ignoring the cramp building up in his thighs. Adjusting his sweaty palm to keep a grip of the Professor’s waist belt, Nash heaved; but it was no good, Mayer was a dead weight.
‘Stop… please… stop.’ Mayer puffed and panted. Despite the cold night air, sweat poured from his face.
Nash released his grip. Mayer collapsed at the base of a tree trunk.
‘Professor, look at me! Listen to me, do exactly as I say!’ Nash maintained perfect German.
‘Where are you taking me? Who are you?’
Nash spoke calmly with authority. ‘A full explanation will come later. For now you must trust me.’
‘No, tell me now!’
Nash spoke in English. ‘I come with a message from Professor Einstein.’
‘Albert?! Message! What message?!’
‘Come with me, you can ask him yourself.’
‘Come where? Where are we going?’
‘Look, I know it’s been rough going, but about two kilometres away over the next hill is a lake. That’s our rendezvous point – someone will pick us up.’
‘Someone? Who? Where are we going?’
‘You’re going to have to trust me… ’ Nash smiled as he flipped open a compass to take a bearing. ‘It’s this way, not far… ’
Mayer shrugged.
Nash hauled the Professor to his feet. Mayer wheezed as he gave him support.
‘Look, we have to keep going.’ Nash prayed they could cover the necessary ground in time; within less than an hour the place would be swarming with troops.
He hauled the Professor along, ignoring the discomfort of the stolen German uniform and the ill-fitting boots.
The Professor got worse as each minute passed. They were forced to stop again and again. They finally came to halt at a fire break in the tree line which seemed to mark the ridge above the lake. Both men collapsed to the ground.
‘See… ’ Nash pointed. ‘The lake, and easier going from here: downhill.’ He grinned. The Professor just wheezed. ‘Come on, it’s less than half a kilometre now. We can go straight down the fire break, and be there in ten minutes.’ Nash gave another smile of white teeth in the darkness, and patted the Professor on the shoulder to give encouragement.