Alphabet House Page 2

  ‘Is it serious back there?’ James screamed. He appeared satisfied with the answer. ‘Then here we go!’ Almost instantly James had looped the loop, tipped the plane on one side and put it into a vertical dive. After a few seconds the Mustang’s machine guns began ticking away. Several anti-aircraft muzzle flames pointed directly up at them, showing them the way.

  In the midst of that deadly blaze there had to be something the Germans were extremely reluctant to have outsiders know about.

  James swung the plane from side to side in order to confuse the enemy while the German gunners on the ground tried to get them in their sights. They never saw the guns, but there was no mistaking the sound. The Flakzwilling 40 made a bloodcurdling noise all of its own.

  When they were close to the ground, James levelled the plane with a jerk. They would only have this one chance. The entire area was two to three miles wide. The camera needed a steady hand.

  The landscape whipped along beneath them. Grey patches and white swirls alternated with treetops and buildings. Tall fences encircled the area they were flying over. Several watchtowers fired machine-gun salvos at them. Slave labourers were kept in camps like these. Tracer-bullet salvos from a forest thicket in front of them made James instinctively dive still lower, straight towards the trees. Several rounds from his machine gun made it past the tree trunks, silencing all resistance from that quarter. Then, grazing the tops of the fir trees, James flew the plane right over a gigantic greyish mass of camouflage netting, walls, railway carriages and scattered heaps of materials. Bryan had plenty to photograph. A few seconds later they again banked upwards, and away.

  ‘OK?’

  Bryan nodded, patted James’ shoulder and prayed that the guns below them were their only opponents.

  They weren’t.

  ‘Something funny’s going on here, Bryan! You can just see it if you sit up straight. It’s the engine cowling! Can you see it?’

  It wasn’t difficult. A triangular bit of cowling was sticking straight up in the air. Whether it was caused by the dive, a hit, or blast waves, was immaterial. It wasn’t good under any circumstances.

  ‘We’re going to have to really reduce our speed, Bryan. There’s not much hope of getting back to the bomber formation now.’

  ‘Do what you think is best!’

  ‘We’ll follow the railway line. If they send fighters after us, they’re probably thinking we’ll make off due west. You keep an eye on the air around us, OK?’

  The trip back was going to be interminable.

  The countryside beneath them gradually became flatter. On a clear day they would have been able to see the horizon to all sides. Had it not been for the snowstorm they would have been audible miles away.

  ‘How the hell are we going to get home, James?’ asked Bryan quietly. Looking at the map was useless. Their chances were slim.

  ‘Just keep your eye on that little screen,’ came the reply. ‘You can’t do much else. I think the cowling will stay put as long as we stick to this marching pace.’

  ‘Then we’ll take the shortest way back.’

  ‘North of Chemnitz. Yes, please, Bryan!’

  ‘We must be crazy!’

  ‘Not us! The situation!’

  The railway line below them was no minor branch line. Sooner or later an ammunition train or troop transport would turn up. Small, easily aimed twin cannons or Flak 38 20-millimetre anti-aircraft guns would be able to finish them off quickly. And then there were the Messerschmitts. For them, the Mustang was easy prey. Close combat. Shot down. That’s how brief the report would be.

  Bryan thought of suggesting they land the plane before the enemy did it for them. His philosophy was simple and practical. Captivity was preferable to death.

  He took hold of James’ upper arm and shook it slightly. ‘They’ve spotted us,’ he said quietly.

  Without further comment James let the plane lose altitude.

  ‘Naundorf ahead. Here you go north of…’ Bryan saw the enemy only as a shadow above them. ‘There he is, James, straight above us!’ James tore the plane away from low altitude with a violent wrench of the controls.

  The whole plane was vibrating with protest as he accelerated. During the sudden ascent the hole behind Bryan practically sucked the cabin empty of air. James’ machine guns started rattling even before Bryan had seen their target. A merciless salvo into its belly paralyzed the Messerschmitt instantly. The explosion that followed proved fatal. The pilot never knew what had hit him.

  There were several bangs that Bryan couldn’t quite place, and suddenly they were lying level in the air. Bryan glanced at the back of James’ neck as if he expected to see it react in some special way. The draft blasting through the shattered front windscreen signalled that the triangular bit of cowling had been torn off during their brutal ascent.

  James shook his head without making a sound.

  Then he slumped forward with his face turned to one side.

  The roar of the engine increased. All the aeroplane’s joints rattled in time with the fuselage’s descent through the air strata. Loosening his harness, Bryan threw himself over James, got hold of the control stick and forced it towards the lifeless body.

  A delta of small bloodstreams trickled down James’ cheek, emanating from two long superficial gashes above and in front of his ear. The piece of metal had hit him in the temple, taking most of his earlobe with it.

  Without warning, another piece of cowling came loose with a bang and tumbled over the left wing. Creaking sounds told Bryan there were more to come. Then he made a decision for them both and pulled James free.

  The cockpit canopy almost exploded off, sucking Bryan out of his seat. In spite of the howling, icy wind, he grabbed James under the armpits and pulled him out onto the wing in the lacerating air. At the same moment the plane disappeared from under them. Jerked out into space, Bryan lost his grip on James, who plunged downward like dead weight, but he still felt the life-redeeming tug of James’ ripcord. For a second James lay poised in midair with arms hanging limp as a rag doll’s. Then his chute opened with a sudden jerk. His flapping arms made him look like a fledgling just out of the nest, tumbling through the air for the first time.

  Bryan’s fingers were like ice as he tugged at his own parachute ripcord. He heard the crack of the chute opening above him as shots began rattling towards him from the ground, sending faint, treacherous flashes of light up through the snowy haze.

  The plane banked and plunged slowly earthward behind them. Anyone searching for them would have to do a thorough job. Until then, Bryan had to make sure that James, the small fluttering grey ball, did not disappear from sight.

  The ground rose to meet Bryan with unexpected brutality. Hard plough furrows were like concrete gutters in the severe frost. As he lay moaning, the wind filled his chute again and dragged him over the earthen ridges, ripping his flying suit to pieces. The powdery snow froze any bloody scrapes to ice before he could register the pain.

  Bryan saw James hit the ground. It seemed violent, as if his body had been crushed from the waist down.

  Contrary to all regulations Bryan let his chute blow away from him as he hobbled over the furrows. Isolated fenceposts marked an old corral. The horses were gone, slaughtered long ago. James’ parachute had wedged itself between the bark and wood of one of the posts. Bryan glanced around. There wasn’t a sound. Amid cascades of whirling newly fallen snow, he took hold of the dancing parachute with both hands and with even tugs guided himself along the seams and straps towards James.

  It took three shoves before James slid onto his side. The zip of his flight jacket gave way reluctantly. Bryan’s icy fingertips dug down under the rough clothing. The warmth he found there was almost painful to the touch.

  Bryan held his breath until he felt a faint pulse.

  The wind finally subsided and the snow stopped drifting. All was quiet for the moment.

  James began panting feebly as Bryan dragged him towards a thicket. Sky could be
seen through the treetops. Alongside the trunks lay debris from generations of storms, offering shelter and cover.

  ‘With so much uncollected fuel around, there’s not much chance of anyone living here,’ Bryan said to himself.

  ‘What’d you say?’ came a voice from the limp body, as it was being dragged through the carpet of snow.

  Bryan dropped to his knees and carefully pulled James’ head onto his lap.

  ‘James! What happened?’

  ‘Did something happen?’ His eyes were still not focusing. He stared up at Bryan, his gaze wandering the air above him. Then he turned his head and surveyed the black and white landscape. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We crashed, James. Are you badly hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you feel your legs?’

  ‘They’re cold as hell!’

  ‘But can you feel them, James?’

  ‘You bloody well bet I can. They’re cold as hell, I told you! What’s this godforsaken place you’ve dropped me?’

  Chapter 2

  The morning sky was deceptive. There was a starlit strip just above the horizon, but the heavens looked altogether threatening.

  They could see around for several miles, but unfortunately that meant they also could be seen.

  The remains of James’ parachute lay in the middle of a field so vast that its crops would be able to feed a whole village. Clear, dark drag marks led straight from the field to the thicket where they were hiding.

  All this was starting to worry Bryan, now that he knew that James wasn’t in as bad shape as he could have been. The frost had stopped his ear from bleeding long ago and the cold had considerably reduced the swellings on his face and neck. They had been extraordinarily lucky.

  Now it looked as if their luck had run out.

  The frost that had cracked the corners of their mouths was gradually working its way further into their bodies. If they were to survive, they would have to find shelter.

  James listened. If any planes had spotted them, the faded-green bloodhounds would soon appear.

  ‘As soon as we’ve gathered up the chutes I think it we ought to make for the hollow over there.’ James pointed northward at some dark grey patches, then looked back again. ‘If we go south, how far do you think it is to the nearest village?’

  ‘If we’re where I think we are, we’d be making straight for Naundorf. It’s probably a couple of miles away. But I’m not sure.’

  ‘Then the railway line is south of us?’

  ‘Yes, if I’m not mistaken. But I’m not certain.’ Bryan glanced around again. There were no landmarks. ‘I think we should do whatever you suggest,’ he said.

  A good bit further along the first windbreak the snow lay in drifts, helping to conceal the two of them. They followed the row of trees for a few minutes until the first hole in a snowdrift appeared. James was gasping heavily for breath, and while Bryan tried to stuff the parachute through the hole and down into the ditch, James pressed his folded arms tight against his chest in a vain attempt to defeat the cold. Just as Bryan was about to ask him how he was doing, they both stopped instinctively to listen. The plane appeared a short distance behind them, dipping its wings slightly as it swept over the thicket they had just left. By then they were lying flat on the ground. Then it swung southward over the field and behind the trees. For a while the droning of the plane grew deeper, as though it were leaving again. James raised his head from the snow just enough to breathe.

  A whistling sound had them instantly craning their necks. There were some small, dark patches of sky above the trees. Out of one of these, the plane turned up again, this time flying straight at them.

  James threw himself on top of Bryan, forcing him down into the snowdrift.

  ‘I’m freezing my ass off,’ breathed Bryan indistinctly from under him, his face buried in the snow. He tried to smile. James looked down the length of Bryan’s back, pursing his lips at the sight of the lacerated flying suit and the cakes of snow slowly melting with the warmth of his body, then streaming down over his hips and thighs.

  ‘You just keep freezing for a while,’ he replied, tilting his head upwards. ‘If that guy has spotted us, it’ll be plenty hot soon enough!’

  Just then the plane roared over them and disappeared.

  ‘Who was that clown? Could you see?’ asked Bryan, trying to get the snow off his back.

  ‘Possibly a Junkers. It seemed kind of flimsy. Do you think it spotted us?’

  ‘If it had, we wouldn’t be alive now. But it must have noticed our tracks.’

  Bryan grabbed hold of James’ hand and pulled himself up-right. They both knew it could all be over soon. If they reached the village, they might have a chance. Hopefully the villagers would understand they weren’t a threat, which wouldn’t be the case if they were spotted by the plane or one of the patrols that had inevitably already been dispatched to ferret them out.

  They simply wouldn’t have a chance.

  They ran for some time without stopping. Their movements were clumsy. Every bootstep in the frozen earth sent a jolt up their spine. James didn’t look too good and he was deathly pale.

  Far behind them came a gentle hum. They glanced at each other. From in front of them came another sound. A different sound, more like a heavily loaded train.

  ‘Did you say the railway line was to the south of us?’ panted James, pressing his ice-cold hands to his chest again.

  ‘God, James, I said I wasn’t sure!’

  ‘Some navigator you are!’

  ‘Should have spent ages poring over the map rather than heaving you out of that idiotic Yankee soup tin?’

  James didn’t answer. Putting his hand on Bryan’s shoulder, he pointed towards the bottom of the greyish slope that stretched in both directions, and from which came the unmistakable pumping sound of a steam engine. ‘Maybe now you have a better idea where we are?’

  A single nod from Bryan made him relax. Now that they knew where they were, the question was whether that would help them. They squatted down behind some bushes prickling with dry, dead branches. The straight stretch of track lay like thin stripes in the white landscape. The distance to the railway was about a quarter of a mile and the ground was fairly open.

  So they had been south of the railway line all the time.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Bryan tugged gingerly at James’ fur collar, so he turned his head and faced him. James’ pale skin colour made the contours of his skull stand out more clearly. He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to the railway line. It was growing gradually lighter and the shadows in the hollow of the slope took on animated shapes. A magnificent yet terrifying sight. Small gusts of wind carried up to them the sound of the enormously long train. Carriage after carriage glided past like a deadly lifeline between front and fatherland. Snorting armoured engines, endless goods wagons protected by big guns, machine-gun nests hidden behind sandbags and greyish-brown troop carriages from which no light escaped through the rolled-down curtains. As soon as the train had passed, new sounds heralded another one on the way.

  There were only a few minutes between each transport. In this short space of time, during which their knees were beginning to go to sleep beneath their doubled-up bodies, thousands of human lives must have passed by. Exhausted, battle-scarred veterans heading westwards, frightened and silent reserves heading eastwards. Just a few bombs on this stretch daily, and the Russians’ job on the hellish Eastern Front would be a bit easier.

  Bryan felt a tug at his sleeve. James put his finger to his lips and sat perfectly still, listening. Now Bryan could hear it too. The sounds came from behind them on both sides.

  ‘Dogs?’

  Bryan nodded. ‘But maybe only in the one group.’

  James turned down his collar and straightened up a bit. ‘The other group is motorized. That was the humming sound we heard before. They must have got off their motorcycles where we crossed the ditches.’

  ‘Can you see them?�
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  ‘No, but it won’t be long.’

  ‘What should we do?’

  ‘What the hell can we do?’ James squatted down again and rocked back and forth. ‘We’ve left tracks even a blind man could follow.’

  ‘We give ourselves up, then?’

  ‘Do we know what they do with shot-down pilots?’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question. Should we give ourselves up?’

  ‘We’ve got to go a bit out into the open so they can see us, otherwise they might think we’re up to no good.’

  Bryan felt the treacherous slap of the wind as soon as started down the slope after James. It made his cheeks tingle.

  A few rapid strides and they were out in the open. They stood waiting, facing their pursuers with their hands in the air.

  Nothing happened to begin with. The sound of voices stopped and all movement in front of them ceased. James whispered softly that the soldiers might have passed behind them. He half dropped his arms.

  That was when they started shooting.

  The dull, greying winter darkness was to their advantage. Falling heavily to the ground they lay side by side, flat on their stomachs, staring at one another questioningly.

  Bryan immediately began worming his way towards the railway line, glancing constantly over his shoulder at James, who was struggling on knees and elbows over the knolls and frozen branches with a wild look in his eyes. The wound beside his ear had opened up again and with every move, small red spots mixed with the whipped-up frosty snow.

  Short rounds of machine gun fire ticked crisply, blasting the air above them to pieces. The soldiers were shouting as they fired.

  ‘They’re going to let the dogs loose,’ James panted, gripping Bryan’s ankle in front of him. ‘Are you ready to run?’

  ‘Where to, James?’ A wave of heat moved down Bryan’s diaphragm and his guts contracted spontaneously in panicky defence.

  ‘Over the railway line. There’s no train just now.’ Bryan raised his head and checked out the long, treacherous open slope. And then what?