On Desperate Ground (44 page)

“Courland? What unit is this and who are you?” Faust demanded.

“Colonel Faust, allow me to introduce myself. I am
Hauptsturmführer
Hugo Raalte, of the SS Frundsberg
Division, late of the Courland Peninsula.”

“I thought Frundsberg was destroyed in the Courland?”

“All but, my dear Faust, all but. These men are the survivors of a unit I have commanded since 1943. We were brought out to fight once again to the last man, this time in the final battle for Berlin. We have you to thank for this wonderful trip in the country.” Raalte took a long pull on the brandy bottle and handed it to the man next to him as he lifted his pistol, aiming at Faust. The soldiers surrounding Faust's vehicle followed suit. They may have been drunk, but their aim looked true. Faust did not move.

Raalte jumped up on the runner and aimed his pistol through the opening. “Get out of the way!” he ordered impatiently to the radio operator, then fired four shots into the radio, as the terrified operator scurried back in the enclosed space, holding his hands over his ears as the shots echoed fiercely inside the vehicle.

“Karl, the
Ostwind
.” Raalte smiled up at Faust as several soldiers rousted out the occupants of the anti-aircraft vehicle, then slid a grenade down the barrel of the 37mm gun. It and the shell inside exploded, bursting the barrel and rendering the gun useless.

“Now, Faust, you will not be tempted to radio our whereabouts or fire on us.”

“What exactly are you doing?” asked Faust, more puzzled than concerned at the moment. Raalte was evidently not going to take him into custody.

“Living, Colonel Faust.” Raalte hissed at him, leaning close enough for his alcohol-fouled breath to cause Faust to pull his face back. “We are through with dying. We’ve died for the
Führer
long enough. We left more comrades in the Courland than we took out, and all for nothing!” He spat viciously and lifted the pistol to Faust’s chin.

“I don’t know why Himmler wants you so badly, and I don’t give a fuck. He’s hiding outside of Berlin already anyway. So don’t get in our way!”

It was all clear to Faust now. He looked at Raalte with disgust.
 

“You’re going to surrender. To the Americans.”

“Damn right we are, aren’t we boys!” Raalte turned to his men who cheered wildly. He jumped down and grabbed his brandy bottle back. “So, Faust, live a little! We are! It’s all over except for anyone fool enough to take the last bullet of the war. We plan to drink every drop of liquor in this province on our way to the
Amis
. Enjoy yourself now! We’ll all be in POW camps for quite some time.”

Raalte stumbled back with his men as they boarded their vehicles and took off, engines roaring and kicking up clouds of swirling dust. Faust waited a few minutes and then told his driver to move on. He slumped back in the seat, seriously worried about how far this defeatist attitude could spread. He had to act fast.
 

He thought about Raalte’s words
Live. Enjoy.
Words from distant days of peace and normalcy, they were as alien to him as the thought of surrender.
 

* * *

Mack crawled through the underbrush that grew down to the edge of a small gurgling stream. He halted at the bank, next to Rose who had been steadily watching the fields through his binoculars. Two hours earlier they had left the railroad track as it approached a town marked Bad Schmiedeberg on their maps. They had worked their way across the open meadows, seeking cover in the folds of ground as best they could. Now they rested in small copse of trees atop a small rise. Behind them was farmland, criss-crossed by dirt roads and tracks. Ahead of them were rolling meadows bordered by a wooded ridge that overlooked a major roadway. To their left, dominating this landscape only a few kilometers away, was Hill 182. Mack and Rose had crawled forward to get a better view of their objective.

“Finally,” said Rose, “there it is. Hope it’s worth it.” He handed the binoculars to Mack, who took them without comment and focused on the large hill, seeing no movement. He set them down, took off his helmet and reached his hands down into the cold running water, splashing his face and wetting the back of his neck. It was warm enough for a summer’s day, and the water was refreshing.

“Listen, Rosie, I know you think I’m on a wild goose chase, or just after Faust for personal reasons. But something is going on here, with this Operation Gambit. Why do you think the Germans withdrew from this area?”

“I told you, don’t call me Rosie! It could be as simple as they pulled out to defend Berlin. Or, they all ran away. Who knows? We sure haven’t seen any Germans in GI uniforms.”
 

Mack knew that Rose had a good point, but didn’t want to give in. After the loss of half the men, the mission had to have some purpose.

“No, but I’m telling you that Johann Faust would not be put in charge of a small-time operation. If he’s involved, it’s dangerous. Guaranteed.”

“Well, whatever,” Rose said with a frown. “We gotta grab some shuteye. Let’s get back to the trees and hole up until dark. Then we’ll check out that hill.” Rose grabbed the binoculars and backed out on his belly. Mack put his helmet on and gazed at the landscape. He knew the answer was out there. He knew Faust was there, waiting for him. He knew one of them would die here. Or both.

Rose returned to the grove of trees, small birches growing in clumps amongst the meadow grasses, sprinkled with wildflowers. A path wound through it, coming from the tilled farmlands behind them and descending down to a weathered plank bridge that crossed the stream. Mack followed him up cautiously, both of them avoiding the path and keeping low.

They found Luther working on the field radio. He hadn’t given up on it, and it was useful to listen to Allied transmissions. Kowalski was lying prone on the other side of the grove, keeping watch on their rear. Mandelbaum was curled up in a small depression, already asleep.

“Okay, Luther, wrap it up and get some sleep. Kowalski and I will take first watch. Mack, hunker down there with Mandelbaum.” No one needed any prodding. They were all dead tired, and Mack was thankful he didn’t have to stand the first watch. He found a spot off the path near the edge of the treeline, secluded by bushes and a small hummock of tall grass. He glanced around and saw Rose across the path, hidden and vigilant. He closed his eyes.

Rose made himself comfortable and settled into the silence. He had a good view of the surrounding terrain, but not as much cover as he would have liked. The trees were thin and tall, none of them large enough to hide a man. It was the best they could do out on the open meadow, and unless someone came looking, it would do just fine.

Five minutes passed as Rose listened to the sounds of the countryside. No planes, no distant vehicles, and no talk invaded the sounds of a country meadow. The wind rustled the trees and grasses as swift-running water jumped and bubbled in the stream below. An occasional bird shrieked, and Rose counted three hawks circling lazily overhead. Then, he heard a sound that did not fit in a deserted meadow. From behind, filtering in through the trees on the wind, he caught the sound of a voice. He listened intently, shutting his eyes to concentrate on the source of the sound.

There! Again, an indecipherable voice leapt out of the surrounding natural noises. Gradually, the voices became clearer, and closer. He tilted his head toward the sounds, knowing something was not quite right and trying to understand it. He heard German voices, but what was that other sound? Russian? That couldn’t be right. The voices were talking and laughing freely among themselves. Not the sound of Germans with Russian prisoners. Rose slowly turned himself within his hiding place to face the direction the voices came from. If they were on the path, they would walk straight into the grove in minutes. Through the thin stand of birches he caught a glimpse of four helmeted figures, casually walking along the path to the grove.
 

The voices awoke Mack and he inched his head up, trying to see which way they were coming from. He saw a vague shape across the path he knew was Rose. Then he saw the four Germans. He forced himself to lie perfectly still, knowing that the slightest movement would be noticed in this thin cover. He withdrew his M3 trench knife from the sheath tied around his boot and held it close to his body, careful not to let the shiny surface show. A single shot would alert other patrols in the area, so if they were seen, this four-man patrol would have to be taken out silently. With five of them, it shouldn’t be a problem, except that Rose and Kowalski were at different ends of the grove, only one of them within striking range. Four of them, then, with Rose’s silenced pistol. Mack was sure that the approaching noise had awakened Luther and Mandelbaum, but he was suddenly thrown into a fearful doubt as he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath, almost a snore, from where Mandelbaum lay.

Rose had already screwed the silencer onto his automatic pistol, and calculated the same odds as Mack had. Excellent, assuming Luther and Mandelbaum were alert. Poor if they weren’t. Poorer if the patrol spotted Kowalski, too far down the path to strike quickly enough.
 

Rose winced as he heard Mandelbaum, cursing him for the heavy sleeper that he was. He knew if Luther tried to wake him, he might make even a louder noise. The lead man in the patrol entered the grove, passing by the spot where Kowalski was hidden. He looked tired, as if at the end of a long patrol, probably not as attentive as when they started out. The man behind him carried his rifle over his shoulders, both hands draped over the stock and barrel. They were definitely close to home, their guard relaxed. Rose prayed they would just walk on by. They came closer, booted feet shuffling, an indistinct question answered by a weary “
Ja, ja
.” The first man passed Rose, ahead of the others, almost out into the open. The second man came abreast of him, the faint clinking of gear and leather sounding rhythmically as he walked. The routine sounds of four armed men on the move were interrupted by a loud snoring snort, as Mandelbaum, still deeply asleep, drew in a heavy breath.
 

Rose could see the face of the second man directly across from him, turning, in surprise, to seek out the source of the sound. Rose stood and in one fluid motion stepped out from the bushes, extending his arm, and a small
pumpf!
came from the silencer as the soldier’s head snapped sideways, a crimson spray bursting out from under his helmet. Rose spun to his left, sunk down on one knee to make himself a smaller target, and sent two rounds into the third man’s chest, who staggered back, falling against the fourth German. Rose turned around, just as the lead man was turning to react. He brought the pistol up, squeezed the trigger. Nothing. The pistol was jammed, and for a fraction of a second, both men were frozen. The German lifted his rifle to fire directly at Rose, not ten feet away. Rose tried to work the slide to release the jammed cartridge. As he watched the rifle barrel swing around towards his chest, Rose saw a figure burst from the bushes, throwing himself at the German’s legs and knocking him down, the rifle dropping from his grasp and clattering down to the path. Mack got up on his knees and threw himself against the German. His knife, propelled by his weight, drove through ribs up to the heart. Mack pushed his hand up on the German’s chin, shutting his mouth against any last sound as he held the knife, buried up to the hilt in his chest.

The last man in line had thrown off the dead man pinning him down, and picked up his rifle, aiming it at Rose, who had finally ejected the jammed cartridge and worked the slide, chambering another round. Rose looked up to fire at the German, who had his rifle leveled, and saw a surprised look dawn on his face. His eyes widened, the rifle dropped, and he fell flat forward, the hilt of a V-42 Special Services Force stiletto buried between his shoulder blades.

Kowalski walked up from a dozen or so paces behind the dead German. Everything had happened in less than twelve seconds. The four Germans were dead, sprawled along the path, and the silence had been unbroken, except for the scuffling of feet and the light clatter of rifles on the ground. Mack stood up, feeling dizzy, sick and dazed as he always had when he killed a man in hand to hand combat. Rose quickly checked the bodies, then went over to where Luther and Mandelbaum had laid down to rest. He parted some low bushes and looked down into the small depression. They both were still asleep, Mandelbaum on his back, mouth wide open, breathing slowly and loudly, on the edge of another snore.

“Wake up, you bums!” Rose growled. He turned away, checking on Mack and Kowalski. Luther and Mandelbaum stumbled out from their hiding place, astounded at the scene before them.
 

“Shit, Rosie, did we sleep through all this?”

“Goddamn right you did, Corporal. Now you guys pull these bodies off the path and hide them. Check them for papers.” While Luther stood wiping the sleep from his eyes, Mandelbaum went over to where Kowalski was wiping the blood from his knife on the tunic of the German he had killed.
 

Rose walked over to Mack, laid his hand on his shoulder.
 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mack answered distractedly. With obvious self-discipline, he pulled himself together. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“No, thank you. You saved my life. I owe ya. By the way, feel free to call me Rosie now. Welcome to the club.” He smiled at Mack’s look of surprise.

“Hey, Rosie, lookit this!” Kowalski called out. “These guys are wearing brown pants. I never saw the Jerries with that kind of uniform.” Mack dimly heard Kowalski and his mind was catching up with him. It reminded him of something else that he had noticed as he jumped the German soldier. His rifle. It wasn’t a German Mauser. What was it?