The Collectors - Book Four: Diamonds and Sand (The Collectors Series 4) (2 page)

He reached into his jacket,
removed a packet of cigarettes, lit one and inhaled. As he smoked his eyes surveyed the locale. There were no buildings of any description in sight. He stubbed out the cigarette and studied his map. “Hans, that storm, the auto- pilot or both, has dumped us in the back of beyond. Those mountains,” he pointed, “are not on my flight plan. If this map is correct we are a few hundred kilometres due east of where we should be.” A dark stain on the base of a slope gave hope. He lifted his eyes and considered where the shade was best. “The lower slopes look promising. Hans, grab your gear; we’re going for a walk.”

             
The going was rough and although not seriously injured, their bodies ached. Every so often, Geller stopped and searched the surroundings. On skirting a huge boulder, the entrance to a cave came into view. Encouraged, both men stumbled towards it. Out of breath, they rested at the opening.

             
The sun’s rays pierced the darkness a mere metre. “Man made,” said Geller. “You can see the tool marks.”

             
Hans peered into the gloom. “Better than sweltering in this sun.”

             
Geller strolled into the opening and walked as far as he could without a light and returned. “It’ll do until we’re found. Let’s return to the cockpit and remove everything we need. This will be home for a day or two.”

             
“Can’t say I agree with the home bit, Hauptman.”

             
Exhausted and bloodied, they trudged back to the remains of the cockpit.

             
Geller was silent as he stared at the shattered nose of the plane. “We were lucky, Hans.”

             
Hans nodded. “I’ll believe in luck when we’re rescued. At the moment I just want to sleep.”

             
“Sit in the shade and I’ll salvage what I can.” He climbed, rummaged and grinned when he found the half-full thermos intact and two unopened boxes of sandwiches given to him by Arno Fischer. Into his pockets he shoved a box of matches and three packets of cigarettes. The parachutes he tossed to the ground but the brown leather suitcase he held under one arm as he descended.

             
Geller made a face. “Not much, but we won’t starve and we have coffee. Tomorrow, my friend, it will be schnapps in the mess. Come on; let’s go to our new home and rest.”

             
A few hours remained before nightfall. The two men treated their wounds as best they could and stayed alert, each hoping for a miracle. Geller made notes in his flight book: an obsessive, compulsive tendency to record everything. He finished writing. “Better than a memory, Hans. Those paper-pushers will be asking questions when we get back.”

             
“Hauptman, where’s the package?”

             
“It’s safe. Go to sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”

             
Hans shrugged in the darkness

.

***

Geller stretched, stiff and sore he continued to lie on the sand-covered floor. “Hans, are you awake?”

             
“Yes. My body feels as if it’s been thrashed by a combine harvester.”

             
“Must have been the same one that ran over me. I can’t ever remember aching this bad.”

             
“Unlike the others, at least we hurt.”

             
Geller sat with his back against the rock wall. Outside a cloudless sky guaranteed another sweltering day. “We need to talk. What can we do with a quarter of a flask of tepid coffee and one sandwich?”

“Not
much, if you ask me.”

“I don’t see it as a major problem,
we’ll be rescued today.”

“But what if we’re not?
”

“Then
you and I are in trouble. I’m trying to recall what our survival instructor said in class.”

“Waste of time. Mo
st was how to survive if you ditch in the sea.”

“We
wait in the shade and conserve water.” Hauptman gave his co-pilot a visual check. Dark stubble underlined his weariness. “Cheer up, Hans, I am certain they are searching and will find us today or at the latest tomorrow.”

             
The shadows lengthened as the sun disappeared for another night. With eyes closed, Geller remained optimistic.

***

In between short bouts of awareness and lengthy periods of nothingness, Geller continued his note writing. Often he did not remember what he had written. Time and the day became meaningless and conversation no longer existed.

             
The sun burnt his bare neck. Confused, he forced his eyes open and discovered he was a short distance from the cave with no idea how he got there. Was he dreaming and if he were, when might he wake? The heat hung like a sizzling blanket. He tried to stand, staggered a few steps before collapsing onto the uneven ground. He crawled on bloodied knees back to the shelter and shade. With his back against the cool rock he closed his eyes. His mind made up, he tugged and removed a chrome-plated pistol from its holster. Split, dry lips prevented conversation.

             
A noise disturbed him. Geller lifted the pistol. A tall figure of a man blocked out the sunlight.

             
“I know better ways to die,” said a deep voice with German authority.

             
Geller’s hand holding the weapon dropped. They had found them. He tried to focus as someone in uniform gave him water. Not much but enough to make him understand he was not hallucinating. He coughed and stared at an Africa Corp Major before returning to a spent state.

             
“Sergeant, this one is alive. The other, God rest his soul. Get a couple of the lads to bury him.”

             
“Yes, sir.” He turned. “You, you and you, burial party. Jump to it.”

             
“Your pistol, Hauptman. Dangerous things these.”

             
Geller didn’t resist as the man removed it from his hands. His eyes half focused on the figure above him. “Major, water, water.” Cracked lips struggled to form the words.

The m
ajor studied the man before him. Dark circles filled his eyes, lips dry and bleeding and a face covered in scabs. “Hauptman, can you hear me?”

             
In English the major said, “Corporal, stay with the captain, give him half a cup every fifteen minutes. No more unless you want to kill him.”

             
“Sir, from what’s left of his plane, he’s the lucky one.”

             
“Fifty yards from water and food.”

             
“We hid it well.”

             
“Corpse buried, sir,” said the sergeant. “The men placed a rough cross on the grave.”

             
Lieutenant Baumstein of the Long Range Desert Group removed his goggles, leant on the cave wall and lit a cigarette. He stared at the Luftwaffe captain and spoke. “Sergeant, load the supplies and make a bed of sorts in the back of the halftrack for our prisoner. I don’t think he’ll be any trouble.”

             
“He’s seen you. A bullet might be kinder, sir.”

             
“We’re British and do not murder helpless men.”

             
“Yes, sir. And we’re Jews wearing Africa Corp uniforms.”

             
“It’s what they pay us for, Sergeant.”

             
“Yes and not half enough.”

             
Two soldiers carried the unconscious Geller and placed him on the rough and ready stretcher.

             
“Sandstorm on its way. Cover him with a tarpaulin, Sergeant.”

             
“Yes, sir. At least those bloody mosquitoes will stay away.”

             
“Nature’s insecticide. Sergeant, right flank, Corporal tail-end-Charlie.”

Baumst
ein held his right arm high, covered his nose and mouth with an improvised mask. With the drop of his hand the task force moved out.

***

A bright light shone in Geller’s eyes. Images flashed across his mind of his parents. Pictures of his father teaching him how to fish. Why was his bed so uncomfortable and the noise of traffic deafening?

             
“Lieutenant, the German flyboy keeps muttering. If you have a listen you might understand, being from Germany yourself.”

             
“He’s dehydrated and rambling. Spoon-feed him water and pray he lives. In two days we can hand him over to the medics.”

             
“If he lasts that long,” muttered Private Cohen.

***

“What are his chances, Doctor?” asked Lieutenant Baumstein.

“He’s young and strong.”

“Any idea when they’ll take him for interrogation?”

“A week or two. Depends when I say he’s fit enough.”

“Well I’ll leave you to your patients, Doctor. I’ve got two days to get ready for the next series of attacks.”

“
If you can bring your men back in one piece, Lieutenant, or should I say Heil Hitler, Major?”

“
It’s a ruse that works, Doctor. God help us if we’re caught.”

“
Don’t worry. You’ll be shot as spies.”

“On that wonderful
reflection I’ll take my leave.”

***

“Hauptman Geller,” said Doctor Tanner in German. “There’s a wagon going to Cairo in ten minutes. I’ve orders to see you’re on it.”

             
“My war is over, Doctor. I‘ve seen too much for my own good. What will happen to me?”

             
“They will interrogate you and after, send you to England. I believe a camp for German officers exists. Don’t ask me where.”

             
Geller collected his notebook and shoved it into a small leather holdall which a nurse had given him. “Shall we go, Doctor?”

             
Both men strolled out of the hospital tent towards the waiting lorry.

             
“You’ve a choice. Give me your word you will not try to escape.”

             
“Doctor, you’ve seen my Iron Cross First Class for my duty to the Fatherland.” He ripped it from his tunic. “Take it and remember I am German, not Gestapo. You have my word.”

             
“Hauptman Geller.”

             
“Doctor.”

             
“Please take this. A few sandwiches and a water bottle for the journey.”

             
“Thank you for saving my life.”

             
“It’s what doctors do, Hauptman.”

             
Geller clambered into the back of the truck. A soldier fitted the tailgate and joined the driver.

             
Geller waved farewell.

***

“Sit, gentlemen,” ordered Hitler with his hands clasped behind him. “My diamonds for our factories, they are here?”

             
His aide replied, “Mien Fuhrer, in my hand is the report from our people in Luderitz. The transport left four days ago. Alas, its arrival in Berlin has been delayed.”

             
“Herman.”

             
“Here, Mien Fuhrer. The weather I cannot control but I assure you your package will arrive and its contents distributed as you ordered.”

             
Hitler’s eyes glared at the others but he remained calm. “You chose the pilot yourself?”

             
“I did, Mien Fuhrer. He is the best.”

             
“It’s a good thing I trust you. Everyone out. I need to discuss with Herman my new strategy for my bombers.”

             
Everyone left in silence, the last man to leave closing the large double doors.

             
“General Witzleben, what game is Herman playing? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I understand the plane disappeared in a sandstorm,” said General Beck.

             
“A dangerous one. I have it from a reliable source that another delivery of diamonds is on its way.”

             
Beck laughed and the sound echoed along the uncarpeted hall. “Our illustrious leader would have us shot if he knew.”