The Complete Navarone (45 page)

Droshny was impressed. ‘By heavens, they’re not wasting much time, are they?’

‘They can’t afford to. If the plane stays there any time at all it’ll start sinking in the snow.’ Neufeld lifted his binoculars and spoke into the microphone.

‘They’re boarding now, Herr General. One, two, three … seven, eight, nine. Nine it is.’ Neufeld sighed in relief and at the relief of tension. ‘My warmest congratulations, Herr General. Nine it is, indeed.’

The plane was already facing the way it had come. The pilot stood on the brakes, revved the engines up to a crescendo, then twenty seconds after it had come to a halt the Wellington was on its way again, accelerating down the runway. The pilot took no chances, he waited till the very far end of the airstrip before lifting the Wellington off, but when he did it rose cleanly and easily and climbed steadily into the night sky.

‘Airborne, Herr General,’ Neufeld reported. ‘Everything perfectly according to plan.’ He covered the microphone, looking after the disappearing plane, then smiled at Droshny. ‘I think we should wish them
bon voyage
, don’t you?’

Mallory, one of the hundreds lining the perimeter of the airstrip, lowered his binoculars. ‘And a very pleasant journey to them all.’

Colonel Vis shook his head sadly. ‘All this work just to send five of my men on a holiday to Italy.’

‘I dare say they needed a break,’ Mallory said.

‘The hell with them. How about us?’ Reynolds demanded. In spite of the words, his face showed no anger, just a dazed and total bafflement. ‘We should have been aboard that damned plane.’

‘Ah. Well. I changed my mind.’

‘Like hell you changed your mind,’ Reynolds said bitterly.

Inside the fuselage of the Wellington, the moustached major surveyed his three fellow-escapees and the five Partisan soldiers, shook his head in disbelief and turned to the captain by his side.

‘A rum do, what?’

‘Very rum, indeed, sir,’ said the captain. He looked curiously at the papers the major held in his hand. ‘What have you there?’

‘A map and papers that I’m to give to some bearded naval type when we land back in Italy. Odd fellow, that Mallory, what?’

‘Very odd indeed, sir,’ the captain agreed.

Mallory and his men, together with Vis and Vlanovich, had detached themselves from the crowd and were now standing outside Vis’s command tent.

Mallory said to Vis: ‘You have arranged for the ropes? We must leave at once.’

‘What’s all the desperate hurry, sir?’ Groves asked. Like Reynolds, much of his resentment seemed to have gone to be replaced by a helpless bewilderment. ‘All of a sudden, like, I mean?’

‘Petar and Maria,’ Mallory said grimly. ‘They’re the hurry.’

‘What about Petar and Maria?’ Reynolds asked suspiciously. ‘Where do they come into this?’

‘They’re being held captive in the ammunition block-house. And when Neufeld and Droshny get back there –’

‘Get back there,’ Groves said dazedly. ‘What do you mean, get back there? We – we left them locked up. And how in God’s name do you know that Petar and Maria are being held in the blockhouse? How can they be? I mean, they weren’t there when we left there – and that wasn’t so long ago.’

‘When Andrea’s pony had a stone in its hoof on the way up here from the block-house, it didn’t have a stone in its hoof. Andrea was keeping watch.’

‘You see,’ Miller explained, ‘Andrea doesn’t trust anyone.’

‘He saw Sergeant Baer taking Petar and Maria there,’ Mallory went on. ‘Bound. Baer released Neufeld and Droshny and you can bet your last cent our precious pair were up on the cliff side there checking that we really did fly out.’

‘You don’t tell us very much, do you, sir?’ Reynolds said bitterly.

‘I’ll tell you this much,’ Mallory said with certainty. ‘If we don’t get there soon, Maria and Petar are for the high jump. Neufeld and Droshny don’t
know
yet, but by this time they must be pretty convinced that it was Maria who told me where those four agents were being kept. They’ve always known who we really were – Maria told them. Now they know who Maria is. Just before Droshny killed Saunders –’

‘Droshny?’ Reynolds’s expression was that of a man who has almost given up all attempt to understand. ‘Maria?’

‘I made a miscalculation.’ Mallory sounded tired. ‘We all make miscalculations, but this was a bad one.’ He smiled, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. ‘You will recall that you had a few harsh words to say about Andrea here when he picked that fight with Droshny outside the dining hut in Neufeld’s camp?’

‘Sure I remember. It was one of the craziest –’

‘You can apologize to Andrea at a later and more convenient time,’ Mallory interrupted. ‘Andrea provoked Droshny because I asked him to. I knew that Neufeld and Droshny were up to no good in the dining hut after we had left and I wanted a moment to ask Maria what they had been discussing. She told me that they intended to send a couple of Cetniks after us into Broznik’s camp – suitably disguised, of course – to report on us. They were two of the men acting as our escort in that wood-burning truck. Andrea and Miller killed them.’

‘Now you tell us,’ Groves said almost mechanically. ‘Andrea and Miller killed them.’

‘What I didn’t know was that Droshny was also following us. He saw Maria and myself together.’ He looked at Reynolds. ‘Just as you did. I didn’t know at the time that he’d seen us, but I’ve known for some hours now. Maria has been as good as under sentence of death since this morning. But there was nothing I could do about it. Not until now. If I’d shown my hand, we’d have been finished.’

Reynolds shook his head. ‘But you’ve just said that Maria betrayed us –’

‘Maria,’ Mallory said, ‘is a top-flight British espionage agent. English father, Yugoslav mother. She was in this country even before the Germans came. As a student in Belgrade. She joined the Partisans, who trained her as a radio operator, then arranged for her defection to the Cetniks. The Cetniks had captured a radio operator from one of the first British missions. They – the Germans, rather – trained her to imitate this operator’s hand – every radio operator has his own unmistakable style – until their styles were quite indistinguishable. And her English, of course, was perfect. So then she was in direct contact with Allied Intelligence in both North Africa and Italy. The Germans thought they had us completely fooled: it was, in fact, the other way round.’

Miller said complainingly: ‘You didn’t tell me any of this, either.’

‘I’ve so much on my mind. Anyway, she was notified direct of the arrival of the last four agents to be parachuted in. She, of course, told the Germans. And all those agents carried information reinforcing the German belief that a second front – a full-scale invasion – of Yugoslavia was imminent.’

Reynolds said slowly: ‘They knew we were coming too?’

‘Of course. They knew everything about us all along, what we really were. What they didn’t know, of course, is that we knew they knew and though what they knew of us was true it was only part of the truth.’

Reynolds digested this. He said, hesitating: ‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘I could have been wrong about you, sir.’

‘It happens,’ Mallory agreed. ‘From time to time, it happens. You were wrong, Sergeant, of course you were, but you were wrong from the very best motives. The fault is mine. Mine alone. But my hands were tied.’ Mallory touched him on the shoulder. ‘One of these days you might get round to forgiving me.’

‘Petar?’ Groves asked. ‘He’s not her brother?’

‘Petar is Petar. No more. A front.’

‘There’s still an awful lot –’ Reynolds began, but Mallory interrupted him.

‘It’ll have to wait. Colonel Vis, a map, please.’ Captain Vlanovich brought one from the tent and Mallory shone a torch on it. ‘Look. Here. The Neretva dam and the Zenica Cage. I told Neufeld that Broznik had told me that the Partisans believe that the attack is coming across the Neretva bridge from the south. But, as I’ve just said, Neufeld knew – he knew even before we had arrived – who and what we
really
were. So he was convinced I was lying. He was convinced that I was convinced that the attack was coming through the Zenica Gap to the north here. Good reason for believing that, mind you: there are two hundred German tanks up there.’

Vis stared at him. ‘Two hundred!’

‘One hundred and ninety of them are made of plywood. So the only way Neufeld – and, no doubt, the German High Command – could ensure that this useful information got through to Italy was to allow us to stage this rescue bid. Which, of course, they very gladly did, assisting us in every possible way even to the extent of gladly collaborating with us in permitting themselves to be captured. They
knew
, of course, that we had no option left but to capture them and force them to lead us to the block-house – an arrangement they had ensured by previously seizing and hiding away the only other person who could have helped us in this – Maria. And, of course, knowing this in advance, they had arranged for Sergeant Baer to come and free them.’

‘I see.’ It was plain to everyone that Colonel Vis did not see at all. ‘You mentioned an RAF saturation attack on the Zenica Gap. This, of course, will now be switched to the bridge?’

‘No. You wouldn’t have us break our word to the Wehrmacht, would you? As promised, the attack comes on the Zenica Gap. As a diversion. To convince them, in case they have any last doubts left in their minds, that we have been fooled. Besides, you know as well as I do that that bridge is immune to high-level air attack. It will have to be destroyed in some other way.’

‘In what way?’

‘We’ll think of something. The night is young. Two last things, Colonel Vis. There’ll be another Wellington in at midnight and a second at three a.m. Let them both go. The next in, at six a.m., hold it against our arrival. Well, our possible arrival. With any luck we’ll be flying out before dawn.’

‘With any luck,’ Vis said sombrely.

‘And radio General Vukalovic, will you? Tell him what I’ve told you, the exact situation. And tell him to begin intensive small-arms fire at one o’clock in the morning.’

‘What are they supposed to fire at?’

‘They can fire at the moon for all I care.’ Mallory swung aboard his pony. ‘Come on, let’s be off.’

‘The moon,’ General Vukalovic agreed, ‘is a fair-sized target, though rather a long way off. However, if that’s what our friend wants, that’s what he shall have.’ Vukalovic paused for a moment, looked at Colonel Janzy, who was sitting beside him on a fallen log in the woods to the south of the Zenica Gap, then spoke again into the radio mouth-piece.

‘Anyway, many thanks, Colonel Vis. So the Neretva bridge it is. And you think it will be unhealthy for us to remain in the immediate vicinity of this area after 1 a.m. Don’t worry, we won’t be here.’ Vukalovic removed the head-phones and turned to Janzy. ‘We pull out, quietly, at midnight. We leave a few men to make a lot of noise.’

‘The ones who are going to fire at the moon?’

‘The ones who are going to fire at the moon. Radio Colonel Lazlo at Neretva, will you? Tell him we’ll be with him before the attack. Then radio Major Stephan. Tell him to leave just a holding force, pull out of the Western Gap and make his way to Colonel Lazlo’s HQ.’ Vukalovic paused for a thoughtful moment. ‘We should be in for a few very interesting hours, don’t you think?’

‘Is there any chance in the world for this man Mallory?’ Janzy’s tone carried with it its own answer.

‘Well, look at it this way,’ Vukalovic said reasonably. ‘Of course there’s a chance. There has to be a chance. It is, after all, my dear Janzy, a question of options – and there are no other options left open to us.’

Janzy made no reply but nodded several times in slow succession as if Vukalovic had just said something profound.

The pony-back ride downhill through the thickly wooded forests from the Ivenici plateau to the block-house took Mallory and his men barely a quarter of the time it had taken them to make the ascent. In the deep snow the going underfoot was treacherous to a degree, collision with the bole of a pine was always an imminent possibility and none of the five riders made any pretence towards being an experienced horseman, with the inevitable result that slips, stumbles and heavy falls were as frequent as they were painful. Not one of them escaped the indignity of involuntarily leaving his saddle and being thrown headlong into the deep snow, but it was the providential cushioning effect of that snow that was the saving of them, that and, more often, the sure-footed agility of their mountain ponies: whatever the reason or combination of reasons, bruises and winded falls there were in plenty, but broken bones, miraculously, there were none.

The block-house came in sight. Mallory raised a warning hand, slowing them down until they were about two hundred yards distant from their objective, where he reined in, dismounted and led his pony into a thick cluster of pines, followed by the others. Mallory tethered his horse and indicated to the others to do the same.

Miller said complainingly: ‘I’m sick of this damned pony but I’m sicker still of walking through deep snow. Why don’t we just ride on down there?’

‘Because they’ll have ponies tethered down there. They’ll start whinnying if they hear or see or smell other ponies approaching.’

‘They might start whinnying anyway.’

‘And there’ll be guards on watch,’ Andrea pointed out. ‘I don’t think, Corporal Miller, that we could make a very stealthy and unobtrusive approach on pony-back.’

‘Guards. Guarding against what? As far as Neufeld and company are concerned, we’re halfway over the Adriatic at this time.’

‘Andrea’s right,’ Mallory said. ‘Whatever else you may think about Neufeld, he’s a first-class officer who takes no chances. There’ll be guards.’ He glanced up to the night sky where a narrow bar of cloud was just approaching the face of the moon. ‘See that?’

‘I see it,’ Miller said miserably.

‘Thirty seconds, I’d say. We make a run for the far gable end of the block-house – there are no embrasures there. And for God’s sake, once we get there, keep dead quiet. If they hear anything, if they as much as suspect that we’re outside, they’ll bar the doors and use Petar and Maria as hostages. Then we’ll just have to leave them.’

‘You’d do that, sir?’ Reynolds asked.

‘I’d do that. I’d rather cut a hand off, but I’d do that. I’ve no choice, Sergeant.’

‘Yes, sir. I understand.’

The dark bar of cloud passed over the moon. The five men broke from the concealment of the pines and pounded downhill through the deep clogging snow, heading for the farther gable-wall of the block-house. Thirty yards away, at a signal from Mallory, they slowed down lest the sound of their crunching, running footsteps be heard by any watchers who might be keeping guard by the embrasures and completed the remaining distance by walking as quickly and quietly as possible in single file, each man using the footprints left by the man in front of him.

They reached the blank gable-end undetected, with the moon still behind the cloud. Mallory did not pause to congratulate either himself or any of the others. He at once dropped to his hands and knees and crawled round the corner of the block-house, pressing close into the stone wall.

Four feet from the corner came the first of the embrasures. Mallory did not bother to lower himself any deeper into the snow – the embrasures were so deeply recessed in the massive stone walls that it would have been quite impossible for any watcher to see anything at a lesser distance than six feet from the embrasure. He concentrated, instead, on achieving as minimal a degree of sound as was possible, and did so with success, for he safely passed the embrasure without any alarm being raised. The other four were equally successful even though the moon broke from behind the cloud as the last of them, Groves, was directly under the embrasure. But he, too, remained undetected.

Mallory reached the door. He gestured to Miller, Reynolds and Groves to remain prone where they were: he and Andrea rose silently to their feet and pressed their ears close against the door.

Immediately they heard Droshny’s voice, thick with menace, heavy with hatred.

‘A traitress! That’s what she is. A traitress to our cause. Kill her now!’

‘Why did you do it, Maria?’ Neufeld’s voice, in contrast to Droshny’s, was measured, calm, almost gentle.

‘Why did she do it?’ Droshny snarled. ‘Money. That’s why she did it. What else?’

‘Why?’ Neufeld was quietly persistent. ‘Did Captain Mallory threaten to kill your brother?’

‘Worse than that.’ They had to strain to catch Maria’s low voice. ‘He threatened to kill me. Who would have looked after my blind brother then?’

‘We waste time,’ Droshny said impatiently. ‘Let me take them both outside.’

‘No.’ Neufeld’s voice, still calm, admitted of no argument. ‘A blind boy? A terrified girl? What are you, man?’

‘A Cetnik!’

‘And I’m an officer of the Wehrmacht.’

Andrea whispered in Mallory’s ear: ‘Any minute now and someone’s going to notice our foot-tracks in the snow.’

Mallory nodded, stood aside and made a small gesturing motion of his hand. Mallory was under no illusion as to their respective capabilities when it came to bursting open doors leading into rooms filled with armed men. Andrea was the best in the business – and proceeded to prove it in his usual violent and lethal fashion.

A twist of the door handle, a violent kick with the sole of the right foot and Andrea stood framed in the doorway. The wildly swinging door had still not reached the full limit of travel on its hinges when the room echoed to the flat staccato chatter of Andrea’s Schmeisser: Mallory, peering over Andrea’s shoulder through the swirling cordite smoke, saw two German soldiers, lethally cursed with over-fast reactions, slumping wearily to the floor. His own machine-pistol levelled, Mallory followed Andrea into the room.

There was no longer any call for Schmeissers. None of the other soldiers in the room was carrying any weapon at all while Neufeld and Droshny, their faces frozen into expressions of total incredulity, were clearly, even if only momentarily, incapable of any movement at all, far less being capable of the idea of offering any suicidal resistance.

Mallory said to Neufeld: ‘You’ve just bought yourself your life.’ He turned to Maria, nodded towards the door, waited until she had led her brother outside, then looked again at Neufeld and Droshny and said curtly: ‘Your guns.’

Neufeld managed to speak, although his lips moved in a strangely mechanical fashion. ‘What in the name of God –’

Mallory was in no mind for small talk. He lifted his Schmeisser. ‘Your guns.’

Neufeld and Droshny, like men in a dream, removed their pistols and dropped them to the floor.

‘The keys.’ Droshny and Neufeld looked at him in almost uncomprehending silence. ‘The keys,’ Mallory repeated. ‘Now. Or the keys won’t be necessary.’

For several seconds the room was completely silent, then Neufeld stirred, turned to Droshny and nodded. Droshny scowled – as well as any man can scowl when his face is still overspread with an expression of baffled astonishment and homicidal fury – reached into his pocket and produced the keys. Miller took them, unlocked and opened wide the cell door wordlessly and with a motion of his machine-pistol invited Neufeld, Droshny, Baer and the other soldiers to enter, waited until they had done so, swung shut the door, locked it and pocketed the key. The room echoed again as Andrea squeezed the trigger of his machine-pistol and destroyed the radio beyond any hope of repair. Five seconds later they were all outside, Mallory, the last man to leave, locking the door and sending the key spinning to fall yards away, buried from sight in the deep snow.

Suddenly he caught sight of the number of ponies tethered outside the block-house. Seven. Exactly the right number. He ran across to the embrasure outside the cell window and shouted: ‘Our ponies are tethered two hundred yards uphill just inside the pines. Don’t forget.’ Then he ran quickly back and ordered the other six to mount. Reynolds looked at him in astonishment.

‘You think of this, sir? At such a time?’

‘I’d think of this at any time.’ Mallory turned to Petar, who had just awkwardly mounted his horse, then turned to Maria. ‘Tell him to take off his glasses.’

Maria looked at him in surprise, nodded in apparent understanding and spoke to her brother, who looked at her uncomprehendingly, then ducked his head obediently, removed his dark glasses and thrust them deep inside his tunic. Reynolds looked on in astonishment, then turned to Mallory.

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

Mallory wheeled his pony and said curtly: ‘It’s not necessary that you do.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

Mallory turned his pony again and said, almost wearily: ‘It’s already eleven o’clock, boy, and almost already too late for what we have to do.’

‘Sir.’ Reynolds was deeply if obscurely pleased that Mallory should call him boy. ‘I don’t really want to know, sir.’

‘You’ve asked. We’ll have to go as quickly as our ponies can take us. A blind man can’t see obstructions, can’t balance himself according to the level of the terrain, can’t anticipate in advance how he should brace himself for an unexpectedly sharp drop, can’t lean in the saddle for a corner his pony knows is coming. A blind man, in short, is a hundred times more liable to fall off in a downhill gallop than we are. It’s enough that a blind man should be blind for life. It’s too much that we should expose him to the risk of a heavy fall with his glasses on, expose him to the risk of not only being blind but of having his eyes gouged out and being in agony for life.’

‘I hadn’t thought – I mean – I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Stop apologizing, boy. It’s really my turn, you know – to apologize to you. Keep an eye on him, will you?’

Colonel Lazlo, binoculars to his eyes, gazed down over the moonlit rocky slope below him towards the bridge at Neretva. On the southern bank of the river, in the meadows between the south bank and the beginning of the pine forest beyond, and, as far as Lazlo could ascertain, in the fringes of the pine forest itself, there was a disconcertingly ominous lack of movement, of any sign of life at all. Lazlo was pondering the disturbingly sinister significance of this unnatural peacefulness when a hand touched his shoulder. He twisted, looked up and recognized the figure of Major Stephan, commander of the Western Gap.

‘Welcome, welcome. The General has advised me of your arrival. Your battalion with you?’

‘What’s left of it.’ Stephan smiled without really smiling. ‘Every man who could walk. And all those who couldn’t.’

‘God send we don’t need them all tonight. The General has spoken to you of this man Mallory?’ Major Stephan nodded, and Lazlo went on: ‘If he fails? If the Germans cross the Neretva tonight –’

‘So?’ Stephan shrugged. ‘We were all due to die tonight anyway.’

‘A well-taken point,’ Lazlo said approvingly. He lifted his binoculars and returned to his contemplation of the bridge at Neretva.

So far, and almost incredibly, neither Mallory nor any of the six galloping behind him had parted company with their ponies. Not even Petar. True, the incline of the slope was not nearly as steep as it had been from the Ivenici plateau down to the block-house, but Reynolds suspected it was because Mallory had imperceptibly succeeded in slowing down the pace of their earlier headlong gallop. Perhaps, Reynolds thought vaguely, it was because Mallory was subconsciously trying to protect the blind singer, who was riding almost abreast with him, guitar firmly strapped over his shoulder, reins abandoned and both hands clasped desperately to the pommel of his saddle. Unbidden, almost, Reynolds’s thoughts strayed back to that scene inside the block-house. Moments later, he was urging his pony forwards until he had drawn alongside Mallory.

‘Sir?’

‘What is it?’ Mallory sounded irritable.

‘A word, sir. It’s urgent. Really it is.’

Mallory threw up a hand and brought the company to a halt. He said curtly: ‘Be quick.’

‘Neufeld and Droshny, sir.’ Reynolds paused in a moment’s brief uncertainty, then continued. ‘Do you reckon they know where you’re going?’

‘What’s that to do with anything?’

‘Please.’

‘Yes, they do. Unless they’re complete morons. And they’re not.’

‘It’s a pity, sir,’ Reynolds said reflectively, ‘that you hadn’t shot them after all.’

‘Get to the point,’ Mallory said impatiently.

‘Yes, sir. You reckoned Sergeant Baer released them earlier on?’

‘Of course.’ Mallory was exercising all his restraint. ‘Andrea saw them arrive. I’ve explained all this. They – Neufeld and Droshny – had to go up to the Ivenici plateau to check that we’d really gone.’

‘I understand that, sir. So you knew that Baer was following us. How did he get into the block-house?’

Mallory’s restraint vanished. He said in exasperation: ‘Because I left both keys hanging outside.’

‘Yes, sir. You were expecting him. But Sergeant Baer didn’t know you were expecting him – and even if he did he wouldn’t be expecting to find keys so conveniently to hand.’