getting at. He sounded exhausted, I'm glad to say.'
'That's the way I like the opposition,' Jaeger commented with some satisfaction. 'Exhausted! Now…'
'It is interesting. Hartmann looked out of the corridor window as the train was approaching the platform at Maribor. Only after that did he announce he was continuing on to Zagreb. I think he spotted someone on that platform, someone waiting to board the train…'
'And I think you could be right. That clever bastard always was a loner. The train takes a good six hours to reach Zagreb from Maribor. Why don't we steal a march on our secretive friend, Gustav Hartmann?'
'Fly direct to Zagreb from here and be waiting for him at Zagreb station when the train arrives?' Schmidt suggested.
'You're a mind-reader, my dear fellow,' Jaeger said jovially. 'So, what's keeping you? Arrange the flight and we'll leave for Zagreb at once.'
Chapter Thirty
Heljec, commander of the Partisan group operating north of Zagreb, chose a deep gorge near a place called Zidani Most to ambush the train. Six foot two tall, Heljec had thick black hair, dark and wary eyes, prominent Slavic cheekbones and a strong nose and jaw.
Thirty years old, Heljec had been an engineer building dams in peacetime. Now his life was dedicated to destruction. He stood at the brink of the gorge looking down with his deputy, Vlatko Jovanovic, by his side. In his right hand Heljec held a German Schmeisser machine-pistol.
'What time is it, Vlatko?' he asked.
'Almost 3 am. The train should arrive shortly. The men are in position. They know what they must do..
'They must knock out the guards in the engine- cab. They must eliminate the machine-gunner on top of the coal-tender. They must wipe out the troops secreted in the mail-van coach at the rear. No prisoners. We cannot afford them.'
'It is all arranged,' Vlatko reassured him. 'Don't worry…'
'The day I stop worrying, this unit ceases to exist…'
Heljec spoke in a throaty voice – he consumed eighty cigarettes a day. There could hardly have been a greater contrast between the appearances and temperaments of the two men. Heljec had taken to the war like a duck to water. His men were in awe of his presence and stamina. He could make his way across country impassable to German commanders at a pace of thirty miles a day.
Vlatko Jovanovic, a shoemaker by profession, was small and tubby. Fifty years old, he was appalled by war and destruction, a genial and pacific man who had decided there was no alternative but to fight. A calm and careful man – for twenty-five years he had been the finest shoemaker in Belgrade – he complemented Heljec's savage vigour perfectly.
'You did a good job at Maribor,' Heljec remarked.
He made the comment automatically, his eyes studying the curve of the rail track at the bottom of the gorge at a point where the train would be moving up a steep ascent and, therefore, going slowly.
'It was routine, just a question of constant alertness.'
'The journey back was difficult.'
It was a statement Heljec was making. He expected miracles of endurance from his men but he never forgot to express his thanks afterwards. Jovanovic nodded his round head and pulled at the tip of his magnificent moustache, his most distinctive feature.
'Again, it was a question of alertness,' he replied.
This whole operation of ambushing the train was an experiment which had been personally sanctioned by Tito. They were, in fact, deep inside the hated Cetniks' country. The plan was to provoke the Germans into heavily reinforcing this area of Yugoslavia which, at the moment, was lightly held, and largely by Cetniks.
A major success north of Zagreb would send shock waves through the German command which could well extend to Berlin. Heljec was well aware of what was at stake and looking forward all the more to dealing the enemy a blow under the belt. It was worthwhile.
'I am sure we have enough troops for the job,' Heljec remarked.
'Forty men,' Vlatko again reassured him. 'All strategically placed. And we outnumber them heavily. That is the secret of war, Napoleon once said. Mass your forces – even if inferior – at the point where you will be superior to the enemy. Then you strike with everything you've got.'
'You're right, of course,' Heljec agreed. 'It is the unexpected I am always watching for.'
`So, at Maribor I found the data needed to plan this operation.'
It had, Vlatko reflected without saying so aloud, been tricky on Maribor platform. The crowds had helped as he mingled with them observing the train which had just arrived from Spielfeld-Strass. A meticulous man, Vlatko had counted the number of cars. Eight, including the mail-van at the rear. '
The Germans, knowing the area was swarming with spies, had acted with great secrecy. Not one of the Waffen SS hidden inside the mail-van had been allowed onto the platform to stretch his aching legs. Vlatko, who had once produced hand-made shoes for royalty, was unusually observant. He noticed omissions.
Intrigued by the fact that no mail was unloaded, he loitered against a wall and watched. His patience was rewarded when the officer in charge opened the sliding doors a few inches and peered out. Vlatko, by the light of a lamp outside the coach, had a glimpse of German Army uniforms before the door closed again.
'How long before the train leaves for Zagreb?' he had asked a railway official.
`Half an hour at least. Maybe longer. Water has to be siphoned aboard.'
'Then I have time for a drink if I can find a bar open?'
'Have one for me.'
Slipping out of the station, Vlatko had mounted the cycle he had left hidden in an alley and made his way out of the town to a remote farmhouse. Here he had paused to use a concealed transmitter to radio a brief message to Heljec.
His work at the farmhouse completed, he had changed from using the cycle to an ancient motorbike, speeding through the night along a devious route following little-used side roads. He had reached Heljec's group waiting above the gorge before the train arrived.
Even at this stage of the war, the Partisans' system of communications was remarkably well-organized. The Germans had attacked Yugoslavia in April 1941. Two years later the guerrillas had a whole network of couriers who travelled by pedal and motorcycle. They further employed numerous radio transmitters used only for the most urgent signals – hence the German radio-detector vans had so far not tracked down a single Partisan transmitter. As Vlatko had remarked, it was routine.
'I have kept back one piece of unfortunate news,' Vlatko said in a hesitant voice.
'What is it?' rasped Heljec. 'You- know I like to hear about any problems immediately.'
'This we can do very little about.'
'Spit it out man, for God's sake!'
'While on the platform at Maribor I saw Paco boarding the train, I think she had a man with her…'
'On the train we are waiting for? You think it was the Englishman we are supposed to receive weapons for?'
'Possibly. I could not risk trying to warn her…'
'Of course not! She must take her chances…' Now it was Heljec's turn to hesitate, a rare reaction. 'Which coach did she get inside?' he asked eventually.
'A dangerous one – the coach immediately behind the engine and the tender with the German machine- gunner.'
Heljec remained silent and brooding. Paco was the best courier he had ever met. She could, and would, go into areas any man might cringe at the thought of penetrating. For Christ's sake; she had just taken a group into and out of the Third Reich itself.
'She is born lucky,' he said eventually.
'You salve your conscience with illusions..
