'Colonel Jaeger has just come through on the phone direct from Zagreb…'
In the signals office Bormann, short of breath, settled his ample buttocks in a chair. Without a word of thanks he took the instrument from the duty officer and jerked his head. Get out and leave me alone …
Bormann here… I was just going to call you… The Fuhrer…'
'Kindly listen to me. I am short of time…'
Jaeger's deep, booming voice cut off the Reichsleiter in mid-sentence. The Colonel was speaking in his barrack-room voice. He had finally run out of patience with the whole gang at headquarters. What the hell did they know about what was going on in the outside world?
'I am phoning so you can tell the Fuhrer we have the Partisan group holding Lindsay cornered. Time and again they have slipped away from us after a battle involving appalling casualties. I am launching an airborne attack – using paratroopers. This should give us the element of surprise which has hitherto been lacking.. Put the Fuhrer on the line and I'll tell him myself.'
'I have understood you so far…'
'So far! Good God, man, I've just given you the most precise military appreciation of the situation possible. That's all.'
'But the timing of the operation…'
'Not settled. Depends on weather conditions.' 'And Lindsay is definitely with this group?'
'Are you listening to me? Has your memory gone?
I've just used the phrase 'the Partisan group holding Lindsay'.'
All traces of patience had vanished from Jaeger's voice. By his side Schmidt looked anxious, wagged a warning finger. The Colonel lifted a threatening hand, holding the earpiece like a club, then smiled and winked.
'What was that?' he snapped into the 'phone. 'When may I expect news of developments?' Bormann repeated.
'When they develop.'
He slammed the earpiece back onto the cradle and walked to the first-floor window of the ancient stone villa on the outskirts of Zagreb. It was snowing, but only lightly, the flakes drifting in the windless air.
'What do the Met geniuses predict this time?'
'A complete clearing of the weather in twenty-four hours from now. A cloudless day tomorrow. Positively no snow. No 'ifs' or 'buts' and their report is in writing,' Schmidt replied.
'You twisted their arms, you must have done! Are. Stoerner's paratroopers standing by?'
'Men and machines are ready for the air-drop when you give the word…'
'What would I do without you, my dear Schmidt?' 'Have a nervous breakdown…'
Jaeger threw back his head and roared with laughter. This rapport between senior officer and subordinate had been built up slowly, in the great campaign of '40 in France; during the terrible ordeals on the Eastern front. The Colonel's expression became grave again…'
'It's going to be a race against time, you realize that?'
'I don't quite follow you, sir…'
'That fine weather, if it materializes. Perfect for our parachute drop, but-perfect also for the British to land a plane on that plateau to take out Lindsay. And God knows we have had enough rumours of an imminent airlift. From inside Fitzroy Maclean's headquarters, from other sources. Oh, I've decided to go in with the paratroopers myself. Long time ago since I dangled from a 'chute…'
'For God's sake, sir. After Kursk you were going to be invalided out of the Army. You remember what that doctor told you in Munich.'
'That I should only do what I felt like doing. I feel like dropping in on Wing Commander Lindsay. Inform Stoerner one more parachute will be required.'
`Two more. I took the same course with you at Langheim.'
'Now listen to me, Schmidt.' Jaeger's tone was grave. 'I've a premonition about this operation. You have a wife and two children…'
'Like yourself. I've carried out every order you've ever given me. Don't make me guilty of insubordination now…'
'Oh, hell – have it your own way,' Jaeger growled.
As Schmidt left the room to 'phone Stoerner, he sat down at a desk and took a sheet of notepaper from a drawer. It took him some time to compose the letter to his wife. He had always hated correspondence.
Dear Magda, We've had a marvellous life together. And all thanks to you, for your infinite kindness and consideration. I am writing on the eve of a somewhat difficult business we have to undertake. I wouldn't like you to suffer a shock if they send one of those bald official communications…
'Signal just came in,' Reader told Lindsay. 'It's the green light. Plane lands tomorrow at 1100 hours, subject always to the ruddy weather changing…'
'Christ, it's snowing. Are they mad?'
'Clear day forecast for tomorrow. And our weather's coming in from the west – over the Adriatic from Italy, so they should know.' Reader sounded buoyant. 'My God, inside twenty-four hours we could be out of the bloody Balkans forever. Promise myself one thing. I'm never coming back to this hell-hole.'
He looked up as Paco strolled over to join them. She wore a camouflage jacket, a heavy woollen skirt and knee-length boots. Her blonde hair was neatly brushed and she carried Reader's sten gun in her right hand. He had shown her how to use it.
'Care to come for a walk, lady?' Reader suggested chirpily. 'Get the old circulation moving.'
'All right. How are you feeling this morning, Lindsay?'
'I'm OK.'
He watched her walk away across the plateau with Reader, so close together they were almost touching. His expression was bleak, bitter. He had been standing, holding his stick. He was mobile now, his temperature was back to normal. Under the ministrations of Dr Macek the glandular fever had been brought under control.
Their relationship with the Partisans had radically altered over the months they had fought with the group, constantly fleeing from the Germans, evading Jaeger's attempts to trap them. Often by the skin of their teeth.
Reader, still playing the role of Cockney sergeant, still wisely concealing his real rank and Intelligence background, was largely responsible for the change. He no longer hid his transmitter, which he lugged from place to place. He had engaged the aggressive Heljec in a number of verbal battles and had won.
'If you want the guns and the ammo,' he had persisted time and again, 'you must co-operate with my people. Lindsay, myself, Paco – if she wants to leave – have to be flown out. Hartmann, too. The plane that takes us out brings in the guns.'
Reader had lost track of the weeks, months, the argument had raged in the quiet times. Haggle, haggle. It was the way of life in the Balkans. He had thrown in Hartmann as a bargaining counter, intending to sacrifice the German at the right moment. That had precipitated a violent struggle with both Lindsay and Paco.
'Hartmann has been very kind to me,' Paco told Reader. 'He must have a place on the plane.'
'He's a Jerry,' Reader told her. 'Heljec won't wear it – and what's all the fuss about, anyway…'
'Gustav Hartmann is coming with us,' Lindsay intervened. 'And that's an order. Don't forget I outrank you, Major…'
'And who's organizing this how's-your-father?' Reader had exploded. 'Spendin' 'arf me bloody life arguing the toss with this bandit. You know what his latest demand is? Mortars and bombs, for Christ's sake. He'll be lucky…'
'Hartmann is Abwehr,' Lindsay said quietly. 'Your people are going to be very interested in grilling him…'
'It's not on! It's not part of my instructions…'
'It's part of mine.' Lindsay's tone was clipped. 'I don't have to give you a reason. It just so happens that he's anti-Nazi. I've been talking to him…'
'Anti-Nazi!' Reader snorted. 'All the bleeders will be when the chips are down.'
'That's enough. I'm giving you a direct order. Hai! Alarm is part of the deal. It's up to you to fix it. That's why you were sent here. Make Heljec give way or I'll take over the negotiations myself.'
'If you say so. Wing Commander! '
Lindsay had deliberately concealed the fact that Hartmann also was an invaluable witness to the extraordinary conditions prevailing at the Wolf's Lair. On the morning before the plane was expected, as Paco
