pain. And when you bring this peace to men, please send us homeward — once again.’
He recalled their first mission in Poland’s Tatra Mountains, their actions in the French Alps and their love of climbing above politics, beliefs or war. They were climbers who were conscripted soldiers. A toast of vodka was raised and Kravchenko was invited to toast also. He saluted in Russian. Brandt realised at that point they were a very, very long way from home.
He looked around the carriage. They were all looking at him. He’d have loved to hand the command over to the Russian, but he was injured and exhausted. Brandt sighed; it took a moment to follow through with his thoughts;
‘We retrieve the cameras and kill Kincaid and Regan. We have to make this look like it never happened. We’ll use Lenin as a guarantee of safe passage to Switzerland. The high command don’t want us to exist. We’ll oblige them on our terms. I’ve had enough of this war,’
As Kramer translated Brandt's words, Kravchenko pondered the idea. His thoughts were of home and his family, his young wife Sonja and his four year old son. The damage done to the train meant he could now be listed as dead. Should he be caught, he’d be branded a political traitor and he and his family would be residing in Kolyma before the end of the year. He could be either dead as a hero or dead as a traitor. He smiled wryly to himself that death seemed to be joined to his hip since this afternoon. The German’s plan added another option to lying in an unmarked grave somewhere. Tears welled up in his eyes, possibly delayed shock, but more that he would never see little Oleg again.
He nodded in agreement. If he came out of this in one piece, he’d slip into some other Russian unit heading home when the war ended. He vowed to see Oleg and his wife Sonja again, alive.
Kramer, Kant, Olga, Koheller, Bader and Hauptmann sat quietly, letting the idea of deserting and living in a neutral country sink in. This was the first time they had heard their leader, their friend, ever speak like this. They, like him, were sickened at the betrayal. In war life was cheap but this was straightforward treachery. Had Fretter- Pico known? Rathenow? He hadn’t turned the airship around once the shooting started. How high up the chain of command did this set-up go?
‘I climbed the Eiger before the war; a very difficult climb. We could sit out the war in Berne sipping Kirsch,’ mused Kramer aloud, his voice echoing around the carriage. He started to grin at the thought. His creased face resembled a relief map of the moon.
Kant pulled Olga closer. ‘I go where this little lady goes.’
Rank and enemy status were forgottten for an instant. They could’ve been strangers on a train in peacetime striking up a conversation. Then, with a collective grunt, they started preparations for departure.
Hauptmann, Bader and Voight gathered provisions, prepared a fire and began an inventory of weapons, equipment and, most importantly; ammunition.
The half-track was destroyed with no possibility of its being used ever again. The remaining German bodies were lined up on the river bank and any useful item — knives, pistols, ammunition and warm clothing — removed. There was one odd discovery — none of the SS had dog-tags. Kramer checked under the arm of each corpse for tattoos identifying regiment and blood group. They had none. The fighter pilots' billets yielded more cold food, coffee and chocolate, a full bottle of vodka, some half-eaten bread, cheese and sausage abandoned when the carriage arrived. They were quickly consumed.
Kravchenko declined to eat, allowing his new-found comrades to enjoy his ration. If they were to push out on foot avoiding the Russian Army, they were going to need nutrition. Olga had sourced her lichen for brewing and once the small fire was blazing, some of Kincaid’s silver coffee pots were placed on it for the water to boil.
A hurried meal was consumed and the vodka bottle was passed around. Lichen tea followed and those that didn’t retch felt the beginnings of being alive again.
Russian and German army maps were examined on the table where the sarcophagus had lain. One of Regan’s lamps, jerry-rigged to the on-board generator, cast harsh light and shadows across the page. Sunken cheekbones and eyes worked in deep shadows as the lights began to flicker. The generator was beginning to fail.
Brandt thought the best solution lay with the Luftwaffe. ‘We need to get a transport aircraft here and hi-jack it. We need some kind of a ruse.’
‘How about a medical consignment retrieved from a skirmish with the Russian army?’ Kant suggested,
‘They would scramble a whole squadron for a prize like that,’ agreed Brandt.
Looking into the distance, Kravchenko calculated that the flying boat would be out of Russian airspace within four hours. Kramer translated this for him. Brandt and Kant knew about the small islands off the coast of Helsinki and the planned transfer to the U-Boat. The flying boat couldn’t be shot down because of the precious cargo on board.
Brandt’s thoughts suddenly turned to the girl in sable with Kincaid, Eva. She was a witness to what had happened and therefore expendable. He thought of those grey intelligent eyes and felt a stirring across his chest which consumed him for a moment. He’d caught her looking at him a couple of times at least before suddenly finding something else to look at when their eyes met. He smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours and decided he was going to see her again, no matter what. His attention was broken by the sound of wolves howling in the night which sent a primordial chill through everyone.
Schultz’s radio was working and Bader was hunched over it, incrementally tuning for a signal. He paused. Inclining his head and practically resting his headset against the radio, he summoned Brandt over to him. ‘You’re not going to believe this, sir. It’s the British Embassy in Helsinki inquiring if we require assistance.’
‘How did they find us?’ Brandt was suspicious. If The British had their co-ordinates they could alert the Russians.
‘It’s the only German Army bandwidth signal in the area.’
Brandt still wasn’t happy. He got Bader to ask ‘How do you know we need assistance?’
There was a pause. Bader’s jaw clenched as he repeated the message. ‘They’ve intercepted a coded message from an American flying boat in Russian airspace. Part of the fragment decoded is — Alpine Unit eliminated.’
‘How quickly can they get a plane here and turn it around to the Finnish coast?’
Zbarsky worked silently in the flying boat’s hold. The laboratory was state-of-the-art but the available chemicals useless. He was trying to re-think his formulae in his head and instruct his team simultaneously. He made some rough jottings on a page and cross-checked them against the chemicals. Once his decision was made, he tore the jottings up and chewed them when no-one was watching. They were close to the end of the treatments supplied for the train journey and now they had to preserve the body indefinitely. Pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, he pondered his options: not co-operate and be shot in the head as the SS officer had threatened, or do his best.
No point in being a hero both for him or his team.
He blended the preservatives and began to work quickly and thoroughly. They had to hope against hope that keeping Lenin preserved and intact gave their countrymen a reason to get him back. The American’s pretty companion was with them translating for them. She looked uneasy and was clearly acting under duress. Oblivious to her discomfort, the SS officer and the American had almost begun a tug-of-war over her.
Zbarsky asked her to instruct that the hold’s temperature be set to the sarcophagus’ settings immediately. Her accent was Eastern European, which meant either traitor or ally. He’d watch her closely before asking for her help. The fact that she was scared was a good start. The SS officer regarded him with distaste as Kincaid hollered the instruction through the plane’s communications systerm. Lights were instructed to be dimmed and only the team remained whilst the body was out of its coffin.
Eva sensed that time was running out, that the net around her was snapping shut. She couldn’t disguise her horror at the attack on Brandt’s men. As the flying boat pulled away, the small Chechen girl was under heavy fire and Eva had screamed out a warning. She pounded on the glass with tears running down her face. She then looked around to see how she could get the plane back on the ground. Toying with the brooch laden with chemicals, she tried calculate the distance she could cover to immobilise the pilot. The flying boat’s engines had catapulted them off the ice and, with the fighter’s staying in tight formation, she was out of options.
Her heart ached for the German officer and the pointless ending to his and his comrades' lives. Schenker and Kincaid had roared with laughter at their success and Regan was positioned somewhere aft filming the whole event.
