The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (2 page)

              “With more night hours than day. There’s a chance.”

              Klinger nodded. “I understand my orders come direct from Heinrich Himmler and my cargo is necessary for Germany to win this war.”

              “Trust me, the demands I ask of you and your crew are no more than I ask of every man I command. Our intelligence is a shambles, my signal room requires spares to operate and the Fuhrer informs me he hasn’t forgotten.” He stopped when the phone rang.

              Klinger watched an old man age.

              “I understand. We defend the city until ready to mount a counter offensive.” The call ended and he faced Klinger. “Even I have to take orders. Go, Captain, and pray the clouds cover the moon.”

***                                                                                      

Captain Klinger Baum stood and stared across the empty harbour as he waited. He turned and his eyes glimpsed a brass plaque on the rear bulkhead, which gave the correct name of his ship. Jupiter. 1927 Built Harland and Wolf Belfast. He smiled, when new she might have been the pride of the company. At six thousand tons, her holds when full may have contained many different cargoes. Now they held wooden ammunition boxes, their contents anonymous but he guessed they were of value.

              The direct line to the engine room buzzed. “Bridge. Captain.”

              “Chief, sir. Ready to proceed.”

              “Thank you, Chief. You and your men carried out the impossible. I will try to get us home.”

              “I’ll keep the screw turning and you set the course, sir.”

              “Standby, Chief.”  

              Klinger contacted the harbour officer. “Lift the boom.
Gradisca
is leaving harbour.” He watched as the small tug shifted the boom from which steel nets hung.

              “Let go forward. Slow astern port – slow ahead starboard.”

              Unhurried, the bow turned away from the dock wall.

              “Let go aft. Slow ahead port.” He took a compass bearing on the centre of the entrance. “Steer 160.”

              In the dark, the profile of the vessel appeared similar to the hospital ship
Gradisca
. The second funnel and wooden framework aft, which concealed two guns bolted to the deck, might give them the edge they needed to survive.

                 “Steer south.”

              The middle-aged quartermaster, his hands resting on the spokes, eased the wheel, correcting the course as he glanced at the dimly lit compass card.

              Klinger stared ahead, thankful tonight neither the cloud-covered moon nor stars gave any light. The dark was his friend. Daylight his enemy.

              “Full ahead both, maximum revolutions.” He waited for the engine room line to buzz.

              “Chief, to survive I need everything this tub can give.” The line went dead as the vibrations through the vessel increased.

              “When shall I take over, sir?”

              “Bruno, you have the watch but I will stay on the bridge and catnap. Where are the SS at this moment?”

              “Leaning over the rail sir, being sick.”

              Klinger chuckled. “So much for our elite troops.”

              “Be careful, sir, someone may hear you.”

              “This war’s finished, Bruno. If we make Crete and we might, then I’ll navigate us out of the Med and into the Atlantic. What do you believe are our chances?”

              “Ten percent if we are lucky, and avoid British warships.”

              “An ice cube in the fires of hell has more chance. I’m tempted to scuttle this heap of shit when we sight Crete. My crew deserve to go home and see their families. Keep your eyes open, Bruno, and we may yet stay alive. Wake me if you notice anything.”

              “Yes. Sir.”

***

“Sunrise, sir.”

Klinger woke, slid from his chair, and walked out onto the starboard bridge wing. He yawned, stretched, and scanned an empty sea and sky. Thankful, he offered a prayer.

“Bruno, it’s time you rested. Give me ten minutes to wash and grab a sandwich. If you spot another vessel, alter course as you consider right,  and get Hans up here.”

Chapter Four

Major Oskar Berg stared at the massive armoured engine in front of him as smoke from its chimney corkscrewed into the night. The steel door protecting the footplate opened and a middle-aged man in overalls jumped to the gravel-covered ground and saluted.

“Sergeant Brock, sir.”

Berg recalled Koch’s comment and pointed. “You drive this?”

Brock grinned. “I’ve been with this engine since 1940, sir. There’s nothing I don’t know.”

Berg rubbed his chin. “So each engine has its own crew. Are there any other railwaymen amongst the soldiers?” He saw the man nod, his blackened face giving nothing away.

“There’s a few, sir.”

“I sense a but.”

“It’s not my place to tell a officer how to run his train, sir.”

Berg left nothing to doubt. “My knowledge of trains is not worth a Reich-mark. I need you to find every man who has worked on the railways. This train has to be ready to leave by first light.”

The sergeant saluted as a regular soldier. “What configuration, sir?”

Berg gave him details.

“I’ll need ten minutes to give my fireman his orders before I start. Where will you be, sir?”

“In the cab, waiting. No one sleeps tonight.”

He clambered up and into the overheated cab and nodded to the fireman. “Can you drive this train?”

The man covered in coal-dust stopped raking the fire. “Yes, sir, but the rules forbid it until I am qualified.”

“But you could?”

“In an emergency, sir.”

“Have you been told where the train is going?”

The man stared at him in a manner almost insolent. “Sir, I’m a fireman. I tend the fire. It’s of no interest to me where we are going but the sergeant will tell me, once the wheels start turning.”

“You’re not married?”

“A girl in every rail-yard, sir. My sergeant hasn’t seen his wife and children for over two years. He should be ...”

The cab door opened. “My apologies, sir, my fireman prattles on.”

“Passing the time, Sergeant. You found my men?”

“Eleven, sir, and every one a corporal.”

“Good. Let’s go and give them their orders.”

Throughout the night men and equipment swarmed around the train. With his uniform jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, Berg laboured alongside his men. At 0800 he entered the red brick building with Axel and Lars. The colonel arrived moments later.

Brigadier General Karl Koenig sat with his aid making notes as Colonel Becker and his three majors entered the room.

Karl stopped what he was doing.

“The trains are ready to move when you give the order, sir.”

“Then there’s no time to be lost. Becker, you will be on the first train with Berg and an explosives team. You will stop before crossing every bridge and check for explosives while in Greece. Gather round.” He waited until all movement stopped. “The quickest route is through Albania. It’s dangerous but gets you out of this damned country. The Red Army is racing towards Greece and has taken Hungary. With luck, the Greek resistance will be fighting each other. One group wants to dominate this country after the war. I am sure they will attack, so you will travel during daylight. You will guard these trains with your lives.”

“The resistance, sir. They are aware of the penalty if they wound or kill one of our soldiers.”

“Colonel Becker. The more Greeks we dispose of the bigger the resistance becomes. I don’t think our threat bothers them.”

“General, sir. My orders are to remain here.”

Karl lifted his head. “And my orders are you will be on the first train.

“Becker, your train will leave at nine.

“Koch will follow thirty minutes later.

“Zimmerman has the honour of the prize train, which will leave at ten. This time gap will continue until you reach Germany. There you will receive fresh orders. Dismissed.”

The meeting was over and Karl returned to making more notes.

Becker and the majors saluted, turned, and left.

“Thirty minutes before we leave, sir,” said Major Berg.

“I have a few things to do,” said Becker. “I will join you in plenty of time.” He walked away at a brisk pace.

“Suit yourself,” muttered Berg. “The train goes at nine.”

The three majors stood by the engine of train number one and watched as Becker arrived with suitcases and trunks in a small truck. They listened as he screamed orders at the soldiers to hurry and load his baggage into the one passenger carriage.

Berg shook hands with Koch and Zimmerman. “If I send up a red flare, we are under attack. It’ll give you extra time to prepare.”

“You worry too much,” said Zimmerman.

“It’s time,” said Koch.

“Major,” shouted the driver,  

Berg turned, grabbed the handrail and pulled himself into the cab. The whistle squealed and steam exhausted from the engine. Wheels turned and the train edged ahead. Chains strained as within minutes the speed increased.

Both men gazed at the hundreds of armed soldiers crammed on the armoured or sand-bagged trucks.

“Our men at least can lie flat. Those poor buggers in the goods wagons are limited to standing room and one bucket in which to crap.”

He nodded. “See you tonight,” said Koch.

Zimmerman slapped him on the back. “I remember as a child wanting to work on the railways and now I have my own train.”

Koch grinned, checked the time, and wandered across the rail yard.

Karl motioned to his aid. “Captain Spee, I want an update on those trains on the hour, starting at midday.”

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements, General.”

              “Spee, you will personally give me an update on where those trains are every hour.”

              “Yes, sir.” Spee ran to the basement.

              This entire level housed the main communications equipment for the SS. In the background the emergency generator vibrated the concrete floor. In front of their grey-green units, five uniformed corporals sat wearing headphones. Their task to transmit or receive signals from the many out-stations, He coughed as his lungs filled with cigarette smoke.

              The communications officer, red-eyed, fought back a yawn. He lifted his head and took his time to stack the most important of signals. “What does he want now?”

“You are to contact the trains and note their position fifteen minutes before the hour and send one of your men with the information to me.”

“Spee, can you read Morse code faster than you can talk?”

“No, sir.”

“Well my team can and I will not waste their time running after you.” He groped for his packet of cigarettes. “The Russians are not taking any prisoners. In a couple of weeks, we will be dead. I’ll get the information and you can come and get it yourself?”

“Our magnificent army will force them back to Russia, the Fuhrer has decided.”

“Spee, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. Half our army is on its way to Germany. Now be a good boy and make sure you wipe the General’s fat arse in the right direction. I have work to do, so bugger off.”

Spee considered reporting the communications officer but decided to bide his time until the trains arrived in Germany. He sat at his desk and with pencil and ruler made a flow chart for each train. 

At midday, Captain Spee presented his first report of the day. “General, sir, minor delays as a result of checking each bridge for explosives. The time difference between each train remains as ordered. Distance travelled seventy-five kilometres. No problems.”

“Thank you, Spee.” Karl continued on his plan for the defence of Thessalonica.

With the smartest of salutes, Spee returned to his desk.

Chapter Five