The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (3 page)

Major Berg stood on the left side of the engine cab. The driver kept a constant watch through the side and front windows at the track ahead. The fireman raked, riddled, and stoked the fire. On approaching a bridge, the driver sounded the whistle three times to warn the troops.

Once stopped the explosives team ran to the bridge, while anti-aircraft guns and howitzers rotated on their mountings. Sergeants scanned the vicinity with binoculars. Nervous soldiers released the safety catches on their weapons.

On finding nothing, the team returned. In minutes the train travelled at high speed. The constant stopping and starting drained the men and placed them on edge.

At the next bridge, Berg walked back to the carriage where the colonel enjoyed the comfort of a cushioned seat and drank coffee.

Colonel Becker placed his magazine on the table. “Problems?”

“Sir, sunset is at 2000. I suggest we decide where to stop for the night, rather than find ourselves surrounded by mountains.”

“You have been reading my mind.” He opened a large leather-bound folder. From this he removed a map. “Where do you suggest?”

Berg’s finger followed the track before he glanced at his watch. “My choice would be this valley. Level ground exists in every direction and we should be safe with armed patrols at irregular intervals. To save time tomorrow, we send two squads to examine the next two bridges. I’d prefer three but the third is too distant.”

Becker sounded calm as he replied. “I agree, we spend the night there.” His finger pressed on the spot. “See to the arrangements.”

The train shuddered and picked up speed.

“You may have a coffee, Major, and make me one while you’re at it.”

Berg cringed as he made two coffees but sat in a separate seat away from Becker. Exhausted he closed his eyes.

“Major,” shouted Becker. “The train has stopped.”

He glanced at the full cup of coffee, grabbed his cap and ran out.

Sergeant Brock leant out of the cab. “Another damned bridge, sir.”

Berg laughed aloud.

“The fireman’s making tea, sir, fancy a cup?”

He clambered into the cab, amazed he was so calm. “The best offer I’ve had all day.”

Brock handed him a large chipped enamel mug. “Sorry about the mug but the good stuff doesn’t survive for long on the footplate.”

“It’s hot and sweet, Sergeant. Out of interest, how did you manage to find sugar?”

“I’d rather not say, sir.”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, we’ll be stopping in a valley I’ve chosen, at dusk.”

“Can you tell me where, sir?”

Berg took out his rail map and pointed. “In the centre of this valley.”

“Can I make a suggestion, sir?”

“Of course.”

“Stop at this end. If we have to leave in a hurry, it’s downhill. I understand it’s easier to hold the high ground.”

Berg smiled. “I stand corrected. I should have spoken to you first. Who knows this line better than you?”

Brock tapped one of the steam gauges. “The team’s coming back. Time to go.” He pulled the levers and adjusted a few valve wheels. The squeal of metal on metal filled their ears as they picked up speed.

Three more bridges proved clear and they reached the hill overlooking the valley as the sun set.

Berg, his uniform and face covered in black dust, jumped from the cab and stretched. He glanced at his watch before walking to the first manned wagon. “Lieutenant.”

A young, fresh-faced officer scrambled off the wagon, tugged his uniform jacket into shape, and saluted.  

“Your men will take the first duty. Set up a perimeter guard at a thousand metres. Patrols are to consist of three armed soldiers. No lights and your men will be relieved in two hours. Spread the word to the next troop carrier until the night guard is covered. Send one of your men back along the track with a red lamp and stop the next train at a thousand metres.” Berg glanced along the train. “Where’s the sergeant in charge of the explosives team?”

“He and his men are sleeping, sir.”

“Well don’t stand there, go and wake them.”

The lieutenant saluted, attempted to turn right but his feet slipped on the gravel.

Idiot, thought Berg, but thank God rank hath its privilege. At least I can wash and relax in the passenger car. He shouted at Brock who leant out of the cab. “We start again at sunrise.”

“Yes, Major. The train will be ready. Potatoes are cooking on the fire. Do you want one?”

“How long before they’re ready?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Save me one.”

“Yes, Major.”

“Sergeant Lubbock reporting as ordered, Major.”

“Sergeant, you will split your team and with full packs march to the next bridge. One group will check for explosives and set watch overnight. Group two, will continue onto the next, and repeat the procedure. We will slow the train and pick you up as we pass in the morning.”

The sergeant stood motionless as he accepted the order, saluted and strolled back to his men. “No fucking sleep,” he muttered before bawling at his squad.

In the distance, Berg listened to the screech of brakes. The second train had arrived. At a brisk pace, he strode along the track.

In ten minutes, he relayed his orders to Major Zimmerman.

“And what is the Colonel doing?”

“Not a lot,” Berg said. “We leave at dawn. See you tomorrow night.”

Zimmerman walloped him on the back. “We will be closer to Germany. I look forward to seeing my children again.”

The night remained uneventful. As the morning glow of the sun climbed over the mountains, Berg slapped the sergeant on the shoulder. “Time to go.”

Sergeant Brock opened the throttle on the idling train and they sped into Macedonia. The prior examination of the first two bridges saved time as they raced north.

Captain Spee made his first report of the day to the general who nodded and waved him away.

“Sergeant, why are we slowing?”

“Sir,” he waved his arms at the tree-covered slopes and the deep gorge to the right of the train “This line follows the contour of the mountain. If I travel at speed, I will not be able to brake if the line is blocked. This way I reverse, thus putting the train in a safer position for your men to fight.”

Creases formed on Berg’s brow. “What if we increased speed?”

“If the resistance remove one rail, it’s over the edge.”

“You make a good point. Stop the train. I need to speak to my men.”

Brock eased back on the throttle and the train slowed to a halt. Berg jumped to the ground.

The young lieutenant from the first truck ordered his troop to standby.

“Lieutenant, pass the word we are approaching a forested and mountainous region. I promise you the resistance will be waiting. Be ready to expect the unexpected. If you see anything out of the ordinary, you have my permission to open fire. Do not leave the protection of your wagon. You have the firepower to destroy the enemy on the slopes. In the forest, he has the advantage. Understood?”

“Yes, Major.”

“Very well. Make sure the officer on every armed truck understands.”

“Yes, Major.”

Berg clambered back into the cab. “God help us, Brock, they give me boys straight from school.”

“They will not let you down, Major.”

He shrugged. “If they do, I and everyone else will be dead.”

Brock eased the train round every bend accelerating when and where he could.

“Brock, how much further until we’re out of these mountains?”

“Five hours at best, Major.”

Brock shouted and pointed ahead as he slammed the engine into reverse. Wheels spun and sparks flew. Carriages thumped carriages as the direction changed. Soldiers tumbled over each other.

No more than four hundred metres along the track lay several large boulders.

Berg leaned out of the window, his pulse raced as he removed his Lugar pistol. He scanned the forest but saw nothing. 

“Stay in the cab, Major. The windows are bullet proof and it would take a cannon shell to puncture the armour.”

“If we sit and do nothing we might as well shoot ourselves.”

“Major, Major.”

Berg could not help but smile. Colonel Becker stood alongside the cab.

“Sir.”

“Is something wrong?”

“The track is blocked. I’ll get my explosives team to blast the boulders and remove the debris. I suggest you return to the safety of your carriage.”

“Where are these boulders?”

Berg pointed.

“Come, we will inspect the problem together.”

Berg glanced at Brock, shrugged and jumped to the ground. “Sergeant, get your team and bring explosives. Lieutenant, ten men, now.”

The group led by Becker followed, their eyes shifted left and right as they walked along the track. Berg positioned five soldiers on either side.

The boulders were taller and wider than an average man. Berg scanned the mountainsides. He saw nothing and shrugged. His thoughts raced, this was the perfect place for an ambush. “All yours, Sergeant. Don’t waste time. Blast those rocks apart but leave the track in one piece.”

The sergeant laughed. “This is why you pay me.” He spoke in a soft voice to his men who removed explosives from their packs and placed them on the boulders. One man inserted the fuse and connected the wires.

“Back to the train,” shouted the sergeant as he trailed a wire behind him. A hailstorm of bullets thudded into the sergeant.

“Shit,” screamed Berg. “Run.”

Becker hesitated and a wall of heavy calibre bullets sliced him in two.

The lethal deluge hit them from both sides of the gorge.

Berg dived under the engine as the throb of the anti-aircraft guns and the howitzers pounded the tree-covered slopes. He could hear the enemy but never saw them. A thunderous roar blasted the boulders. With haste he rolled from under the engine, grabbed the handrail and pulled open the steel door. Pain stabbed every inch of him. He dragged his body into the cab and gave the order. “Brock, shift this train.” His head lolled to one side and he collapsed in a pool of blood on the footplate.

Brock operated the levers and opened the throttle. The train shuddered as it gathered momentum. Bullets struck the cab and ricocheted into the air. With its weight, those rocks scattered over the track fell to one side. Behind him, the big guns and machine guns blasted the slopes.

A few kilometres along the track, he turned to his fireman. “We might make it. What the...” He peered through the chipped armour-plated glass as the train entered a tunnel and the cab doors opened.

Two men wearing British army battle dress opened fire. One of the mercenaries clambered into the cab and opened the throttle wide before he leapt and joined his companion at the side of the track. 

“They will have the ride of their lives,” said Georgios as the carriages trundled on.

“We must wait for the next,” said Savas.

“They will have heard the firing. It will not be so easy”

“How can we tell which train carries the artefacts?”

“On the next train, study the closed trucks. Prisoners have to relieve themselves and it shows. To be sure, we have a man posted in a hole under the track. He not only sees but is often covered.”

A dull explosion rattled along the tunnel.

“They found the bottom of the gorge.”

              “Perfect place for the German bastards,” said Georgios. “Let’s get into position for the next train.”

              The ground beneath their feet trembled and dust floated in the air.

“What the hell?” asked Savas.

“The train. The vibrations take their time to travel through the rock.”

***

Axel Koch listened to the boom of howitzers. “Driver. Stop the train.” He jumped to the ground and ran to the first troop carrier. “Lieutenant, send one of your men. I want every officer here in ten minutes. Sergeant, you and two others release the prisoners and make them run. A few shots into the air will make sure.”

“They’re Italian, sir, good runners.”

Koch shouted. “Get on with it.”

The sergeant chose his men and raced to the first wagon. With a heave, the metal securing bar swung free and the double door slid back.

The odour of stale urine and faeces fouled the air. Exhausted men shielded their eyes from the bright sunlight.

The two soldiers grabbed those tottering by the door and threw them to the ground. “Go, go, go.”

Confused, they went to help their comrades.

The sergeant fired his machine pistol into the air. “Go, go, go.”

Those on the ground stared at their captors before they crawled away.

“Leave them. They’ll soon get the message. Next wagon.”

As they opened the doors to the last wagon the Italian prisoners ran, staggered, or crawled away from the train. Many glanced back expecting a bullet.