They Used Dark Forces (73 page)

Instinctively, Gregory had clung on for the past two hours to the weekend case he had stolen and he had thrown it down only to embrace Erika. He shook his head. ‘No, it contains only a Russian uniform. But there's plenty of food in the villa if only we can get at it. Sabine kept a big store of tinned stuff in the cellar.'

The three of them quickly crossed the lawn and climbed up into the rubble. Having known the house so well Gregory had no difficulty in locating the place beneath which lay the stairs down to the cellar. As twilight fell they set about heaving aside loose bricks and lumps of masonry. Fortunately no beam too heavy to move had fallen across the cellar entrance. After three-quarters of an hour's hard work they succeeded in uncovering it and, with a small torch that Erika had in her handbag, Gregory led the way down.

The cellar was undamaged, although the floor was an inch
or more deep in wine, for the concussion of the bomb had broken the greater part of the bottles. As he descended the steps Gregory feared that he would find Sabine and Trudi, dead from the shock of the explosion that had taken place immediately above, but to his relief they were not there. There were two beds, a table, chairs, an oil stove and cooking utensils, so it was evident that Sabine and Trudi had slept and spent a good part of their time down there during the worst of the bombardment. There were two candles on the table and oil in the stove. Malacou lit them and Erika selected from Sabine's stores some tins of soup, sausages and fruit to make a meal. Gregory removed the broken glass from a bin of hock until he came upon two unbroken bottles.

While they ate they discussed the situation and their prospects of getting away. Gregory said he thought it certain that the Chancellery would fall that night; but the last news to come in had been that Axmann's fanatical Hitler Youth were still holding the bridges over the Havel, and there were still many large pockets of resistance such as that in which the villa was situated.

He added that he had learned from General Krebs that German units were now surrendering right, left and centre and that Berlin would have fallen several days previously had it not been for the foreign contingents incorporated in the S.S. These were composed of men from almost every nation in Europe: tens of thousands of collaborationists, many of whom from quite early in the war had volunteered to fight for Germany. For them there could be no future if they returned to their own countries, only death as traitors; so most of them would fight on to the bitter end.

There could be no doubt that Berlin was completely surrounded and, in spite of the scores of miles that such a belt of encirclement must cover, Gregory felt that by now the Russians must be thick enough on the ground everywhere to prevent any vehicle getting through. Even if they had still had Erika's van all the odds were that in spite of its Red Cross the Russians would have commandeered it for their own use and, suspecting them to be spies or escapers, have made them prisoners. As things were it seemed that their best hope was
for them to set off when full darkness had come, keeping away from the roads as far as possible and, by using the cover of woods and buildings, endeavour to dodge the Russian patrols.

While eating their meal they had kept their feet up rather uncomfortably to prevent the soles of their shoes from becoming soaked through by the flood of wine in the cellar and, when they had finished, as they did not mean to make a start for another hour or two, Erika decided to lie down on one of the beds. Before doing so she went over to tidy her hair at a small dressing table that had been brought down and stood at the far end of the cellar. Wedged in the corner of the mirror there was an envelope that in the dim light none of them had previously noticed. Across it was scrawled the one word, ‘Gregory'.

It could have been left there only by Sabine. Eagerly he tore it open and read out the note inside:

‘
My dear, I've waited for you all day, but as you haven't come I greatly fear that you must have been killed. Now night has come I feel it's my last chance to get away. So Trudi and I are setting off in the car on our own. God knows if we'll get through. I can only pray that we will and that you are still alive and will somehow get here and read this. If you do, but have no car in which to run the gauntlet of these bloody Russians, take the motor launch. I had plenty of petrol, so filled its tank before I left. Thank you and bless you for everything. May God preserve us both. Sabine
.

‘Then she's alive!' exclaimed Gregory happily. ‘They must have left before the bomb fell. And the launch! I'd regarded it as useless without petrol. But she's filled it up for us, bless her!'

Swiftly, they began to remake their plans. Gregory's knowledge of Russian was hopelessly inadequate to stand up to an interrogation if they were halted on a road. But while in Moscow and Leningrad in '41, he had picked up enough to answer a challenge, and he could change into the Russian uniform. By going down the Havel they would have to pass Potsdam, but if a searchlight were turned on to the launch his
uniform would be seen and he could shout a few sentences which should prevent their being fired on from the shore.

Deciding that it would be wise to take some provisions with them, Gregory took the uniform out of the weekend case and stuffed that full of tins, then he and Malacou went out and down to the launch. As it had not been used for many months they had to spend some time working on the engine and getting it running. Satisfied that it was in good shape they returned to the cellar, where Erika was still lying on one of the beds. As they did not intend to start until midnight, while Gregory changed into the Russian uniform Malacou replaced with two fresh candles the stumps that had nearly burnt down and found another bottle of wine.

The two men had been sitting drinking at the table, with their feet up on a spare chair, for about a quarter of an hour, when they suddenly heard the noise of slithering rubble up above. Gregory quickly pulled out his pistol. When picking it up from the floor of the bedroom where he had shot the German he had been so obsessed by his urge to get to Erika that he had not thought of examining it. Now, as he really grasped it for the first time, it struck him that it was surprisingly light. At that the disturbing possibility flashed into his mind that the German had been bluffing with a weapon that was not loaded.

By then they could hear footsteps at the top of the stairs and a voice called anxiously, ‘Sabine! Sabine! Are you there?'

As they stared upwards they saw the lower part of a man in German uniform and the barrel of a Sten gun. A powerful torch flashed out. Its beam chanced to fall directly on Erika's face as she lay on the bed. Next moment there came an exclamation of astonishment:

‘Erika, by all that's holy! What the devil are you doing here?'

Instantly Gregory realised who the man was. It could only be Kurt von Osterberg, now out of hospital and come there in the hope of getting Sabine away. Knowing the Count's hatred for Erika and himself his whole body tensed with awful apprehension. To have survived such dangers throughout this terrible day and now, at its end, to be faced by yet another well-armed enemy seemed an unbelievably cruel trick of fate.
Gripped by an anxiety that made his temples throb, he prayed frantically for the ability to handle this menacing situation.

Sitting up with a jerk, Erika cried, ‘You, Kurt!' Then, after a moment, she added, ‘Sabine's gone and I …'

The brilliant beam of the torch far outshone the light from the two candles on the table and von Osterberg, his gaze fixed on Erika, who was immediately below him, had not yet realised that there was anyone else in the cellar. As he ran down a few more steps they saw that his head was heavily bandaged, but he showed no sign of weakness.

Suddenly he shouted at Erika, ‘You bitch! You filthy traitress; going off with an English spy while your country is at war. At least I can settle accounts with you before the Russians get me!'

As he raised his Sten gun Gregory sprang to his feet and squeezed the trigger of his pistol. It gave only a loud click. His fears of a few moments before were only too well founded. It had no bullets in it.

At the sound of his movement von Osterberg swung round. He was holding the torch alongside his weapon, so its beam swept across Malacou then focussed on Gregory. Giving a gasp, the Count cried:

‘
Mein Gott
! A Russian!' Then, while keeping the gun trained on Gregory, he sneered for Erika's benefit. ‘So, my lady wife, you have again changed your allegiance. First a Jew, then an Englishman, now a Russian. It's clear that you'd stoop to any iniquity to save your lovely skin. You slut! You lecherous harlot! When I've put him and the fellow with him out of the way I'll see to it that you don't live to take another lover.'

Raising his gun a little, he aimed it at Gregory's chest.

‘Stop!' shouted Erika. ‘For God's sake, stop! He's not a Russian. He is …' Her terrified voice trailed away.

Under the broad bandage the Count's eyes suddenly lit up. ‘
Himmel nochmal!
' he whispered. ‘It is! It's the Englishman. Now indeed God has been kind to me.'

Gregory knew that although he could expect no mercy from von Osterberg, the man was not a Grauber. One death might quench his urge to kill so, if he could concentrate the Count's
hatred on himself, that would, perhaps, save Erika. Bursting into speech, he cried:

‘Yes, it's me all right. I am the man who gave you that scar across your face with my knuckles for having allowed the Gestapo to make use of you to trap your wife. And if I were near enough to use my fist I'd lay your other cheek open to match it.' As he spoke he stepped round the table and threw his empty pistol at the Count's head.

Von Osterberg jerked his head aside. The pistol went harmlessly over his shoulder, struck the wall behind him and clattered down the stairs. Seeing that Gregory was about to rush him he raised the barrel of his gun and shouted, ‘Move a foot closer and I'll riddle you.'

At the same moment Erika screamed, ‘Gregory! No! Stay where you are! I implore you. If he must kill someone let it be me.'

‘What a pair of turtle doves,' jeered the Count. ‘The gallant Englishman about to offer himself for slaughter in the hope that I haven't enough bullets for you both, and his nymphomaniac whore wailing to be allowed to sacrifice herself for him. But don't worry. I couldn't bring myself to part you. Like Romeo and Juliet you are going to share a common tomb.'

For a moment he was silent, then he snapped at Gregory, ‘Tell me. How is it that you come to be here?'

‘We came to pick up Sabine Tuzolto, in the hope of taking her through the Russian lines with us.'

‘I had no idea you even knew her.'

Gregory laughed. ‘I've known her for years; and this villa. She was hiding me here from the Gestapo at the time of the attempt on Hitler's life. I was up on the roof when they came to arrest you and you tried to commit suicide, but lacked the guts to put the gun in your mouth and make a proper job of it.'

‘Where is Sabine now?'

‘God knows; I don't. But she left a note for me containing a suggestion about how we might get away.'

‘Yes, Kurt,' Erika put in eagerly. ‘Before she went she filled the tank of the motor launch with petrol. We meant to start in about half an hour and go in it down the Havel. Please, please forget the past. Anyway until we are all safe again. Put
these terrible thoughts of revenge out of your mind and, instead, come with us.'

‘Thank you, my dear, for the information,' replied the Count drily. ‘That is an excellent plan and I shall adopt it. But as I dislike the company of spies and loose women I shall go alone.'

‘Then you'll get yourself killed,' said Gregory quickly. ‘The Russians are in Potsdam and they are certain to have searchlights trained on the river. They will shoot you and the launch to pieces.'

‘Oh no they won't. Not when I've stripped that uniform you're wearing from your dead body and they see me in it.'

‘They will; unless you can speak Russian and answer in it when they challenge you.' Gregory was standing some eight feet away from the Count, so too far off to rush him. He knew that he would be mown down before he could even clutch the Sten gun; and there could be no question about the extreme peril with which he and Erika were faced. Their only hope of saving themselves lay in talking von Osterberg out of his declared intention to murder them both, so he hurried on:

‘Erika is right. Surely you have seen enough of violence and death in Berlin these past few months? Try to remember that we were once all decent civilised people, and now that this ghastly war is as good as over we should cease from acting like savages. You are not a Gestapo thug but a German nobleman. It's your duty to your caste to behave like one. Only a few years ago you would have been horrified at the idea of shooting two people in cold blood. I know enough Russian to get us through, and it's your life as well as ours. For Christ's sake be sensible and let's all go together.'

The Count gave a frosty smile. ‘You would make a good barrister; but, in this case, not quite good enough. If they challenge me I'll shout some gibberish and as I will be wearing a Russian uniform they'll take me for a Kalmuck or a Tartar, and let me pass. Then somehow I'll find Sabine Tuzolto. No; when I've had the pleasure of shooting you two beauties I'll set out on my own.'

As he ceased speaking Erika began to plead again, but he cut her short and snarled at her, ‘Silence, you bitch! Get up off that bed and stand with your face to the wall.'

Pale as death she shook her head. Suddenly he swivelled his gun and fired three shots into the end of the bed within a few inches of her feet. As the detonations reverberated through the cellar, with a little cry she jerked up her legs, half fell off the bed and did as he had ordered.

His eyes starting from their sockets, Gregory sprang forward. But Malacou grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. Von Osterberg swiftly turned his gun in their direction. As they struggled together, Gregory shouted: