Alias uncle hugo, p.19
Alias Uncle Hugo, page 19
For Hambledon the outstanding sensation of the next few seconds was the sudden silence. It was broken by Wengel asking anxiously if Kaspar were dead.
“Of course I’m not! Uncle Hugo—”
“Anybody hurt?” asked the pilot, appearing suddenly at his door and holding his nose, which was bleeding. “That damned jeep—”
“We seem to be all right,” said Hambledon, struggling to his feet in a cabin which was canted at a steep angle. “That jeep, an army one, is it?”
The pilot peered out.
“Men in uniform.” He came to open the door in the fuselage, fortunately it was not jammed. Hambledon went to help him and also saw the jeep, which had stopped. There were men getting out.
“Russian uniforms,” he said under his breath, and the pilot nodded.
Fortunately the door was at that side of the fuselage which was away from the road. Hambledon pushed Kaspar and Wengel into the pilot’s arms and dropped out after them. They were completely hidden by the wreck of the aircraft.
“Lie down here,” said Hambledon to Kaspar, “instantly. Lie quite flat and on no account move until I come back for you. Your promise, please.”
“I promise,” said Kaspar steadily and obeyed him.
“Wengel. Lie down beside him and don’t move.” The pilot had walked round the tail of the aircraft. “What are they doing?”
“Standing in the road. Talking together. Looks like an officer and three other ranks. The officer is coming this way.”
“Very well,” said Hambledon, “I will come and talk to the officer.” He looked down at Kaspar and Wengel lying at his feet. “I will try not to be long. Keep still and quiet.”
He walked round the aircraft and joined the pilot. The road was about two hundred yards distant from them down the slope of the hillside, they had landed in a field of stubble not yet ploughed for the autumn sowing. The jeep was stopped in the road with three uniformed men standing by it and their officer was walking up the field with long easy strides.
“I’ll do the talking,” said Hambledon to the pilot. “You’d better be fussing round examining the damage.”
“There is plenty to look at, certainly,” said the pilot. He turned to the machine and began to walk about it, stooping to look under it and reaching up to see the port engine. Hambledon stood watching him until the officer drew near, the stiff stubble crackling under his boots. Hambledon went forward to meet him.
“You seem to have encountered trouble, Comrade,” said the officer with a pleasant smile.
“Serious trouble,” said Hambledon abruptly. “Had it not been for your jeep we were going to land on the road and we should probably have been all right. The engine trouble could then have been attended to, it was not a serious matter according to my pilot.”
“I am sorry that my arrival should have proved so ill timed. I did not expect—”
“I did not say it was your fault. The results, however, are serious. I am upon a mission of the utmost urgency and secrecy and I call upon you to help me on my way. I am sorry, but I must commandeer your jeep. Your men will guard this aircraft until relief comes.”
The officer looked at him as though he were mad.
“Who are you to make these peremptory demands—”
“Hugo Britz, Party member, acting for the M.V.D. Commissar Andrei Varkin. Look at this,” said Hambledon, and thrust his identity card upon the man.
The officer read the endorsement aloud. “ ‘Indispensable. Assist and protect. Answerable only to the undersigned, Andrei Varkin.’ Yes, but how am I to know that you are the man to whom this card belongs?”
“Are you suggesting that I stole it?” roared Hambledon.
“With respect, yes.”
Hambledon looked at him and broke into a laugh.
“You are frank, anyway, Lieutenant.”
“I have my duty to do,” said the officer stiffly. “I can tell by your speech that you are not even a Russian.”
Hambledon ceased to be amused.
“If you will have the infinite goodness to give that card the attention it deserves, you will see that it is there stated that I am German by birth. I can speak German, it is my mother tongue. I will further illuminate your darkness by telling you that that is why I was selected for this mission. Austrians speak German, I can speak German. Therefore I am sent to speak to Austrians. I hope I make myself clear.”
“Show me your Party card.”
Hambledon gave it to him and the man examined it carefully, or made a show of doing so, for it was plain that he was taking time to make up his mind. Finally he handed back both cards and saluted.
“I am at your disposal, Comrade Britz.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope that you will not hold my doubts and suspicions against me.”
“On the contrary. Had you acted otherwise I should have reported you to your superiors for laxity in the execution of your duty.”
“I will conduct you down to the jeep and post my men to guard this aircraft. Can you drive a jeep, Comrade Britz? Or probably your pilot can. Here, you—”
The pilot came round the end of the wing with, to Hambledon’s horror, a big German Mauser in his hand and shot the Lieutenant dead on the spot.
“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” demanded Hambledon furiously. “You fool, just when I’d—”
“No good,” said the pilot calmly. “He knew me. There’s one thing to be thankful for, we can’t be far from the frontier. He is an officer of the Frontier Guard. Get down, they are going to fire at us!”
They ran and threw themselves into the deep furrow scored in the earth by the sliding aircraft and even as they did so half a dozen bullets sailed over their heads. There was a perceptible pause before they heard the tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of the tommy gun which had fired the shots from the jeep.
“I’ve a damn good mind to hand you over to the men down there. What the blazes did it matter if he did know you?”
“Quite a lot. He was up on the Polish frontier when the news came through about my brother, I knew this fellow quite well. I was sent back from the frontier, politically unreliable, I told you. Not trusted so near the edge of things. This man knows I had no business to be here, didn’t you see his face change when he recognized me?” The pilot appeared to be struggling, in his awkward position, with his weapon and Hambledon saw that he was fitting a wooden stock to it. “What’s that you’ve got?”
“My greatest treasure, my most secret delight. More to me than diamond necklaces or a castle in the Urals. A nine-millimetre German Mauser, semi-automatic, sighted up to a thousand metres.”
“Can you shoot with it?”
The pilot smiled slowly. “I hope to give you a demonstration shortly. Shooting has always been my hobby.”
No more shots came from the road and Hambledon risked raising his head enough to see what was happening, the three men were standing by the jeep together. “They are discussing,” said Hambledon, “whether they will come up here and finish us off or whether they will go away somewhere to fetch reinforcements.”
“If they go away,” said the pilot, completing the assembly of his gun, “we shall not be here when they come back.” He also peered over the edge of the furrow—it was like a narrow ditch—in which they were lying. “They also have thought of that. They are coming. One of them will hose us with his tommy gun to keep us down while the other two run forward. Then he will run forward while one of the others fires at us. The usual drill.” The pilot found a small break in the earth parapet, settled his weapon in it and snuggled against the stock. “The Comrade is, no doubt, accustomed to war?”
“I have seen some. I wish you good shooting. Later, if they come near enough, I may be able to help you but this thing,” patting the revolver Varkin had given him, “is no use at that range.”
Two of the men, spaced apart, were beginning to run up the field while the third raised his tommy gun and fired; the bullets passed over with a shrill whine.
“Firing high,” said the pilot. He picked on the left-hand man and fired once, missing him; fired again and missed him again; at the third shot the man stumbled and fell. “One.”
“I should think you would be very useful to your brother in Detroit,” said Hambledon.
“I hope so, but in what way?”
“Collecting bad debts.”
The pilot smiled. The tommy gunner by the jeep stopped firing, the runner dropped to his knee in a slight fold of the ground and began to fire in his turn while his fellow took up the running. This time the tommy gunner was pulling to his left, Hambledon could hear the bullets smacking into the wreck of the aircraft. From where he lay he could not see Kaspar and Wengel, but the thought of them diverted his attention for a moment until he heard the pilot say: “Two.”
“Excellent,” said Hambledon. “Pretty shooting.”
“Thank you. I cannot now see the third man, he is down in that fold of the ground.”
“He will emerge, this way or that. If I were he I should go home. By the way, I want that jeep.”
“He shall not take it if I—there he goes.”
The man was running away down the hill, zigzagging as much as was consistent with speed. The pilot waited his moment and fired and the runner seemed to leap forward, fell and rolled over like a shot rabbit, “Well, that’s that. Thank you,” said Hambledon, and got up to go and see how Kaspar and Wengel had fared. He came round the tail of the aeroplane to find Wengel lying face downwards on the ground. Kaspar was kneeling upright with tears running from beneath his closed eyelids and his hands clasped in prayer. Hambledon, walking quietly, came up in time to hear the closing words.
“Et requiem aeternam dona ei.” Hambledon took off his hat. “My dear boy. I am so sorry.”
Kaspar scrambled to his feet and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“It isn’t so much—I can’t find my handkerchief.”
“Here is mine.”
“Thank you. This was my fault.”
“Come away,” said Hambledon, for Wengel had plainly been shot through the head. “We can’t do anything for him and it was a quick and merciful end.” He led the boy away. “Why should you say it was your fault?”
“Because he wouldn’t have been here if it hadn’t been for me. He would have been at home in Bereghark, going to the works every day and breeding white mice as a hobby. Did you know he bred white mice?”
“No.”
“He did. He gave me some once.”
“He was a kind little man,” said Hambledon. “As for his being here on your account, that is not literally true. He really came to Poltava to save me from exposure.”
“And you came to Poltava for me. I do not like that side of kingship, to be a danger to one’s friends.”
“Put it out of your mind, Kaspar. Look, there’s the pilot waiting for us. He is a brave man and a good shot, he has killed four of your enemies and now we are going to take their jeep and drive away.”
Kaspar walked up to the pilot. “My uncle tells me, sir, that I am indebted to you for a very gallant action in my defence. I am greatly obliged to you, sir. Perhaps someday I may be in a position to make some more fitting recompense.” He held out his hand and the pilot shook it awkwardly.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and added an aside to Hambledon. “Anyone would think he was someone royal, like what you read about in old books.”
“He—er—gets like that sometimes,” said Hambledon. “Walk on with the lad, will you? I want this officer’s coat and hat.”
They collected another uniform coat and hat for the pilot on their way down to the road. Hambledon got into the driver’s seat with the pilot beside him and Kaspar, protesting bitterly, sitting on the floor of the back seat.
“But there is nobody about. I never saw such a deserted road. Why can’t I sit on the seat? It is very uncomfortable down here, I haven’t got enough room for my legs and the floor is hard.”
“I wish I knew where we were,” said Hambledon, starting the engine.
“We can’t go far wrong if we drive west,” said the pilot, fitting a fresh clip of ammunition into his Mauser.
“I suppose not,” said Tommy, and turned the jeep round in the road.
The pilot turned and handed his Mauser to Kaspar. “Will you look after that for me, please, and hand it to me very quickly if I ask for it? Don’t play about with it. I will reload the tommy guns,” he added to Hambledon, “they will arouse less comment if we are seen to have them.”
“Quite right. But are you sure that that was wise?” said Tommy with a gesture of the head towards an armed Kaspar behind them.
“Oh, I’ll keep an eye on him. He is regarding it with awe-struck respect at the moment. I thought it would keep him quiet and the safety catch is on. Besides, I hadn’t anywhere much to put it.”
“So long as the awe-struck respect doesn’t wear off,” said Hambledon dubiously, “we may be safe.”
They drove on along the road for several miles, meeting very infrequent traffic mainly with agricultural affiliations, some peasants walking and once a handful of soldiers, four men and a Corporal, trudging along in the dust. They saluted and Tommy returned the salute.
Presently, upon rounding a bend, there came into view a small building by the roadside. It was too small for a cottage and too substantial for a shed; it had a flagpole beside it from which flickered the red of the Soviet Union. There was a road barrier at that point, it consisted of a contrivance like a gate with a hinge-post and top bar only and it was painted in bright stripes of red, black and white. It was in fact a frontier post of the usual type and at the moment it was standing wide open because there was a cart stopped there in the road.
The cart was of a familiar country type with high wooden sides and ends, it had two large wheels under the body and, in front, one smaller wheel which swivelled. It was drawn by two small but heavy horses which were waiting quietly while their peasant driver was talking to a soldier in the road. The driver appeared to be protesting, for he was waving his arms in the air, but the soldier to whom he was talking was plainly paying no attention. He had his rifle slung across his back, he was smoking a cigarette and looking at a girl who was driving cows across a pasture opposite. There were two more soldiers, also with their rifles slung, who were standing in the cart rummaging among its contents; they were stooping, heaving things over and stooping again, the high sides of the cart came up to their thighs. It was a peaceful scene.
The soldier in the road, who was the Sergeant in charge of the post, heard the jeep coming. He stepped forward and held up his hand to stop it.
“Kaspar, lie down flat,” said Hambledon. He put his foot down on the accelerator and hooted insistently for passage. The road was intentionally narrowed at that point and the cart left very little room. “Will you get through?” asked the pilot.
“I think so—just.” Hambledon hooted again but the Sergeant stood his ground.
“I don’t think you will,” said the pilot. He raised his tommy gun and fired a short burst towards the group at the barrier. It would seem that the horses were gun-shy, who knows what associations their memories held? They started violently and immediately bolted; they came tearing along the road at full gallop with the cart rocking wildly and the two soldiers in it clinging to the sides like monkeys. They passed with a clatter and a cloud of dust and the road was clear except for the Sergeant and the peasant driver.
They stood their ground for a moment, staring, and the peasant was the first to awake. He made a leap for the door of the guardroom, dragging the Sergeant backwards after him. It was not clear whether he was trying to save the Sergeant or whether he had become, in the hurry of the moment, entangled with the Sergeant’s equipment. As the jeep swept past the door it could be seen that there was in progress something between a tug-of-war and a ceremonial dance as the Sergeant struggled to release the sling of his rifle from the peasant, who had become in some way attached to it. Apparently he succeeded, for after the jeep had passed the post a shot was fired after it and there was a hollow metallic clang from somewhere in the rear.
“We’ve been hit,” said the pilot.
“I heard it,” said Hambledon, “but she’s still going, isn’t she? Are you all right, Kaspar?”
“Quite, thank you. How many people did you kill that time?”
“None at all,” said the pilot. “I wasn’t trying to, I fired over their heads to frighten them. It did.”
“I should never have believed that those stumpy-legged cart horses could go like that,” said Hambledon. “Now I know why they start horse races with a pistol. Or do they?”
18
hambledon did not slacken speed for more than a mile and the jeep bucked and bumped on the uneven road.
“Our passenger behind is having a most uncomfortable ride,” said the pilot.
“I think I could ease up a bit now,” said Hambledon, and did so.
“We ought to have cut the telephone line,” continued the pilot, with an eye on the wire swooping from pole to pole beside the road.
“You can try shooting it down if you like, I’m not going to stop. If they were going to telephone they’ve done it by now.”
“I expect so. Have you any idea how wide the neutral zone is between the frontiers here?”
“Not the faintest, especially as I don’t know where ‘here’ is. Some miles, I expect.”
They came into a straight stretch of road and saw, coming towards them, some half-dozen Russian soldiers running. They were more or less in single file, they carried their rifles “at the ready” and as they ran each heavy step raised a little spurt of dust which eddied round their feet and left a fading trail behind them like the wake of a launch.
