Pajari had been a little optimistic in his time estimate. It took four days until Harold was called to attend a meeting with the Kommissar and the Captain. In the meantime he had been busy studying the Cyrillic alphabet. He had no problems with the thirty three letters because the pronunciation was similar to the German language. Each letter was pronounced as it was spelled; however, the numerals were confusing because they were also represented by letters. He decided to shelf them until Pajari had the time to assist him.
“Tell me exactly how you intend to bring the merchandise to the railroad spur.” Godunov spoke Russian to test Harold’s progress.
“I saw several river barges near the town of Gartz. This is upriver but not very far from the tents. I should find a handful of people who are capable of floating the barges first to the depot and then down to the rail line.” Harold’s Russian had improved to the point that he could talk without resorting to German words. Godunov was pleased to notice, but not too happy about the answer.
“A handful of people are not nearly enough to load all the boxes first on the boat and then on the wagons. You will need to revise your initial plan.” He looked at the Captain who scratched his head.
“I was under the impression that I was only to supply the method of transportation,” Harold interjected.
“How big of an operation is this anyhow? Does it even make sense for us to get involved?” Godunov was still addressing Pajari.
“Yes, it does. One of the tents is filled with boxes of the latest American miracle drug called Penicillin. This alone can net us a fortune,” the Captain answered enthusiastically.
“Good, then we proceed in our usual manner.” Godunov realized immediately the value of the rare penicillin. He envisioned in his mind new opportunities to broaden his exchange transactions. Actually, the cartons of medicine could be broken up into relatively smaller packages and used as door openers to new trading channels. In any event, they were much easier to hide and to transport than weapons or vehicles. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
“You and Harold leave immediately to secure the locals who know the river and how to operate a barge. Make certain that you reach the tent depot tomorrow evening; preferably shortly after it gets dark.”
The Captain got up. “I assume that we are only after the medical supplies. This way we can offer the food as reward to the barge crew.” He wanted to clarify the mission.
“Exactly, bring sufficient people to assure a speedy transfer. I will have the site secured by sunset tomorrow.”
The Kommissar was already at the door. He needed to round up his regular detail but also wanted to meet with Marshal Zhukov before he left for the Oder River. He always tried to give the appearance of working in tandem with the military commander.
The Captain did the driving and Harold kept on asking questions about the Cyrillic numeral letters. In spite of Pajari’s best efforts, he found them difficult to understand. He decided that he needed to make some notes for himself.
*****
They reached the small town of Gartz in the early afternoon. However, securing a barge was a much more complicated task than Harold had anticipated. For one thing, the barges he had seen a few days ago were virtually unusable. For whatever reason or none at all, they had all been sabotaged by the SS before the Russians had crossed the river. And even if they had been operational, they would have been useless due to the broken-down remains of a bridge blocking any downstream river traffic. Harold decided to ask for the German city supervisor for advice.
Gartz was an old but tiny town without an active city office. It took him some time to find the house of someone who was described to him as a city manager. His name was Edelberg and Harold guessed that he was at least in his late sixties. After the first few words of introduction it seemed that the city manager didn’t like the German teenager in the Russian uniform. The giant Tatar standing right behind the boy didn’t help either. He could also see a Russian officer in a car, parked across the street.
“Sorry, all you have to do is to look at the harbor and you can see for yourself that I am unable to help you.” Edelberg had listened to Harold’s plea without inviting him into his home. He looked at the boy through his rimless glasses which he now took off.
“So, even the possibility of obtaining food for your hospital or elderly does not trigger any solution?” Harold was not giving up.
“No,” Edelberg was about to close the door in Harold’s face when his attitude changed. “Food? Did you say food? What kind of food? Do you have it with you?”
“No, I don’t have it with me. But I can offer you canned meat if you help me,” Harold answered anxiously.
“If you can’t show it to me, you don’t have any.” The door was about to close again.
“What is it with you grownups that you use us if it is convenient for you, but you never listen to us?” Harold decided on a different tactic.
“Alright, I am listening, but only for a minute. Make the most of it.” The city manager seemed to be serious about the time limit.
Harold had a sudden idea and said something to Alex who turned and went to the car and returned with a can of spam in his hand. Edelberg reached for the canned meat without knowing what it was. “You did this within sixty seconds and without talking. I am impressed. Come in, but your Mongol has to stay outside.”
He took a step backward, opening the door for Harold and Alex entered without invitation. It was not entirely clear if the city manager liked it, but Alex was already in the house and Edelberg was unable to do anything about it. “Your friend is a bit aggressive,” he managed to remark.
The door had opened into a very small hallway and Edelberg led the way into the kitchen. He opened the can and smelled the meat. Apparently it met his approval. Alex stood ignored at the door while Edelberg motioned to Harold to take a seat.
“You need some advice my boy. Next time show what you have to offer before you start asking for help. You will get faster results.”
To Harold’s astonishment he produced three dishes and divided the meat equally. “You said that you had some more, right?” He proceeded to offer a chair and a dish to Alex.
Harold nodded “Much more and many different items.”
“You have my attention. Start at the beginning.” Edelberg enjoyed the meat while he studied his two guests.
“You can have several truckloads of food by tomorrow night,” Harold started, following the city manager’s advice to keep the enticement in the forefront.
“Go on” Edelberg was now all ears.
“I need help to transport a specific load of items for a distance of about ten miles down the river.”
“How heavy are the items? Are we talking about weapons or machinery?” Edelberg knew that the Russians had started to disassemble whole factories which they were shipping east. He wanted no part of it.
“No, I am talking about boxes and cases, maybe twenty-five pounds each.” Harold was not volunteering more than necessary.
“Great God in heaven, why have you been asking for a barge?”
All of a sudden the city manager showed genuine interest in the boy’s story. He was well aware that many of the Russian officers acted in their own self-interest. It was, however, new to him that they resorted to using German boys to further their individual agenda.
“Because I noticed them when we passed your town on the opposite side of the river.”
“Good enough. What was your name, again?”
“Harold will suffice.”
“Alright, Harold, now, to the truckloads of food. Do you have trucks available?”
“No, this was another reason for a barge. I planned to have the crew load up the vessel with the food and somehow hide it or pull it back up the stream. I have seen this done before.” He had actually never seen it, but he had read about it.
“Well, this was a miscalculation on your part. There are no healthy men to serve as a crew and the work would be too strenuous for women.”
In spite of his words, Edelberg still sounded optimistic. “When do you need our help?”
“Tomorrow evening would be perfect. If there are any ranching roads on this side of the river I can take you there tomorrow morning to show you the temporary depot and the railroad dock.”
The city manager smiled at Harold’s answer. “Well, consider your problem solved. I know where the tents are and I also know where the rail spur is located. Before the war we transferred potatoes from the barges to the freight trains.”
He got up to open the front door and had another question. “Where do you intend to spend the night? There are only three of you, right?” He gestured to the car which had not moved. Pajari could be patient to a fault.
“I was hoping for an empty room in your school house.” Harold had not even thought about sleep.
“Nonsense. You can stay in my place. I am a widower and live alone.”
Before Harold could accept the offer the city manager added: “I would accept some tobacco as payment.”
“Of course, we will share with you whatever we have.”
He crossed the street to the waiting Captain to give him the good news about their quarters for the night. “What about a barge?” Pajari was piqued.
“According to the city manager our problem is solved.”
“‘What does that mean?”
“I am not real sure. However, I know that Herr Edelberg is greedy enough to make good on his promise.” Harold was pretty confident that the city manager already had a plan in mind.
“You better ask him tomorrow morning, if only to have some kind of a backup in place. I would hate to face the Kommissar with empty hands.” Pajari was adamant and Harold had to agree that he felt the same way.
*****
Sleep came late for him. He rolled around on the carpet in the small living room and dreamed up all kinds of possible scenarios. A few days ago the Captain had advised him to think big. He could not imagine anything bigger than a barge, but, the barges on hand did not provide an answer.
The next morning Harold appreciated Herr Edelberg’s local knowledge. He showed him access roads close to the river and all the way to the rail spur. Along the trip, the Captain pressed him for some kind of assurance as to his ability to provide the needed transport.
“All I can tell you is that I will get your selected packages to the freight wagon because Harold promised me all the food in the depot,” the city manager replied and pointed to the tents across the river. “I am also given to understand that there will be no guards on duty after we load your railroad car.”
“Correct,” the Captain assured him.
“Then let’s go back. I have plenty of work to do before the evening. I’ll be exactly below your tents right after dark. Promise.”
Pajari looked dubious at Harold who shrugged his shoulders. “He is definitely motivated. I trust him,” he said in Russian.
The Captain was not too convinced and decided to discuss the vague promise of the city manager with the Kommissar before they took any action.
*****
They crossed the river on a shaky new pontoon bridge and drove along the main thoroughfare, hoping to see Godunov’s team at the turn off to the tent depot. Harold attempted to count the repaired Russian tanks which stood in seemingly endless rows on the grounds next to the road. He gave up on the second try .There were far too many.
Besides the very familiar T34s he noticed two models he had not seen before. One was an extremely strange, almost ugly looking slightly smaller vehicle. The Captain told him that it was called a T60 and that it was not in production anymore.
“What are they doing here, after the war?” Harold wondered if the tank might be used in the upcoming victory parades he had heard about.
“Why are you looking at the antiquated models? Have you seen the JS tanks over there?” Pajari pointed to the other side of the road where Harold could see, row after row, the famous Joseph Stalin Panzers.
He had seen some of them during the battle in Berlin, but what amazed him was the fact that the tanks, parked in a field, looked practically new. As far as he could determine they had never been involved in combat. There was no indication of any defects or repairs.
It had been only a few days since Harold had passed this place but it looked different now. On the previous trip he had missed the real tank crews. All he had seen were the repair companies and now they were almost gone. Instead, there were new campsites after campsites alongside the road. Wherever he looked, he saw fresh looking tank crews in unsoiled uniforms. Even Alex noted the change and pointed repeatedly at the shiny new outfits of the soldiers.
Then, within a few miles of the crossroad to the river, the camps of the new troops disappeared. Instead they now saw several MPs on motorcycles patrolling the stretch close to the turn off. The traffic moved at a pretty fast clip and Pajari motioned to Harold to pass the turnoff and to keep going.
“Turn around, a little further up the road.”
As soon as Harold had followed the order, he had a MP showing up next to him. While he first frantically waved at Harold to stop, he did the opposite when Harold rolled to a halt, right at the junction.
“Continue driving. You are not permitted to stop at this place,” shouted the police officer.
“I stop where I please,” answered Pajari showing his star emblem as he got out of the car. The motorcycle cop glanced at the star and without saying another word he parked his bike in the center of the road leading to the river. He just stayed in the seat, looking up and down the main highway. Apparently he had specific orders of what to do and he was getting nervous.
“Who is in command of this outfit?” Pajari asked in a friendly tone trying to diffuse any possible conflict before it started. He waved in the general direction of the tent compound.
“It is a colonel. I don’t know his name. I have orders to stop any visitors.” The cop answered slowly and then relaxed when another MP turned off the road and parked next to him. Within a few minutes Pajari’s car was surrounded by five motorcycles.
“Keep your hands off your weapons. You will be dead soon enough. No need for any haste.” Pajari casually waved at Alex who stood up to reveal his size and one of the officers gasped as the giant Tatar slowly moved in his direction.
“Listen very carefully,” the Captain showed his identification for all the cops to see. “These are your new orders. Get lost as fast as possible and if you see your commanding officer tell him that I am here to arrest him. Now move!”
For a short moment, Harold had the impression that the cops were deaf. Nobody moved, except Alex who had reached the first bike. He ignored the cop and with a sharp pull he ripped out the fuel line below the tank of the bike. As the gasoline trickled out, the policeman decided to run. It was too late, Alex was faster. He tripped him and then grabbing him at his feet he swirled him around. With a sickening sound the policeman’s head connected with the bumper of the car. He didn’t get up. There was no blood or visible injury. He just didn’t move anymore.
Harold had thought that the other cops would offer some kind of resistance, but Alex’s actions and the fear of the GPU were overwhelming. Within a heartbeat they scattered down the highway. However, one brave soul took off in the direction of the tents.
Alex pulled the motionless body of the MP to the side of the road and then dragged the disabled motorbike on top of him. The fuel was still leaking out of the tank and Harold feared that the Captain would give an order to flick a match at it. But Pajari was satisfied and called to Alex to return to the car.
“Enough is enough, no need for cruelty,” Pajari remarked as if he was a mind reader. “The MP who went to the tents will spread the word. I would be surprised to see any guards when we get down there.”
It took another hour until Godunov arrived with his team. They arrived in two trucks and Harold noticed that there were only a few regular soldiers among them. Most of them were sergeants with a junior lieutenant in charge. He had never seen any of them before and it almost looked as if they had never been under the command of the Kommissar. He speculated that they were dispatched from the new city commander of Berlin.
He was wrong. As he found out later, they were a special guard unit for political officers. Godunov knew how to protect himself.