57

Spangler slept in the bunker through most of the day. He did not expect any air attacks. In the past, they had come at night, around roll-call time. He checked the early-evening radio schedule. Cracow and Prague remained silent. Bits of the Lone Ranger and a medley of Benny Goodman were all that came across.

He opened Vassili’s locker and changed into the SS uniform. He dug up his homemade bombs, stripped the batteries from the shortwave set and the repair kit and connected the explosives. He took the trousers of his prisoner uniform, fashioned them into a crude knapsack and placed the bombs inside.

Spangler gave himself another two hours before he slipped on the knapsack, climbed the ladder and put his shoulder against the trapdoor. He rose slowly into the potato shed, got to his feet and peered out. The compound was bathed in dim blue light.

He stepped through the door and out behind the rear of the kitchen. Two Ukrainian SS guards lolled at the front gate. The usual road patrol was absent. Spangler moved into the shadows and waited.

Fifteen minutes passed before he heard a noise. Spangler moved along the building, silently turned the corner, slipped up behind the officer, clamped him around the neck and dragged him back into the darkness. He spun his captive around, shoved him against the wall and pressed the Luger under his chin.

“Anvil, what a pleasant surprise,” Spangler said quietly. “It’s always a pleasure running into old prison chums unexpectedly. Tell me, which branch of the Secret Police are you with?”

“Spe—Special Security.”

“How long have they had you undercover in the compound?”

“Th-three weeks.”

“You’re answering very well, Anvil. Now let’s try a harder question or two. Why were the Finishing School men murdered?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try to think.” He jabbed the Luger deep into Anvil’s neck.

“I don’t know why. I swear it. I didn’t even know what was going to happen to them. My orders were only to watch you.”

“Watch me do what?”

“Kill the guard and cut the wire. They weren’t sure you’d do it. They wanted me to report what you did.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“Klempf.”

“When you were undercover in the compound what were you supposed to watch for?”

“Anything suspicious, but mostly Tolan and Vassili.”

“Why Tolan and Vassili?”

“I don’t know. Klempf wanted to know their movements.”

“Who is Klempf?”

“You know as well as I do. He’s head of Secret Security.”

“Anvil,” Spangler whispered, as the muzzle pushed deeper under the chin, “I asked you, who is Klempf?”

“I don’t know for sure. He was here when they sent me in. I think he’s with R. S. H. A.”

“And what did Klempf ask you about me?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“What did you say about me without being asked?”

“That you didn’t seem frightened. That nothing seemed to affect you. That’s all I told him, except for what you bought and sold on the exchange.”

“Why was that important?”

“I don’t know, but he wanted to know what each man privately bought and sold on the exchange.”

Spangler lowered the pistol slightly. “Anvil, now I want you to think very carefully. Where would you say my best chance of escape would be?”

“Why—why, anywhere. The guard detachments are down to almost nothing throughout the camp. Everyone is out looking for you.”

“But if you had to pick one particular spot, where would it be?”

“The … the railroad yard, that would be best.”

“Why?”

“They’ve taken more guards from there than anywhere else. There are only three to a train now—two on the ramp and one on the track side.”

“How do you know?”

“I helped arrange the assignments.”

“What about the yard sentries and the guard towers?”

“Only one guard tower is operating, and that’s near the gate. It’s easier than last night.”

“Show me.”

Spangler prodded Anvil forward with the Luger. They followed the shadows until they reached the death ditch. A train was almost finished unloading at the ramp under the few scattered blue lights. The rest of the yard lay in darkness. Spangler glanced toward the near spur. The two metal passenger cars could be distinguished in the distance. He searched the area. No guards could be seen.

“Now, precisely how would you go about it?” he asked Anvil.

“Wait for the train to get moving. Then head for the cars near the engine. The doors will be open. There aren’t enough men left to seal them. Two more trains are waiting outside, so they must work quickly. The guard is near the end of the train.”

“And does the blue light still go off in an air raid?”

“I imagine so, but you don’t need to wait for that. You can make it as it is.”

“But can both of us make it as it is?”

“Both?”

“You’re going out with me, Anvil, comrade. You know what’s beyond the gate, I don’t. Now be a good lad and take off your clothes.”

“Takeoff … my clothes?”

“This uniform is too large for me. After all, why should I be the one who’s uncomfortable? Change.”

They exchanged uniforms in the darkness. The Special Security uniform was also too large for Spangler, but a better fit then Kuprov’s. Anvil’s new uniform was too small.

“Is the fence electrified?” Spangler asked.

“Not during dimouts. You know that.”

“Then let’s go through.”

They slid under the bottom wire. “Here, you carry this,” said Spangler, and hoisted the knapsack filled with time bombs firmly onto Anvil’s back.

“Why did you kill the young guard?” he asked, as they waited.

“Klempf’s orders.”

A whistle blew, signaling that the empty train was ready to move out.

“Eat dirt,” Spangler ordered.

“Dirt?”

“Put dirt in your mouth and eat it.”

Anvil hesitated. Spangler kicked him in the shin. Anvil dropped to one knee, scooped up a handful of earth, stared at it and began swallowing.

“Faster.”

Spangler reached into the knapsack and set four of the time bombs at five-minute delay. The fifth he set for four minutes. He grabbed Anvil’s right hand and squeezed. The fingers broke. The dirtfilled throat emitted only a low moan. Then he broke Anvil’s other hand and pulled him to his feet. He reached up and cut the overhead wire. Sirens began to wail. The few blue ramp lights went off.

Spangler dragged Anvil down the fence, turned him around, took the four-minute time bomb from the knapsack on his back and placed it at the base of the concrete post holding the main electrical transfer box.

“Now you go across first,” Spangler whispered into Anvil’s ear. “I’ll be right behind.”

Anvil took a step forward, but Spangler pulled him back.

“I forgot something,” he said, scooping up some dirt and rubbing it in Anvil’s face. “And something else.” He pulled out a piece of white cloth and tied it around Anvil’s arm.

The secret policeman’s eyes bulged as he violently shook his head. The train was beginning to move slowly up the track.

“You run toward those cars,” Spangler said menacingly. “Run as you wanted me to run. Run, or I’ll snap your neck in two. I’ll snap it forward—slowly.”

Anvil stared at Spangler in terror, then dashed awkwardly forward. Spangler darted down the spur. He fell prone when he heard guards shouting in the darkness. He leveled his Luger, fired two shots and moved farther down the spur.

The shouting continued under the noise of the sirens. A rocket flare was suddenly released overhead. Steam shot from the train engine. The drive wheels locked as it screeched to a stop. The platform lights went on, but they were not blue lights—both ramp and siding blazed in the full glare of searchlights as the doors of every boxcar slid open, revealing SS guards with raised machine pistols. Anvil ran frantically, waving his crushed hands in desperation.

Spangler squeezed off two shots. Two SS fell from boxcar doorways. Others began firing in all directions. The ground patrols paused momentarily, then charged forward at Anvil. They had almost reached him when the first explosions went off. The yard plunged into darkness. A minute later the night reverberated with a second explosion, far more prolonged and powerful.

Spangler jumped to his feet and began running down the spur to the metal passenger car, crawled under it, came out the other side and tried the door. It pulled open. He climbed in.