The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [34]
'Are there any German units left in this area?'
'No - there were some Panzers but they pulled out two days ago.'
'And the other side? Have you seen anything of them?' The old man hesitated and Schenck said, 'Come on. It's important.'
'This morning I visited my son's farm just to see if everything was all right. He's away in the army and his wife here is staying with me. It's three miles down the road from here. There were English troops camped in the meadow and using the farm buildings, so I came away.'
'What kind of troops? Tanks - infantry?'
The old man shook his head. 'They'd put up a great many tents, large tents, and there were ambulances coming in and out all the time. All their vehicles carried the red cross.'
'Good.' Schenck felt a surge of excitement. 'I won't bother you any more.'
He hurried back to the field car and climbed in. 'Three miles down the road, Schmidt. A British Army field hospital from the sound of it.'
It's going to work, he thought. It's going to be all right. It couldn't be better. Schmidt accelerated out of the square, bouncing over the cobbles, between the old medieval houses that leaned out, almost touching each other so that there was only room for one vehicle along the narrow street.
They came round a corner and entered another smaller square and found a British Army field ambulance bearing down on them. Schmidt spun the wheel desperately, skidded on the light powdering of snow. For a single frozen moment in time, Schenck was aware of the sergeant in the leather jerkin, the young private in tin hat sitting beside him and then they collided with the ambulance's front offside wheel and bounced to one side, mounting the low parapet of the fountain in the centre of the square and turning over.
Schmidt had been thrown clear and started to get up. Schenck, who was still inside the field car, saw the young private in the tin hat jump out of the ambulance, a Sten gun in his hand. He fired a short burst that drove Schmidt back across the parapet into the fountain.
Schenck managed to get to his feet and waved his arms. 'No!' he shouted. 'No!'
The boy fired again, the bullets ricocheting from the cobbles. Schenck felt a violent blow in his right shoulder and arm and was thrown back against the field car.
He was aware of voices - raised voices. The sergeant was swinging the boy round and wrenching the Sten gun away from him. A moment later, he was kneeling over Schenck.
Schenck's mouth worked desperately as he felt himself slipping away. He managed to get the letter from his pocket, held it up in one bloodstained hand. 'Your commanding officer - take me to him,' he said hoarsely in English. 'A matter of life and death,' and then he fainted.
Major Roger Mullholland of 173rd Field Hospital had been operating since eight o'clock that morning. A long day by any standards and a succession of cases any one of which would have been a candidate for major surgery under the finest hospital conditions. All he had were tents and field equipment. He did his best, as did the men under his command, as he'd been doing his best for weeks now, but it wasn't enough.
He turned from his last case, which had necessitated the amputation of a young field gunner's legs below the knees, and found Schenck laid out on the next operating table, still in his army greatcoat.
'Who the hell is this?'
His sergeant-major, a burly Glaswegian named Grant, said, 'Some Jerry officer driving through Graz in a field car. They collided with one of the ambulances. There was a shoot-out, sir.'
'How bad is he?'
'Two rounds in the shoulder. Another in the upper arm. He asked to be taken to the CO. Kept brandishing this in his hand.'
He held up the bloodstained letter. Mullholland said, 'All right, get him ready. Come one, come all.'
He opened the envelope, took out the letter and started to read. A moment later he said, 'Dear God Almighty, as if I didn't have enough to take care of.'
7
At a stage in the war when it had become apparent to him that Germany was almost certain to lose, Karl