The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [91]
Howard and Birr got Canning between them and dragged him up the steps. Behind them, Hesser turned, firing a Schmeisser one-handed across the courtyard, catching a full burst from the machine gun in reply that drove him across the steps, hurling him over the edge into the snow.
A second later, Howard and Birr staggered in through the narrowing gap with Canning and the massive doors closed.
Gaillard's speed was tremendous as he hurtled down into the grey mist, yet he was entirely without fear. What lay ahead it was impossible to say. He could be rushing straight to his death, his only consolation the knowledge that his pursuers would follow him.
And what good would that be? he asked himself, suddenly angry, and moved into a parallel swing, changing course, the right-hand edge of his skis biting into the snow.
The mist was thinning now and he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the lead Finn was perhaps forty yards behind, closely followed by another. Gestrin and the other two were a little further back.
Gaillard came out of an S-turn and went down vertically again, knees together, and suddenly, a gust of wind dissolved the remaining shreds of mist in an instant and below was the valley, an awesome sight, the present slope vanishing into infinity fifty yards further on.
Gaillard didn't deviate, but held his course true, skis so close together that they might have been one. At the last possible moment, that edge which meant certain death rushing to meet him, he hurled himself into a left-hand Christie. It came off beautifully and he had a brief impression of the glacier far below as he skirted the ultimate edge.
His pursuers were not so lucky, for behind him the lead Finn went straight over the edge with a terrible cry, his companion following him.
Gaillard, out of the area of immediate danger, started to traverse the lower slope. Above him, Manni Gestrin and his two remaining comrades changed course and went after him.
Canning had a deep cut in his forehead above the right eye of a kind that would require five or six stitches at least. Howard hastily bound a field dressing around it.
'Is he all right?' Birr asked.
'Sure I'm all right,' Canning told him. 'How many of us left?'
'Six Germans and us three. Finebaum upstairs, of course.'
'Not so good.'
He peered out through a spyhole in the door. The remaining half-track had retreated into the tunnel. Nothing moved.
'I'd say they could walk in here any time they choose,' Howard said.
'Then we retreat upstairs, floor by floor, like I told you.'
The half-track nosed out of the mouth of the tunnel and stopped. Its heavy machine gun, Hoffer firing, started to spray the door at the rate of 850 rounds per minute. As Canning and the others went down, the door started to shake to pieces above them.
'This is bad,' the general cried. 'No good staying. Better get up those stairs now while we still have a choice.'
He called to the Germans and they all started to drop back.
Gaillard was incredibly tired. His body ached and his knees hurt. The amazing thing was that he hadn't fallen once, but now, as he went into a right-hand Christie to make for the cover of pine trees, he snarled a ski and took a bad tumble.
He slid for some considerable distance before coming to a halt, winded. His skis were still on and apparently undamaged, which was something. No broken bones in evidence. But God, how tired he was. Hardly enough strength to get up. He turned and saw Gestrin and his two comrades traversing the slope above him, terribly close now.
Suddenly, the earth shook, there was a tremendous rumbling like an underground explosion, and above the Finns the snow seemed to boil up in a great cloud.
Avalanche! Not surprising really, fresh snow falling so late in the season. But already Gaillard was on his feet and dropping straight down the slope, taking that vertical