The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [93]
'The next village, two miles along the road from here.'
'Only two miles?' Gaillard said in wonder. 'I must have been running in circles up there.' He pulled himself up and caught hold of Dubois by the front of his uniform. 'Listen to me, my friend, and listen well for lives depend on it.'
When the half-track started across the courtyard Ritter himself was at the wheel, a dozen Finns packed in behind him. Hoffer at the machine gun. The rest followed behind on foot.
In the tower, the defenders had already retreated up the main staircase and taken up position on the first landing, except for Howard who stayed at the shattered door, peering out.
'Here they come!' he cried and started to fire his Thompson furiously.
Ritter gunned the motor, giving the halftrack everything, roaring straight up the steps, hitting those shattered doors at full speed. Howard was already half-way up the marble stairs as the doors disintegrated, the half-track smashing through, sliding to a halt, broadside on.
The defenders immediately started to pour it on from the landing, Canning and Birr firing Schmeissers between the pillars of the balustrade, Howard backing them with the Thompson.
The Finns were badly caught, three or four of them going down as they scrambled from the half-track. Hoffer took a bullet in the shoulder that knocked him over the side, and Ritter, without hesitation, stood up and grabbed the handles of the machine gun.
He started to spray the landing expertly, shattering the windows behind the rows of marble statues, an awesome figure crouched behind the gun, his face pale beneath the black cap. Howard loosed off one burst after another, even standing up on occasion, all to no effect, for it was as if the German bore a charmed life.
The landing had become a charnel house, four of the Germans hit, one of them crying out continuously. Birr had taken a bullet through the right hand, and below, in the hall, at least nine of the Finns were down.
The stench of cordite, the smoke, the cries of the dying, the rattle of the machine gun in that confined space, made it a scene from hell. Birr took another bullet, in the chest this time, and went down.
Canning pulled at Howard's sleeve, eyes wild. 'This is no good - we'd better get out of here.'
'Take Birr with you,' Howard said. 'I'll cover you.'
He rammed another clip into the Thompson, and behind him the two surviving Germans got Birr by the shoulders and dragged him along the landing. Ritter stopped firing. He looked down and found Hoffer leaning against the side of the half-track, stuffing a field dressing inside his uniform blouse.
'All right, Erich?'
Hoffer nodded, his face twisted with pain, and from up there in the smoke on the landing, Howard called, 'What's keeping you, Ritter?'
Something flared in Ritter's eyes. He picked up a Schmeisser and vaulted to the floor. He did not say a word, gave no command, simply went up the stairs into the smoke and the Finns went after him.
The curtains were on fire now, the wood panelling on the walls, smoke swirling, billowing along the landing so that it was impossible to see more than a few feet. Howard fired blindly, moving a step or two, then turned and started up the stone staircase.
He paused at the bend, slinging the Thompson over his shoulder, and took two stick grenades from his belt. He could hear voices below, stumbling steps on the stair. He tossed the two grenades down into the murk, one after the other, went round the corner and continued to climb without pause.
There was an explosion below followed by another, cries of pain. He could hardly breathe now, smoke everywhere, choking the landing outside the dining hall. He groped his way round the wall, found the entrance to the upper staircase, and started to climb to the top of the tower.
Had he but known it, the others had got no further than the upper landing, Birr having collapsed completely so that the two Germans had been compelled to drag him into the dining hall.
Canning crouched over him, almost overcome