The Golden U-Boat

Chapter One

The footpath was little more than a narrow, earthen track that led from the rail yard into a thick birch forest.

Mikhail Kuznetsov first spotted it late the previous afternoon. They were still busy moving into their temporary barracks at that time, and he was forced to postpone any exploration of this promising trail until some free time presented itself. The opportunity came the very next morning.

The twenty-one-year old, newly commissioned junior lieutenant awoke long before reveille. There was a slight chill to the air as he slipped off his hard, straw mattress and headed for the latrine. The hut they had just moved into was normally reserved for railroad workers. Far from being luxurious, it was simply constructed out of native timber, but at least had indoor plumbing.

The dark blue sky was tinged with the first hint of dawn as he stepped outside. A gust of crisp air, fresh with the scent of the surrounding wood greeted him as he surveyed the compound. Several gray freight cars could be seen parked beside the main rail line. Directly adjoining this central track was the fuel depot. A massive heap of black coal was stored here, beside which was a soot-covered loading ramp. A large repair shed stood nearby, its grimy structure graced with several broken windows and a five-pointed, red star painted beneath its gabled roof. All in all, the view was far from inspiring, and Mikhail gratefully turned to his left and began his way toward the encircling birch wood.

The footpath that had called him from his warm bed led him into the forest of slender white trees. Soon the world of man was replaced by the lonely cries of a raven, and a muted creaking as the wind gusted through the tree limbs, causing them to sway like a single entity.

Mikhail felt instantly at ease in this peaceful environment.

Having grown up near a birch forest much like this one, he was no stranger to such a place. Yet for the past year and a half he had lived exclusively in the bustling city of Leningrad. Here, along with his twin brother Alexander, he attended the Frunze Naval Academy.

Their pace of study was intense, and innocent forest jaunts had all but become a pleasant memory. Thus to be out on his own this morning on a real hike was like a trip homeward, even though his birthplace was actually a thousand kilometers east of this spot, outside the city of Kirov.

As he followed the path into a dense thicket of underbrush, a fat, brown ground squirrel darted out in front of him. Seconds later, a covey of quail exploded from the nearby brush with blinding swiftness. Mikhail’s pulse quickened with the unexpected commotion. Regretting that he didn’t have a shotgun to bring with him, he began his way down into an oak-filled hollow. Many of the trees were gnarled with age, and an almost reverent atmosphere prevailed.

The sound of rushing water sounded in the distance and Mikhail soon set his eyes on the swift current responsible for this pleasantly distinctive racket. It proved to be a good-sized stream. Many of the crystal clear pools appeared quite deep and no doubt provided a comfortable habitat for the local variety of trout. Halting beside a portion of the brook where the bubbling waters swirled against a series of partially submerged boulders, Mikhail’s thoughts went back in time, for it was at a spot much like this one that his father had taught him and Alexander their first lessons in the art of fly fishing.

Their father had been an avid fisherman, and devoted much of his free time designing and tying his own lures.

As a veteran naval officer, whose specialty was submarines, Dmitri Kuznetsov had spent much of his adult life at sea. His leaves were therefore precious to him, and he utilized them to their fullest extent.

Family outings drew the Kuznetsovs to such diverse places as beautiful Lake Baikal, the desolate Siberian taiga, and the tropical shores of the Black Sea. On each of these trips, Dmitri made certain to take along a variety of fishing and hunting gear, so that he could further instruct his twin sons in the intricacies of wilderness survival.

Trout and salmon fishing were his father’s greatest passions. He would spend hours working a stream, applying the same intense concentration that he used to stalk a naval target on the high seas. More often than not, his efforts paid off in the form of a trophy-sized fish, whose flesh could feed the entire family and then some.

Mikhail was proud of his father’s skill with a rod and reel, and had tried hard to emulate him. Patience was a virtue that every good fisherman had plenty of, and Mikhail did his best to control the natural impatience of youth and focus solely on the prey at hand. He thus did his best to imitate his father’s every move, often working a single pool for an entire afternoon.

His twin brother, Alexander had found it impossible to summon such self control. Easily bored, Alexander would give the fish an hour or so to take his bait before giving up and taking off to explore the surrounding countryside. In this aspect he was more like their mother, who was content to limit her participation in fishing to preparing the catch for dinner.

Mikhail peered out to a promising pool of deep water and sighed as he recalled the last family outing that had taken place two years ago. They had camped deep in the Ural mountains. It was early summer, and both Mikhail and Alexander were celebrating their recent acceptance to the Frunze Academy. Though proud that his boys were following in his footsteps, their father had seemed preoccupied during the entire stay. The fishing was poor, and several times they had to resort to shooting game to fill their empty plates.

It was three weeks after their return home from that trip that they received notice of their father’s death at sea. The submarine he had been commanding failed to ascend from a test dive. Though a faulty valve was suspected, the true cause of the tragedy that took the lives of sixty-three Soviet sailors lay hidden in the frigid depths of the Barents Sea.

Sobered by the news, Mikhail and Alexander applied themselves to their studies with renewed intensity. Their efforts had recently been rewarded as both graduated in the top tenth of their Academy class. When queried as to the nature of their future naval service with the Motherland’s fleet, both chose submarines without a second’s hesitation. Though their mother had wept when told of their choice, all eventually agreed that this was the way Dmitri Kuznetsov would have wanted it.

Mikhail turned from the stream and began his way back through the stand of oak. It was only when he crossed the clearing that he realized the sun had long since risen in the intensely blue sky. It appeared as if it would be another hot, sultry day, for the newly commissioned naval officer’s brow was already shining with sweat. Mikhail was reaching for his handkerchief when the deep-pitched whistle of a distant train broke the silence.

Suddenly reminded of his duties, he looked at his watch and saw that over an hour had passed since he left the barracks. He had only planned to be gone half that time, and he immediately sought out the trail that would take him back to the rail yard. He had just reentered the birch wood when a familiar voice rang out nearby.

“Misha! Misha, are you out there?”

“I’m here, Alex. On the trail!”

No sooner were these words spoken, when his brother broke through the underbrush. Since both wore matching khaki uniforms, a stranger would have had to look very closely to tell the two apart. Both sported muscular, six-foot, three inch frames, identical mops of wavy blond hair, and the same handsome features down to the round dimple that split their chins. Only the most conscientious observer would note the difference in the twins’ eye coloring. Mikhail had inherited his father’s vivid blue eyes, while Alexander’s were a deep sea-green like his mother’s.

“Ah, there you are, Misha,” said Alexander.

“For a moment I feared that you had gone A.W.O.L..”

“Now why in the world would I do that, my dear brother? It’s only been seventeen days since the Nazi hordes crossed over our borders, and now it looks as if our sworn duty to the Rodina will finally prove interesting.”

“If only you knew the truth of those words,” Alexander said.

“Rumor has it that the Germans have already reached the outskirts of Pskov. From there it’s only 250 kilometers to the gates of Leningrad, with us smack in between.”

“Surely we won’t be here much longer,” replied Mikhail.

“What good can a naval squad do this far inland?

I’ll bet the orders directing us to the navy base at Tallinin are on the way even as we speak.”

Alexander answered with a gloomy shake of his head.

“I’m afraid not, Misha. Less than a quarter of an hour ago, a packet arrived by courier from Lieutenant General M. Popov himself. We’ve been instructed to make our way with all due haste to the monastery of Tsarkoe Selo, outside ofLuga.”

“There must be some mistake! Such duty falls under the auspices of the People’s Army. We belong out at sea with the Fleet.”

“Tell that to Lieutenant General Popov. Right now, we have no choice in the matter. Orders are orders. If we don’t hurry back to the station, there’s a good possibility both of us will be shot by the NKVD as deserters!”

Without waiting for further argument, Alexander turned back toward the rail yard. His brother followed close on his heels, and they both broke into a run as the shrill whistle of a train sounded once again.

“Most likely that train is our means of transport to Luga,” Alexander said without breaking his long, fluid stride.

“If we miss it, there’s no telling what could happen to us.”

The birch forest passed in a blur as the two junior lieutenants sprinted down the footpath. They broke through the tree line in time to see a massive black locomotive enter the yard followed by a trio of box cars and a caboose. On the roof of this last car was a sandbagged machine gun emplacement manned by a pair of soldiers.

It was Alexander who pointed toward the group of khaki-clad men gathered on the trackside loading ramp.

“There’s the squad now, Misha. Father must be watching out for us, because it looks like we’ll just be able to join them in time.”

As the locomotive screeched to a halt beside the loading ramp, Alexander and Mikhail hurried across the tracks and climbed up the ramp where they were met by Senior Lieutenant Viktor Ryutin. Their grizzled superior officer wasted no time venting his wrath.

“So the Kuznetsov twins have decided to grace us with their company after all,” spat the red-cheeked veteran.

“I was going to send the NKVD out looking for you. But I really wasn’t worried, because if our men couldn’t find you, the Nazis would. So come on, comrades. Onto the train with you. We’ve got ourselves a real live war to fight.”

Though Mikhail would have liked to get a clarification of their orders and find out why they weren’t being sent to the nearest navy base, he didn’t dare incur more of the senior lieutenant’s anger. Meekly saluting to the veteran’s orders, he followed his brother into the boxcar.

Inside they found the rest of the squad huddled around a seated figure, who was propped up against the wooden slat wall. The twins wasted no time joining their comrades and listened as the bandage-wrapped stranger described his experiences on the front.

“… I tell you, those Nazis came upon us like crazed demons!” exclaimed the infantryman, scanning the faces of his rapt audience.

“I was assigned to guard a hospital unit that was supposed to be well within our lines. I had heard gunfire for most of the day, but most of it was a good distance away and nothing to worry about.

It was getting toward sunset, and I was just thinking about breaking for chow, when all hell broke loose. First came the Stukas, diving out of the sky screaming like banshees from the underworld. The bastards didn’t bother dropping bombs. They were content to strafe with their infernal machine-guns. I can still hear those exploding rounds as they ripped through our tents. Our wounded boys never stood a chance!”

The boxcar shifted as the locomotive jerked forward and began picking up steam. The infantryman took a deep breath and continued.

“I’m not afraid to admit my hands were shaking like an old woman as I shoved a live round into my Dekyarov and tried to draw a bead on one of those Lufwaffe bastards. Yet just as I was about to let a round fly, a new racket caught my attention. It sounded like a hundred locomotives and when I dared to look to the south, my worst fears were realized. Headed our way was a line of more than a hundred Panzers! It was then that my rifle jammed, and I had no choice but to run for cover and find a new weapon!”

“Sounds like a German blitzkrieg to me,” said one of the young sailors.

“With such a lightning attack,

the Nazis were able to conquer Poland and France all in a matter of days.”

“Nonsense!” said another ensign.

“Such tactics might have worked in Poland and France, but never in the Motherland. Everyone knows that we have the Stalin Line to protect us.”

“That’s a good one!” the infantryman said with an ironic grin.

“If we had saved the millions of rubles it cost to build that ridiculous line of ineffective tank traps and bought rifles instead, we’d be much better off. I was right there, comrades, and saw with these very eyes how those Panzers broke through our lines and mowed down our troops without quarter.”

Alexander Kuznetsov nodded.

“There are said to be many in our General Staff who have doubted the effectiveness of the Stalin Line all along. No fortress can ever provide one hundred percent protection. One only has to look back at France’s so-called impenetrable Maginot Line to demonstrate this point.”

“Well said, comrade,” spoke the infantryman.

“It’s too bad we turned a blind eye to history, because even as we speak, the Germans continue their penetration of the Motherland. Soon they’ll be unstoppable. First they’ll rape and pillage our beloved Leningrad. Then it will be onto the gates of holy Moscow itself!”

The train was travelling at full speed and the deafening clatter of the wheels made conversation difficult.

“I wouldn’t give up hope just yet, comrades,” Mikhail said.

“Even if the Stalin Line has indeed been circumvented, there are still many battles to be fought before the walls of Moscow and Leningrad are breached. No country on this planet can summon as many brave men and women to arms as the Soviet Union. Our Air Force is equipped with thousands of modern planes, and we’re living testament to the awesome power of our Navy. Yet one thing still puzzles me. Why are we being taken further inland to Luga, instead of joining our comrades in the fleet? Surely as trained sailors we can best strike back at the enemy from the sea, as we were taught to do in the Academy.”

“That is not ours to question, comrade Kuznetsov,” answered the gruff voice of the senior lieutenant.

“Our orders come direct from the High Command. We can only trust that General Popov and his staff know how we can best serve the Rodina. And no matter where they might send us, we will go into battle without flinching. To die in the defense of the Motherland is to die the death of a hero!”

The infantryman was suddenly possessed by a violent fit of coughing, that brought bloody spittle to his cracked lips. As the medical corpsman bent down to attend to him, Mikhail and Alexander retreated to the boxcar’s opposite corner and sat down on the straw-covered floor.

“I still think Command has made a major screw-up,” said Mikhail in a forceful whisper.

“For the sake of Lenin, we belong at seal” “Easy, Misha,” cautioned his brother.

“Like the senior lieutenant says, we’re just going to have to trust in General Popov’s judgement. And who knows just what’s waiting for us outside of Luga?”

“One thing we can be certain of,” Mikhail said.

“It won’t be a submarine!”

Alexander sighed.

“My greatest fear is that the Motherland doesn’t have enough time to properly mobilize.

The Germans caught us completely off guard, and unless we can reorganize, they’ll continue to slice our forces to pieces.”

“Come now, brother,” Mikhail said with a grin.

“You’re beginning to sound like that scared old infantryman.

Have you so little faith in the power of our people?

We’ll drive this foe from our borders, just as our ancestors sent Napoleon’s legions home in defeat. The German supply lines are probably stretched so thin that a single spirited counterattack will turn the” A loud explosion from the outside suddenly sent the boxcar swaying from side to side and the distinctive staccato blast of the caboose-borne machine gun could be heard from the rear of the train. This was accompanied by the rousing voice of Senior Lieutenant Ryutin.

“Stuka attack! To your rifles, men!”

Another deep explosion sounded outside and the brothers rose to arm themselves with their newly issued carbines. Well acquainted with the workings of a rifle, they loaded their weapons, ran to the rear of the boxcar and climbed a ladder that led to a hinged door that had been cut into the ceiling. Scrambling through the opening, they crouched on the roof of the swaying boxcar.

The machine gun chattered behind them. Mikhail was first to spot the lone, silver-skinned, single-engine fighter in the process of sweeping down out of the cloudless blue sky.

“On the eastern horizon! It’s headed straight for us!”

“Surely they don’t expect us to shoot it out of the sky with rifles,” Alexander shouted.

“We don’t have much choice in the matter, do we, brother? Besides, all it takes is one well placed bullet to take the Stuka down. And perhaps one of us will be the lucky one to do it.”

Alexander raised the barrel of his rifle as the Stuka screamed toward them, strafing the train with a salvo of bullets. Several of the rounds crashed into the machine gun emplacement on the caboose, killing the two soldiers who had been manning it.

“Our only chance is that machine gun,” Mikhail yelled as the Stuka turned to begin another pass.

With the train steaming northward at top speed, they managed to jump onto the roof of the caboose. The sandbagged emplacement was covered with blood, as they pushed the dead gunners aside and took up positions behind the machine gun.

“It still looks operational,” Mikhail said as he fed in a fresh belt of ammunition. He was in the process of clearing the breech, when his brother called out excitedly.

“Here it comes! Out of the east!”

Mikhail gripped the trigger with both hands and swung the barrel up to meet the diving war plane. It was coming in head on, and Mikhail waited until he had its swirling propeller in view before pressing the trigger.

The machine gun bucked wildly, but with his brother’s help, he was able to stabilize the barrel. The sound of exploding shells rose with deafening intensity as the Stuka loomed like a giant winged beast, sweeping low over the surrounding forest of pines, on a collision course with the speeding train. With his machine gun still roaring, Mikhail raised his aim, centering the vibrating barrel on the aircraft’s cockpit. He could actually see the German pilot hunched over his controls, when the Stuka suddenly blew apart and disintegrated before his startled eyes. The heat of this mid-air blast singed Mikhail’s hair but that was of little consequence.

The brothers had stood up to the best that the Luftwaffe could throw at them, and had come out victorious.

The twins looked up as Senior Lieutenant Ryutin climbed down onto the caboose and offered his hand in congratulations.

“Thank the heavens I didn’t leave you two back at the rail yard,” said the grinning veteran.

“It takes a real man to face almost certain death like the two of you did. I’m proud to have you under my command. What do you say about scaring up some vodka? I don’t know about you two, but this old-timer needs a drink.”

A series of shrill blasts of the train whistle accompanied them as they climbed down into the boxcar. A bottle of clear, potent potato-distilled liquor materialized, and as the spirits were passed around, the senior lieutenant delivered a blow-by-blow description of their encounter with the Stuka. Mikhail humbly accepted the handshakes and hugs of his comrades. Yet after only a single sip of vodka, he seated himself on the straw-covered floor and fell soundly asleep and allowed his brother to take all the laurels of their victory.

Mikhail awoke several hours later. As his eyes opened, he realized the train had stopped moving. The boxcar was empty, and he stood up stiffly and went to the open doorway. Outside, he spotted his detachment gathered on a broad, clover-filled clearing. Behind them was a walled compound. A golden-domed cupola capped by a Russian Orthodox cross graced one of the structures that lay inside, and Mikhail knew they had reached their destination, the monastery of Tsarkoe Selo. The sun was high in the sky as he climbed down out of the boxcar and joined his comrades.

“The hero has awoken,” greeted Senior Lieutenant Ryutin.

“You’re just in time to hear the rest of our orders.

Make yourself comfortable, comrade Kuznetsov.

I’m certain that you’ll find this briefing most fascinating.”

As Mikhail sat down beside his brother, Ryutin cleared his throat and continued.

“As I was saying, because of the continued rapid approach of the German Sixth Army, Command has ordered us to this location to initiate an evacuation of certain state treasures that must be kept out of Nazi hands at all costs. Stored in the basement vault of the monastery behind us is a virtual fortune in jewelry, icons, and other ancient art masterpieces.

Of even greater importance are the five hundred gold bars that have also been held in safekeeping here.

Originally minted during the reign of Czar Nicholas II, the gold has been kept here as an emergency reserve, to aid the Motherland in times of crisis.

“Because of your spotless service records, you have been entrusted with the vital job of loading this collection onto the train we have just disembarked. Once this task has been completed, you will be responsible for providing security during the trip back to Leningrad. To be chosen for such a mission is a great honor. The Rodina is putting it’s trust in you to properly carry out this as18 signment in these trying times. You mustn’t let your Motherland down! So if there are no questions, we’d better get started. Time is of the essence. The Germans continue their advance, and have been reported as close as the neighboring village of Verduga.”

As the senior lieutenant turned for the monastery, Mikhail saw his brother beckoning to him.

“So Command hasn’t forgotten about us after all,” Alexander said.

“This might not be as glamorous as duty aboard a submarine or battleship, but our assignment sounds just as vital to our countries future survival.”

“So it does” said Mikhail, as he gazed over the monastery grounds.

“I must admit that it was an ingenious idea to hide a treasure in such an unassuming spot.

Who would have ever expected it?”

“During the time of the Mongol invasions, monasteries such as this one were utilized for similar purposes,” Alexander replied.

“Supposedly the barbarians feared our chapels were filled with black magic, and whenever possible they kept their distance. Too bad the Germans can’t be so easily deceived.”

A bearded priest escorted the group through an icon-lined chapel. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and by the light of dozens of white candles they were led to the back of the central altar where a descending stairway led to the basement.

They were not prepared for the glittering treasure trove that awaited them in the cramped subterranean vault. Glistening in the candlelight were gilded chests filled with gem-studded jewelry. Stacked among the chests were exquisite icons, golden cups loaded with precious stones, and an assortment of expertly rendered paintings. Yet it was the rear of the vault that drew their eyes. Stacked on a thick wooden pallet were the gold bars stamped with the double eagle seal of the Romanoffs.

“An incredible sight,” Ryutin reflected as he joined his men in the vault.

“I had no idea of the treasure’s true extent. This could take days to properly catalogue and remove.”

“I think that we should get started with the gold,” said Mikhail.

“Then if time allows, we can see about transferring the rest of the collection.”

The senior lieutenant attempted to pick up one of the gold bricks and grunted.

“That sounds good to me, Comrade. Moving this gold isn’t going to be such an easy task by itself. Each bar must weight well over 20 kilograms.”

“Just knowing the Nazis are out there will be enough to motivate us,” said Mikhail.

“Why don’t we form a human chain, and transfer the bars upstairs in that manner?” Alexander suggested.

“Good idea,” agreed the senior lieutenant.

“But while the actual transfer is in progress, I want both of you down here at all times with loaded weapons. If any of the men even touch any of the other objects you have my full blessings to stop them… permanently.”

It was late in the afternoon by the time all of the bars were removed from the vault to the courtyard. Here they were loaded onto a cart and trundled to the train.

They were in the midst of this process when the compound was buzzed by a dual-engine German surveillance plane. A tarp was hastily thrown over their glittering treasure, but it was not in place until the aircraft had made two complete passes.

“Get those bars loaded into the train with all haste, lads” Ryutin shouted.

“If the Nazi’s have spotted us, they’ll be upon us like vultures.”

The men were a good two-thirds done with their task when the sound of muffled gunfire could be heard in the distance, accompanied by several booming explosions.

A column of thick, black smoke could be seen rising to the west. As the gunfire intensified in volume that Ryutin decided it was time to make a run for it.

“Unload that last cartload and board the train, lads.

Comrade engineer, I want you to break all speed records from here to Leningrad.”

“But the rest of the treasure,” said one of the ensigns.

“We can’t leave it for the Germans!”

“The hell we can’t,” Ryutin said.

“By the sound of that gunfire, the Germans are just a few kilometers away. If we don’t get going now, we’ll lose the gold as well.”

A rumbling detonation caused another plume of black smoke to swirl up on the western horizon. Within minutes the last of the gold bars was loaded inside the boxcar located directly behind the locomotive. The squad was instructed to board the car behind, while the Kuznetsov twins were ordered to stay with the gold.

Mikhail and Alexander watched from the open doorway of the freight car as the priest refused Viktor Ryutin’s invitation to come to safety with them. As the locomotive built up steam and began chugging out of the clearing, the bearded man of God could be seen chanting and tossing Holy water in their direction as a blessing to insure the trip’s safe conclusion.

“I wonder what the Nazi’s will do to the occupants of that monastery when they overrun the place?” Alexander said.

Mikhail shook his head.

“Funny that he should be leaving us with a blessing, because those poor souls are going to need a miracle to remain alive. One look at the treasure we left behind and those Germans are going to become a bunch of crazed sharks in a feeding frenzy.

They’ll suspect that additional loot is buried nearby and will utilize every torture in the book to find out where it’s located.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have left them, Misha. At least we could have gone down fighting.”

“Those are noble sentiments, dear brother,” Mikhail replied.

“But you’re forgetting the purpose of this mission.

The gold bars are worth a fortune. Think of how much medicine, food, rifles and ammunition it will buy.

To sacrifice this treasure merely to show how brave we are would be an injustice to the rest of the citizens of the Motherland.”

Mikhail turned toward the doorway, his attention riveted on the countryside they were leaving behind. He could still see the golden, onion-shaped dome of the monastery. It was just visible beyond the thick branches of the forest. As the track snaked in the opposite direction, the last vestiges of the holy enclave disappeared altogether.

Mikhail could still see the setting sun as it dipped beneath the tree line. All too soon it would drop below the horizon, and the night would swallow the forest in a veil of blackness. Mikhail guessed it would be under the shroud of night that the Nazis would close in on the monastery and transform the sacred site into a pure hell.

He gritted his teeth in anger. The encounter with the attacking Stuka had unlocked a primal instinct from deep within his subconscious. He had never gotten joy from taking another life before. Yet this was war. The Nazis had willfully violated their border; now it was either kill or be killed.

What power he had felt as he sat on the roof of the caboose perched behind that machine gun! Like a god, with the power of life and death in his hands, he accepted the challenge of the Luftwaffe pilot, and without fearing the consequences, put his very life on the line to defend his homeland. With the adrenalin pumping through his body he felt invincible, even though the greater firepower and maneuverability lay with his adversary.

Yet the fates had sided with Mikhail, and as the diving aircraft exploded in the air before him, his enemy’s fiery death was almost anticlimactic. At that moment he remembered thinking how very thin was the line between the living and the dead. And it was then he realized that he had transcended the normal bounds of mortal fear.

The freight car shifted hard to one side as the track began winding its way around a broad bend. Reaching out to the edge of the doorway to steady himself,

Mikhail listened as the locomotive’s powerful whistle cried out in the gathering twilight like a howling demon.

It was only after the curve was behind them that he noted what seemed to be a decrease in the train’s forward speed. The loss of velocity was gradual at first, and Mikhail was wondering if it all wasn’t a trick of his imagination, when the ear-piercing squeal of the brakes told him otherwise. Thrown violently off balance by this unexpected loss of speed, he started to tumble forward.

Only the firm grasp of his brother kept him from being tossed out of the partially open doorway to the track below.

“What the hell was that all about?” cursed Mikhail.

Alexander leaned outside and surveyed that portion of the track that lay before them.

“Sweet father Lenin! It’s a tank, and it’s just sitting there, smack in the middle of the damn track!”

Quick to have a look himself, Mikhail peered out the doorway. Dusk had fallen, yet barely illuminated by the last glow of twilight, less than two dozen meters away, was a massive armored vehicle, its gun turret pointed right at them.

“It’s a German Panzer,” revealed Mikhail.

“And from the look of it, they’re not in any hurry to let us pass.”

“Perhaps if we put up a full head of steam we could ram it and push it out of the way,” Alexander said.

“I seriously doubt they’d just sit there without firing and let us get away with such a thing, dear brother. Our only alternative is to reverse our course while the track is still clear behind us, and find another route to safety.”

Mikhail was prepared to jump from the car and inform the engineer of this tactic, when Senior Lieutenant Ryutin climbed down onto the track from the boxcar behind them.

“Comrade Senior Lieutenant, perhaps we should try reversing our course!” cried Mikhail.

“We could transfer to an alternative route at the switching station at Luga.”

“That’s just what I had in mind, Kuznetsov,” answered the veteran.

“But no matter what happens, you’re to stay with that gold above all else. Now hang on, lads. I’m afraid the ride is going to be a bit rough.”

Mikhail watched as Ryutin ran down the track and disappeared inside the locomotive. Seconds later, the brakes released with a loud hiss. There was a sudden lurch as the engineer reversed gears, followed by a steady movement backward. Mikhail watched as the tank that had been blocking the track grew smaller.

“I wonder why they didn’t shoot at us while they had the chance?” Alexander asked with a relieved sigh.

“Surely it would have only taken a single well-placed round to blow our locomotive to pieces.”

Mikhail had been contemplating the same thought as he leaned out the doorway in an attempt to view the conditions of the track in the direction that they were now moving. As they prepared to round the curve they had transit ted only minutes before, he spotted another Panzer blocking their escape route. And in that instant, he knew the answer to his brother’s question.

“It’s an ambush!” warned Mikhail.

“The bastards had us set up the whole damn time.”

The engineer also spotted the new obstacle, and as he slammed on the brakes, the train once more lurched to a sudden, squealing stop.

“Now what?” asked Alexander.

“You’d better make sure you have a fresh magazine in your rifle, brother. The way it looks to me, the only way we’re going to be able to get out of this train is to fight our way out.”

Alexander fumbled for his carbine.

“Perhaps we should make a run for it on foot while we still have a chance, Misha.”

Mikhail firmly shook his head.

“This is as good a place to die as any other. Besides, I think I’d rather be dead, than live the rest of my life as a coward.”

Alexander’s moment of indecision was cut short by the gruff voice of their senior lieutenant.

“Alexander Kuznetsov, I want you to take up a defensive position inside the caboose. Your brother’s to stay with the gold until I say otherwise.”

“This is it, Misha,” Alexander said.

“Do take care.”

There could be no doubting the fear and confusion that clouded his brother’s sea-green eyes, and Mikhail stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

“Have faith, dearest Alexander. We’ve gotten out of worse scrapes before. This will be no different. You’ll see.”

Alexander stood back and stared into his brother’s intense blue eyes. Finding himself unable to find the words to express his deep emotions, he could only shake his head and then turn for the open doorway. The last Mikhail saw of his twin was as he sprinted off to his new position at the rear of the train.

Moments later Mikhail spotted his first German infantryman slowly moving out of the nearby tree line.

Because of the limited light, he couldn’t determine if there were more. But it became apparent there were when his comrades in the boxcar behind him opened fire. Quick to respond to this meagre volley, a multitude of muzzle flashes erupted from the black depths of the wood and Mikhail knew that they were vastly outnumbered.

Determined to send as many of the enemy to their early graves as possible, Mikhail raised his Dekyarov and began firing. He picked his targets carefully, diligently waiting until an exploding Nazi shell gave him something tangible to shoot at. He expended over a dozen cartridges before the first German mortar rounds arrived. One of the shells landed on the edge of the track directly in front of him, and Mikhail ducked for cover just as a shower of shrapnel and debris flew in through the open doorway.

Seconds later, another mortar round crashed into the freight car behind him with a deafening explosion. The floor rattled beneath Mikhail, and he could hear the horrified cries of his wounded comrades as they screamed out in anguish. Fighting the impulse to leave his position and see what he could do to assist them, Mikhail began choking on the thick, black smoke that was another by-product of the blast. His eyes stung with pain, and it took a supreme effort just to breathe. Yet not to be denied his chance to revenge this attack, he lilted his rifle and blindly sprayed bullets into the tree line.

It was while he was inserting another magazine that the first German soldier reached the side of his boxcar.

Mikhail intuitively sensed this man’s presence moments before he could actually see him. With trembling hands he did his best to get a fresh round into the chamber, but a jam kept the breech from clearing. When the Nazi soldier could be heard climbing into the entrance of the boxcar, Mikhail had no choice but to put down his rifle and pull out his combat knife. He used the roiling smoke as an effective veil and waited until the German was almost upon him before springing up and thrusting the knife deep into the enemy’s soft gut.

The German howled in pain. Bathed in spurting blood, Mikhail backed away as the Nazi collapsed onto the floor. It seemed to take an eternity for him to stop his pained whimpering. Barely aware of the scattered gunshots that still emanated from outside, Mikhail listened to the labored breathing of the man whom he had just stabbed. Remorse replaced his previous anger, and he only wished to flee from this cursed place. Yet his legs were heavy, and feeling suddenly drained of all energy, he dropped to the floor himself, not noticing the wounded German’s last desperate gasp before he surrendered to the arms of death. He was equally unaware of the fact that outside, the shooting had finally come to a conclusion.

It proved to be the sound of nearby voices that eventually broke him from his shocked reverie. Still finding himself without the energy to stand, Mikhail listened as ok a German officer barked out a flurry of orders. The blindingly bright shaft of a battery-powered torch split the blackness and a group of soldiers noisily climbed up into the boxcar.

Mikhail winced in pain as the powerful shaft of light hit him full in the eyes.

“Well, what do we have here?” asked an icy voice in broken Russian.

As Mikhail’s eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination, he viewed the face of the man responsible for this question. There was a cruelty to this stranger’s expression that belied his relatively young age. Peering down at Mikhail like he was a poisonous contagion, his steel-gray eyes displayed pure hatred. His sharp features were dominated by highly etched cheekbones, a narrow forehead, and a head of closely cropped white hair. A nervous tick caused the right side of his mouth to lift in a sneer, as he addressed Mikhail in German-flavored Russian.

“You and your comrades fought admirably. Unfortunately, you were no match for the Waffen SS. May I ask what it was that you were willing to give your lives up to defend this evening? Surely it wasn’t for this empty train.”

“Go to hell, you Nazi pig!” spat Mikhail viciously.

The German merely snickered.

“My, you are certainly an emotional people. You’re crude and manner less as well.”

Turning away from Mikhail, he spoke in rapid German.

Two black-uniformed infantrymen appeared out of the darkness, and took up positions on each side of Mikhail. Each of the muscular soldiers took a hold of one of his arms and pinned them back until he was a helpless captive. Doing his best to hide the pain, Mikhail watched as his white-haired interrogator bent over and picked up his blood-stained combat knife.

“So this is evidently the weapon that you used to kill my corporal with. I understand that a knife wound is a most painful way to die.”

Briefly examining the finely honed blade, he accidentally nicked his finger. Blood oozed from the tiny wound, and he quickly brought it to his lips.

“This is certainly a most lethal weapon, comrade,” observed the Nazi, who re gripped the knife and waved it menacingly before Mikhail.

“It would be a shame to ruin such a handsome face.” Then he stepped forward and pressed the tip of the blade up against Mikhail’s left temple.

“I’ll give you one last chance, comrade. Where was this train bound and what is your cargo?”

Mikhail could only think of a single fitting response.

Even though his mouth was dry, he managed to summon forth a wad of thick, white phlegm, which he proceeded to deposit squarely onto his interrogator’s forehead.

“Insolent Red heathen!” cried the Nazi, who without bothering to wipe off the spittle, pressed down onto the knife until its tip just penetrated Mikhail’s skin. Then with a single slashing motion he traced a bloody line from the tip of Mikhail’s left eyebrow all the way down to his jaw.

Any further retaliation on the Nazi’s part was cut short by the excited shouts of one of his subordinates.

“Over here, Herr Koch! You’ll never believe what I’ve found hidden beneath a tarp just waiting for us!”

Oblivious to the see ring pain that filled the left side of his face, Mikhail watched as the white-haired Nazi turned in the freight car’s smoke-filled interior. He couldn’t help but catch the glint of gold as the Germans excitedly scanned their find. A pain just as intense as that which racked his torn face filled his being with pure anguish.

With the realization that he had failed his assignment, Mikhail collapsed into his captors’ vice like grasp. As the blood from his wound splattered down onto the floor, he listened as the Germans sang out in celebration. Their incredible find brought pure joy to their lips. As a way of expressing his satisfaction, the white-haired officer known as Koch decided to spare Mikhail’s life. Instead of a bullet to the back of his head, he would be shipped off to experience a living death in a hellhole known as the BergenBelsen concentration camp.

While Mikhail Kuznetsov was granted yet another temporary reprieve from his pain by slipping off into blessed unconsciousness, his twin brother Alexander had just experienced his own near brush with death. He had been positioned inside the caboose when the first Nazis were spotted. Standing beside him, Senior Lieutenant Viktor Ryutin gave the order to open fire.

The light was poor, and Alexander waited for an enemy muzzle-flash to show itself before taking aim and squeezing off a shot, and then another and another. His confidence was reinforced when several of his bullets hit their mark. But when the mortar shells began falling, he knew they were fighting a losing cause.

When one of these rounds detonated right outside the caboose, Alexander looked to his left and saw that Senior Lieutenant Ryutin had been hit. There was no need for him to apply first aid, for the entire top portion of the veteran’s skull had been blown off by a piece of razor sharp shrapnel. Finding himself on his own, Alexander decided that in this instance, discretion was the best policy, and off he went through the shattered window on the opposite side of the railroad car.

He didn’t stop running until he was a good fifty meters away from the train tracks. Here he took advantage of a dense thicket and dove for cover. With his pulse pounding madly in his chest, he dared to look back and cringed when he saw the column of black smoke rising from the boxcar located immediately beside the caboose.

It was here that the majority of his comrades had been stationed, and the smoke surely meant that they had taken a direct hit.

An even greater concern crossed his mind as he peered at the adjoining freight car, for it was here that not only had the gold been hidden, but his own brother as well.

The conspicuous absence of gunfire certainly meant that the battle was over. The Nazis had succeeded in overwhelming them and Alexander watched as a squad of German troops assembled at the trackside. The deep, rumbling roar of an advancing tank broke the temporary quiet. He looked on in disbelief as the armored vehicle broke out of the woods and smashed into the caboose and the still smoking boxcar that was attached to it. As the cars tumbled off the track, the Germans loaded themselves into the remaining freight car, where both the gold and his brother had been situated.

The locomotive built up a head of steam, and to a heart rendering blast of its whistle, the now shortened train roared off in reverse, without ceremony to the presumed safety of the German lines.

The tank disappeared back into the trees, and Alexander waited until the sound of the locomotive had completely faded in the distance before leaving his hiding place. Ever fearful of what awaited him alongside the tracks, he carefully returned to the site of the ambush.

The smashed boxcar was still smoking, and by the flickering light of the burning wreckage, he searched for any survivors. As he expected, there were none. Only the smashed, lifeless corpses of his comrades met his eyes.

Yet one observation was a bit more heartening. Nowhere within the twisted wreckage were the remains of his brother. Was his corpse still inside the boxcar alongside the gold? Or had he perhaps been wounded and taken prisoner? With this hope in mind, Alexander reluctantly left this site of carnage and death, to get on with the huge task of ridding his homeland of the bloodthirsty scourge that was responsible for this slaughter.