The Leader And The Damned

Chapter Twenty

At the Berghof the Fuhrer rose at his normal late hour – 11 am – within minutes of Lindsay's and Christa's escape to Salzburg. Following his normal routine, he had gone to bed at 3 am.

His bedroom, which had a connecting link via a dressing room with Eva Braun's, was furnished in a Spartan fashion. The only decoration on the walls was an oil painting of his mother copied from an old photograph.

One of the most powerful men in the world, he shaved and dressed himself without any help from his valet, Krause. His garb was as ordinary as his late breakfast. He wore his brown tunic with the red swastika armband and trousers.

His breakfast – never varied – consisted of two cups of milk and up to ten pieces of zwieback, the German black rusk. He also consumed several pieces of semi-sweet chocolate which, he was convinced, gave him energy.

He ate alone and standing up, leafing through the latest reports of DNB, the German News Agency. Breakfast was finished in five minutes and then he was ready for the day. He opened the midday military conference attended by Bormann, Keitel, Jodl and other high officers with an unusual remark.

'I have the odd feeling that something disturbing has happened.'

'What might that be, mein Fuhrer?' purred Bormann.

'If I knew, I would have told you! Now let's get on..'

He adopted a characteristic pose while he listened to Jodl outlining the present position on the Eastern front, standing with both hands clasped over his lower abdomen. He said nothing, nodding his head occasionally as though in agreement. His silence had the effect of creating an atmosphere of tension.

At one moment he left the conference table over which was spread a large-scale map of Soviet Russia. He stood peering out of a window and then returned to the table. He had been gazing towards Salzburg.

Bormann went berserk when he heard the news. The military conference ended abruptly when Hitler glowered at his generals and left without a word. It was 1.30 pm. Since it was Sunday, the cook had prepared Lindsay's meal a few minutes early because he was anxious to finish and get away for a few hours. The tray was delivered to the Englishman's empty room at 1.25.

'God in Heaven, Jaeger!' Bormann fumed. 'What kind of security are you running. You plan a trap for Lindsay earlier, it flops – later in the morning he escapes…'

'I was handicapped…' the Colonel stood his ground.. by the fact that my detachment of guards was dispersed over a wide area to spring the trap. A trap you originally suggested..'

Bormann, the top of his head level with Jaeger's chest, paused in his tirade. He recognized a quagmire when his foot felt the surface subsiding. If the Fairer launched an investigation, this SS hyena would share the blame for the disaster – with himself.

'How could he have got away?' he demanded. 'May I say something?' requested Schmidt, who was standing two paces behind his chief.

Bormann stared at the thin-faced officer who wore rimless glasses. He disliked rimless glasses: they always reminded him of his bitter enemy, Himmler. But Schmidt had an analytical mind. They made a dangerous combination, this pair. Schmidt provided the intellect; Jaeger was the man of action. He nodded: permission to speak.

'There may, I regret, be further bad news,' Schmidt informed him. 'Fraulein Christa Lundt is known to have frequented the company of the Englishman. She, also, appears to be missing..'

'Two of them gone!'

'I believe, Schmidt continued, 'there is only one method of escape they could have used. The laundry truck which calls daily at eleven in the morning. The timing is right..'

'The checkpoints!' Bormann raved.

'The alert was cancelled after our plan for the Mercedes trap clearly had not worked,' Jaeger intervened.

Bormann noted the word our and suddenly calmed down. Schmidt took the opportunity to make a suggestion. Jaeger would be most grateful if he could divert Bormann's fury.

'The driver of the laundry truck may have information. Shall I call him on the phone?'

It took Schmidt only a few minutes to track down the driver at his home. He passed the phone over to the Reichsleiter who was careful not to panic Hans.

'What was that? An SS officer's uniform missing…. your depot is close to the railway… a couple was seen walking towards the station… an SS officer and a girl… the Munich express… hold on…' He looked at Schmidt. 'A railway timetable. Quickly. A train to Munich about 12.30…' He spoke a few more words to the driver before ending the call.

The meticulous Schmidt had already located a timetable and was leafing through the pages. He found the right place as Bormann gave the instructions to Jaeger.

'Get me the chief of Munich SS on the line. I will talk to him. An SS officer's uniform sent for cleaning in that truck has gone missing. Well, Schmidt?'

'If they were able to board the express – and the Lundt girl would probably manage that for them both – they departed Salzburg at 12.30 and arrive Munich at 1.30…'

Bormann glanced at a wall-clock. 1.39. 'Let's hope to God it arrives late – they usually do these days.'.

Jaeger was holding the receiver, one hand clamped over it while he spoke. 'I have the Munich SS chief on the line. His name is Mayr…'

'Bormann speaking. Mayr? Two fugitives from the Berghof… an Englishman and a German girl… descriptions… suspected they are aboard the 12.30 express from Salzburg arriving at Munich about this moment. The man may be wearing SS uniform… seal off the station…'

'The train is going to arrive late,' Christa commented. 'It was that hold-up at Rosenheim…'

Lindsay borrowed her hand-mirror to check his appearance. He was wearing the SS officer's uniform Christa had seen projecting from one of the linen sacks in the laundry truck. There was a blemish on the left sleeve. Otherwise it was in impeccable condition. It fitted him better than he had feared. A bit tight round the collar. He adjusted the peaked cap so it hid the top part of his face and glanced round the mail-van they had travelled inside from Salzburg. He checked his watch. 1.40 pm. Ten minutes late.

Moving slowly, the train began to rumble over points. He looked at Christa who stood close to the door with her suitcase. They'd agreed they must leave the coach as soon as it stopped. Earlier he had used his knife to try and manipulate the outside bolt open. On the verge of giving up, he felt the bolt elevate and clang as it dropped free.

'We're coming in now, Christa said calmly. 'There's a system of points where the tracks converge..'

'Get to the far end of the coach,' Lindsay ordered. 'I know this station – it's huge,' she protested. 'Do as you're bloody well told.'

She glowered and then obeyed his instruction. Lindsay took up a position to one side of the sliding door, the knife held in his right hand, the suitcase in his left. Slipping inside the mail van at Salzburg had been easy. Munich could be more dangerous.

Major Hugo Bruckner of the SS stood on the platform as the Salzburg express came in. A burly man of medium height, he took his duties very seriously. He had a particular detestation for army deserters – probably because he had served a long stint on the Russian front. They travelled about on trains. A favourite hiding-place was the mail-van which he could see approaching.

The passenger coaches slid past him, doors already opening as troops and civilians prepared to alight and join the jostling mob in the concourse. He stiffened as his keen eyes spotted the loose bolt on the mail-van. It looked as though he might gather up more cannon fodder for the Eastern front – the inevitable destination of deserters caught in the act.

The train stopped. Bruckner stood on an isolated portion of the platform and noted the door was ajar a couple of centimetres, enough for anyone hidden inside to peer out. The darkness inside the mail-van was making it difficult for Bruckner to see into the coach but he had no fear of slimy deserters. He threw the door to one side and climbed aboard.

The coach was empty. He looked to his right and Lindsay was now within three feet of him. It was the SS uniform which momentarily froze Bruckner's reflexes – the last person he had expected to encounter was an SS officer..

Lindsay's right hand flashed up and drove down with all his strength behind the vicious lunge. The blade slid off the edge of the German's breastbone and plunged up to the hilt. Lindsay let go of the handle and Bruckner staggered back inside the coach with a grunt of surprise.

Christa, one hand to her mouth, watched Bruckner toppling back with the knife protruding from his chest like a decoration. A red lake had appeared and was welling over his uniform. Lindsay put an arm round his neck, well clear of the blood, hauled him deep inside the van and dropped him in the place where they had hidden.

He piled mail-bags on top of the dead German with furious haste. Christa had peered out and had dropped to the platform. He grabbed his case and followed her. Catching up with the girl, he saw her face was white.

'I think I'm going to be sick…'

'Reactions come later. Get a hold on yourself! You said you knew this station. So do your stuff – get us out of it.

His violent verbal assault did the trick. She glared at him and recovered, then quickened her pace. 'Look at those post trolleys coming towards us – they're heading for the mail-van…'

Killing the German had been a reflex action, something he knew he would have to do sooner or later. The crocodile of mail trolleys, proceeding down the platform towards them, was something unforeseen. they'd never get clear of the station before the body was found…'

Christa was moving at almost a running pace, taking long strides, and now they were approaching the end of the platform. No inspectors at the barrier – in Germany tickets were checked on the train while in motion. He glanced back. The trolley cavalcade, pulled by one man, pushed by another, had almost reached the mail-van. They walked through the barrier.

They were caught up in the milling mob, submerged by it as people criss-crossed the concourse. Christa linked her arm inside his and guided him towards an exit. At the sight of the SS uniform other passengers made way for them. It speeded their passage but drew attention to them.

'How far is it to this flat your fiance had?'

'Not far. Five minutes by tram..

'If there is an alarm out they'll be looking for two people – a man and a girl. We must separate…'

'All right..

No more arguments as she continued walking, opened her purse and instructed him.

'We board the same tram. I get on first – so you can see what I do. Here is the coin you'll need for the fare. You get on at the front – off at the back. So find a seat behind me.'

Again it amazed him. She was so incredibly cool when the pressure was on, thinking ahead; every little detail. That brief lapse after the killing of the SS officer. Who wouldn't get the urge to vomit – the macabre sight of the German stepping backwards with the knife sticking out of the middle of his chest….?

'I'm going-ahead now,' she warned. 'Oh, my. God! Look – the SS are arriving! Don't lose me..

The SS were: indeed arriving in force. Responding swiftly and efficiently to Bormann's personal call, the SS chief, Mayr, was deploying his troops round the main station.

'Swamp the place!' he had ordered. 'Throw a cordon round the whole district! Check all papers – pay particular attention to personnel in SS uniform already there. You are looking for an officer – with a girl. The Reichsleiter himself says they must be captured…'

Proceeding systematically, the first truckload was spilling out troops at the main entrance at the very moment Christa, followed by Lindsay, walked out of a side entrance.

She headed straight for a tram where the last passengers were filing aboard. Climbing inside she bought her ticket and walked along the crowded central corridor. There were no seats left so she stood.

Lindsay was the last passenger to board the tram. Collecting his ticket, he made his way towards a position behind where Christa stood. A lame man with his leg thrust out into the corridor looked at the new arrival apprehensively and slowly stood up, offering his seat.

The Englishman very nearly told him to sit down and then remembered the uniform he was wearing. He sank down in the seat and gazed ahead. Staring over her shoulder, Christa gave a sigh of relief. The doors closed, a warning bell rang and the tram moved off.

It was turning in front of the station to proceed down a main street when – through the rear window – she saw an SS man standing in front of the next tram to stop it moving off. New truckloads of SS were passing the tram in the opposite direction, horns blaring as the drivers forced other traffic to the kerb.

Three motorcycles with. side-cars filled with more SS reinforcements roared past towards the station.

Should they get off at the next stop before whoever was in command thought of sending those motorcycles in pursuit of their tram, Christa wondered?

She had never known a tram seem to move more ponderously. She forced herself to keep an expression of indifference on her face as she noticed a man in army uniform watching her. He stood up.

'Take my seat, Fraulein. You look tired. You have had a long journey?'

'Thank you.' She gave him a brief smile. 'But I'm getting off at the next stop..'

The short encounter was unfortunate, could even be dangerous. The German sergeant who had taken a fancy to her – she had seen it in his eyes – would remember her if questioned later. Worse, he would remember the stop where she alighted.

The tram was stopping. She picked up her case and walked past the sergeant without a glance in his direction. Lindsay waited until she was descending the steps, got up quickly and followed her. He was behind her on the crowded pavement when he glanced back. The tram they had travelled aboard was surrounded by army motorcycle patrols. An SS officer was entering the vehicle with the obvious intention of questioning everyone aboard.

The Fuhrer's moods were always unpredictable. He took the news that the two fugitives had escaped from the train at Munich with surprising calm, even caution. Removing his spectacles – he was never photographed wearing them – he laid aside the papers he had been studying and listened as Bormann ranted on.

'Mayr did not move fast enough. That phone call from him at the Munich station proves it. They travelled in the mail-van. They killed the SS officer Bruckner whose body was found in the mail-van and fled..'

'Army deserters often travel in mail-vans,' Hitler observed.

'Mayr also reported a tram which had just left the station was stopped by motorcycle patrols. Witnesses aboard provided very clear descriptions of two passengers who had just left it, one man in the uniform of an SS officer and a girl who sounds exactly like Christa Lundt..'

'Now he tells me…'

Hitler, seated on a couch, looked at Jaeger and Schmidt while he played with the spectacles in his lap. Keitel and Jodl, who had returned to clear up a point arising from the midday conference, were also present. So far they had preserved a discreet silence.

'What do you think, Keitel?' the Fuhrer asked suddenly.

'They won't get far..'

'Mayr is instituting a search of the whole city..', Bormann burst out. 'I agree with the Field Marshal..'

'That's because neither of you knows what you are talking about,' Jaeger intervened bluntly. 'Mayr has a monumental task.

'So,' the Fuhrer commented, using a phrase which expressed his general attitude and summed up the secret of his rise to power, 'a way can be found for everything…'

An hour later Mayr had returned to his Munich barracks when the strange phone call came through. He picked up the receiver and identified himself. It was the Berghof again.

'Bormann speaking! Information has reached me that Lindsay has a rendezvous with an Allied agent at the Frauenkirche

The voice was oddly muffled. Mayr thought it hardly sounded like the Reichsleiter. Still, he was not a man whose identity it would be wise to question. The voice went on talking.

… the agent waits at the rendezvous at 1100 hours every Monday. Make your dispositions accordingly and on no account mention this call to anyone. By order of the Fuhrer.!'

Still mystified, Mayr replaced the receiver. Tomorrow was Monday. He would be waiting for this Allied agent at the Frauenkirche.