The last enemy, p.7
The Last Enemy, page 7
The landing knocked the breath out of his body. His head banged against the hard concrete floor, and the arm he’d flung out to soften his fall slammed into something hard and sharp that sliced through his sleeve, gouging a slice of flesh from his arm. He took several seconds to get his breath back, and his first task was to unsling the MP-40 and check it hadn’t suffered damage. This was enemy territory, and for all he knew, this place could still be crawling with Krauts eager to claim his scalp.
He extracted the magazine, pulled back the cocking lever to eject the round in the chamber, and pulled the trigger. The gun dry-fired, so no damage. A long tunnel stretched in front of him. He started walking, careful to make as little noise as possible. At first, he didn’t hear anything to suggest the enemy was still down there. Maybe they’d bailed out when the Allies approached, with no plans to return and slug it out against vastly superior forces. He reached a junction where the tunnel split three ways. Straight ahead, to the right, or to the left. The tumble down the shaft had left him still disoriented, so he made a guess.
Turned into the left tunnel and came face-to-face with a German officer who opened his mouth to shout a warning, while pulling his pistol from the holster. Now they’d know he was there. He was fucked.
Chapter Three
When he saw the American soldier in front of him the officer froze. His mouth opened to shout a warning, and simultaneously, his hand clawed for his gun. Murphy jumped him and brought him down. Hammered a fist into his face, and he squealed in pain, but he was a fighter, and he didn’t intend to give up easily. His hands came up, gripped Murphy around the throat and squeezed hard. He was strong, with an iron grip, and no matter how much he tried, the fingers stayed locked around his neck, cutting off his air supply.
He hammered at him with his fists and kept punching but with little effect. In the confined space, he couldn’t get enough of a swing to hit him really hard, and his lungs were running out of oxygen. Everything started to go red, and he had to do something fast. He’d held onto the MP-40, and he jabbed it into the guy’s belly, but once again the confined space meant he couldn’t get sufficient force into the blow. He was on the point of passing out, running out of options. Save one.
He'd pull the trigger and fuck the consequences. In the confined space, the noise of the 9mm bullet exploding from the muzzle sounded like a crack of thunder. The guy let go and jerked back, letting out a scream of agony. If the noise of the shot hadn’t alerted them, the scream echoing through the tunnels sure would have, and now they’d know something was up. They’d be there soon, but in the meantime, he inspected the body to make sure the bullet had done its work. It had. The guy was dead, the bullet had torn up through his belly and pierced his heart. He shoved the body aside and catapulted to his feet. Hurtled along the tunnel, running like crazy, and behind him came the shouts of alarm.
He had to reach those doors and get them open before the artillery barrage blanketed the town. The platoon would have to deal with any Krauts they found in this labyrinth, but at least they’d be safe from the rain of American shells. He sprinted along the tunnels, turning every which way, looking for a passage that led to the doors. Several soldiers were close behind, and volleys of gunfire hacked toward him. He zigzagged through the labyrinth, diving into side tunnels, aware he was lost. Didn’t have a clue where he was. Until suddenly the doors were in front of him. He was there, but so were the Krauts.
He threw himself beneath the automatic fire hacking over his head and ricocheting off the doors. The wheel he needed to reach and turn to open the door was within arm’s reach. But the moment he got to his feet they’d pepper him with bullets. He had no choice but to trade shot for shot, and they had more guns and more ammunition. He emptied a magazine and reached for a fresh one. His hand brushed a hard, solid object clipped to his webbing. His last remaining grenade. He snatched it out, pulled the pin, and tossed it toward the enemy.
Hugged the ground as the explosion ripped through the confined space. The blast lifted him off the ground and threw him back down. Uninjured. The enemy wasn’t so lucky. Screams echoed through the tunnel, hoarse, panicked German voices shouting for help. A tiny window of opportunity had opened, provided he took it before they had a chance to recover. He estimated he had a few seconds to get that door open. He leaped to his feet, grabbed the wheel, and turned it. It was stiff, and he had to throw all his effort into moving it. Inch by inch he moved it anti-clockwise, while the precious seconds slipped away.
He glanced over his shoulder, checked what they were doing, and they were doing plenty. They’d brought up a light machine gun, an MG-42. The fierce rate of fire was enough to turn an entire platoon into blood and gristle in seconds. He watched the gunner unfold the legs and lie prone behind the weapon. The loader threaded a belt of ammunition into the breech. He was out of time. Suddenly, the iron wheel clicked as the lock disengaged, and he dragged the heavy door back on its hinges.
Outside he saw Rooker’s face, with the rest of the unit ranged around him. Rooker gasped, “Thank Christ, they’re starting to explode shells all over the town.”
He held up a hand and waved them forward. “Get inside now!”
He stopped them. “Wait! They have a machine gun. They’ll cut you to pieces.”
“We don’t have a choice, Lt. Our guys are about to drop several tons of shells on our heads. We’re coming in.”
They surged forward. The machine gun opened up, spitting out a deadly hail of bullets, and the men threw themselves to one side. A salvo of shells crashed into the ground outside, just a few yards away. The next shells to arrive looked like they’d land next to the still-open door, and they were as good as dead. Murphy swung around in a despairing effort to rush the machine gun, kill the crew, and save the lives of his men.
Another salvo of shells landed in the same place. Except for one stray shell. It scored a direct hit on the tunnel entrance, traveled fifty yards inside, reached the machine gun, and detonated with a massive ‘crash.’ The blast tossed him along the tunnel like a discarded rag doll. He hit the rock floor hard, rolled, and his helmet banged against the hard rock of the tunnel wall, saving him from a broken skull.
He managed to remain conscious, and through the swirling smoke and dust saw the men had made it inside. Rooker and Kelly were pushing the door closed. They turned the wheel to lock it, just before several artillery shells arrived and detonated against the reinforced steel. The thunderous roar shook the underground cavern, but the door held.
Lucas helped him to his feet and asked him if he was injured. He replied in the negative and glanced around. Things didn’t look good. The artillery shell that’d ripped into the German machine gun had done more than demolish the weapon and the men manning it. The detonation had brought down the tunnel roof, sealing off the underground complex. There was one way out, and that was a no-go. Through those doors, still battered by shell after shell.
As his head cleared, he counted numbers. Three men were missing, including the German prisoners. Lawson stood by the doors alongside Captain Burgess, and he joined him.
“Colonel, where’re the prisoners? What happened to them?”
He nodded toward Burgess. “Ask him, he said he’d keep an eye on them.”
“Where are they, Captain?”
He shrugged. “I lost sight of them when the barrage started, but I guess they’re still out there. Poor bastards, I guess they’re dead. It’s too bad.”
His expression of regret didn’t look convincing. “Why did you leave them out there?”
His expression changed to indignation. “What’re you suggesting? That I left them deliberately? When the first shells hit, they panicked and ran. I didn’t have time to go after them. Just before the door closed, I heard shooting, so I guess they ran into some of their own soldiers who mistook them for the enemy. Either they got them, or our artillery got them. Like I said, they’re probably dead.”
He wasn’t convinced, and he left him to join Rooker. The Captain didn’t give a shit about the prisoners, although something didn’t chime right. He’d got the impression they could’ve supplied valuable information about the Nordhausen facility, and now that information was lost.
They waited out the barrage, gave it another hour to make sure it had ended, and opened the door. The way out was blocked by heaps of rubble that’d been thrown up by the explosions, and they had to form a chain to clear tons of chunks of loose rock. They emerged into the daylight, relieved to be away from the claustrophobic confines and stale air of the cavern.
The artillery had destroyed anything that still stood until a couple of hours before. A few hundred yards away, moving toward them, was a line of tanks. Shermans, with infantrymen following cautiously behind. 2nd Platoon was covered in dust and dirt, difficult to identify as American soldiers, and the machine guns mounted on the hull of each tank swiveled toward them. Murphy shouted at his men to drop their weapons to show they weren’t a threat, and they waited nervously while the armor got nearer.
The lead Sherman pulled up several yards away, the turret hatch opened, and a head popped out. “Identify yourselves?”
“Murphy, Lieutenant, 2nd Platoon.”
“Jesus Christ, we thought you were Krauts. A few more seconds and we’d have opened fire. Are any Germans left inside the town?”
“Negative. Except for a few trapped underground. They’re not going anywhere, not after a shell brought down the roof. Not until that blockage is cleared.”
He told him about the shaft he’d used to climb down, and he gave him the location. The tank commander, a major, used the radio to call in, and as more soldiers arrived, ordered them to disperse around the town to bottle up any escapers.
Murphy glanced up at him. “Major, there’s no hurry. We’ve got them bottled up.”
Another eager-looking officer who looked more like a college kid who had yet to start shaving than a trained soldier ran up to Burgess. “I’m looking for Captain Burgess. Is he here?”
“That’s me. Who am I speaking with?”
“Lieutenant Redmond, Sir. Division assigned me to the group looking for Nazi scientists.”
“That’s my group, Lieutenant, so consider yourself under my orders. We need to make sure none of these bastards get away, so I want you to contact Division and get more soldiers, as many as they can spare, to surround the town with a ring of steel. If you need authority, contact General Eisenhower’s headquarters and they’ll give you the go-ahead.”
“Yessir, I’ll get right onto it.”
“You do that, Lieutenant.
Burgess glanced around at the devastation for several seconds before he strode away. When he’d gone, Lawson grabbed Murphy and pulled him to one side.
“Something about this doesn’t smell right.”
“Like what?”
“As you know, I liaise between Eisenhower’s HQ and 27th Division. Nobody said anything about this Captain Burgess. If his orders came directly from Allied Headquarters, they’d have told me. And I’m not happy about how come those prisoners he was watching died.”
“He could’ve been telling the truth. They were caught up in the artillery strike. He’s probably who he says he is. You know the military. They screw everything up. Communications get tangled all the time.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s possible, but why so much secrecy? I plan to keep an eye on Burgess.”
“You think he’s running his own show, trying to make a name for himself?”
“It’s possible. I’ll see what I can find out.”
They looked up as a Dodge Command Car rolled toward them and stopped next to the Sherman. A bulky senior officer climbed out, the familiar figure of General Earl Shriver. He looked first at the tank commander. “What’s the situation, what’ve you found?”
He saluted and shook his head. “Nothing, General. Either they’re all dead, buried underneath the rubble, or they’ve run.”
“They could’ve retreated deeper into the Harz Mountains. They must’ve known we wouldn’t send troops through that place.
The tank commander looked dubious. “I guess it’s possible. What’re your orders, General?”
“We’ll bypass the place. I’m sending the Division along the west side, and we have two divisions advancing along the west. We don’t have time to waste. The Soviets are closer to Berlin, and it looks like they’re gonna get there first, but we still plan to get as close as possible. When the shooting stops, the Russians will grab territory, and they’ll be difficult to budge, so the less ground they hold, the better.”
They were listening, and Lawson glanced at Murphy. “I think it’s time we joined this conversation.”
Shriver glared at them as they approached. Especially Murphy, who held the place of honor at the top of his shitlist. “Lieutenant, you have work to do. You’re a reconnaissance platoon, and we’re heading down the west side of the Harz. Move out now and call in if you find anything. We’ll stop here for the night and continue the advance at dawn. I doubt you’ll hit any trouble up ahead. My guess is they’re long gone. That’s all, dismissed.”
He waited for Murphy to salute, but he had other ideas. “General, about the artillery barrage. How come they didn’t tell them we were inside the town?”
“I’ve no idea,” he snapped dismissively, “Maybe somebody forgot to. Too bad, I’ll mention it sometime. You’re dismissed, Mister.”
He went to walk away, but Lawson stood in his way and said there were a few things he wanted to discuss, things that didn’t add up. Shriver batted him aside. “Not now, Colonel. I have to make a report to Corps headquarters. If there’s anything you have to say, you’re welcome to come along and get it off your chest, but I doubt they’d be interested.” He didn’t say because he was a Brit, but he didn’t need to.
He gave Shriver a long, contemptuous look. “If you ignore it, you’ll be making a mistake. We need to find out more about what’s going on in this place. It could be important.”
“Important?” The General sneered, “I thought the roof collapsed. It’s finished, nothing there we need to worry about. If any Nazis are still underground, they’re as good as dead. We’re moving on.”
Lawson followed Shriver to the Command Car, trying to convince him he was making a mistake, but he wasn’t interested. He watched him drive away, and he walked back to Murphy. “I mean to find out what’s going on here. I’m coming with you.”
Rooker got the men together, and they were about to continue east when a man shouted he needed to check something out. Ron Lucas rushed toward a low building that somehow had survived the shelling. He went inside and emerged a minute later dragging a body.
“I just heard him calling for help, so I went in there to have a look. It’s not pretty. There are two dead German soldiers, and this guy, a civilian. He’s alive, but only just. He took a bullet in his chest. It looks like it missed his heart and he managed to hold a piece of rag over it to stem the blood loss.”
“He looks familiar,” Lawson grunted, “Isn’t he that German who was hiding in the rubble when we arrived?”
He was almost unrecognizable, his face smeared with blood and grime, and his shirt soaked with blood. When Murphy looked closer, it was the same man. Konrad Neuberg. The Jewish scientist who’d worked in the underground complex. He ordered Lucas to clean him up and dress his wound as best he could. The poor guy was in a lot of pain, his breathing coming in short pants, and every few seconds his eyes rolled back in his head as if he was about to fall unconscious.
He recognized Murphy standing in over him. “You… have… to…”
“Have to what?”
“My…notes. Richter. Gone… south.”
He told him he didn’t get it before Neuberg slid into unconsciousness. He’d been ordered to carry out a forward reconnaissance, so he should leave this guy to wait for the rest of the 27th to arrive. They’d find him, and if he was still alive, and if he was lucky, they’d give him medical attention. He didn’t like it, but he was a soldier with a job to do.
“Leave him where he is and make him as comfortable as possible. Give him food and water before we leave. Sergeant, we’re moving out.”
The men got into line, and he assigned Dan Kelly on point. “Let’s go.”
He started walking but stopped before he’d gone a half-dozen paces when Lawson called to him. “We can’t leave him.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been thinking about what he told us when we first came across him. He knows a lot about this place, and it’s stuff that could be important.”
“Important how? The tunnel is blocked, so there’s no way in or out, even if anybody is left alive down there. I know there’s the maintenance shaft, and they’re not likely to try that route. Getting down was one thing, but you can forget climbing back up.”
“You heard him say something about Richter. About taking off with his notebook. I believe that notebook could be important.”
“Colonel, we’ll come across Richter sooner or later. Right now, we’re on a mission. We’re moving out.”
He folded his arms and stared at him. “Neuberg talked about a secret weapon they were developing down there.”
“Yeah, like those V2 rockets they send over London, and they’re so short of explosives they’ve started filling the warheads with concrete. Forget their secret weapons, they’re just more of Hitler’s bullshit to keep his people fighting. They don’t work.”
“And if they have invented something that does work?” He paused, “At least we can take him with us, see what he has to say when he recovers consciousness.”
“Look at him, he’s a corpse in waiting.”
“Humor me.”
Murphy sighed. He didn’t need this. They’d been ordered to undertake a reconnaissance patrol, and if he failed to carry out the mission, it would be all Shriver needed to bust him back down to Private. He looked at Lawson, and he was deadly serious. “Okay, we’ll take him. Gordon, Anderson, pick him up and carry him.”
