“Don’t worry Braun, we didn’t have much time to select the sweetest items, and at least you will have a clean arse for a few days.” None the less, despite the obvious humour of it, Braun was less than happy that his efforts had been fruitless. That he had the only cigarette lighter in the group was his salvation as he saw it.
“Ok Kameraden, Untersturmfuhrer, one nip each of vodka, you will oversee this please.” A quick ‘jawohl’ and the process started. “The food will be divided into three amounts, one for each of the next three days. We will eat now so we have strength before we run further, but quickly comrades, quickly.” So, with a decent yet small and hastily consumed supper and a warming nip of vodka in their bellies, they started out north-west for the nearest rail line as the Austrians suggested. The tobacco would be saved for later.
As they accelerated away from the camp that had housed them, they were unaware that many of their former comrades were dying; both those who had made the bid for freedom and those who had failed to act upon the opportunity and remained within the camp, probably more from fear than sloth.
Those caught in flight were mown down without mercy or thought for recapture as the Bulgarians flooded back to the camp. Those remaining inside the camp fared no better. Their guilt established, all forty-four were dragged outside and swiftly executed, their bodies being arranged around the broken fence in order to show how well the guards had behaved in stemming the flow of escapees.
It served little purpose, for within the next hour the surviving Bulgarian guards were also being rounded up and summarily liquidated by a detachment of NKVD stationed at NeuPolla, which had eventually responded to the garbled radio summons from the camp commandant. His Major’s rank didn’t save him either, for despite his protestations, the recently returned NKVD Captain Skryabin blew the man’s brains all over the wall to save on the time and expense of a mock trial, and probably to cover his own complicity in events.
The telephone lines had been brought down by the first contact of the Yak, and their destruction did much to inhibit the immediate organisation but, even so, resources were slowly brought to bear to contain the escapees.
NKVD and regular army units were mobilised and by the end of the night, some thirty-five hundred Soviet troops were involved in the search. Ninety-seven Germans had already been apprehended outside of the camp and all but three of them were summarily dispatched with a bullet in the head or a bayonet. Those unlucky three were nailed to telegraph poles in Zwinzen to die a lingering death as examples to the local community.
As the Russian search effort was still in its infancy, Rolf’s group continued to strike out for the possible safety of the railway line, both helped and hindered by the hammering rain and winds. Speed was of the essence, as it was decided to put as much distance as possible between the camp and the group before Soviet security efforts were fully organised. The two Austrians constantly consulted about direction but the trail was blazed by a young officer of the Brandenburgers whose field craft in such matters made him the obvious choice for the role.
They stumbled across the line and followed it northwards, hugging its eastern side as they progressed further away from the camp. There was a narrow escape at a crossing point when the group unfortunately timed their sprint across the road with the passing of three trucks full of Soviet infantry. That they were not seen was probably more due to the driving rain dampening the spirits of the Russians than anything else.
The group made speedy progress, following the rail line around in a long curve until it finally ran almost southeast and disappeared into a village.
Rolf made the decision to cross to the north at a point where rail line and road were most adjacent and the group swiftly made their way over.
Not a moment too soon, as more Soviet infantry and some of the hated NKVD arrived from the north-west and started to drop off sections of soldiers to form a physical barrier against anyone coming from the direction of the camp.
Immediately the blocking deployment bore fruit.
South of the railway line, two German prisoners, one of them an old comrade of Rolf’s, were caught in a vehicle searchlight. Shouts and rifles rang out simultaneously and one man dropped like a stone, obviously shot in the head. Rolf’s comrade tried to drag the wounded man to cover but both were shot at point blank range by a young submachine gunner, eager to be able to tell his family that he had killed his Germans.
Whilst it was unfortunate on both slain prisoners, it was extremely fortunate for Rolf and his men, as the young officer in charge of the group oriented his troops all to the south on the supposition that his men had killed the first arrivals.
Rolf’s group moved silently away in the opposite direction, crossing swiftly over another railway line that snaked northwest, its rails picked out by the increasingly frequent lightning.
Silently but swiftly the group moved through the gardens and back ways of Hauptstraße and Nordrandweg, the good Austrian people staying firmly in their homes as gunfire mixed with thunder in the night.
The escapees gathered together in an overgrown walled area between Nordrandweg and the rail line, right opposite a junction spot where the single line became three and a small rail yard was formed.
It was immediately apparent that there was little military presence in the area. With the exception of a GAZ jeep and Studebaker truck parked up outside an obvious headquarters building in Bahnhofstraße, no signs of danger were apparent, so it might be that the driving rain had been more in their favour than they first thought.
The group hid up and surveyed the scene. Apparently the village was called Gopfritz an der Wild but no one, not even the Austrians, was any the wiser for knowing that. As they examined the lie of the land the sounds of an approaching express reached their ears and before they knew it a sixteen car military freight train hammered straight through and off into the dark, bound west for places unknown.
A swift appraisal of the area indicated that a small train of one engine, eight freight cars and a passenger coach was on a siding ready to roll eastwards, with another of fourteen freight cars and a very obvious ex-German quadruple anti-aircraft gun carriage on another sandbagged wagon on the other side of the triple tracks, pointing to the west. The flak gun coach was worrying close to their position, although there was no sign of any crew.
What was of considerable interest was the fact that the former train’s engine was busy puffing away. The priority was still to put as much distance between them and the camp, so very quickly it was decided to go for the smaller train heading east. This suddenly became imperative as Rolf observed figures around the engine climb aboard and the train started to slowly puff its way forward to the points.
‘Schiesse, no time for stealth Kameraden! Go hell for leather for that train. Move!”
Frantically the group leapt the stonewall and charged headlong towards the rearmost freight car. Its doors were only partially open. Swiftly realising the error, Rolf adjusted to the second car as its doors were gaping invitingly.
Fortunately, the train slowed slightly before reaching the points, as they needed to be manually switched. Unfortunately, they were operated by a beast of a man wearing Soviet uniform and sporting a PPSH sub-machine gun.