“Yes… it has been so very long since…” Moeller’s voice trailed off as his mind wandered to happier times.
Rolf clapped his hand on his shoulder and grinned.
“Then we will go to Salzburg and have done with it.”
Moeller, out of his short reverie, grinned and nodded.
“Zu befehl Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,” and moved back.
Moeller resumed his guard and was the first one to warn of an approaching train. The escapees kept their eyes firmly on the surrounding area but saw no one looking remotely interested in their little world. Rolf estimated the time at about 1am and it seemed reasonable to expect about four more hours of darkness before the dawn broke upon them in its full splendour. He calculated that it was still safer to stay put than to move off.
A whispered warning prevented everyone from jumping as the door was gently slid back and Krantzschen, the man who had made it into the rear wagon, joined the group. He brought Rolf’s attention to the fact that two other trains were pulled over, almost as if waiting for something more important to pass by.
Which they were of course, and that fact came home to all the watchers as the train Moeller had heard approaching slowly steamed past from the direction they had come and took the right hand track, which they hoped was heading towards Salzburg. Rolf was about to state that this was a good sign as it was likely they had been pulled over to let this one past.
He never made that comment.
What was carried on that train gave the watchers a moment’s pause. All of them had sufficient time on the Russian front to recognise the shape of Russian T-34’s, even when buried under canvas tarpaulins on a dark night. Moreover, a train with twenty-one aboard was not moving about without reason. Twenty-one tanks represented a full Soviet tank battalion and moving a force like that was not done for the hell of it. It had purpose. Hardly had Rolf started to digest what he had seen than another train followed the same route. The unmistakeable shapes of twenty-one more T-34’s slid by, immediately followed by yet another trainload, but this time carrying twenty-one IS-II types, a Soviet heavy tank with a beast of a 122mm main gun.
Three trains in five minutes apart became six, then eight and finally the incredulous Germans spent nearly an hour witnessing seventeen trainloads of Russian materiel, from tanks through artillery onto troop transport, heading south-west down the track. One Katyusha had been wholly visible, as its protective tarpaulin had been carried away into the night.
By the time the last train had passed, the waiting group of locomotives started to show more signs of life, and the nearest one to the junction slowly pulled forward with its load. Its progress was watched intently so the Germans could gauge what was likely to happen when it became their turn. The large number of uniforms around the Bahnhof and surrounding area started to dwindle and none of them seemed remotely interested in the train now moving through the junction.
The most important factor was now which way their train would turn. Any direction but southwest would bring a completely new set of problems to the escapees, but their luck held.
As their train moved through and onto the south-west line Rolf risked a better look and was struck by the fact that, had he not witnessed it with his own eyes and known differently, he would now be looking at an apparently unimportant piece of railway network. Certainly not one that merited the attention of at least eighty heavily armed Soviet troops on a wet night such as this. Something was happening here and alarm bells were still ringing in his head.
He moved back into the truck and found a number of others waiting expectantly.
“What the hell is this all about menschen? The war is over and yet we see secrecy like this. What we have witnessed here is important enough to pass on, although, in truth, I’m not totally sure who we should try to tell or what we would say.”
A number of quiet laughs accompanied Rolf’s obvious humour, for they all knew the answer to that. However, Shandruk put it into words.
“Maybe it is just manouevre, maybe not. Either way, it is something the Russian wishes to conceal, therefore we have a duty to speak of it, and surely it must be the Americans we go to?”
“And be imprisoned again?” came Braun’s angry words, echoed by one or two others.
“Quiet Kameraden.”
Rolf gave a moment for all to settle and focus solely on him.
“Such decisions we cannot presently make. We must focus on escape, for it may be that we won’t be able to exercise choice over which enemy or friend we next encounter”.
It was a fair point and making light of the situation obviously eased the immediate tension. Rolf continued after a pause.
“What we must agree is not to speak of it to the communists if we are taken, for I think if we did we would guarantee a bullet in the head for each of us. So let us now concentrate on getting out of the Russian area and into whatever of Germany is left to us. Agreed?”
No voices rang out, just nods of agreement, and the group just went back to what they had been doing.
Krantzschen sidled up to Rolf, his voice low.
“The other carriage is exactly the same as this one Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. A charnel house.”
There was a distinctive whistle to Krantzschen’s voice caused by the absence of his two front upper teeth, victims of a vehicle accident in the Ukraine.
He looked to see if anyone was watching and slipped a piece of cloth into Rolf’s hand.
“I found this jammed in the door runner. I think it was what was preventing it from moving.”
Even before Rolf’s eyes took in exactly what it was, he had a fair idea of what Krantzschen had pressed into his hand. He swiftly summoned Braun for his lighter and a quick flick of the wheel was sufficient for them to see a Major’s epaulette with its pink Panzer waffenfarbe trim quite clearly.
The three of them exchanged looks.
With that one object, all became clear to them.
They had not been digging tank ditches.
The gunfire at night was not part of Russian military manoeuvres.
The increased numbers of trains were not bringing cargoes but German bodies from far afield.
Rolf quietly and solemnly slipped the epaulette back into Krantzschen’s hand and squeezed it around the material firmly, both Braun and Krantzschen immediately understanding that the matter would not be discussed further. Krantzschen slid it back into his pocket for later disposal.
The train progressed slowly through the silent and dark countryside, passing occasionally through sleepy villages, the names of which were softly called out by the watchers.
Breiteneich.
Horn.
Rosenberg.
The names kept coming.
Another scare occurred as they ground to a halt in a larger siding area in order to permit another four trains to pass by, these being mainly blacked out passenger coaches. However, there were enough glowing cigarette ends clustered on the ends of each coach to safely assume that each carriage was crammed with combat troops. The Russians followed the previous routine and extinguished all lights in the area but this time had them all back on by the time the fugitive’s train pulled through. The station was Krems-Donau and according to the platform clock, it was 0223.
The little train rattled slowly on and those looking out of the left-hand doorway absorbed the comforting vision of the dark waters of the Danube slowly flowing eastwards.
At Groisbach their train slewed into a siding and the whole secretive process was repeated, this time with five trains passing slowly by, their military cargo all too apparent.
The final time they were forced to concede the track to military trains they were just west of Marbach, and this time only three trains moved past them.