Recalled to duty in Berlin, Benjamin had expected that his tasks would, from then on, be no more arduous than filing reports, but when Skorzeny came to him and explained the mission, Benjamin knew that he couldn’t refuse.
Skorzeny had his doubts as to whether Benjamin was fit for active duty, but he had orders from Canaris to act immediately. Given that Benjamin was the only agent available at the time, it was only a matter of hours before Vasko’s old friend was on his way.
Since then, Benjamin had been travelling with advance units of the 27th SS Grenadier Division ‘Langemarck’, which had been tasked with recapturing Rovno. The Division was made up mostly of Flemish volunteers, whose language, unintelligible to Benjamin, sounded to him like men trying to speak with pebbles in their mouths.
Benjamin did not know how long it would take Vasko to carry out his mission, so he was not unduly alarmed as the days passed with still no message from Skorzeny.
When the signal eventually came through, ordering him to proceed, the Flemish Grenadiers were still heavily engaged west of Rovno and it was unclear whether the hoped-for breakthrough would come about. At the time Benjamin set out, the Langemarck Division was at a standstill outside the village of Yaseneviche, still some distance from its intended destination.
When Benjamin read that he was to return alone if Vasko was not at the meeting place, he suspected that something must have gone wrong, but he had no choice except to go through with the mission.
In spite of the dangerous situation, Benjamin succeeded in making his way through the lines, carefully noting the territory as he moved along, in preparation for his return journey.
Benjamin had been on the point of giving up when he finally spotted the cabin, almost hidden among the trees. Pausing a short distance from the structure, he unbuckled his rucksack, which contained ammunition, a radio and medical supplies in the event that Vasko might be wounded. Benjamin hid the rucksack in a hollow in the ground, where a tree had been uprooted long ago, then drew his sidearm, a Walther P38, and advanced towards the cabin.
Cautiously, he peered in at the window. In the gloomy light of the interior, he could see a table in the centre of the room and a bunk in the corner. A blanket crumpled on the bunk was the only sign he could detect that the cabin might be occupied.
Benjamin crept around to the back and tried the door. It was unlocked and swung open with a creak. He could smell the smoke of a recently extinguished fire. Standing to one side, he whispered Vasko’s name into the gloom.
There was no reply.
Benjamin could feel the stillness of the place, as much as he could see it with his eyes. Slowly, he stepped into the cabin, his gun held out. A single glance told him that the place was no longer occupied, although it was clear that someone had been here recently. Lying on the table were a few dried pieces of black Russian army bread, as well as a Soviet military canteen in its primitive cloth cover.
As Benjamin inspected the contents of the room, he discovered a small radio of the type issued to German field agents, hidden under a tarpaulin. Then he knew he had found the right place. Although his orders were to return immediately if Vasko was not at the rendezvous point, the presence of the radio was a clear indication that Vasko had been there. Faced with the thought of abandoning his friend, Benjamin decided to wait a while and see if Vasko showed up.
Benjamin sat down at the table, picked up a piece of the Russian bread and gnawed off a mouthful. After chewing for a couple of seconds, he spat it out on to the floor, wondering how humans could subsist on food like that. Then he reached for the canteen, intending to wash out his mouth. He was just about to unscrew the cap when he felt something underneath the canteen cover which made him pause. It might just have been a twig that had worked its way between the metal and the cloth, but something about it made Benjamin uneasy. Gently he shook the canteen. Water splashed about inside. Then he undid the single metal button which held the cloth cover in place and removed the canteen. As he held up the metal flask, he spotted what he had originally mistaken for a twig. It was a thin copper wire, soldered to the base of the canteen and running all the way up to the cap. The wire had been taped to the metal with black electric tape.
Benjamin held his breath. With acid slithering in his guts, he carefully replaced the canteen on the table.
He recalled the moment in his training when he and the other agents had been shown various items of sabotage which they might one day be required to use. There were pieces of plastic explosives, shaped and painted to look like coal, which could be thrown into the tenders of trains and would detonate when shovelled into the engine. There were hollowed-out books with spring triggers fitted into the covers which, when opened, would detonate enough explosives to blow the roof off a house. There was even a slab of explosives designed to look like a chocolate bar. The explosives had been covered in real chocolate and wrapped in paper with the brand name ‘Peters’ on the outside. If a piece of the chocolate was snapped off, it would trip a detonator located inside the bar. And there were canteens, just like the one before him. Explosives were packed into the lower section, with a thin metal panel fitted into the upper section to allow it to hold water. The two pieces were then soldered back together and a copper wire strung between the cap and a detonator lodged inside the lower portion. The suspicions of any soldier would be set aside when he heard the water in the canteen, but unscrewing the cap would trigger the bomb in his hands.
Benjamin sat back and stared at the canteen which, he now realised, Vasko must have brought with him from Berlin when he first set out on the mission. ‘You bastard,’ he whispered, closing his fists to stop his fingers from trembling.
Outside, it began to rain. Benjamin listened to the rustle of droplets coming down through the trees. A moment later, it was pouring.
Steering his mind back on course, he remembered that his first task once he reached the rendezvous point was to establish contact with Abwehr in Berlin. Rather than get soaked retrieving his backpack, Benjamin picked Vasko’s radio set off the floor and brought it to the table, where he set it down and checked that the battery was charged. He set the small Morse code pad in front of him and turned on the radio, which came to life with a faint hum. Then he plugged the earpiece into the machine. After entering his identification code as a prefix to the message, he typed out: Expect contact shortly. Will advise.
Benjamin finished the transmission with a secondary authentication code. Then he picked up the earpiece. As he had learned in his training, he did not press it directly against his ear but rather against his temple. The signal, when it came in, was often marred by interference so that the individual key strokes sometimes appeared to merge together unintelligibly. Pressing the earpiece against his temple allowed him to isolate the message from the interference.
Benjamin did not have long to wait. Through the veil of static, he picked up the shrill notes of the Morse code reply. It was only one word: Understood.
Benjamin wondered if it was Skorzeny himself on the other end. He imagined the giant, safe in the radio room on the second floor of SS Headquarters in Berlin. He wished he was there now. It won’t be long, Benjamin thought to himself. If those Flemish soldiers break through to Rovno, Vasko and I can ride back to Berlin in comfort, instead of slogging our way out through the forest. And then maybe they will give us both a desk job for the rest of this damned war.
The thought of that cheered him up. Smiling, Benjamin leaned forward and turned off the radio. Curious, he thought, as he heard not one click but two.