'We thought we were safe,' Anna corrected him.
She handed back the glasses. With a sense of relief he put them on and the world came back into focus. Droplets of rain ran down the windows of the tram. He followed one droplet as it zigzagged an irregular course. He was frightened.
'What are you talking about?' he asked. 'You said earlier I was being followed. By whom?'
His coat smelt of damp wool. He should have brought a raincoat instead. But earlier in the day…
'I don't know,' Anna replied, keeping her voice low. 'The first thing I noticed several days ago was the men following you to work in the morning. I was watching from behind the net curtains as you went off to catch your tram. Two men had been standing on the opposite pavement, apparently talking to each other. It was raining heavily. Neither had an umbrella and they were getting soaked. It seemed odd…'
'You're imagining all this,' he muttered.
'Wait till I've finished! Then tell me I'm imagining it. I went on watching. You crossed the street and you were no more than one hundred metres away when they began to follow you. As you disappeared round a corner they broke into a trot to catch up…'
'The same men as those sitting in that seat?'
He was beginning to believe her. Ever since they had fled from Germany before the war, he had felt secure once they crossed the Swiss border. He didn't want to believe her.
'Not the same men. A different pair…'
'There you are!' He relaxed, sagged against the back of the seat. 'It's all a coincidence. I told you it was your imagination…'
'Men are watching our apartment by day and night…'
Oh, God! They sat there as the tram stopped, the doors opened, people got off, a man got on, the doors closed, they were off again. The two men Anna had pointed out remained in their seat, exchanging not a word. Roessler glanced up at the angled mirror to help passengers board and alight. One of the men in the seat was staring at him. Roessler looked away. It was becoming a nightmare.
'We're there,' said Anna. 'Get off as though. nothing is wrong. Don't look at the men. Don't trip on the steps…'
They had reached the suburb of Wesemlin where they rented the small apartment they had taken in 1933. Anna is so strong, he thought. She walked to the exit with a firm tread, paused for him to catch her up, then stepped down into the street. On the pavement, in the reflection from his freshly-cleaned glasses, he saw the two men hurry down the steps seconds before the automatic doors closed. It was one of the worst moments of his life.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jaeger timed the moment for the attack from the half- track with great perception. By now the motorcyclists with their short-range barrage from the machine- pistols had the Partisans scrambling all over the slope, seeking altitude. Jaeger stood behind the powerful searchlight which had not yet been brought into play. An NCO called Olden manned the swivel-mounted machine-gun with a range far greater than that of a machine-pistol.
'Olden,' Jaeger warned, 'I think we should have them scattering like ants. Brace yourself for when I turn on the light…'
'I am ready when you are, Colonel…'
There was a bitter note in Olden's voice. Back there in the other gorge he had lost comrades he had campaigned with in the wastes of Russia. Christ, one or two even went back to France, 1940!
The half-track went on rumbling forward, its caterpillars creaking and rattling. Jaeger aimed the powerful searchlight at an extreme angle, turned as far as it would go to the right.
'I'll sweep in a slow arc from right to left,' he called out to Olden. 'Maybe bob up and down a bit.. 'Understood, Colonel.'
Olden swivelled the barrel of his gun far right. They had to work in concert to gain maximum results. He was glad the Colonel was operating the light. Jaeger was alert, ice-cold at such a moment. His night vision was exceptional…
The light came on. A beam like an anti-aircraft searchlight lit up the slope. Tiny figures scattered across the slope made the fatal mistake of turning in surprise, and were blinded by the glare. Olden's gun began to clatter.
From the half-track they saw the figures dropping. The noise of the engine, the tracks and Olden's gun drowned the screams of the Partisans caught in the open. The beam swept towards the left, paused, dropping and climbing while Olden's gun synchronized with the movement' of the beam.
High up on the slope Heljec, leading a group of men up a defile, paused. Snatching a rifle from the man behind, he told them to continue without him and climbed out of the deep notch. Releasing the safety catch, he stood and watched.
Panic. Partisans were running like thoughtless rabbits to escape the probe of the deadly beam. The first priority was to shoot out that bloody searchlight. It would not be easy. The half-track's commander was a clever bastard. He was varying the speed of the vehicle. Not only a moving target – also an erratic one.
Heljec pressed the butt of his rifle firmly into his shoulder. He aimed a score of metres ahead of the half-track's progress, waited. Take out that light and the gunner was blind. Patiently he waited as the half-track crawled up to his line of fire.
The searchlight swivelled without warning. One moment it was a beam of light searching the slope over to his left. Then it moved, jerked, stopped. Heljec was caught in the full glare of the great eye of light.
Heljec dropped. Dropped his rifle. Dropped to the ground. He was rolling as he hit the earth. He spun like a child's top with incredible speed. Hands clasped on top of his head. Forearms protecting his face. Rolling. He reached the edge of the defile, rolled over the edge, dropped six feet and hit the base with a thud.
He had just reached the edge when Olden's gun began to hammer. As he dropped out of sight slivers of rock slashed off by Olden's bullets skimmed over his head. He lay where he had fallen on his bruised shoulder, listening to the drum-fire. Waste your bloody bullets, you stupid mental deficient…'
In the gorge below, both Olden and Jaeger were convinced they had scored another hit. There had been only a fraction in time between Olden's barrage following the searchlight beam and the figure with the rifle dropping.
'Cease fire!' he ordered Olden, and doused the searchlight.
From the viewpoint of military tactics he was correct. He had fully exploited the element of surprise. He had caused heavy casualties among the Partisans. The sight of a man standing aiming a rifle warned him the surprise was gone. The half-track – with the searchlight turned on – had become a potential target.
'We've tanned their hides!' Jaeger shouted. 'Now, get to hell out of it – join up with the others in the plain.'
'Perhaps we should walk past our apartment – to confuse the men who are following us,' Roessler suggested.
His glasses were already misted up again. He was confused and depressed. A superb wireless operator, a man of stubborn courage, he was hopeless in the present situation. Unlike his wife.
'Don't be silly,' she said. 'They know exactly where we live. The thing to do is not to let them know we've rumbled them. We carry on as usual…'
'It could be very dangerous… Anna,' he observed suddenly, 'look at that stationary car. You can't see inside it…'
'Don't try. Act normal. Just walk across the street to our apartment.'
She spoke confidently but the car – parked dead opposite to their apartment block entrance – had fine- mesh, dark-coloured curtains drawn. It was impossible to see whether there was anyone inside.
'Coffee!' Roessler said once they were inside their apartment.
'I'm already making it.'
Roessler had no vices except coffee – of which he consumed litres. He walked restlessly over to the window…'
'Don't twitch those curtains!' warned Anna.
'What are we going to do? Those two men on the tram are standing in the rain with their hands in their pockets. This really is dreadful. And tonight I have to contact Woodpecker…'