Luciano's Luck Page 20

  ‘My information was that there were enemy agents here, Father, led by a British officer a Colonel Carter.’

  ‘Then I can only say you have gone to considerable trouble to no good purpose. There is no one of that description here.’ He raised the crucifix around his neck to his lips and kissed it. ‘I give you my word.’

  Koenig stood up wearily, grimacing with pain. ‘What about the men?’

  ‘Three dead, Colonel. Two in the ravine outside. Vogel broke his neck falling off the wall. Hartman has a broken leg.’

  ‘And all to no purpose,’ Koenig turned to Padre Giovanni. ‘You were right, Father.’

  There was a sudden burst of firing from outside. Koenig hurried out followed by Brandt and Padre Giovanni and stood at the top of the steps. There was a young paratrooper on the battlement above the gate and Koenig called up to him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It looks as if there are people down there in the forest, Colonel, moving towards Bellona. Major Meyer and his column have turned off the road to go after them.’

  There was a renewed burst of heavy firing. Koenig turned to Padre Giovanni. ‘I see now, Father. You told the truth because they'd already gone.’ He didn't wait for a reply, simply turned to Brandt and said, ‘Right, Sergeant-Major, round up the men and follow me at the double.’

  For the first time in their long association, Brandt queried an order. ‘Look, sir, I don't think in your present state that you're fit to go anywhere.’

  ‘Your opinion is duly noted,’ Koenig said. ‘Now let's get moving,’ and he went down the steps and hurried across the courtyard.

  Padre Giovanni watched the last paratrooper double through the gate after him, then turned, hurried to the chapel and started to toll the bell, one deep solemn stroke after another. The sound echoed all the way down the valley to Bellona to where Vito Barbera, already alerted by the gunfire from the forest, stood listening.

  Verga and Father Collura hurried across the square to join him. ‘What does it mean?’ Verga demanded.

  ‘I don't know, but I've just been on the radio and the Americans have landed. Spread the word. Tell everyone to have what weapons they have ready.’

  ‘It will take time,’ Verga said.

  ‘Do the best you can.’

  They hurried away and Barbera went back inside, climbed up to the coffin room and entered the cubbyhole through the secret entrance. He got down on his knees, prized up a floorboard in one corner and took out a machine pistol and several clips of ammunition, then he went back downstairs.

  On emerging from the tunnel on the hillside, Luciano and the others had stopped to dress Carter. They got him into pants and a jacket and Maria and Rosa hurriedly forced his feet into boots. Carter was still in a high fever, but reasonably articulate.

  ‘What's happening?’

  ‘We've been rumbled,’ Luciano said. ‘We're going to try to make our way down to the village to see what Barbera can do for us. Don't try to talk. Just save your strength and let's get going.’

  Savage passed his M1 to Rosa and his rucksack. Then he hoisted Carter on his back and they started down the slope. There was a small clearing to cross where the olive terraces ended and the pine trees began. It was when they were half way across that the firing started.

  It was Meyer in the lead fieldcar as his column raced up the zigzag road to the monastery, who saw them first and cried to his driver to halt.

  Suslov in the kubelwagen at the rear of the small column, stood up, reaching for the heavy machine gun mounted on its swivel and started to fire. The bullets kicked up fountains of dirt, chasing the fugitives into the trees and Maria stumbled and fell. Luciano reached down, dragging her to her feet and they staggered into the shelter of the trees.

  ‘After them,’ Meyer cried, urging the driver on, and the kubelwagen left the road and hurtled over the rough ground between the olive terraces.

  Miraculously, it was only the heel of Maria's shoe which had been hit and they hurried along the track through the pine trees, following Savage and Rosa.

  The trees at that part grew closely together, making it impossible terrain for the vehicles to operate in. After a while, Luciano, pausing to listen, heard voices.

  ‘They're coming on foot,’ he said and a burst of machine gun fire cut through the branches overhead.

  He fired back quickly, emptying his M1 then rammed in another clip as he ran after the others. There was a crashing in the bushes to the right and one of the Ukrainians appeared, running very fast, his rifle held waist high. He fired twice, kicking up dirt to one side of Savage. Luciano went headlong down the hill and jumped, giving him both feet in the back. The Ukrainian rolled over twice. As he tried to scramble to his feet, Luciano shot him through the head.

  Savage was gasping for breath now, lurching from side to side as he ran on, borne by Carter's weight. He lost his balance and went headlong, Carter sprawling on top of him.

  He managed to get to his feet. Carter said weakly, ‘Leave me. Save yourselves.’

  Luciano passed his M1 to Maria and pulled Carter to his feet. ‘Lean on me, Professor. One step in front of the other, that's all it takes. Aren't you the guy who went four miles with a bullet in the lung?’

  ‘Keep moving,’ Savage said. ‘I'll guard your back.’

  He took a couple of hand grenades from the rucksack Rosa was holding and put one in each pocket. Then he reloaded his M1.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Get going. They may need you. I'll follow on.’

  She shook her head stubbornly. ‘No, Savage, I won't leave you.’

  There was a rustle in the bushes behind, he turned and fired from the hip and a Ukrainian pitched forward on to his face. Savage gave her a push.

  ‘Get out of it!’

  He rammed in another clip, ducking as someone fired over to his left in reply and there was a cry of pain.

  She crouched beside him. ‘Please, Savage, we go now.’

  He slapped her backhanded across the face. ‘Get out of here, you stupid little bitch!’

  She recoiled in dismay, genuine hurt on her face then turned and started to crawl away. He reached out, catching her left hand.

  ‘Heh, I love you, don't forget that. Honeymoon in New York, that's a promise.’

  He turned, raising the M1 and received a burst of machine gun fire full in the chest that lifted him back off his feet.

  There was blood in his mouth and he was choking on it, aware of Rosa screaming; then she was crouching over him, her face the last thing he saw as he died.

  She knelt there, holding him in her arms, his blood staining her clothes and they came out of the bushes, four of them, and stood watching her.

  One of them laughed harshly. ‘Let's see if you know your manners.’

  They were all laughing now as they lowered their weapons and moved in on her and Rosa was laughing too as she laid Savage gently on the ground. She reached in his pockets and turned, still laughing, a grenade in each hand. The Ukrainians recoiled in horror, turned to run, already too late.

  Luciano and Maria, Carter supported between them, emerged from the pine trees and started across the patch of broken ground leading up to the village. Vito Barbera, from the upper window of the mortuary, saw the Russians moving down through the trees, higher up the slope.

  There was sporadic firing and to his dismay, he heard Luciano cry out and saw him go down. Carter reeled against Maria and Barbera leaned out of the window and fired a long burst from his Schmeisser across the open ground. Miraculously, Luciano was on his feet and helping Maria with Carter again. As they reached the edge of the village, two or three Ukrainians ran out of the forest and started across the open ground.

  The streets were deserted, everyone indoors, as Luciano and Maria staggered across the square with their burden. They could hear vehicles coming along the road, very close now. Luciano was bleeding profusely from the right leg, limping badly as they turned into the side street leading to the mortuary. Barbera opened the d
oor and hastened to meet them.

  Meyer stood in one of the troop carriers in the middle of the square and watched as the Ukrainians went from house to house turning everyone out. It was Suslov pausing casually on the corner of the street leading to Barbera's premises to light a cigarette, who noticed blood on the cobbles, a clearly defined trail. He followed it to the steps leading up to the mortuary door. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open, drew the Walther from his holster and moved inside cautiously.

  There was more blood on the stone flags of the passage leading to the door at the end. He opened that and found himself in the waiting mortuary. It was totally silent and very still in the dim light and he recoiled at the sight of the corpse of a gnarled old woman in the first coffin on his left.

  There was a spot of blood on the floor, another. He carried on, passing several open coffins containing corpses, each one holding the end of the bell pull in stiff fingers.

  There was another patch of blood beside an ornate black coffin. He crouched down to examine it and then the hair lifted on the back of his neck as a bell tinkled faintly.

  He stood up and peered over the edge of the coffin. The corpse of the man inside seemed peaceful enough, hands folded around an ivory Madonna. It was really very beautiful. Suslov leaned closer to examine it and the corpse's eyes opened. There was a click as the Madonna swung upward in the right hand.

  Father Collura stood against the wall of the church facing half a dozen Ukrainians forming a firing squad while the people of Bellona watched. Meyer, standing in one of the kubelwagens, nodded, there was a sharp volley and the old priest fell to the ground.

  ‘That's just to show you I mean business,’ Meyer called. ‘You all know who I'm looking for. I'll give you five minutes to come up with some answers. If you haven't, I'll select two more. Then four and so on. It's your choice.’

  Watching from the upper window of the mortuary, Maria said, ‘We must do something.’

  Barbera said, ‘There isn't much we can do. Most of the young men are in the hills. We didn't have time to organise. The whole thing caught us by surprise.’

  ‘What about the American troops?’ Luciano said. ‘How long before they get here?’

  ‘I don't know what's happening.’

  ‘Then let's try the radio.’

  They went out, Luciano limping badly, his left leg bandaged and Maria opened the window in time to hear Meyer say, ‘The Englishman, Carter, and the woman, Maria Vaughan.’

  The people stood there, quiet in the steady rain. He gave an order and two of the Ukrainians moved into the crowd and grabbed a couple of old men.

  She didn't really think about it, simply went downstairs, opened the front door and went along the side street into the square. There was a murmur in the crowd as she appeared. She stopped and looked up at Meyer standing there in the kubelwagen.

  ‘I am Maria Vaughan, Major,’ she said simply. ‘You may release these people.’

  Meyer gazed down at her. ‘And your friends?’

  ‘I cannot help you there. I speak only for myself.’

  He looked around him. ‘Where is Lieutenant Suslov?’

  ‘I don't know, Major,’ one of the sergeants told him. ‘Still searching house to house, I think.’

  ‘Very well,’ Meyer said. ‘Put this woman against the wall.’ He looked down at her again. ‘Unless, of course, you have changed your mind.’

  ‘I have nothing to say,’ she said tranquilly.

  Two of the Ukrainians seized her and hustled her across to the wall. They left her there beside the body of Father Collura and another firing squad was hastily formed. She crossed herself, closing her eyes to pray and was not aware of Koenig appearing on the other side of the square, a handful of his paratroopers behind him.

  ‘No!’ he called.

  They had come from the monastery on foot and he was tired. The pain in his arm was almost unbearable and his face was coated with dried blood. He moved forward, the paratroopers strung out behind him led by Brandt, and halted beside the troop carrier.

  ‘Who is this lady?’

  ‘The Vaughan woman. She refused to tell me where the rest of her people are.’

  Koenig called, ‘Fraulein Vaughan, would you come here, please.’

  ‘No!’ Meyer said violently. ‘I will not have it.’

  Koenig didn't even bother to look at him. ‘I command here, Meyer. What you wish is of little importance.’

  ‘Damn you, Koenig!’ Meyer cried, all the pent-up hatred finally overflowing. He pulled out his Walther and shot him twice in the back.

  Koenig staggered forward and Maria tried to catch him, half twisting round in an attempt to hold him up. Meyer kept firing in a kind of insane rage, bullets smashing into her, driving her and Koenig down together to lie like lovers, limbs entwined.

  The people scattered, running for their homes in panic. Brandt dropped on his knees beside Koenig and gently turned him over. He looked up at Meyer, his face hard, and Meyer reached for the handles of the heavy machine gun on its swivel and swung it to cover Brandt and the paratroopers.

  ‘He was a traitor to the Reich and to the Führer,’ he said. ‘You hear me? Now stand back, all of you!’ He called to his men, ‘Mount up and let's get out of here.’

  The rest of them scrambled in the other kubelwagen and drove quickly away.

  18

  Luciano and Vito Barbera came out of the mortuary and ran across the square. Luciano dropped on his knees beside Maria. Brandt said, ‘She's dead. They're both dead.’

  Her face was peaceful, her wounds in the chest and heart. He knelt there for a long moment looking down at her, then gently touched her breast. The blood stained his fingers and he raised them to his mouth.

  He stood up, wholly Sicilian now and whispered the ancient formula. ‘In this way may I drink the blood of the one who killed you.’

  Men had appeared in the square, old and young, armed with everything from shotguns to automatic weapons and Brandt and the remaining paratroopers moved in on each other, faces grim, ready for anything.

  A teenage boy came running across the square and stopped before Barbera. ‘They've taken the north road.’

  ‘Then that means the monastery. It leads nowhere else.’

  Two old women knelt beside Maria to straighten her limbs and one of them took off her shawl to cover the pale face. Luciano was filled with a sense of total despair.

  He turned. ‘Let's go and get him.’ He nodded to the troop carrier. ‘Can anyone drive this thing?’

  ‘I can,’ Rudi Brandt said.

  There was a moment's silence. Luciano said, ‘I thought we were supposed to be at war?’

  ‘This is personal.’

  Luciano looked at Barbera, who nodded. ‘I'll get my truck.’

  ‘Fine.’ Luciano turned to Brandt. ‘I'll go with you boys. Now let's get moving.’

  They braked to a halt just before the crest of the hill below the main gate. Barbera, who was carrying more than twenty armed men in his old truck, got out and hurried to the troop carrier.

  ‘How are we going to handle it?’

  ‘The troop carrier goes first,’ Luciano told him. The only way we'll get through those gates. If it works, you come straight in after us and remember Padre Giovanni and the Franciscans are on our side.’

  ‘Okay.’ Barbera grinned. ‘Do I wish you luck?’

  ‘When did I ever need it?’ Luciano slapped Brandt on the shoulder and they drove away.

  When Meyer got out of his fieldcar in the courtyard at Crown of Thorns, there was no one in sight, the whole place unnaturally quiet in the heavy rain. The only visible signs of the action which had taken place were the parachutes draped untidily on the walls or in the courtyard, lifting uneasily in the slight breeze.

  At that moment in the catacombs below, Father Giovanni was supervising the departures of the last of the Franciscans into the tunnel, taking with them the young paratrooper with the broken leg. He gave one glance around, then follo
wed them in. The wooden throne swung back into its place with its macabre burden.

  Meyer was unable to think clearly. It had all happened so quickly, the rage in him something that could not be denied. Now he was faced with the appalling consequences.

  A sergeant came out of the entrance, ran down the steps and hurried towards him. ‘Not a soul in the place. Quiet as the grave, Major.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Meyer said.

  One of the men on the gate called out, ‘Someone's coming, Major.’

  Meyer ran out and paused on the bridge over the ditch. From that vantage point the approach road could be seen in its entirety. The half-track troop carrier was coming up fast followed by an old truck. Way behind, a considerable crowd of people were following on foot.

  The Ukrainians crowded around him and one of them held a pair of fieldglasses to his eyes. He lowered them and turned to Meyer, bewildered.

  ‘I don't understand. Koenig's paratroopers in the troop carrier and the truck's crammed full of peasants.’

  Meyer took the glasses from him and raised them and the troop carrier jumped into focus. Brandt, who he recognized instantly, the rest of his men and Luciano. Barbera was at the wheel of the truck behind and the men with him were armed.

  ‘They've joined forces,’ Meyer said. ‘They're coming up together. Inside quickly and get the gates closed.’ He turned and ran for the courtyard.

  Meyer was no soldier, never had been, and the Ukrainians ignored him now. Someone closed the gates and slid the retaining bar through its sockets and the rest of them took the two heavy machine guns from the kubelwagen and carried them up to the battlements above the gate.

  They were all up there now and Meyer stood in the centre of the courtyard amongst the billowing parachutes quite alone. There was a Schmeisser in one of the kubelwagens. He picked it up, turned, walked away from the gate and mounted the stone steps to the east rampart.

  Brandt, peering out through the open visor of the troop carrier, said to Luciano, ‘Get down here. This could be a hot one.’

  Luciano did as he was told. Above them, two of the paratroopers crouched over the heavy machine gun, hanging on as Brandt increased speed, turning into the last stretch, the halftracks kicking up mud and filth from the road.