Opening Moves

For six days now, most of the prisoners had been marched out of the camp as dawn gathered itself, in order to dig huge anti-tank ditches all round the site for Soviet military exercises, returning only when the light was failing and overseeing was becoming difficult for the guards. Everyone was weary, including the Bulgarians, and sleep became the favourite and most welcomed activity for every inmate. Seven men had succumbed on the fourth day and were buried in a shallow grave outside the compound. Even the frequent firing of the Soviet military exercises that rent the still nights the last few days did not overly disturb the prisoners slumber. Tonight any gunfire would have to compete with a Central European thunderstorm of biblical proportions.

Rolf Uhlmann became aware during his day that many of the guards intended to visit Allensteig that very evening. Skryabin had called for a celebration as it was a popular officer’s birthday. A stash of German brandy had been uncovered so the Bulgarians had decided to get drunk and visit the fraternisation centre for a little bit of female company.

That the guards were going to be low on numbers was talked about over the evening meal but little more was said, as there was no escape kit worth a damn to hand. The recent previous effort had denuded their limited resources, and it would take some time to gather more items suitable for purpose. Escapes required planning to be successful, and as far as they were aware, unsuccessful escapees did not get a second chance with the NKVD. That all were exhausted obviously also played its part.

More of note at the time was the fact that the inexperienced Bulgarians were quite happy to troop off two kilometres away and leave a few men guarding their charges, and thoughts turned to the future if such an event should happen again.

Still, some of Rolf’s fellows amused themselves with the thought that the driving rain and high winds would at least curb the guard’s enjoyment of their night out.

Chapter 30 – THE AIRCRAFT

Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.

Homer

2155 hrs Friday, 3rd August 1945, Airborne approx 400 ft above Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

Junior Lieutenant Marina Budanova was lost and frightened. Her present mission with 586th Fighter Aviation Regiment had gone very wrong and was getting worse with every passing second. Where her comrades had got to, she had no idea. All she knew was one moment they were there and the next she was flying alone in the vastness above Northern Austria in the failing light of a very stormy European evening.

There had been no prediction of the extent of the foul weather that was presently buffeting her Yakolev-9 fighter aircraft, and certainly no prior indication that her compass and radio would both pack up. Her knowledge of the area was limited as she had only arrived at the airbase in Znojmo last week, and so she desperately unfolded her map in the hope that she could pick out some recognisable landmark on the ground.

She was unpopular with her comrades, more for her apparent inefficiency than for her mixed Polish-Russian parentage and gruff, unapproachable manner. Already reprimanded by the Regimental Commander, Budanova could not afford another black mark so soon and was rapidly becoming hysterical in her search for guidance home.

The storm was becoming more intense and it was increasingly difficult to see the ground, so Budanova, like the inexperienced young pilot she was, dropped lower and lower until vision was restored.

A flash of lightning alerted her to the presence of a body of water on her port side, so she frantically searched the map.

The body of water in question was the modest Stadtsee, not that it made the slightest difference for Budanova.

Desperately she swept the sheet for nearby airfields on which she could land swiftly before the failing light died completely.

In any case, her panic had already condemned her because her altitude had almost completely gone by the time she ripped her eyes away from the map and realised that her death was approaching as quickly as the ground that filled her vision.

A superhuman effort on the stick and an increase in engine revs could only buy her a few extra seconds of life. Both were instrumental in saving the lives of scores of others.

Budanova was vaguely aware of buildings ahead as she desperately sought height but her aircraft snagged overhead wires and she was dropped into the ground at speed, landing exactly flat to the earth and skimming at well over two hundred mph despite the destruction of the propeller.

The aircraft ploughed through some wooden buildings and was then flipped over by a number of stout poles.

Upside down, the last thing Budanova saw was the canopy disintegrate and the metal framework start to gather up earth like a shovel as the aircraft continued to expend its energy in forward momentum.