Opening Moves

It is better to do one’s own duty, however defective it may be, than to follow the duty of another, however well one may perform it. He who does his duty as his own nature reveals it, never sins.

The Bhagavad Gita

0002 hrs Saturday, 4th August 1945, On eastbound train, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

Even as the escapees were being hunted down all over the yard, the little train and its exhausted cargo slowly chugged its way eastwards and away from the immediate danger of detection. Rolf and Braun exchanged looks and the blowing out of the latter’s cheeks indicated how close he felt it had been for all of them. Rolf took a moment and looked around his exhausted comrades.

“Is everyone ok here?”

The hope in his voice very evident. Quickly it was established that no one in the wagon was hurt.

Rolf took further stock of their possessions and discovered they had lost one of the bread bags as well as the canteen of vodka. A setback for sure.

“Relax for a while Kameraden. I must think this through. Braun, Moeller, keep watch.”

The two selected men took one side each and those who wanted a cigarette took advantage of the journey to enjoy a smoke. The truck was soon filled with tobacco smoke and lightly snoring men. The hypnotic sound effects of the rain and rail track produced a general feeling of well-being in all of them and it was almost relaxing, except for the small points that it was the dead of night, stormy and they were being hunted.

As the minutes ticked by, those in the wagon started to become aware of the presence of particular odours, odours which most identified with death, namely faeces and blood. As they looked around the wagon, the dark was occasionally banished by a lightning bolt or a passing station, not much, but sufficiently for all to be aware that this wagon had been used to transport the dead, and that each bore on his hands and uniform, tokens of the former unfortunate occupants of the wagon.

Just over forty minutes after leaving Gopfritz, the train slowed down and crawled into a small town, some twenty or so miles down the track eastwards from the drama in the rail yard. Pulling off to the left, the train drew to a halt on a short spur three hundred metres short of the station platform, which platform was dotted with Soviet military personnel. The fact that they were there and not hiding from the wind and rain caused some initial alarm but there appeared to be no interest in their little train.

As if thrown by a single switch, every light in the vicinity was extinguished, the sole illumination being the occasional but now distant flash of lightning. Every prisoner was wide-awake and the tension in the wagon rapidly approached unbearable. It was impossible to tell if there were soldiers moving towards them but Rolf decided they should stay put. His mind immediately started to wander to the possibilities that lay open to the group if they were discovered.

Moeller the Austrian suddenly became animated and pulled one of the others over to keep his lookout and then quietly approached Uhlmann with some news.

“Sturmbannfuhrer, I am familiar with this town, or at least I know a little of the railway here.”

That obviously got Rolf’s full attention and he was suddenly more focussed.

“This is Sigmundsherberg. The other side of the Bahnhof there is a junction which splits in three directions.”

“Don’t tell me Moeller. Berlin, Munich and Hamburg by any chance?” Said loud enough to draw smiles from all in the wagon, his weak attempt cut through some of the tension that was peaking as all waited to hear Moeller’s words.

“Simply put, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, left or straight ahead we are in trouble, right we can cope with. From memory, left goes to Wien and all places east. Straight ahead can also get you to Wien amongst other places, but also can take you south through the passes and into Italy. Right…” the voice suddenly almost soft with emotion, “Right can take us to München or on to Salzburg.”

Rolf rubbed his chin slowly and nodded gently at the man in front of him.

Placing his hand on his shoulder, he chose his words carefully.

“Then we must trust in our luck that we go right, for all of us need to go home Alois. Salzburg is home for you yes?”

“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.