Opening Moves

It was some time since the rain had stopped and whilst its absence was welcome, it had done an excellent job of masking their sound and keeping the Russians indoors.

Even so, the trio had progressed more than a kilometre from the rail yard before coming to an abrupt halt.

They had successfully passed by the river bridge, the security on which had made them think long and hard about the comrades who were intent on seeking escape to the other side of the Danube.

As Saturday slipped unnoticed in Sunday morning, they had followed the bank as it curved to the north-west until they came upon the silent, sleeping camp of a Soviet infantry unit between the road and the riverbank. Silent and inviting shapes lay tethered to moorings, but while they lay tantalisingly close, they also lay within the patrol of some very obviously alert Soviet guards.

Shandruk tapped Braun’s arm and motioned towards something considerably apart from the rest, Braun repeating the gesture to Uhlmann, whose eyes adjusted and recognised the shape of a rowing boat, albeit lower in the water than any of the others.

The reason for that became apparent as they moved closer to it, for the craft was damaged and had taken on water.

It was further burdened by a Soviet Lieutenant curled up in a sodden blanket across the central bench snoring softly. The evidence of his drinking lay witness around his feet, where empty bottles of local beer lay on and around the dead body of a young Austrian girl.

Uhlmann quickly decided to take the vessel and give it a go. With urgent gestures and sign language, he sent Shandruk in to do the grisly work.

Pausing only to pick up a large splinter of wood, Shandruk slipped slowly into the water up to his thighs and moved around to the side where the sleeper had his head. With as little thought as a cat dispatching a mouse, Shandruk clamped his hand over the drunken man’s mouth and slammed the splinter into the throat of the Russian four times in quick succession. No sound escaped the officer’s mouth as he died meaninglessly and swiftly.

With no emotion, Shandruk and Braun lifted him from his deathbed and placed him partially in the water and partially in the long grass. The dead girl followed, arranged so those who discovered the corpse would see that it was she who had slain her assailant, even as he slid his own knife into her belly.

It was all over within two minutes and the group slid into the water and pulled the sodden boat into the river, quietly kicking out for the far shore of the Donau.

Using it solely as a flotation aid made sense, as the casual observer would probably see just a leaky damaged boat floating aimlessly by itself.

The current took them back as it flowed eastwards but they moved slowly out into the middle until they were certainly out of immediate danger, when a brief word from Rolf made them kick out to fight against the flow. As they neared the south bank they saw a number of boats of all shapes and sizes tied up and were rejuvenated by the possibilities opening up to them. They made for a gap between two such larger vessels and permitted the boat to drift away downstream, its purpose served.

It had already been decided what to do once a suitable craft had been found, so Braun looked around and found a way to get up onto the marina walkway, or at least get a better look around. A handy wooden piling helped him and within a moment, he was gone.

Uhlmann and Shandruk remained in the water, the latter tightly holding the Nagant pistol taken from the destroyed guard hut at the camp.

0155 hrs Sunday, 5th August 1945, Ybbs an der Donau, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

Meanwhile, Braun stole quietly upstream on the modest quay, flitting from cover to cover, checking each vessel as he went, until one caught his eye. Or more exactly, the chink of light through a gap in the warped wooden door drew him in. He slid quietly onboard and stole a glance through the same gap, seeing a large civilian moving inside the modest quarters.

Remaining on his belly, Braun used the fact that he was relatively well concealed to take in more of the quay and area. He was still deciding whether this was the right person to approach when he became conscious of something touching the back of his neck. That something was sharp and held in a very firm, unwavering grip.

Speaking in broken Russian, a decidedly Austrian voice casually enquired. “What do you want Ivan? I have no vodka here. No women. What do you want?”

Without the benefit of seeing who the man was, Braun could only take the gamble they had already decided upon.

“I am an escaping German soldier and I am looking for a boat to take me up river.”

If there was any relaxation on the part of the knife bearer, it was not evident to Braun.

“You are about as German as I am. Try again.” The accompanying prod broke skin and he felt the trickle of blood from the wound.