Opening Moves

“I am Sturmscharfuhrer Braun, until recently of the Wiking Panzer Division. I have escaped from a prison camp and am trying to get back to Hamburg.”

The blade withdrew simultaneously with a chuckle from the throat of the vessel’s Captain.

“You may look round now Kamerad; this is your lucky day.”

Braun sat up and turned around, he was greeted with the vision of a huge one-armed man of indeterminate age sliding his dagger back into a wooden scabbard. The leather jacket and cap belonged to the civilian Braun had seen moments before in the cabin.

“Lucky day indeed. I am Pförzer, Hubert Pförzer, and I suspect you and I have shared the same dust in Russia. Until I lost my arm, I was Unterscharfuhrer Pförzer of the Totenkopf Division. Come into my home.”

With a huge grin, teeth shining through the darkness, Pförzer took Braun’s hand in a vice-like grip of welcome.

Braun hesitated.

“There are more of us, two more to be exact.”

“Then we must get them inside and out of the way quickly. There is a foot patrol along the quay every hour, and they will soon be upon us.”

Pulling Braun to his feet, Pförzer stepped onto the bank and pulled him physically off the boat. Braun doubted he had ever been in a stronger grip in his entire life.

“Oh, and if you ever want to sneak onto a boat, remember your weight will make it shift a little.”

“I did wonder how you knew Pförzer,” exclaimed Braun.

With Braun leading, they swiftly moved the small distance to where Uhlmann and Shandruk waited in the water. A whispered warning from Braun to lessen any surprise and they held up their hands for assistance. Both were equally surprised when they sailed out of the water, extracted by Pförzer’s amazing strength.

The Austrian took one look at Shandruk’s Nagant and pointed at the water.

“Get rid of that immediately. Let’s go, smartly now” was all the conversation from the Austrian before he whisked them off and into his small but comfortable barge cabin.

The pistol was already on the bottom of the Danube.

Rolf started to speak but the flat hand held aloft by Pförzer brooked no arguement.

The one-armed giant turned his head to Braun.

“Light,” he gestured at the oil lamp and Braun immediately turned it down so that no light would be visible to the approaching Russian patrol.

The two bored men strode past noisily and with a purpose, which purpose was fortunately to get back to their guard hut as soon as possible, not to worry about who could be sneaking around the moored boats and barges.

“We can relax now,” commented Pförzer, and again he gestured to Braun to adjust the lamp. The huge man busied himself in one corner and then turned around to his visitors.

“My barge is my home,” he waved his only hand expansively, “Formerly an iron ore carrier from Linz but now converted to my own needs.”

He clapped his hand on Braun’s shoulder and looked at the others.

“So, who do we have here then?”

Both identified themselves and their former unit, Uhlmann receiving a respectful click of the heels.

Pförzer reciprocated and spoke briefly of his service with the 3rd SS Aufklarungs Abteilung as he sorted under the bench seats for blankets and towels.

A kettle magically started whistling, none of them had even realised it was there, and coffee, real not ersatz, was swiftly thrust into their hands.

All three drank quietly, savouring the wonderful taste. The mugs had seen better days for sure, their enamel more chipped away than present.

The silence that descended on the group as they drank their fill seemed to turn a little awkward once mugs had been emptied.

Pförzer noted Rolf’s eyes firmly fixed upon him.

An unspoken question received a proper answer from Pförzer. “Black market,  kameraden, black market. I have business arrangements with some fine Russian entrepreneurs hereabouts, and with some of our American Mafiosi upriver.”

The pot did the rounds again and levels were replenished.

He sat down, stroked his hair into place and picked up his drink.

“Which arrangements are about to help you a very great deal.”

With their undivided attention, he continued.

“The Colonel here signs my passes. You need passes to move anywhere with the schiesse Russians in control, more so of late. My passes take me where I need to go, in order to acquire the finer things of life. The Colonel has expensive tastes and I satisfy them.”

A pause as his mug was raised.

“He lost his right arm fighting the Italians outside Stalingrad; I lost my left arm at Demjansk in forty-three. Between us, we save lots of money in gloves.”

The roguish grin on his face brought out their own smiles and they shared a small laugh.

Shandruk could not hold himself back.

“Truly?”

“Truly. I have at least five right gloves and no left ones.”

Not one of them believed the man, but they could not help but smile at his failed attempt to keep a straight face.

A full gulp and his mug emptied, Pförzer yawned and spoke wearily.