Opening Moves

Uhlmann could feel the liquid warm his belly.

“Now then my friend,” Pförzer brought them both back to earth. “We have lost the war. Let us now concentrate on not losing the peace.”

1147 hrs Sunday, 5th August 1945, Ybbs an der Donau, Soviet Occupied Lower Austria.

As the barge approached the checkpoint, Rolf unconsciously moved his hand to the trouser pocket containing the papers Pförzer had obtained for him.

The action was noted.

“Easy Kamerad, easy. Just take things nice and easy. Speak if they speak to you obviously, but just leave it all to me, and only offer those up if you are approached.”

Pförzer paused momentarily.

Rolf nodded as his eyes took in the scene.

Freyenstein itself did not seem to amount to much at all, pushed up against the Donau by the surrounding hills. A number of small craft, obviously used by the Soviet military, cruised back and forth intercepting those plying their trade on the river.

His expert eye could see at least four fortified positions housing what appeared to be Zis-3 anti-tank guns on the southern bank. Rolf knew that from this point onwards the left bank was Soviet territory; the right bank belonged to the Western Allies.

Pförzer was conning the barge into the left bank, aiming at a flimsy looking wooden jetty, on which waited a party of Russian soldiers.

The engine was cut, relying on momentum to finish the journey.

He leaned towards Rolf, “When I give you the word, throw them that line near the barrel up there,” he indicated the bow of the barge.

Uhlmann moved forwards and took up the line in what he hoped was an appropriate way.

The barge slowed to a virtual halt as the current took away the forward momentum and it gently angled into the jetty.

“Now.”

The line landed over the shoulder of a waiting soldier, who grabbed it willingly and moved to wind it round a wooden pillar.

Pförzer emerged quickly from the wheelhouse, grabbed the stern line and threw it in one easy motion.

Previously briefed, Rolf picked up a pot of paint and a brush and went to work on the hatch cover.

Another cunning ploy by Pforzer to discourage exploration of the vessel.

Three of the Russians, all officers, stepped down off the jetty onto the deck and Rolf was amazed to see backslapping and hugging as they all disappeared into the living quarters of the barge, Pförzer being the last down the steps, green bag prominent in his hand.

Uhlmann had been in many battles and was no coward,  but could not help the familiar stab of fear that started to gnaw at him the longer Pförzer was out of sight and he was alone on deck.

He fetched out a chesterfield and puffed rapidly on it, easing his inner tension.

That was until it was raised again by the sharp sound of boots hitting the deck, as another Russian jumped aboard.

Rolf looked up as a young Soviet Starshina advanced on him with a purpose, the yellow T on his shoulder boards distinct and new.

His stomach flipped.

The Russian stopped just far enough away to ensure that no flicks of paint could inadvertently come his way.

“Comrade Boatsman, a cigarette if you please.”

Uhlmann was impressed with the flawless German, even if it was a little clinical.

He offered up the pack and the Russian took it, quickly slipping a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it and pausing to examine the pack.

“American.”

Not a question, a statement.

“Please, feel free to keep the pack. I can get plenty more.”

The young Russian nodded graciously and pocketed them.

“Thank you, Comrade Boatsman.”

The Starshina walked casually around the deck, taking in everything as he enjoyed the cigarette, even taking care not to flick his ash where it could spoil Rolf’s painting.

A peal of laughter sounded out, and the below decks party started to emerge into the sunlight once more. Pförzer walked forward, acknowledging the Russian, tossing an empty green bag into the bow area.

Slapping the Starshina on the shoulder, Hub returned to the departing soldiers, seeing them off the barge with more hugs and slaps, carefully avoiding pockets now stuffed with cigarettes and scotch.

Quickly he disappeared below decks.

The young Russian threw his butt into the water, and looked skywards, relishing the sun upon his face.

“Comrade Boatsman, make sure you do good business this trip eh?” Rolf looked up and could almost see the pain and fear in the soldier’s eyes, “And bring me back something nice eh?”

Rolf nodded.

Pförzer, emerging from below decks, heard the last statement.

“That we will Senior Sergeant?”

He grinned as he thrust four packs of cigarettes into the young Russian’s hands.

“Thank you Comrade Boatsman.”

The Starshina moved towards the jetty and went to follow the others, who were noisily disappearing back to their quarters to stash the products of their meeting with Pförzer.

“Starshina Koshevoy, leave it for Starshina Koshevoy.”

The young man again stopped and took in the sun’s rays with eyes closed.

“We will all have need of something nice in the days ahead.”

And with that he was up and gone.