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“Do the maps show a way out of here, sir?” It was Gunnersby, the Freikorp’s youngest and last recruit.

Herries grunted. “I’ve seen a way.”

Gunnersby’s mouth twitched at the edges then broke into a thin, faltering smile. Herries watched him as he lay down between Berry and Wood, the three of them drawing close to each other for warmth. They were joined by the two sentries who unfurled their groundsheets close to their fellow Englishmen, shunning the open space next to the leprous Dietz.

Herries chose a spot on the edge of the clearing and sat back against a pine, cradling his MP40 in his lap. Darkness was falling rapidly and it was now possible to see the faint glow of the fire, its intensity checked by the rain that still fell lightly over the central Czechoslovak foothills.

He had to be sure before he made his move.

The main thing was that work was continuing on Archangel at Chrudim, that he’d seen with his own eyes. Yet it was over forty-eight hours ago that they’d carried out the ambush and Ivan must have found the jeep and its Hanomag escort by now. It had to mean that they were satisfied the documents had been destroyed. The slightest hint of trouble and the dummy armour at Chrudim would have been dismantled by now.

Herries glanced back at the six forms hunched round the dying fire. It would be difficult negotiating his way back without them, especially without the skills of the master predator Dietz, but there was no other way. Archangel’s value was that it was his, and his alone. There was no room for anyone else.

Herries checked off everything he would need for the march ahead. He had three grenades, four clips for the MP40, his compass in his pocket and he had the maps — accurate German maps, as well as the Soviet charts they had found in the jeep. Food would be a problem, but the SS training school at Bad Tolz and three Russian winters had taught him how to live off the land.

Another long look at his men told him that they were asleep. It was time to go.

* * *

Dietz’s eyelids flickered open when he heard the slight rustle. The cold grey eyes followed Herries as he slipped from his post into the impenetrable gloom of the surrounding forest. The sergeant’s upper lip curled in a sneer at the thought of Herries’ discomfort as he squatted in the dark forest. If the officer’s dysentery kept up like this, it would kill him. Then he, Dietz, could lead the others back to their own lines and get the promotion that was long overdue to him.

The last embers from the fire threw out just enough light for him to catch a glimpse of the stick that tumbled and spun as it arced through the night air towards him. Dietz knew what it was even before it landed in the middle of the group of bodies on the other side of the fire. It was too far for him to reach it and hurl to safety, so he rolled away, trying to scramble to his feet so that he could launch his body that few extra metres from the centre of the blast. But his feet caught in the blanket and he was trying to pull it free when the stick grenade exploded.

The flash momentarily turned night into day, but Dietz did not feel the shrapnel that tore through his shoulder. His mouth gaped as he tried to refill his lungs with air that had been squeezed from his body by the vice-like pressure wave that accompanied the explosion. Something heavy fell across his body, pinning his back to ground; and then all was still.

When Dietz came to, Dyer’s headless body was still twitching on top of him as the blood pumped from the neck and coursed over his face. Then with one last spasm it writhed and rolled onto the ground beside him. The warm stickiness that covered his face made him want to get up and run forever from that place, but his survival instincts told him to stay down.

Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard the figure draw near, he felt the breath on his cheek and he wanted to scream as the boot lashed into his ribcage. But still he made no sound or movement.

Soon all he could hear was the ringing again. Then he knew that Herries had gone.

Herries moved swiftly down the hillside, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and the camp before the Russians arrived on the scene.

Not that it really mattered. To Ivan it would just be a case of another faulty grenade going off and six fewer SS terrorists to worry about.

And they were all dead, there was no doubt about that. It wasn’t even necessary to put a bullet into Dietz just to make sure. The bastard must have lost half his bodyweight in blood judging by the mess that covered his face and body.

* * *

Almost seven kilometres away, Malenkoy heard the distant rumble of the pressure wave as it rolled through the valleys towards his position.

His first concern was that one of the Siberian platoons had been ambushed in the same way that he had been earlier that afternoon.

He flicked the radio on for clarification from his men in the field, but the airwaves were jammed with the excited cries of his officers as they reported the explosion and, more importantly, the direction from which it came.

Malenkoy dipped the transmit button and bellowed for silence.

“Malenkoy to patrol leaders. Turn back and head for the source of that explosion. I don’t know what’s going on out there, but it has to be them. There are no other patrols reported in the area.”

The three officers acknowledged that they were proceeding in the direction of the sound of the detonation.

Then he was out through the back of the lorry and making for the nearest of the patrols. The trouble was, if he could pick out his own troops by the light of their torches, so could the SS.

CHAPTER NINE

They stopped by the lake on their way to the Underground station at St James’s Park. A group of boys were sailing their homemade boats by the water’s edge and she paused to watch. Penny seemed lost at the sight of the toy yachts with their delicate paper sails as they bobbed precariously among the geese and ducks.

“They’re coming home,” she said.

“The birds? It’s still winter. Feels like it, anyway.” Kruze turned to face her.

She laughed. “The children. They’re returning to London. Perhaps it really will all be over soon.”

The youngest boy, a scruffy child, with dirty hands and a face that had not seen soap in days, splashed his friends with muddy pondwater and ran off laughing as they chased him across the park.

“You mean you’ve missed all that noise?” The Rhodesian asked. “I thought you English frowned on kids who misbehaved in public.”

“Don’t be so stuffy,” she smiled. “This hardly sounds like the man who was sitting anxiously at Billy’s bedside this morning.”

“We were just talking.”

“No you weren’t.” She smiled.

Kruze shuffled, as if to get some circulation back into his frozen feet. “He was just a frightened kid responding to a friendly face. As you said, it could have been anybody. We just happened to be there.”

She touched his arm. “A good try, Piet. It’s not against the law in this country to show emotion, you know.”

“I thought you’d probably seen quite enough of that already.”

“That was something quite different.” She took his hand and moved towards the path that led to the station on the other side of the park.

The late afternoon sun was slipping behind the trees. Despite the cold, they walked slowly, her hand resting lightly on the crook of his arm.

“What was she like?” Penny asked, suddenly.

“Who?”

“The girl you told Billy about.”

He laughed. “I never said she was my girl.”