Gregory murmured his thanks, shook hands with him and von Geisenheim, saw from a glance at his watch that it was a quarter past five, and got into the car. The chauffeur spoke German but had already been given his instructions. Next moment they were off.
Directly they left the cover of the wood it was much easier to see their surroundings. No moon could be hoped for later that night, as it was the dark quarter, but for several days past it had been what had become known as "Molotov weather"; clear, almost cloudless, blue skies from which the Soviet planes were easily able to pick up their objectives without having to come right down low as an easy target for the Finnish antiaircraft gunners. The nights had been equally fine, with a million stars gleaming in a frosty sky, and now that the early darkness had fallen again they were just beginning to twinkle.
Gregory's head was splitting and his body was one mass of aching bruises, but as they turned on to the main road towards Nykyrka he rallied himself to ask the chauffeur what he thought he could get out of the car. The man gave a figure in versts, which Gregory calculated as about eighty miles an hour; but the chauffeur went on to add that he meant `given a clear stretch of good road', and they would be lucky if they could average a quarter of that speed at night through cross country lanes only a few miles from the firing line where masses of troops were in constant motion. Gregory knew the journey across the Isthmus to be nearly sixty miles. If the chauffeur was right it would take them at least two and a half hours whereas he had hoped to do it in under two; but they were soon out of the snow mounds which were all that was left of the Finnish town and making good going along a road that led almost due east.
Their route lay practically parallel to the battle front as although the Soviet Armies had forced the south western end of the Mannerheim Line and made an advance of nearly seventy miles there they had made hardly any impression upon its north eastern end at all, and the Finns still held Taipale, which lies on Lake Ladoga. That was the nearest point from which to cross the Lake, but to remain within the Soviet lines they would have to keep a little to the south of it.
Fortunately the chauffeur had been driving officers of the Soviet General Staff all ‘over the Isthmus for several weeks past so he knew every road and village on it well. He handled his car admirably, seizing every advantage to accelerate and press ahead whenever there was a free stretch of road or he could slip round a slowly moving vehicle. This part of Finland had been very highly populated so the roads were good, and after each fall of snow the Russians were clearing them by mechanized snow sweepers to enable their troops and transport to move about more freely, but the car had constantly to slow down when parties of marching men or guns and tanks showed up in the headlights.
For the first hour of the journey Gregory sat almost comatose while he slowly recovered from his fight for life with Grauber; then, after the terrible strain of inaction and anxiety for so many days, all he could think of were the precious papers in his pocket and the fact that he was at last on the move again. He had become so accustomed to the constant thunder of the guns that he hardly noticed it any longer except when the road passed near one of the concealed Russian batteries which loosed off with an ear splitting crack, without any warning. Although the Soviet offensive had eased during the last two days and they had not been hurling thousands upon thousands more of their infantry into fresh attacks the artillery bombardment seemed very nearly as devastating as before; the Soviet guns were still battering the Finnish forts night and day without respite.
Rousing himself again he asked the chauffeur: "What is the Russian for `It is by order of the Marshal and my business is most urgent'?"
"Prikaz Marshals ie srotchnya prikaz," said the man, and Gregory repeated the phrase over and over again until he had mastered and memorized it perfectly.
Swerving, darting down to a crawl swerving and darting again, the car nosed its way eastward through farmlands and half glimpsed ruined villages, gradually drawing a little nearer to the firing line until, just before seven o'clock, the chauffeur turned off a main road and up a side track into a coppice that concealed a block of huts which were similar to those they had left at General Headquarters but not so numerous. The car drew up before one of the huts and the chauffeur sounded his horn loudly; the hut door opened and an officer came out who asked in German if it was the Colonel Baron von Lutz.
As Gregory acknowledged his false identity he took a new grip on himself and prepared for trouble. This was evidently the Divisional Headquarters which was to provide him with a sleigh and horses. If the trussed and battered Grauber had been discovered by a soldier servant or one of his own people while the car was crossing the Isthmus there would be hell to pay. G.H.Q. would have phoned through ordering the arrest of the Colonel Baron pending explanations. Even if he could lie his way out of the new tangle vital time would be lost; not moments but hours, or days perhaps, while he was sent back under guard to face his accusers; and Erika's life hung on the ticking of the clock. If he was arrested now the game was up.
"They telephoned us from G.H.Q.," the officer began, but as he went on Gregory allowed himself to breathe again. "In the last two hours I've made all the arrangements and everything possible has been done to assure you a safe crossing of the Lake it's four miles to the foreshore. The horses are waiting so we will go to them in your car." Getting in, he gave the chauffeur directions and turned again to Gregory. "This is a most unusual journey you are making, Herr Oberst Baron."
"It is a matter of great urgency," Gregory replied.
"So I understand. But it's a most hazardous undertaking to attempt to cross the Lake in such a manner; particularly as there is no proper front upon it and our men are constantly engaging Finnish patrols out there which sometimes slip through behind them in the darkness."
Gregory shrugged. "I'm afraid that's a risk that must be taken."
They ran along a twisting road through the trees until it sloped down to a little village which had been almost pounded to pieces. As the car drew up in an open space among the ruins Gregory could see that they were on the edge of a small, frozen harbour which in peace time had sheltered the fishing boats of the villagers. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 7.20.
They had crossed the Isthmus in two hours, five minutes, averaging about twenty eight miles an hour, which was a magnificent effort considering that for nearly the whole way they had had to pass along troop congested by roads.
Having thanked the chauffeur for his excellent driving Gregory picked up his suitcase, left the car and went down a few ice covered steps to the frozen harbour. A group which consisted of a light trozha, eight horses and two bearded, fur muffled soldiers was waiting there.
"It's seventy two miles from shore to shore," said the officer, "and, as you probably know, it's unusual to drive for more than thirty miles without a change of team. Unfortunately there's nowhere in the middle of the Lake where you can pick up relays, so I'm sending a spare team which will be led with a spare saddle horse. That will enable you to change teams every hour or so. The horses are all young and fresh, the best that could be picked for such a journey, but I'm afraid you may have to kill some of them if you are to get through. The strain upon them will be frightful."
"I know." Gregory nodded. "It's a pretty desperate venture, but it's got to be done, and I'm more than grateful to you for giving me your best horses for such a ghastly trip."
"The two men have been picked because they both speak German and are well fitted to act as your guides," the officer went on. "They will accompany you right through in order to act as your interpreters with the officials in any villages where you have to get relays on the opposite mainland. This" he pointed to the taller man who was standing in the sleigh "is Sergeant Boroski; the other, who is holding the spare team, is Corporal Orloff."