He landed with a heavy clang on the front footplate, just above the cowcatcher. He grabbed the boiler for support, immediately regretting it as the hot metal scalded his hands. Yelping, he let go and twisted to grip the footplate’s edge.
The heat radiating from the smokebox was almost unbearable. He leaned over until he could peer around the blocky water tank on the boiler’s side. The line’s gentle curve revealed the single passenger carriage and six wagons trailing the engine.
Some distance behind, he saw the brake van rolling in pursuit. But the Nazis had also spotted it. Walther shouted orders from the carriage, the commands relayed back along each wagon until they reached the second-to-last car. A man in its open door waved to signal understanding, then he and another Nazi started to clamber back along the side of the truck.
Eddie realised what they were doing. The last wagon contained heavy equipment — and heavy weapons.
He tugged a sleeve over his palm before taking hold of the edge of the smokebox and reaching with his other hand for the water tank. Grimacing at the heat, he manoeuvred himself around the front of the boiler.
The footplate above the wheels was only narrow, the overhanging tank making it all the harder for him to maintain a toehold as he shuffled sideways. Machinery pounded beneath him, jets of steam hissing from the cylinder and the valve gear slicing back and forth just below his feet. The poor condition of the track amplified the locomotive’s rocking motion — a particularly severe jolt made him slip, the toe of one boot skipping off a wheel before he jerked it away. One second later, and the connecting rod would have sliced his foot off.
Heart pounding, he continued onwards. Movement through the grubby round window in the cab’s face — the fireman’s head swinging repeatedly in and out of view as he shovelled coal into the furnace.
The two Nazis reached the ammo wagon, one hanging from a railing as he fumbled to release the door’s catch. The brake van was still steadily closing. Eddie glimpsed a pale face inside it: Nina.
The threat to her life spurred him on. He changed tack, pressing both hands flat on the top of the tank and taking all his weight on his arms as he swung himself along the footplate. Walther leaned from the first carriage again, barely twenty feet away, but he was looking rearwards. The ammo truck’s door finally opened. The first Nazi ducked inside, his companion clambering along the wagon’s flank to follow him.
Open an RPG-7’s crate, prep the launcher, load the round, take aim, fire; Eddie knew from experience that it was neither a complicated nor time-consuming process. He moved even faster, at last reaching the cab. Grabbing a handrail, he hauled himself into its open side.
The fireman’s back was to him — but the driver reacted to the intruder with alarm. He reached for an overhanging chain to sound the whistle in warning—
Eddie didn’t have time to get his gun. Instead, he shoulder-barged the fireman. The man squawked, dropping his shovel as he collided with the driver. They caught the throttle lever, pulling it open. More steam rushed into the cylinders, and the locomotive lurched and gained speed.
The Englishman drew his weapon — but the driver pushed the fireman back at him. The impact knocked the pistol from Eddie’s hand. It landed amongst the spilled coals at their feet.
Eddie drove the fireman back across the cab in a third volley of human ping-pong. This time, the Nazi staggered in front of the firebox — and a tongue of flame from the open hatch caught his leg.
Even with fireproof clothing, the heat made the man scream. He jumped away — only to be hammered into unconsciousness as Eddie snatched up the shovel and smacked the blade against the back of his head. The fireman crumpled, his head landing in the mouth of the furnace and instantly being swallowed by a ball of greasy flames.
The driver recoiled in horror — then made another lunge for the chain. Eddie whipped the shovel at him, catching the other man a solid blow, but too late. The whistle shrilled.
He hit the Nazi again, sending him spinning against the firebox, then threw the shovel down to grapple him. ‘Woo-woo, fuckface!’ he growled, repeatedly pounding the man’s head against the unyielding metal of the controls. Blood spouted on the third strike; he let go, and the driver collapsed beside the burning fireman.
The engine shuddered. Eddie glanced through a porthole to see the hairpin approaching with alarming speed. He was tempted to leave the throttle wide open and send the whole train flying off the track with all the Nazis aboard, but then remembered that Banna was still a prisoner. With a muttered curse, he pushed the lever back to roughly its original position; stopping the train would be suicide, as he would be swarmed by soldiers.
It was still moving too fast for the turn, though. The wheels screamed as the engine entered the hairpin, coal skittering across the footplate. Eddie grabbed his gun before it followed the black chunks out of the cab’s open side. Behind, the carriage shimmied on its twin bogies, throwing its occupants around in their seats. The four-wheeled wagons were affected even more as the vibrations snaked along the length of the train. One man was flung from an open door, cartwheeling down the hill before a boulder brought him to a skull-cracking stop.
The locomotive slowed, the sheer weight of iron and steel holding it on the track. Eddie looked across the hairpin at the rest of the train. The soldiers who had entered the ammo car came back into view at its open door. One held an RPG-7 launcher, hoisting the metal tube on to his shoulder and leaning out, his companion holding on to him as he prepared to fire.
He took aim, forefinger finding the trigger…
Eddie’s own finger was faster.
Most of his shots from the rocking loco hit only wood — but one found its target, sending a spurt of red over the launcher as the Nazi’s cheek blew apart.
The man fell back into the wagon — reflexively pulling the trigger.
The RPG-7 round burst from its tube, propelled by its initial booster charge. It hit the stacked crates in the ammo truck, bouncing off — then the main rocket fired. The wagon’s interior filled with flames as the warhead ricocheted in the confined space.
The second man dropped and shielded his face as the grenade whirled past and wedged between two crates, fire spewing from its tail. The warhead was impact-detonated, but it had hit the boxes before arming itself.
The Nazi realised what had happened. He scrambled over and grabbed the squirming projectile by its conical warhead, struggling against the rocket’s force to hurl it through the open door—
The motor burned out — and its self-destruct activated.
The warhead exploded in his hand, ripping the wagon open. Planks and panels scattered along the track. Part of a wall fell outwards, only a buckled metal support keeping it attached as it dragged along the ground.
Wind fanned the flames. Cracks and thumps came from burning boxes as the ammunition inside cooked off and exploded. A flaming case fell from the open side, rolling to a stop inside the hairpin. Bullets ripped through the wood and thudded against the train. One man was hit in the stomach and collapsed with a scream.
Walther, however, was only concerned about the rounds from a much closer source. He looked towards the locomotive. ‘Es ist die Englander!’
Eddie fired again, but the huge Nazi jerked back into the carriage, the bullet blasting a chunk from the window frame. ‘Shit!’
‘Scheiße!’ gasped Walther, staring at the broken wood where his head had just been. ‘He’s in the engine — he must have killed the drivers!’
Kroll glared at him. ‘So kill him!’
‘What about the others behind us?’ Rasche demanded. The brake van came back into view on the leg of track above them as the train exited the hairpin.