Mikhail winced in pain as the powerful shaft of light hit him full in the eyes.
“Well, what do we have here?” asked an icy voice in broken Russian.
As Mikhail’s eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination, he viewed the face of the man responsible for this question. There was a cruelty to this stranger’s expression that belied his relatively young age. Peering down at Mikhail like he was a poisonous contagion, his steel-gray eyes displayed pure hatred. His sharp features were dominated by highly etched cheekbones, a narrow forehead, and a head of closely cropped white hair. A nervous tick caused the right side of his mouth to lift in a sneer, as he addressed Mikhail in German-flavored Russian.
“You and your comrades fought admirably. Unfortunately, you were no match for the Waffen SS. May I ask what it was that you were willing to give your lives up to defend this evening? Surely it wasn’t for this empty train.”
“Go to hell, you Nazi pig!” spat Mikhail viciously.
The German merely snickered.
“My, you are certainly an emotional people. You’re crude and manner less as well.”
Turning away from Mikhail, he spoke in rapid German.
Two black-uniformed infantrymen appeared out of the darkness, and took up positions on each side of Mikhail. Each of the muscular soldiers took a hold of one of his arms and pinned them back until he was a helpless captive. Doing his best to hide the pain, Mikhail watched as his white-haired interrogator bent over and picked up his blood-stained combat knife.
“So this is evidently the weapon that you used to kill my corporal with. I understand that a knife wound is a most painful way to die.”
Briefly examining the finely honed blade, he accidentally nicked his finger. Blood oozed from the tiny wound, and he quickly brought it to his lips.
“This is certainly a most lethal weapon, comrade,” observed the Nazi, who re gripped the knife and waved it menacingly before Mikhail.
“It would be a shame to ruin such a handsome face.” Then he stepped forward and pressed the tip of the blade up against Mikhail’s left temple.
“I’ll give you one last chance, comrade. Where was this train bound and what is your cargo?”
Mikhail could only think of a single fitting response.
Even though his mouth was dry, he managed to summon forth a wad of thick, white phlegm, which he proceeded to deposit squarely onto his interrogator’s forehead.
“Insolent Red heathen!” cried the Nazi, who without bothering to wipe off the spittle, pressed down onto the knife until its tip just penetrated Mikhail’s skin. Then with a single slashing motion he traced a bloody line from the tip of Mikhail’s left eyebrow all the way down to his jaw.
Any further retaliation on the Nazi’s part was cut short by the excited shouts of one of his subordinates.
“Over here, Herr Koch! You’ll never believe what I’ve found hidden beneath a tarp just waiting for us!”
Oblivious to the see ring pain that filled the left side of his face, Mikhail watched as the white-haired Nazi turned in the freight car’s smoke-filled interior. He couldn’t help but catch the glint of gold as the Germans excitedly scanned their find. A pain just as intense as that which racked his torn face filled his being with pure anguish.
With the realization that he had failed his assignment, Mikhail collapsed into his captors’ vice like grasp. As the blood from his wound splattered down onto the floor, he listened as the Germans sang out in celebration. Their incredible find brought pure joy to their lips. As a way of expressing his satisfaction, the white-haired officer known as Koch decided to spare Mikhail’s life. Instead of a bullet to the back of his head, he would be shipped off to experience a living death in a hellhole known as the BergenBelsen concentration camp.
While Mikhail Kuznetsov was granted yet another temporary reprieve from his pain by slipping off into blessed unconsciousness, his twin brother Alexander had just experienced his own near brush with death. He had been positioned inside the caboose when the first Nazis were spotted. Standing beside him, Senior Lieutenant Viktor Ryutin gave the order to open fire.
The light was poor, and Alexander waited for an enemy muzzle-flash to show itself before taking aim and squeezing off a shot, and then another and another. His confidence was reinforced when several of his bullets hit their mark. But when the mortar shells began falling, he knew they were fighting a losing cause.
When one of these rounds detonated right outside the caboose, Alexander looked to his left and saw that Senior Lieutenant Ryutin had been hit. There was no need for him to apply first aid, for the entire top portion of the veteran’s skull had been blown off by a piece of razor sharp shrapnel. Finding himself on his own, Alexander decided that in this instance, discretion was the best policy, and off he went through the shattered window on the opposite side of the railroad car.
He didn’t stop running until he was a good fifty meters away from the train tracks. Here he took advantage of a dense thicket and dove for cover. With his pulse pounding madly in his chest, he dared to look back and cringed when he saw the column of black smoke rising from the boxcar located immediately beside the caboose.
It was here that the majority of his comrades had been stationed, and the smoke surely meant that they had taken a direct hit.
An even greater concern crossed his mind as he peered at the adjoining freight car, for it was here that not only had the gold been hidden, but his own brother as well.
The conspicuous absence of gunfire certainly meant that the battle was over. The Nazis had succeeded in overwhelming them and Alexander watched as a squad of German troops assembled at the trackside. The deep, rumbling roar of an advancing tank broke the temporary quiet. He looked on in disbelief as the armored vehicle broke out of the woods and smashed into the caboose and the still smoking boxcar that was attached to it. As the cars tumbled off the track, the Germans loaded themselves into the remaining freight car, where both the gold and his brother had been situated.
The locomotive built up a head of steam, and to a heart rendering blast of its whistle, the now shortened train roared off in reverse, without ceremony to the presumed safety of the German lines.
The tank disappeared back into the trees, and Alexander waited until the sound of the locomotive had completely faded in the distance before leaving his hiding place. Ever fearful of what awaited him alongside the tracks, he carefully returned to the site of the ambush.
The smashed boxcar was still smoking, and by the flickering light of the burning wreckage, he searched for any survivors. As he expected, there were none. Only the smashed, lifeless corpses of his comrades met his eyes.
Yet one observation was a bit more heartening. Nowhere within the twisted wreckage were the remains of his brother. Was his corpse still inside the boxcar alongside the gold? Or had he perhaps been wounded and taken prisoner? With this hope in mind, Alexander reluctantly left this site of carnage and death, to get on with the huge task of ridding his homeland of the bloodthirsty scourge that was responsible for this slaughter.
Chapter Two
The Bell 212 helicopter lifted off its dockside pad with a grinding roar. From the copilot’s seat, David Lawton peered out the plexiglass windshield, and watched the city limits of Haugesund, Norway take form down below.
Unlike his hometown of Houston, Texas, there was a noticeable absence of steel and glass high-rise buildings in evidence. Instead there was a preponderance of quaint, wooden structures of approximately three stories, painted in soft pastel shades. Most were situated near a wide channel of water that allowed direct access to the open sea. A variety of boats ranging from compact sloops to cabin cruisers, fishing trawlers, and oceangoing freighters were docked along the shoreline.