“Here this way,” a voice said not too distant.
Koenig limped to the water’s edge to get his bearings. To his right the concrete ran out. It quickly became reeds and further, stretching away into the distance, a moonlit beach. To his left, his destination, the boats and safety, but they were a long way away.
Jack and Terry reached the end of the alley.
“There he is!”
Koenig aimed his pistol and fired.
He missed.
Terry fired back but missed too. Then Terry’s gun jammed.
“Shit! Shit!” he said shaking the gun, trying to free the blockage. Koenig fired again. This time he hit Terry in the arm. Terry let out a groan and dropped his Sten. Instantly his hand came up to cover the wound. Koenig pointed his Luger at Jack and pulled the trigger.
Click!
He tried again.
Click!
He looked at his pistol incredulously.
Out of bullets!
Out of anger he drew his arm back and threw the pistol. Terry ducked it as it clattered up the street just as Jack threw his knife. It buried itself up to the hilt in Koenig’s left shoulder. He let out a yelp of pain and as the two Englishmen looked on he staggered back a few steps and fell the ten feet headfirst into the water.
The Germans were working frantically with the freighter. Guns, equipment and food was being loaded none too carefully. Wurtz’ men barking orders constantly at the civilian crew. Von Brest was standing alone in the square shouting instructions at a crane operator. The sarcophagus was swinging from chains attached to it. They’d removed the canvas back of the six wheeler lorry that had carried it this far to enable the crane to get in. Von Brest was agitated that the crane was very old and the chains rusty.
“May God help us all if anything were to happen to it now.”
Wurtz was on the freighter with Captain Mufasa.
“Make sure we are ready to sail the moment the artefact and the Doctor are on board.”
“Yes Sir Major.”
As Wurtz turned to leave the bridge he noticed an old pistol laying on its side by a window. He also saw an older rifle propped up behind the door. He wasn’t happy about these men being armed. Mufasa caught Wurtz’ stare. He looked from the guns to the Major, their eyes met. Finally Wurtz decided it wasn’t worth pursuing. Firstly they needed the crew’s co-operation as neither he nor any of his men knew how to sail a boat. Secondly the antique guns looked like they weren’t capable of doing much damage and thirdly ’These men have a right to defend themselves I suppose’
“Just make sure we’re ready please Captain.”
Mufasa nodded his head. Wurtz left and Mufasa stared at the open door for a moment before gazing at the pistol. It had been ten years since he’d fired it last. He had shot a man. Through the brain. A man who had questioned his orders as Captain. A man who’d upset the harmony of his crew. A mutinous piece of scum who’d got what he deserved. A bullet between the eyes, dumped overboard off the coast of Madagascar and never received mention again from any of the crew.
Mufasa had seen the look on the SS Major’s face. The German hadn’t liked the pistol but had said nothing.
“Good!”
He checked to make sure that no one was nearby then reached around to the small of his back and pulled out a brand new Beretta pistol from the waistband of his trousers. He checked that it was fully loaded and that the safety catch was on. It was still shiny from being new and he huffed on it and polished it on his sweater before putting it back in his waistband. It was reassuring to feel it there. He knew he could pull it and use it at a moments notice.
‘What does it have to do with these Germans anyway?’
They weren’t his masters. He didn’t take orders from them. Mufasa also knew that there were guns stashed about all over his ship and that most of his crew were armed anyway, all of them carrying at least one knife each.
Mufasa patted the gun behind his back.
“Maybe I’ll get a chance to use you.”
He had eleven crew to the fifty Germans and whatever was in that stone box hanging from the crane, well, Mufasa and his men knew it must be gold and the Germans wouldn’t be watching it once they were safely out to sea. They wouldn’t miss a bar or two.
Mufasa began smiling to himself. He was a man who’d fought off Barbary coast pirates many times. These disciplined Germans would be easy prey but one thing he knew. If the killing started that SS Major would have to be got rid of first. His smile turned into laughter as he started the engines and checked his controls.
Wurtz by now had rejoined the Doctor.
“How’s it going Doctor?”
“I keep telling him,” Von Brest pointed angrily at the crane operator “To slow down.”
Wurtz looked at the man. He was a local to Gabes, very tanned and very nervous.
“Slow down!” Wurtz shouted at him.
“It’s not my fault,” the man babbled back in a mixture of Arabic and French. Not sure if the German officer understood either or both, “This is a very old crane and its controls are stiff.”
“What’s he saying?”
“I have no idea Doctor.”
Wurtz rounded on some of his men standing by.
“Do any of you speak Arabic.”
“I can a little Major.”
“Get over there and tell him to calm down. Tell him if he damages that he can come personally to Berlin to tell Adolf Hitler.”
“Yes Sir. But won’t that make him more nervous.”
“Just tell him. Tell him to keep his eyes on me and follow my instructions.”
The soldier was right. The crane driver became more nervous.
“Look at me!” Wurtz bellowed at him.
The man nodded, trying to stay calm.
“Now bring it round. Slowly! Slowly!”
The lever was stiff. He glanced nervously at the knob he was trying to push. The crane hadn’t received the proper hydraulic oiling in years.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
The crane driver pushed forward on the lever. It was stiff. He applied more pressure. The lever unexpectedly shot forward. It turned the crane faster than he’d intended. The sarcophagus swung uncontrollably out and just as it reached its Zenith, without warning, one of the chains snapped midway. The links below the break smashed down and took a chunk out of the sarcophagus’ side. Von Brest was absolutely livid at the damage. Wurtz rushed over to the crane driver who was frantically babbling his excuses again in at least three languages this time.
“Get out!” Wurtz shouted at him.
The man jumped down and cowered away from the SS Major.
“By rights I should have you shot for sabotage!”
The man had both his hands on his head, tears streaming down his face.
“Get out of my sight,” Wurtz roared, raising a hand as if to strike him. The man fled in despair.
“You,” Wurtz pointed at the soldier he’d sent earlier “Can you drive this crane?”
“I don’t know Sir. I could try.”
“Get up there quick before the whole bloody thing collapses.”