A Bitter Wind, page 25
“We’ll leave tomorrow, after the Germans are dealt with,” I said.
“I could still help,” Flint said. “Remember that. I have a plan.”
“The only plan you have is to remember which pot to piss in,” I said, then turned to leave.
“I always have a plan, you ought to know that. And I had one beautiful plan, Billy. To watch you go downriver while I held you in my grasp,” Flint said in a whisper. “We were almost there. The joker was in play.”
I stopped, thinking of a hundred things to say. But Flint’s warped mind wasn’t a place I wanted to venture into, so I did the one thing I knew would disappoint him. I showed him my back.
“It is a very good room,” I said to Tomas as he locked the door. “You don’t use the other room for prisoners?”
“Prisoners, no. No prisoners,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “We keep bad people here. Talk with them. You understand?” I did. The room was not a long-term accommodation. Tomas took me into the next room, opened the wooden chest, and removed an inset shelf holding moldy work clothes and moth-eaten blankets. He pulled out two burlap bags of grenades. “We need soon, yes?”
“Yes,” I said, and wished there was a way to save the villagers from this battle. At the bottom of the chest were two German uniforms, neatly folded. One had SS runes on the collar tab while the other was regular Wehrmacht. There were even boots.
“Officers,” Tomas said. “No longer need.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Do your men wear these?”
“Some speak German very good,” he said. “Good enough to fool Ustaše, but not Nemci. You?”
“No, I don’t speak German,” I said, but I wondered if there was any way to use those Kraut duds. Order the Ustaše to retreat, maybe? I filed it away among all my other half-formed thoughts to let it simmer. I followed Tomas out into what was now full darkness, and we entered the farmhouse.
The main floor was one open room, allowing the warmth of the stove to spread farther. Three fighters were headed out, their rifles slung and curious eyes lingering on me. Did they all hold us responsible for the upcoming onslaught? Hard to blame them if they did.
“Come, eat,” Sanja said. An older woman ladled something into a bowl and it looked hot. Big Mike was already digging in, seated next to Sanja. Johnny and another RAF man sat across from them. Tomas lit a cigarette and leaned against the counter.
“Flight Sergeant Nick Stanich,” Johnny’s pal said, extending his hand.
“Captain Billy Boyle,” I said as we shook. “You made it out with Johnny?”
“All the way,” Nick said. “As soon as those Mustangs hit the column, I looked at Johnny, and we both knew it was our chance.”
“Nick speaks some Serbian, which came in handy,” Johnny said. “When they moved us out of the camp, we decided to escape as soon as we could. Didn’t fancy our chances in the Reich.”
“And Johnny’s German came in handy too,” Nick said. “Once, we were hidden not ten feet from two Jerries, and I was ready to jump them. But Johnny heard them say they wanted to get back for their supper. Saved their lives, and probably ours too. It would’ve set off a manhunt.”
I congratulated them both on their escape, then turned to Big Mike, who was scraping up the last dregs from his bowl.
“We need to talk with Johnny,” I said, then succumbed to hunger and the aroma wafting through the kitchen. “After a few bites, I guess. What do we have?” I sat and smiled at the woman who placed a bowl in front of me and sprinkled a little cheese on top. She held the spoon above the bowl, her eyebrows raised, asking if I wanted more. I didn’t know how much there was to go around, so I passed.
“Pura,” Sanja said. “It is porridge, made with cornmeal. With feta cheese.”
“It’s good,” Big Mike said as the woman patted his shoulder. His enjoyment of food pleased cooks everywhere. “Flint is secure?”
“Yeah, locked up tight with bread and water,” I said, and dug into the pura. Just the thing after coming in from the cold. “So, are more fighters on the way?”
“Five more men came today, before we radioed,” Sanja said. “From the south, around Planinica, there are too many German patrols. Perhaps they are among those coming this way. But from other groups, we will have fifty by morning.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“Not if Jerry comes tonight,” Johnny said.
“Maybe we should give ourselves up,” Nick said. “There’s fewer than twenty of us here. We can’t defend the village. It’ll be a bloodbath.”
“We can’t let Johnny fall into the hands of the SS,” I said.
“Listen, I know he’s from Germany, but they didn’t punish him for that before,” Nick said. I realized Johnny hadn’t offered any information about his religion or his role in radar countermeasures. With good reason.
“New orders from Adolf,” Big Mike said. “Any former German citizens who attempt to escape from the Fatherland a second time are to be shot.” I was impressed with how fast Big Mike had come up with that story.
“Well all right, then,” Nick said. “We can’t let Johnny be put up against the wall. What’s the plan?”
Sanja and Tomas exchanged a few quick words and then she laid out the plan. Two men with a machine gun were situated at the S-bend where the road curved on the way into the village. A second machine gun was set up in the mill, which was a stone structure, providing good cover. The road at the opposite end of the village was lightly defended. Since the river had flooded the road, it was barely passable for vehicles. Three men patrolled the high ground behind the village where we’d ridden in. The rest were held in reserve to respond where needed.
The reserve was us and eight Chetniks. If the Krauts hit us tonight, it would be a massacre.
“Okay,” I said, and released a sigh while trying to sound upbeat. “We need to debrief Johnny. Then you, Nick. Procedure.”
“There is a room,” Tomas said, pointing to the stairs.
“I will show you,” Sanja said as she pushed her chair away from the table. “A bedroom where you will sleep.”
The door flew open and one of the kids burst in, shouting. Sanja shot her a question and then slammed her fist on the table.
“Flint. He’s killed Gricko.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
AS I RAN to the barn, I realized what must’ve happened. Flint hadn’t spat at Gricko out of anger. It was a plan. He’d told me straight out—he always had a plan. He’d baited his captor, and Gricko had obliged. I drew my pistol and vaulted up the stairs. An anguished cry came from the room where Flint was held. It was one of the boys. The door was wide open, flickering lantern light illuminating the scene.
I moved along the hall, my back pressed against the wood railing. I could hear Flint mutter, almost plead, and as I moved into the open doorway I took in the scene, ready to fire.
Gricko, dead on the floor, blood pooled beneath him. Flint, one hand gripped the boy’s wrist, the other held Gricko’s knife.
“Welcome to the party, Billy,” Flint said. “Take the key. The kid is useless.”
“Let him go,” I said. The boy held a key, and I could see by the design of the manacles that Flint couldn’t reach the lock to free himself. It was set in the center of the iron bar that separated the two wrist shackles.
“You come get the key. Unlock the cuffs, then I let him go,” Flint said. “Otherwise, it’s all over for him, sad to say.”
“Then I’ll kill you,” I said as I calculated the odds of taking my shot right now.
“And you’ll live with the guilt of the kid’s death,” Flint said. “For the rest of your days. Such a delicious thought. Just might be worth it. Now take the key. After you toss your weapon in the corner.”
I did. There were plenty of guns right behind me, the light and noise in the hall told us both that much. One less wouldn’t matter. I slid it to the far corner. I took the key from the boy’s trembling hand and tried to ignore the noises from outside the room.
“Let him go,” I whispered.
“Unlock the cuffs,” Flint countered. The kid looked at me and I did my best imitation of a smile, but I don’t know if I convinced either of us. I took hold of the iron bar.
“What does this gain you?” I asked, the key poised above the lock.
“You all spend your whole lives shackled,” Flint said, his eyes boring into mine. “To each other, to your churches, to your ridiculous beliefs. You wouldn’t understand what even ten seconds freed from these irons means to a man like me.”
Flint tightened his grip on the kid and pulled him closer to the tip of the knife. I saw him glance at the pistol, calculating.
I put the key in the lock.
Turned it.
The lock opened, the chain clattered to the floor, and Flint let fly a backhanded slash at my face. I wheeled to the side and one hand grabbed the bar that loosely hung from the cuff on his wrist. I twisted it hard and heard the snap of bone and cartilage.
Flint howled, unleashing an ungodly, sharp shriek of pain. He kicked out, enraged, and sent me flying against the wall. With one arm dangling at an odd angle, he grabbed the cowering boy with his free hand and stumbled toward the door. He dragged him into the hallway where a half-dozen guns were trained on him, and the child as well.
Flint looked at me, his teeth gritted in pain and his eyes on fire with hatred and anger. It was only a split second, but I knew what he was going to do. Haunt me forever.
He ran at the railing and smashed through it, the kid still in his deadly grip. I launched myself, landing hard, and got a hand on the terrified boy’s ankle. The railing had broken, but not fully. Flint had one foot in the air and the other braced on the floorboard as he held on to the boy with his good arm. People screamed, but all I heard was the crack of wood as it gave way. I tugged on the boy’s leg as the railing broke, and his arm slithered free of Flint’s grasp.
Flint fell thirty feet to the hardpack dirt floor. The sound was a cross between a wet thud and a bundle of sticks breaking.
I pulled the boy close. Hands reached out to take him away, to comfort him. I dragged myself by my elbows to the edge, where shattered banisters marked Flint’s passage. Below me, Flint, my tormentor, lay on his back, arms and legs at odd angles, his dull eyes focused on nothing.
We were unshackled.
“You okay, Billy?” Big Mike asked as he picked me up.
“What’s the kid’s name?” I said. Big Mike moved me away from the precipice, and I asked again, catching Sanja’s eye.
“Filip,” she said. “He is not hurt. Frightened, yes. He told me he tried to help Gricko when he heard him yell.”
“He’s a brave lad,” I said. I rubbed my face, as if it might banish the vision of Flint’s last moments. Or erase his words.
“Billy, you sure you’re all right?” Big Mike said.
“I’m not hurt,” I said, even as I patted myself to be sure. I glanced at Flint again to be certain he was dead. “Let’s go back and talk with Johnny. It’s time to get what we came for.”
We filed by Tomas and another man headed into the room with blankets, about to carry Gricko away. I should have been firmer with Tomas about warning Gricko, who’d underestimated Flint. Gricko’s death was my fault. As we walked downstairs, I thought about what Flint had said. If he’d killed Filip, I would’ve felt the guilt forever. I stopped by his body and had to acknowledge how right he was. It would’ve shattered me to be responsible for Filip’s death. But how different was that from the death and destruction we were about to bring down upon the entire village?
“Billy?” Big Mike said, the concern in his tone evident.
“I’m fine,” I said as I held up a hand. “Just thinking.”
“I will have the body taken away,” Sanja said. By the look in her eye, she thought I was shell-shocked as well.
“Hang on,” I said. “When we were back in Pranjani, talking about routes and coming here, did anyone mention Nick, or the two RAF men waiting here?”
“I am not sure,” Sanja said. “I think it was all about Johnny Adler. You would not have come otherwise.”
“Right. So that’s what Flint would have picked up, and what he would have told the SS,” I said as I tapped my finger against my lips and thought it through. “So let’s give them what they want.”
“My English is good, but I do not understand,” Sanja said.
“I think I do,” Big Mike said. “I’ll get Johnny and Nick.” He darted out, while Sanja and I stood by quietly as Tomas helped carry Gricko’s body down the stairs. Sanja rubbed her jaw, looked at the body, and nodded to herself.
“I see,” she said. “You dress him as RAF. This is Johnny Adler, as far as the Germans will know.”
“Exactly. I haven’t figured out how we’ll deliver him yet, but there’s got to be a way,” I said.
“I understand you have some sort of scheme, Captain Boyle?” Johnny said as he entered.
“I do. I’d like to avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” I said. “The scheme starts with one of you donating your uniform.”
“What? Which one of us?” Nick demanded.
“Whichever is the better fit for the late Amos Flint,” Big Mike said as he gestured to the corpse.
“Odds are the Germans only know about Johnny being here,” I said. “Flint gave them what information he had when they nabbed him.”
“He gave them a name? Johnny’s name?” Nick asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his fellow escapee. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to you than you let on, mate.”
“Nothing I want the Nazis to know about, Nick. But it seems that this fellow may have dropped a hint or two. Right piece of work he was, I gather,” Johnny said.
“You have no idea. But he is your size, Johnny, so strip,” I said.
“Are you sure about this?” Johnny asked. “What am I going to wear?”
“I will get you clothes, do not worry,” Sanja said.
“We’ll need everything,” I said. “Even your identity tags. We want the switch to hold up if the Germans get suspicious and check things out.”
“Well, he’s not getting my long johns, I’ll tell you that much,” Johnny said.
We hoisted Flint up and carried him to a workbench set under the stairway. Undressing and dressing a dead man is harder than you’d think, and having him at this height helped. First, we removed the dangling shackles. Then I unbuttoned the double-breasted black coat, and we began to divest Flint of his worldly garments.
“You said he was captured by the SS and told them about Johnny,” Sanja said. I nodded. “It is possible the same SS officer will return here. He might recognize the man he spoke with.”
“You’re right,” I said. I stopped to study Flint’s features. His hair was long and his beard was catching up to it. “Shave and a haircut ought to do the trick.”
We kept at the disrobing until Sanja returned. She’d decided against a clean shave since it would make sense for any escaped prisoner to have some beard growth. She snipped away at Flint’s facial hair until it was a uniform length, more or less. Then a trim around the ears and some off the top. Johnny pulled his leather flying cap out of his pocket and fitted it on Flint’s head.
“There. Different chap entirely,” Nick said.
“And the cap’s got my name written on the label, there’s a plus,” Johnny added as Filip entered the barn, his arms laden with garments. “Thanks, lad.”
Filip smiled as he set down the clothing. His eyes avoided the spectacle of Flint’s transformation.
“These are his brother’s,” Sanja said. “The Germans killed him. He is glad to help and says it will be like his brother striking back from the grave.”
“Tell him I am honored,” Johnny said, coming to attention and offering a salute. As Sanja spoke, Filip returned the salute, his lip quivering as he verged on a sob. He ran outside to do his crying in private.
“There is a sheet,” Sanja said. She whirled her finger around. “To cover him.”
“A shroud,” I said, and she nodded.
“‘Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it,’” Johnny said.
“Eh?” Nick said.
“Macbeth,” Johnny said. “You know, Shakespeare. The bloke who also wrote ‘the apparel oft proclaims the man.’ Let’s hope he knew what he was talking about.”
Johnny removed the identity disks from around his neck and placed them on Flint, then stripped down to his long johns. We finished with Flint as Johnny dressed. He donned a wool jacket over a heavy sweater. Filip’s big brother was a fair fit for Johnny, and the only problem was with Flint’s shoes. The cracked leather was falling apart, but they looked like they’d last a couple more days.
I wound a length of rope around the shroud to keep everything in place.
Dead and hog-tied. Flint had never looked so good.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
BACK IN THE house, Nick and Sanja sat at the kitchen table chatting in Serbian. Johnny stood there, looking at me as if I’d forgotten something.
“Ready, Billy?” Big Mike said. He gave me a thump on the back that was more energetic than it needed to be. But it did the trick.
“Right, right, let’s go upstairs and have that chat, Johnny,” I said. Lack of sleep, physical exertion, and the horrors of evil men were all catching up to me. My brain was foggy, and my legs felt like lead, but I knew we had to get at what was inside Johnny’s head.
And then?
Sleep.
No. We had to double-cross the Krauts and palm off Flint as Johnny Adler. The plan had sounded so simple, but right now I couldn’t figure it out. Never mind, I had another job to do first. Johnny showed us into the small bedroom he and Nick shared. One bed and a couple of straight-backed chairs completed the decor.
“Have the comfortable seat, Captain,” Johnny said as he gestured to the bed. I declined, afraid I might keel over and fall asleep. Big Mike and I pulled up two chairs, and Johnny sat on the edge of the bed.
