so that we can continue.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ the Russian said in a flat, emotionless tone. ‘You and your men are in breach of the Geneva Convention, and I cannot allow you to continue.’
Piggy stared at the Russian in disbelief, starting to lose his temper.
‘Since when has it been against the rules of the Convention to transport prisoners of war?’
‘Military prisoners are one thing, Corporal. Civilians are another matter,’ Leveski informed him calmly. ‘You do have a civilian in your custody, do you not? One Klaus Mencken – Dr Mencken?’
‘Doctor?’ Piggy spat out the word, in a mixture of loathing and ridicule. ‘My men and I have come directly from Buchenwald concentration camp, Major. This “doctor” was in charge of horrific, inhuman experiments on Jewish internees there. His speciality, I understand, was removing five-month foetuses from the womb for dissection. The man is a war criminal, Major, and is on his way to an international trial to answer for those crimes against humanity. So don’t quote the Geneva Convention to me.’
The impassioned speech seemed to have had no effect on the Russian, who continued to speak in a calm, emotionless voice. ‘I must insist that you hand Dr Mencken over to me.’
‘By what damned authority?’ snapped Piggy, openly angry now, having had more than a bellyful of the Russians.
‘By the authority of superior strength.’
The new voice came from a few yards away.
Baker’s eyes strayed to his right, where a Russian captain had just jumped down from the back of one of the personnel carriers. The man walked unhurriedly towards the leading jeep, being very careful to stay out of the line of fire of the Vickers.
‘I am Captain Zhann,’ he announced. ‘You and your men are in the direct line of fire of no less than eighteen automatic weapons. Now please, Corporal, I must ask you to move back from that machine-gun and order your men to step calmly out and away from your vehicles. If you do not comply, my men have orders to open fire. You would be cut to ribbons, I can assure you.’
It was a threat that Piggy found easy to believe. Assuming that the remainder of the concealed troops also carried the thirty-five-round PPSh-41 sub-machine-guns which were on display, the Russian captain had the cards fully stacked in his favour. Each individual weapon had an automatic firing rate of 105 rounds a minute, and in a full burst, a cyclic firing rate approaching 900 rounds a minute. And the 7.62mm slugs were real body-rippers. At that range, they would all be dead in the first five seconds. Still, there remained time for at least a token show of defiance.
‘And if I refuse?’ Piggy asked.
Zhann shrugged. ‘Then you and your men will be slaughtered needlessly. A pointless gesture, wouldn’t you say?’
Piggy could only stare at the Russian in disbelief. The whole thing was crazy. It was peacetime, for Chrissake. They had all just fought the most bitter and savage war in human history. It was unthinkable that anyone would want to carry on the killing.
‘You’re bluffing,’ he blurted out at last, suddenly convinced that it was the only explanation. ‘Apart from which, you’d never get away with it.’
Leveski stepped forward again. ‘I can assure you that Captain Zhann is conducting himself according to my specific orders,’ he muttered chillingly. ‘And what would there be to “get away with”, as you put it? A simple mistake, in the confusion of a postwar city. A tragic accident. The authorities would have no choice but to accept that verdict.’
Piggy’s fingers tightened around the firing mechanism of the Vickers. He moved the twin barrels a fraction of an inch from side to side – mainly to show Leveski that he had control.
‘Aren’t you and your captain forgetting something, Major?’ he pointed out. ‘If it comes to a shoot-out, it’ll be far from one-sided. I can virtually cut your vehicles in half with one of these babies.’
The Russian gave one of his chilling smiles. ‘What I believe the Americans call a Mexican stand-off,’ he observed. ‘However, we would still appear to have the advantage. As you see, I have four covered lorries. Only one of them contains armed troops. Your problem, Corporal, would be in knowing which one to fire on first. You must surely appreciate that you wouldn’t get time for a second guess.’
It was becoming like a game of poker, Piggy thought. But what made the stakes so high? It made no sense at all. Unless, of course, the Russian was bluffing. No stranger to a deck of cards, Piggy decided to call Leveski’s hand.
‘You must understand that my men and I cannot be expected to surrender our weapons,’ he said in a flat, businesslike tone. ‘And I cannot believe that you would push this insanity to its logical conclusion.’
As if understanding his corporal’s reticence to surrender without a fight, Trooper Wellerby spoke up.
‘We ain’t got a choice, have we, Corp? What’s a piece of rubbish like Mencken to us, anyway? If the Russkies want him that bad, you can bet your sweet fucking life they ain’t planning to take him to no birthday party.’
Piggy could not repress a thin smile. In attempting to make light of the situation, Wellerby had hit the nail on the head. He was right: what were the lives of three brave troopers measured against the Butcher of Buchenwald? If only a tenth of the stories about him were true, he deserved not an ounce of human consideration. Whether Mencken died from a British noose or a Russian bullet, it made no difference at all. On the other hand, Piggy knew that he had no moral right to condemn his men to almost certain death. He returned his attention to Leveski.
‘All right, Major,’ he said, ‘in the interests of avoiding conflict, I will allow you to take the prisoner. But I must point out that I regard this as an act of hijacking and I will be reporting it to higher authorities as soon as we reach Brandenburg.’
Leveski allowed the faintest trace of satisfaction to cross his face. ‘Your objections are noted, Corporal.’ He began to walk towards the second jeep. Releasing the hastily made noose, he gestured for Mencken to alight and led the German towards the waiting Russian convoy.
Even now, the Nazi was arrogant. He still felt justified. He had just been obeying orders, he had done no wrong. He glared at Leveski defiantly. ‘I suppose you Russian dogs intend to shoot me. Then do it, and get it over with. I would not expect the luxury of a trial from Bolshevik lackeys.’
Leveski ignored the insults, switching on his chilling smile. ‘Shoot you, Herr Doktor?’ he murmured in a low voice. ‘Oh no. On the contrary, we are going to treat you like a VIP. You are going to Russia to join some of your colleagues. You will soon be working for us, Doctor – doing what you appear to enjoy doing most.’
He took Mencken by the arm, escorting him towards the nearest truck and bundling him up into the cab. Jumping in behind him, Leveski barked instructions to the driver, who fired the vehicle up into life and prepared to move off with a crunch of gears.
As the truck started to move, Leveski stuck his head out of the open window, nodding towards Captain Zhann. ‘You have your orders, Captain,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We cannot afford any survivors to tell the tale.’
Zhann nodded curtly in acknowledgement, but his face was as grim as his heart was heavy. He was a good soldier, a professional soldier. And the job of
