Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

between two others at the side of the vehicle. Kelly had no difficulty translating.

“They have found a gap in the fence on the east side, footprints moving away from it, he’s already made his escape.”

Footprints moving away? thought Kelly. Of course! He had walked backwards trying to brush out the prints as he did so. His apparent failure to completely obscure his tracks had diverted attention from the plant to outside. There was hope yet.

The vehicle engine turned over, spluttered, coughed and reluctantly caught, its Mercedes engine roaring a complaint. Kelly put pressure on his precarious hand and foot holds and raised his back from the prop shaft, just as it began turning as the vehicle moved forward.

The strain on his arms and legs was prodigious and he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain this position. The vehicle crunched over snow and ice for a short distance before emerging onto a metal road. There was brief stop during which he could hear someone in the front of the vehicle shouting to someone at the side of the vehicle; judging by the conversation they were at the gate of the plant and about to leave.

While the vehicle was stationary, Kelly took the opportunity to rest his back on the prop shaft and ease his grip on the handholds. Then, as he heard first gear being engaged, he raised himself again and the vehicle moved forward. They sped along a road then started to climb, Kelly’s directional sense suggesting they were moving towards the Soviet border, which would make sense. It was the obvious escape route.

Every yard travelled was taking him nearer the relative safety of Soviet Russia, but he had no idea how he was going to escape from the vehicle and as the minutes passed, he wondered how long he could cling on.

He pondered. What if he simply let go and dropped to the road? This idea, which he knew he might well have to adopt simply out of sheer fatigue, was fraught with danger. He had no idea just what effect falling onto a rotating prop shaft might have; it would probably be very unpleasant. Even if he survived that, the fall onto a metalled road at forty kilometres per hour was likely to cause severe injury. In the extremely unlikely event he managed to survive that, there was every chance that soldiers looking out over the tailgate would be able to use him for target practice.

Whatever the consequences he was going to have to let go. There was no alternative. He could hang on no longer. His muscles began to scream in pain … but then the vehicle began to slow down and eventually rolled to a halt. Kelly suppressed the desire to scream at the almost unbearable discomfort in his hands as he lowered himself back down onto the prop shaft. The pain seemed to increase as he let go of the handholds he had used.

There was a clatter as the tailboard was dropped and the soldiers de-bussed. He could hear the sound of a single person giving curt orders and the shuffling of feet, the squad was being formed up. A briefing quickly followed. It was delivered quietly and concisely but Kelly caught snatches of it.

“One or two men … armed ... saboteur … split into groups of three ... up to the Soviet border … cross if necessary … high alert … other groups searching ...”

There was a flurry of activity, presumably as they split into their search groups, followed by the sound of receding footsteps crunching through the snow. Kelly waited for about five minutes until the feeling had returned to his hands and arms and then he slid slowly and quietly down from his lair, rolled onto his stomach on the road and observed his surroundings.

The vehicle had been halted at the side of the road. On his right was a gentle downward slope away from the road, on the left a slope rising into woods. This was the direction of the border and the direction he had heard the soldiers take. Partly obscuring his view in that direction was a pair of jackboots. The driver had stayed with the vehicle and judging by the sucking sounds he was making, was currently enjoying a cigarette.

Kelly considered his position. If he could slip away from the vehicle undetected by the driver which direction should he take? He couldn’t simply walk up this road, which he believed led to the border, without being spotted, if not by this driver, then certainly by another vehicle patrolling that night. If he went west, down the slope, he would be moving away from the border and back towards the plant. If he went east, up the slope, there was a likelihood that he might be detected by one of the patrols on the border.

Kelly thought for a while before making his decision. Gently and quietly, he slipped from under the vehicle on the side furthest away from the driver. After what seemed an age, he managed to manoeuvre himself to the rear of the vehicle by the wheel so as to be invisible to someone looking underneath. He picked up some loose chippings from the road and then stood up. Drawing the Luger from his waistband, he checked it was set to fire and threw the chippings out to the rear of the vehicle.

The sharp intake of breath was audible. “Wer ist dort?” The voice trembled. He was afraid.

The sound of footsteps came slowly around the vehicle. Kelly levelled the pistol to head height and waited. Just a few more steps.

When the corporal driver appeared, Kelly quickly lowered the Luger slightly to accommodate the driver’s five-foot-four-inch stature, and then without a second thought he pulled the trigger.

The little man was thrown backwards a good five feet. Kelly moved to him and looked down at him. For the second time in the space of a few hours he gazed upon the face of a dying man, a man