Twilight of the Dead Page 4

  The announcement brought murmurs of disquiet from several of the Panzergrenadiers. Berkel was also dismayed, having fought with Hans alongside a company of Constanta's thralls near Leningrad. He avoided being drafted into their ranks thanks to a timely intervention by Hans and Ganz, both of whom were all too well aware of the threat posed by the Rumanian lord and his underlings. Dark muttering moved quickly through Ralf's unit as word spread about the new orders and their significance. Hans took his brother and Gunther aside, speaking to them in hushed tones so as not to be heard by the others.

  "Your men know about the vampyr?"

  "We encountered them a few times over the years. Constanta even turned up in Stalingrad while we were there, but he was busy with another Panzergrenadier unit, trying to capture the northern factory district." Ralf retrieved the orders from Gunther and peered at them. "Hans, didn't you tell me once about meeting a collaborator called Cringu who worked for Constanta?"

  "He's a servant responsible for transporting coffins around the battlefield to ensure the most senior vampyr have somewhere safe to sleep during the hours of daylight."

  "This equipment he's taking to Transylvania... It's probably a truckload of bloodsuckers."

  "Could Constanta himself be in one of the coffins?" Gunther asked, fear chilling his voice.

  "Perhaps, or members of his inner circle of vampyr," Hans suggested. "Why choose us as guards to make sure it gets home safely? And all the way back to bloody Transylvania?"

  "It can't be a coincidence we were given this mission," Ralf scowled. "Constanta seems to enjoy taunting us. He probably thinks it's funny to make us do this; payback for what we tried to do to him and his underlings at Ordzhonikidze."

  Gunther nodded. "We've been keeping tabs on everyone who survived the mutiny. You, me and Ralf: we're the last ones still alive and still here on the Ostfront. The rest have been invalided back to Germany or are lining a grave somewhere in Russia."

  "So what do you suggest we do?" Hans asked his brother.

  "Follow our orders," Ralf replied. "If this is a trap, I plan on taking some of the vampyr with me when I die. If it isn't, travelling into Transylvania gets us that bit closer to Germany. The nearer we get to Berlin, the better our chances of going home alive and in one piece when this bloody war ends. I haven't come this far to die in some country I couldn't care less about!"

  Three hours later the Panzergrenadiers reached the map reference stipulated in Ralf's orders. Twice on the way there they'd been attacked by Soviet dive-bombers and forced to scramble for cover. The Luftwaffe was a shadow of its former glory and the skies over Rumania were all but contested territory by this point in the war. It was possible to shoot enemy planes out of the sky if they swooped close enough to the ground, but such successes were rare.

  By the time Ralf's men had reached the rendezvous, the sun was already past its apogee and shadows were starting to creep across the landscape. The road from Ploesti towards the brooding mountains ahead was little more than a dirt track, winding its way up a shallow valley alongside a small river.

  For the first time in days the Russian artillery was out of range and out of earshot, but some of the soldiers found the silence tougher to take, Gunther among them. Like most of the Panzergrenadiers, he had become used to having a constant barrage at the edge of his thoughts, day and night. When that background noise was removed, it made the wary soldiers all the more aware of their surroundings.

  The rendezvous site was halfway along the valley, where undulating hills of green rose up on either side of the river. In some of the fields rapeseed was coming into bloom, the yellow blossom forming startling blocks of colour against the verdant slopes and azure sky overhead. Farmhouses were few and far between in this area. All the civilians had long since fled to the cities, hoping to avoid being caught up in the fighting. Most of the nearby buildings had been destroyed by passing armies, such devastation typical of the scorched earth policy employed by both sides in this brutal conflict. There were no farm animals to be seen since they had been slaughtered years earlier to feed hungry soldiers. Nor did any birds fly between the trees, a fact that made the silence all the more eerie and oppressive. Crops rotted on the hillsides, neglected and forgotten, while grassland grew ever taller, waiting for a harvest that would not come.

  There was no sign of Cringu or the convoy of equipment, so Ralf posted six sentries up and down the valley, and sent out a dozen more men into the surrounding hills as patrols and lookouts. He put the rotund Ganz to good use, appointing him company cook with orders to fix a meal from whatever could be foraged or found. Berkel was given control of the radio and sent up into the hills in the hope of getting a signal back to HQ. The rest of the soldiers were told to clean their equipment or rest, whichever they thought more useful.

  That left Hans and Ralf alone, at last giving them a chance to talk through all that had happened since they'd seen each other last, nearly three years before. The two brothers were still deep in conversation more than an hour later when Berkel came running into camp, calling breathlessly to them. At first his words would not come, such was his exhaustion from sprinting with the bulky radio strapped to his back. Eventually he was able to gasp out part of a news bulletin he'd heard while scanning through frequencies.

  "The Rumanians..." Berkel panted. "They've surrendered!"

  "They've what?" Ralf exclaimed.

  "Surrendered! There's been some sort of... coup... in Bucharest... The king's had the Rumanian government... arrested... and he's called a... a ceasefire!"

  "If all the Rumanians lay down their arms, the front line will collapse within a matter of days instead of weeks," Hans said. "Army Group South is no match for the Russians."

  "Berkel, did you hear anything else?" Ralf demanded.

  "King Michael is giving an address by radio this evening to the Rumanian people and the outside world. They didn't say what it would be about, but you can guess the rest."

  Hans and Ralf said nothing for a few moments, letting the news sink in.

  Eventually it was the younger Vollmer brother who broke the silence. "The ceasefire is only the first step, not the last. I wouldn't be surprised if the Rumanians switched sides and declared war on Germany before the end of the week. Once that happens, we're all living on borrowed time in this country."

  "We've got more immediate troubles," Ralf pointed out. "The Rumanian forces made a limited impact on the war when they fought with us. They'll make even less difference if they join the Russians. Our problem is Constanta and his kind. If they switch sides also, and if Stalin and his generals in Moscow decide to use the vampyr against us..." Ralf stopped speaking, his eyes widening. "Scheisse! For all we know Cringu could be bringing Constanta here - now! If he's heard about the Rumanian ceasefire..."

  Hans nodded hurriedly. "Berkel, how strong was that radio signal you picked up?"

  "Not strong at all. It kept fading in and out. Why?"

  "If we're lucky, Cringu won't have heard the news from Bucharest yet."

  Ralf arched an eyebrow. "Since when have we been lucky in this cursed war?"

  "We're still alive, aren't we?" Hans asked rhetorically. "If Cringu hasn't heard the news, we still have one advantage: the element of surprise." He glanced at the sun slowly sliding towards the Transylvanian mountains. "If the convoy gets here during daylight, we can destroy whatever it is Cringu is transporting."

  "If he doesn't know about the ceasefire, and if he gets here before sunset... There's a lot of things that can go wrong with your plan," Ralf said.

  "Do you have a better suggestion?" Hans looked at his brother and Berkel. Both men shook their heads. Before they could speak, a loud whistle cut through the air. One of the sentries in the hills was waving to them with one hand and pointing down the valley with the other.

  "Two trucks!" the sentry called down. "Rumanian markings!"

  "Cringu," Ralf decided. "And he's brought a friend."

  "Or a fiend," Hans said.

 
Ralf frowned, his mind made up. "Berkel, rouse the others. We haven't got time to call the rest back from patrol, so we'll have to make do with the men we have nearby. Tell them to break out the special ammunition. They'll know what I'm talking about."

  Berkel turned to Hans for confirmation, provoking Ralf's ire. "I've got seniority here, you young fool. Now do as I say!"

  "You heard him!" Hans snarled. "Move it!"

  Berkel scurried away, moving among the slumbering soldiers and kicking them awake. Some cursed in protest, but Ralf's two-word phrase quickly shut them up.

  "Special ammunition?" Hans asked, smiling ruefully.

  Ralf pulled two clips for his MP38 machine pistol from a knapsack and tossed one to his brother. Hans nodded admiringly at the silver-tipped rounds slotted into it.

  "Let's just say I've been stocking up," Ralf explained, "in case of emergencies. After we were all but wiped out by the Bolsheviks at Stalingrad, I figured the Rumanians would turn on us eventually. So we've been looting silver from every city, village and farmhouse we've gone past since, getting ready for the inevitable." Ralf pulled a clip of standard rounds from his MP38 and stowed it away, shoving the silver-tipped ammunition into place instead. "Looks like the inevitable is already here."

  By this time the nearby Panzergrenadiers were assembled and ready, their faces tense, fingers resting on the triggers of their weapons. Several had bayonets fixed to their rifles, a gleam of silver visible above the tip and edge. Others had slid necklaces bearing crucifixes over their heads, making sure the silver crosses stayed visible atop their clothing. Each of the men knew exactly what was at stake, and none had any illusions about the enemy they were facing.

  Hans collected a fistful of special ammunition clips from his brother, using one of them to replace the regular rounds in his MP38. The two trucks were still not visible, hidden by a bend in the river valley, but the sound of their labouring engines was now audible.

  Hans made sure his weapon was ready to fire before turning to Ralf. "How do you want to handle this?"

  "Nobody starts shooting until I give the signal. We want to get both drivers out of their vehicles and on the ground where they'll be more vulnerable. But Constanta is no simpleton and I doubt he suffers fools among his minions either. If Cringu gets any hint of something being amiss, we're all in trouble."

  Ralf looked round the faces of his men, fixing each of them in his gaze, one by one. "Stay back and follow my lead. Your chance will come, men."

  The first of the trucks rumbled into view, black fumes belching from its tailpipe, a surly-faced creature at the driver's wheel. The vehicle was a battered relic with a heavy tarpaulin slung over its tray shielding the cargo from daylight. The second truck followed along behind, no different from the first. Hans squinted to see who was at the wheel of both vehicles.

  "That's Cringu at the front. I remember him from the first day of Barbarossa. We almost came to blows at a bridge crossing into Reni. He caught me trying to sneak a look at his cargo."

  "Better if you stay back out of sight," Ralf said from the side of his mouth. "He probably won't remember you but it's best if we don't take any chances."

  Hans nodded before slowly moving to the back of the gathering. Berkel moved forward to take his place.

  "You ready for this?" Ralf asked, his voice steady and casual.

  "I think so," the younger man replied, his voice trembling.

  "Don't be afraid of being afraid. A little fear keeps you on your toes. Just follow my lead." Ralf smiled and waved at the lead truck as it approached.

  The driver brought his vehicle to a halt, leaning out the window to glare at the gathered soldiers. He was sour-faced with dark, greasy hair spilling from beneath his cap. The insignia of an Obergefreiter was prominently displayed on the collar of his uniform.

  "Who's in charge here?" he sneered.

  "Who wants to know?" Ralf replied, gentle mockery audible in his voice.

  "I'm Obergefreiter Cringu," the driver snarled.

  "My apologies," Ralf said, smiling insincerely. "Your accent's so thick, it's hard to understand your German."

  "My German has not been a problem before," Cringu fumed. "Now, answer my questions you insolent dog. Who's in charge here?"

  "When you didn't arrive on time, our commander went on ahead to scout the route. He should be back soon."

  "We would have been here sooner but the accursed Bolshevik bombers blew apart one of the bridges from Ploesti!"

  "How unfortunate. Well, as I was saying, our commander should be back soon. In the meantime he left us with orders to check all your equipment. Apparently there are Red Army commandoes operating in this area, called deep knife units, trying to smuggle themselves behind our lines." Ralf turned to his men and gestured for them to come forward. "All right, let's get this equipment unloaded and checked! The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can move on."

  "No, I forbid it!" Cringu bellowed, rapidly opening his door and climbing down from the driver's seat. "You have no right to interfere with my Lord Constanta's equipment."

  "Sorry, Obergefreiter, but orders are orders," Ralf shrugged. "Get to it, men!"

  The other soldiers surged towards the back of the two trucks. Cringu shouted something in Rumanian to the driver of the second vehicle, who swiftly scrambled down from his cab. Cringu ran to the back of his truck, putting himself between it and the Panzergrenadiers. When Berkel reached past him to pull the tarpaulin covering aside, Cringu produced a pistol and aimed it at Berkel's head.

  "Touch that and I execute you," the Rumanian warned, his voice shaking with fury. Hans pushed through the other soldiers, putting himself between Cringu and Berkel.

  "There are more than a dozen of us and only two of you," Hans pointed out. "Have you got enough bullets to kill us all?"

  Cringu's eyes narrowed as he studied Hans's face. "I know you... We've met..."

  Before Hans could reply, a single shot was fired in the distance. All those clustered round the two trucks turned to see where it had come from. One of the sentries up on the nearby hills was pointing at the sky to the north, shouting something that couldn't be heard clearly. But the reason for his intervention was all too clear in the blue air above the mountain peaks. A trio of Russian dive-bombers was swooping across the sky, searching for targets. The three planes banked smoothly before accelerating down the valley, racing towards the trucks and all those gathered around them.

  "Incoming!" Ralf bellowed. "Take cover!"

  The Panzergrenadiers sprinted away from the trucks, some diving into the river while others scrambled off the dirt track and flung themselves against the hillside, hugging the slope. Cringu backed away from his vehicle but remained standing, aiming his pistol at the lead plane as it got nearer. He fired repeatedly at the aircraft, his bullets flying uselessly past the plane. A bomb dropped from beneath the Russian flyer, then the pilot peeled away, flinging his machine back up into the blue canopy. The other two planes also unleashed their cargo but no bombs tumbled towards the ground below. Instead a blizzard of white paper exploded in the air, thousands of printed pages falling slowly from the sky like a giant's confetti.

  Hans watched Cringu, the only man still standing in the valley. Even the other driver had taken shelter, foolishly diving beneath the back of his truck. The Rumanian kept firing at the passing planes until the last possible moment before the missile from the first plane made its impact. Then the Obergefreiter dropped to the ground, using his hands to shield his face.

  The tumbling bomb missed Cringu's truck but thundered directly into the front of the second vehicle. A massive fireball of orange flame mushroomed upwards, followed by clouds of billowing black smoke. But there was something else inside the explosion: an unearthly scream like the wailing of a thousand frustrated banshees, crying out in torment. Then came a rain of ash and hot metal as shrapnel showered the valley and surrounding hills. A shard of metal the size of a man's chest stabbed into the ground beside Hans's head, less than a
metre away from decapitating it.

  Once the howling and flames and falling metal had died down, Ralf and the others slowly got back to their feet, stumbling towards where the bomb had exploded. More Panzergrenadiers came running down from the hills, eager to see what had happened. The Russian planes disappeared over the horizon, gone to find fresh targets. As the soldiers approached the remains of the second truck, the blizzard of paper started settling over the river valley. Gunther was first to realise that the pages were a Soviet propaganda drop. One side of the page was blank, but the reverse had a message written on it in three languages: Russian, German and Rumanian.

  Gunther read out loud the message dropped on them by the enemy aircraft. "Comrade Rumanians! Your King and Country will soon be fighting with Russia! We welcome you to the winning side in this Great Patriotic War!"

  "I don't believe you!" Cringu said, snatching the leaflet. "Let me see that..." He read the message, his lips moving as his beady, porcine eyes moved across the words. "If this is true, I must tell my master. Lord Constanta must be made aware that-"

  "I beg to differ," Ralf whispered, pressing his pistol beneath Cringu's chin. "You see, once you and the other Rumanians join forces with the Bolsheviks, we'll become prey for your vampyr masters."

  Cringu was about to call out but Ralf silenced him by shoving the end of the pistol into the Obergefreiter's mouth. "Not a word or else I'll blow your brains out the back of your skull. Understand?"

  Cringu nodded grudgingly.

  "That's better. Now, where's Constanta? Is he inside your truck?"

  The Rumanian shook his head.

  "Was he in the second truck, the one the Russians bombed?"

  Again, Cringu shook his head.

  "Where is he, then?" Ralf withdrew his pistol far enough for the prisoner to speak, but kept it aimed at Cringu's head.