Tomb of the Lost

Chapter TWENTY NINE



Koenig’s head broke the surface of the water. His lungs ached for air. He inhaled deeply. How long he’d been underwater he didn’t know. The cold water had numbed the knife wound and dulled his senses. He’d felt himself free falling in the cold darkness around him, his arms out in front of him, legs trailing, head forward. He felt himself slipping away. Suddenly no longer cold or in pain, somehow warm and….comfortable.

He wasn’t afraid. He saw images of his life before him.

His family.

His friends.

Elsa!

She looked so beautiful, so real. She was here, now, in the water with him, reaching out for him. Then suddenly she was gone. He blinked his eyes in the darkness. Then his senses came back to him. He felt his head pounding, lungs bursting. He realised he was going to drown. Then he remembered the two Englishmen and the knife. He reached to where the knife had entered his flesh. It was still there. Gritting his teeth he took hold of the handle and pulled it out. For a moment he thought he would faint. He felt warmth on his fingers and knew it was blood, his blood. Then with his lungs straining he kicked for the surface as the knife turned and twisted as it sank to the sea bed.

“You hear that Jack?”

“Yeah what was it?”

“Must have been him,” Terry said staring out into the darkness, unable to see the surface of the water after more than twenty feet.

“Could have been anything.”

“No it was him, had to be him,” Terry raised his Sten gun and fired from the hip in a sweeping pattern. Koenig stayed still as the water churned up behind him. He could see the two British some fifty yards away on the dock under a weak streetlight. Incredibly none of the bullets had hit him. Koenig, despite the cold and the pain was ready to dive again if more bullets came at him.

Terry Smythe pulled the trigger again. The clip was empty.

“Damn!”

He threw the Sten to the ground and pulled out a pistol and fired random single shots into the darkness. Jack watched him. When the pistol was empty Terry felt around his pockets for more ammunition. Then he caught Jack’s gaze.

“What?”

“What’re you doing that for? You’re wasting your time.”

“You said you heard him as well.”

“I’m not sure….”

“Oh now you’re not sure?”

“Could have been anything.”

They both looked down into the black water.

“Yeah I guess you’re right. Come on let’s get back.”

Koenig watched them leave before he dared to take another breath. Then slowly so as not to splash he kicked with his legs and swam on his side with his good arm towards the jetty. It took him several minutes to reach the concrete supports in the water, the road ten feet above him. Each support had old car tyres wrapped around it to help avoid damage to boats and Koenig found that he was able to pull himself along by them. He stopped once for a rest for a few minutes because his good arm was aching and then continued until he saw a ladder. The last two rungs of which were submerged. He blessed whoever had placed it there and reached above his head grasping a rung. He felt in the water with his feet, found the bottom rung and pushed himself up. He then began slowly and painfully to climb up. It was difficult to move with his once elegant officers riding boots filled with water and twice he slipped, both his feet coming off at one point leaving him dangling above the water. He groaned with the pain. For a moment he felt that his arm was going to be torn from its sockets but he managed to hang on, find his footing and continue climbing. All the while his left arm hung loosely by his side. Finally his head cleared the top and quickly checking he was safe he pulled himself over the edge and lay on his back panting up into the night sky. In the distance he could hear noise and he was unsure as to what it could be but the gunfire appeared to have stopped. He sat up and examined his shoulder putting his fingers into the slit in his jacket and shirt. When he pulled his fingers out there was fresh blood on them. He looked around. The faint streetlights extended away in both directions and he had no idea as to where he was. Then he heard the sound of a boat starting up and he saw a trail of smoke on his right as it drifted up into the starry sky.

Koenig reached forward and removed his boots, emptying water in a stream from each of them. Then rolling over onto his knees and pushing himself upright with his good arm he picked up his boots and squelched his way towards the German positions and safety.



Johnny and his team were just finishing up planting the explosives when Tosh saw the first of the SS as they ran into the warehouse and took up cover.

“Er lads we’ve got company.”

“Shit! Are we done?” Johnny asked.

“Just a second,” one of the men said connecting a wire.

Tosh fired at any German who moved, bullets smacking into crates.

“Come on faster,” Johnny egged on the man with the detonator. With trembling fingers the soldier inserted the detonator into the explosives, rotated it clockwise until he heard a click, then in a panic he did a terrible thing.

He pulled the pin too early!

The timer instantly began ticking. Counting down from thirty. The soldier desperately tried to put the pin back in.

“No time!” Johnny shouted “Tosh! Get out of here! It’s going to blow!”

Tosh heard the words. He fired at a German who was running between cover. The German pitched forward onto his face in mid run, dead.

“Tosh! You’ve got to move now!” Johnny shouted backing towards the exit with the other three.

“You go I’m right behind you.”

Tosh killed another German. Then his Sten jammed and he dropped it and pulled out his handgun. A bullet hit him in the upper arm.

“Damn it!”

A second bullet ricocheted off a crate and embedded itself in his leg. Tosh fell to the floor clutching his knee.

“Tosh!” Johnny shouted.

He started back for the S.A.S man but hands grabbed him and pulled him towards the exit.

“Wait! We’ve got to go back for him!”

“No! It’s too late. He’s dead.”

The Germans sensing a man down advanced on him. They would capture him and use him to catch the others. The Germans were arrogant now. Smiling they moved in closer. Wurtz pushing his way through them. As he got near Tosh, the Englishman opened his hand and the hand grenade rolled free. Wurtz dived to the side pushing two of his men onto Tosh. The grenade exploded amongst them, taking them down. Wurtz waited until the warehouse was still before getting up. The grenade had killed three of his men. Tosh lay there with his chest ripped open. His eyes lifeless.

Wurtz stood in front of his broken enemy. Tosh’s eyes started to glaze. Wurtz spat on the corpse then turned to his men. A few were dead heaps on the floor. The injured were slowly getting to their feet. Johnny and the others could see that Tosh was dead. They retreated through the fuel depot.

“Get after them!”

The timer on the explosives stopped.

There was a click.

There was silence.

Then the whole world seemed to explode.

The fuel tanks erupted with a screech. Johnny felt himself being picked up and thrown through the exit door with his companions. A huge fireball ripped through the warehouse as the flames rushed out of everywhere possible. Windows shattered and glass rained down. Huge pieces of cast iron tank ripped through the warehouse. Some of the SS men were turned into human torches. Completely engulfed in flames they screamed until they died. On the boat Alf watched the huge fireball as it rose into the dark sky.

“My God,” he said to himself aloud “Hope our boys are all right.”

Johnny opened his eyes. Dust choked his mouth and he coughed. He was aware of something pinning his legs down. He was able to push himself up and turn. It was Bill, one of his colleagues, sprawled across his legs.

“Bill,” he called. There was a ringing in his ears, his voice sounding strange, “Bill.”

Johnny sat up, grabbed a handful of Bill’s shirt and turned him over. Bill was dead.

Suddenly Johnny was yanked upwards from behind and dragged, kicking, outside. He turned his head this way and that trying to see which of his comrades had hold of him. It was a powerful grip. Johnny could only see a black sleeve. Whoever it was, was dragging him unbelievably roughly until he was dumped unceremoniously in the square. There was the sound of a pistol being cocked. Dawn wasn’t far away now and in the semi light Johnny looked up into Otto Wurtz’ face.

Wurtz’ face was hideous. His hair had been singed off in patches. The left side of his face was bright red with burns. The skin horribly blistered. His trousers were torn. His left sleeve was in shreds. His skin was burned where exposed. His jacket was still smoking.

Johnny wouldn’t have recognised him but for the uniform. The death’s head insignia, though now blackened still grinned out from the jacket lapels. Wurtz pointed the Luger into Larder’s face. Johnny resigned himself. He couldn’t fight it anymore. All resistance in him was now gone. He had no will, no strength, no where to run to, nothing to fight with. Strangely he wasn’t afraid.

“My comrades?” he asked through bleeding lips.

“Dead,” Wurtz snarled back, “And you’re next.”

Johnny shrugged.

Suddenly Margaret was in his thoughts. Her sweet smile. The smell of her hair. The way she wiggled her hips in her nurse’s uniform.

‘Goodbye my love,’ Johnny said in his mind.

Wurtz saw the man in front of him smile.

“Eh?”

He was about to pull the trigger when out of the corner of his eye he sensed someone to his right. He turned his neck to see, keeping the pistol in Johnny’s face. As the man came closer Wurtz recognised him.

It was Koenig.

Wurtz stepped back from Johnny. The Luger now slightly raised.

“Otto,” Koenig called.

“Colonel I…. Thought you were dead.”

He looked Koenig up and down. Koenig looked dreadful. He was carrying his boots. His socks were full of holes. He was soaking wet and filthy dirty.

“What happened to you?” Wurtz asked with a false friendliness.

“My men were wiped out, ambushed, the Medina was over run. I was lucky to escape. I was chased to the edge of the harbour. My gun was empty. They, he, one of my pursuers threw a knife,” Koenig said showing Wurtz the injury to his shoulder, “Your face Wurtz! You need help!”

Koenig suddenly felt his strength leave him. He’d lost quite a lot of blood. Mufasa on the freighter gave two hoots on the ships horn. The crew of the submarine threw off their mooring lines.

“They are leaving,” Koenig said.

The submarine began to turn, its engines powering up. The freighter hooted again. Wurtz could see the man in the white suit on the bridge.

“You’re just in time Colonel to witness me kill this little bastard….”

“Major we need to leave now. There is no time,” Von Brest’s voice came across to them. The submarine was now moving away from the dock, though turning slowly. Wurtz ignored the call. He walked behind Koenig still keeping the Luger trained on Johnny. Wurtz suddenly kicked out in the backs of Koenig’s knees sending him crashing down alongside Johnny. Koenig groaned at the pain in his shoulder. Slowly he sat up.

“Wurtz what are you doing! Have you gone mad?” he asked between gasps of breath.

“You f*cked my wife!”

Koenig stared back open mouthed.

“What did you say?”

“You were f*cking my wife!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Wurtz exploded, the pain of his injuries hammering in his head, “It was you that day on the stairs. You who gave her the stockings. You, who f*cked her behind my back for months.”

Koenig gave all his mistresses stockings as gifts. It was what every woman wanted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You arrogant piece of shit! Did you think you’d get away with it. Screwing the wife of an SS Major.”

“For the last time I don’t know what you’re talking about….” Then Wurtz’ words clicked into place.

That day on the stairs.

“Elsa,” Koenig said quietly, though everyone heard it.

Wurtz nodded, grinning, his mutilated face a mask.

“Yes. Elsa.”

Koenig looked up into the madman’s eyes. He had almost bumped into an SS Major on the stairs that day all those months ago.

“But her name is Von Wurz. You spell yours with a ’T’ “

“She called herself that because she thought it sounded posh for her father, for his clients.”

Koenig knew he was dead now. Wurtz a maniac.

“You never loved her. You were never any good for her.”

Wurtz advanced on him angrily.

“Shut up!”

“You were never there for her. Always away with your so called friends. Leaving her alone for weeks at a time.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Wurtz had his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the Colonel’s words. What Koenig was saying was true. He had neglected her.

“Her alone, vulnerable. That’s why she turned to me for….”

Wurtz was banging his head with the Luger, his eyes tightly closed but at these words he flipped. He smashed his hand against Koenig’s face forcing the man’s head around.

“I told you to shut it!” Wurtz said through clenched teeth.

Koenig brought his face back round. He licked the corner of his mouth, tasted blood, and spat. Never once taking his eyes off Wurtz.

Johnny looked on impassively.

“Which of us will he kill first?”

Koenig was studying the mad man.

“How could something so fragile, so beautiful, be married to this, this….” he couldn’t think of the appropriate word.

There were tears in Wurtz’ eyes now.

“It’s your fault she’s dead,” he suddenly blurted out.

“Dead?….Elsa’s dead?”

Wurtz felt the tears rolling down his face now. The burns were agony. He felt no shame for them.

“You killed her?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Wurtz replied shaking his head, sobbing now. His words difficult to say, “She tried to attack me with a pair of scissors. I merely defended myself. She fell and hit her head.”

Koenig tried to block his voice out. He didn’t want to hear another word. He couldn’t bear the thought of her death. His Elsa. Koenig had known for a long time that he’d loved her.

“She tried to kill you?” Koenig’s voice was accusing, “She tried to kill you? How could she? Look at her! Look at you! She didn’t stand a chance….”

“Enough!”

“You murdering bastard!”

Wurtz was shaking his head. His hand holding the gun shaking also.

“She was my wife. I loved her.”

“You never loved her Wurtz. She told me, she told me what you were like….”

“What when you were screwing her?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

Now Koenig exploded.

“Yes, all right! If that’s what you want to hear!”

“WHEN YOU WERE SCREWING HER?” Wurtz screamed.

“YES WHEN I WAS SCREWING HER! SHE WAS THE BEST DAMN SCREW I’VE EVER HAD!”

Wurtz rushed at him. Koenig realised that he’d pushed the man.

‘Good! At least it will be over quickly now.’

Wurtz hit him across the temple with the Luger. It broke the skin. A thin trickle of blood ran down his face.

“How could she possibly have married an oaf like you?”

“Enough! Now you die. I was going to kill you first,” Wurtz said to Johnny, “But now I’ll give you the satisfaction of watching this pig die first.”

Wurtz pointed the Luger at Koenig’s forehead and closed one eye for better sighting. Koenig began to laugh.

Wurtz stopped.

“What’s so funny?”

“This situation. Me, you, Elsa. It’s pathetic Wurtz.”

Wurtz took aim.

There followed a heavy thud. It had a metallic ring to it. Wurtz opened his eye, a groan escaped his lips. His face took on a blank expression. The Luger fired harmlessly into the air making both Larder and Koenig jump. Wurtz tottered forward a couple of steps, his legs unsteady. Then he pitched forward onto his face. He twitched a few times, then was still. As Koenig and Johnny watched his inert form a pool of blood began spreading. The back of Wurtz’ head was caved in.

They both looked up.

Alf was standing there. In his hands a long handled shovel. A red patch on its blade.

“Are you ok boy?”

Johnny didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or do nothing. A small whimper of relief escaped his lips. Alf threw the shovel down and helped him up.

“That’s the second time that bastard’s tried to kill me.”

Alf put his boot on Wurtz’ body and turned it over. The eyes stared up in death.

“He won’t be trying again lad.”

Johnny smiled.

“Good! I’m glad the bastard’s dead. He was going to kill him too.”

Alf studied the other man. Johnny held out his hand and Koenig took it. Johnny pulled him up. Koenig gritted his teeth from the pain of his knife wound.

“And who is this?” Alf asked.

Koenig’s uniform was filthy. Incredibly, despite what he’d been through, his badges of rank were still on his epaulettes. Alf saluted him.

“Colonel Sir.”

Painfully Koenig returned the salute.

“Colonel Hans Koenig 11 Panzer army, sergeant.”

“I’m acting Lieutenant Sir.”

“Your pardon Lieutenant. We have seen each other before.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. At Matmata. Months ago.”

The sound of running boots echoed around the square. It was Rushton at the head of his men.

“What’s happening Lieutenant?”

He took in Alf, Johnny, Koenig and Wurtz.

Alf saluted.

“Sir the boats are charged. The freighter and the submarine have left.”

Rushton studied the port. The submarine had disappeared. The freighter was still in sight.

“Sergeant Larder completed his mission. The fuel depots are destroyed.”

“Well done. Yes well done,” Rushton turned to a man carrying a field telephone, “Get General Tuker’s HQ on the phone.”

The operator instantly set his equipment down and began rapidly turning the handle to charge it.

Rushton looked at Koenig. Despite his injuries the German saluted smartly. Rushton returned it.

“Major I am Colonel Hans Koenig, 11 Panzer army. On behalf of General Hans Jurgen Von Arnim I surrender the town of Gabes to you Sir.”

Koenig extended his hand. Rushton shook it.

“Colonel on behalf of General Francis Tuker I formally accept your surrender.

“Sir General Tuker’s HQ is on the other end,” the operator was holding the receiver towards Rushton.

“Send this message. Long Range Desert Group successfully secured town and port of Gabes for allied advance. Loss of life acceptable. Medical supplies required. Will hold position until General’s arrival tomorrow. Out.”

The operator began relaying the message.

“Well done men,” Rushton said again “Thank you Colonel. You are placed into custody until General Tuker arrives tomorrow. Lieutenant Dennis, sergeant Larder, would you be good enough to assist the Colonel.”

Alf looked into Koenig’s eyes.

“Yes sir.”

“Colonel do you need the services of a doctor?”

“Yes please Major.”

“Very well. Get yourselves along to the doctor for treatment. Don’t let the Colonel out of your sight. Tomorrow we’ll begin the clean up operation,” Rushton turned to his men, “Get those fires out.”

“Sir,” Alf called “What about that freighter?”

Rushton looked up at the sky. It would be sunrise soon. He thought about pursuing it with the torpedo boats. That submarine was out there somewhere also.

“Who escaped on it?”

“Doctor Werner Von Brest, party member and head of archaeological group, German forces, North Africa, and her crew of civilians.”

“Anyone else?”

Koenig shrugged.

“Possibly some of my men,” he nodded at Wurtz “Possibly some of his.”



Captain Mufasa looked back at the port for the umpteenth time. They were two miles out of Gabes now. Relatively safe. The U-boat had dived as soon as they’d cleared the port but he was sure it was still there covering them. It was daylight now, no other shipping in view. He looked back again. No pursuing boats. Good. They would be the last to leave Gabes. German flags fluttered from the mast and stern. He hoped this would keep them safe until they reached Malta. A crewman was next to him on the bridge.

“Where’s the mate?”

“Down below.”

“Take over for a while.”

“Aye Captain. Which course?”

Mufasa showed him on the chart.

“Steady as she goes.”

“Aye Captain.”

Mufasa took the new pistol from his waistband, checked it and put it back. The crewman was watching him and Mufasa slapped him, not hard, across the back of the head.

“Just you worry about our heading.”

“Yes Captain.”

Mufasa left and descended the steps to the upper deck, he then descended more steps to the crews quarters. He met the first mate as he was coming up the stairs. The mate ’Domingo’ was surprised to see him.

“Captain?”

“Down. Down,” Mufasa instructed.

They descended to the next deck.

Mufasa took the mate by the arm, quickly checking that no one was in earshot.

“Are all of our crew on board?”

“Yes Captain.”

“How many Germans?”

“The one in the white suit, two in grey, one in black.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes Captain. The one they call the doctor insisted we leave. I tried to explain that hardly any of them were on board but he didn’t care.”

“I know! He ordered me. Ordered me! Captain of my own ship to do as he instructed. Only one person around here gives the orders and that’s me. However I’m not concerned with that for now. Did you see that thing they bought on board?”

“Yes. They wouldn’t say what it was. But I know it’s a thing for burying the dead, important dead. I don’t need to be a doctor for that.”

“Yes but what’s inside it.”

“I told you it’s for burying the dead.”

Mufasa shook his head.

“No way. What would these German devils want with it? They’re not interested in someone dead. Why, you can buy mummies on the market.”

“What do you think it is then?”

“Treasure! Has to be.”

Domingo’s eyes lit up.

“Why else for all the secrecy if it’s not treasure. You saw how the crane struggled with it, how it took all of them to move it. And why was the doctor so desperate to get away once the shooting started. It has to be treasure. Why I bet that thing is filled with gold.”

“Gold?”

“Yes,” Mufasa pulled out his pistol “And I want my share.”



Down in the hold Von Brest was taking measurements which he was entering into his log. Length, width, breadth. Approximate height he estimated. The sarcophagus was hollow inside, containing the, as yet, unopened remains of Alexander the great. The lid was six inches thick.

Finished with the measurements he began to sketch the various hieroglyphs and the royal cartouche. The lighting down here was poor and he had to try to hold a lamp one handed while he sketched. Finally finding it too difficult to do both he called to one of the three Germans on guard outside to assist him. The Wehrmacht man saluted him.

“Herr Doctor?”

“Hold this lamp for me. Shine it where I direct you. That’s it, keep it there for a moment.”

Mufasa and Domingo came down the steps to the hold, four of the crew with them. Each of them had concealed weapons.

“Halt!” the SS man ordered.

Mufasa stopped, Domingo behind, the others poised on the stairs.

“State your business,” the SS man kept his MP40 low but all could see that it could be used in an instant.

“This is my ship,” Mufasa said, his hands extended in a friendly gesture, “I merely wish to speak to the Doctor.”

“The Doctor has said that no one is to disturb him. No one is allowed down here below decks.”

“I am the Captain. This is my ship,” Mufasa said, matter of fact, sounding calm.

“I am sorry Captain. My orders are to let no one down here.”

Quick as lightning Mufasa pulled out his pistol and shoved it in the SS man’s face. The guard was caught unawares and instinctively levelled his MP40 at Mufasa as the rest of the crew drew their guns. Koenig’s man hadn’t had a chance to react and he raised his hands in surrender.

Now it was six on one.

Mufasa smiled.

“My men won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“We are acting under the direct orders of the Fuhrer Adolf Hitler….”

Mufasa cut him short.

“Do you think that means anything here, now? We only want what is rightfully ours.”

His men behind him, all agreed.

“Now what’s it to be?” he asked, moving the pistol closer to the man’s face. The SS man lowered his machine gun. He could have killed Mufasa and possibly one or two of the others, or possibly wound them, but not all six. They would have killed him in retaliation. Mufasa took the MP40 from him. Domingo took weapons from the other German.

“Now,” Mufasa said putting his hand on the SS man’s shoulder and turning him to face the door, “Let’s move. Open it.”

The heavy door creaked as the SS man opened it. The soldier holding the lamp turned and moved the light around to better see. It was just one of his colleagues.

“Keep the light here please,” Von Brest said grabbing the soldiers arm and pulling the lamp closer. The man raised his hand in front of the light to see the SS man better. Then he watched in confusion as his colleagues were shoved forward and Mufasa’s men spread out. Then he saw the guns and the lamp was falling to the floor as he ran for his rifle propped against a crate. A shot from Mufasa’s pistol caught him in the leg, slowing him. A second spun him around and threw him backwards into coils of rope. Mufasa calmly walked over and fired three more into his chest to finish him off. Domingo picked up the fallen lamp. Von Brest was cowering with his hands over his head in the dark. The noise from the handgun in the confined space had been deafening. He turned slowly as the lamp came near, its light reflecting off his round spectacles.

“Herr Doctor,” Mufasa called in a soft voice.

Von Brest looked up at him incredulously.

“Mufasa! What in God’s name are you doing? Have you gone mad man?”

“No not mad Doctor. Not mad!”

“Then what is the meaning of all this?”

“Me and my men want a bigger percentage.”

“Impossible! You are being paid quite enough.”

“Doctor may I remind you of who is holding all the guns.”

“You mutinous scum. You’ll not get away with this.”

Mufasa laughed.

“You should not have insisted we sail when you did. With none of your Germans on board,” Mufasa turned to Domingo, “Tie them all up.”

“What do you want?” Von Brest asked as a crew member bound his hands behind his back.

“I told you we want a cut. Our share of the bounty.”

“What bounty? What are you talking about?”

“Doctor we may seem like simple people to you but we are not stupid. We know you’ve got something in this stone crate….”

“This is the tomb of Alex….”

“You expect us to believe some cock and bull story about Mr Hitler wanting this as a gift. Look at it. What could he possibly want with it? No….” Mufasa held Von Brest’s face with both hands and stared into his eyes, “He wants what’s inside.”

“You’ve got it all wrong Mufasa. There is nothing inside to interest you or your men. I swear it.”

“We’ll see when I open it.”

Von Brest was horrified.

“No Mufasa you mustn’t open it. I beg you! I’ll triple your salary.”

“Not enough. Take them topside,” he ordered one of his men.

“When we get to Malta they’ll hang you,” Von Brest shouted as he was bundled up the stairs, “You’ll not get away with this.”

“I’m afraid my dear Doctor that I already have.”

Domingo waited until they were gone.

“What he says is true Captain. They’ll hang us for sure.”

Mufasa thought for a moment. Then made a decision.

“Get up to the bridge. We sail for Algiers. Plot the course for the helmsman then get back here and help me to open this.”

Once on deck Domingo saw the three captives were sitting in a group huddled against the biting, cold, wind. The Doctor appeared to still be complaining about their situation. Domingo watched as the dead body was brought up and tossed over the side.

“Any trouble from them?” he asked a crewman watching over the captives with an old rifle.

“The Doctor is complaining endlessly.”

“Herr Doctor just remember that the Captain spared your lives. Or if you would prefer you can feed the fishes,” Domingo said, his voice accompanied by the laughter of his crewmen.

Von Brest shut his mouth and sulked.

“That’s better,” Domingo waved his gun and put it in his pocket, “You’ll get no more trouble from him. Now I must report to the bridge.”

The man at the helm turned as Domingo opened the door and stepped onto the bridge. The helmsman had the chart out in front of him. Domingo followed a line with his finger until it came to a stop on the island of Malta.

“Malta Domingo! Malta! And for us money, real cash. This will be the most we’ve ever earned. I’m going to spend mine on the best whore money can buy.”

“We’re not going to Malta.”

“Eh?”

“The captain has taken the German’s prisoner. There is gold in that box of theirs. The Captain is convinced. A ton of gold.”

The helmsman’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Then a dark thought.

“The Germans will kill us,” he said instinctively feeling for the pistol in his waistband.

“Not where we’re going my boy.”

Domingo pointed on the chart. The helmsman pushed Domingo’s finger out of the way so he could read the place name.

“Algiers? Algiers is good.”

Domingo put crosses on the chart.

“Turn when you reach these points. We’ll keep close to the coastline.”

“Yes Sir.”

Domingo noticed some black dots on the window. He wiped his hand across it to smear the dirt away. The black dots remained. What was more they appeared to be moving. Domingo stepped outside and surveyed the horizon. The black dots were still there. There could be no mistaking it. They were aircraft. A crewman watching over the Germans edged closer. The aircraft engines could be heard.

“Do you think they maybe German planes?”

Domingo looked at the German flag fluttering from the ship.

“Let’s hope so. Man the machine guns just in case.”

“In case they’re enemy planes?”

“I think after this everyone will be our enemy.”

Domingo strode to the stairs and descended to the hold.



Mufasa was walking around the sarcophagus with a crowbar in his hand. He was stooped, peering under the lid and every time he thought he saw an advantage he jammed the end of the crowbar in. So far he hadn’t managed to move the lid. Domingo came in and pulled the heavy door to. Mufasa saw him.

“Grab that crowbar and help me. There has got to be a way in here somewhere. Whoever sealed it up didn’t want anyone breaking into it in a hurry. That’s good,” Mufasa said brandishing the crowbar, “That means that whatever is in here has not been touched in thousands of years and that means it’ll be worth even more,” he continued, jamming the crowbar into another crack and levering down with all his might.

Suddenly he felt the lid move. It was just a fraction but it spurred him on.

“Here I’ve got it. Quick get round here!” he shouted at Domingo, taking his crowbar out and jamming it in again. Domingo rushed round to help.



Bill Smith banked his Spitfire. The squadron of five were ahead of the bombers they had escorted. The bombers were returning from raids against enemy shipping. American fighters were in amongst the Lancaster’s. The five Spitfires turned and came about. From out of his window Bill could see the island of Djerba. He radioed the other pilots and then focused on the lone ship three miles out of the port of Gabes. It was only a small vessel but Bill had seen its wake from five miles away. The five Spitfires flew in low over the ship and to Bill’s delight he saw German flags fluttering from the freighter.

“Everyone got plenty of shot left?”

The five small fighters banked, gained height and came about. Bill in the lead. He brought his plane screaming down on the lone freighter amazed that she’d been left alone to fend for herself. Bill could see crewmembers running for cover as he strafed the deck. Bill pulled up and swung his aircraft as the second fighter charged in, its guns emitting their deadly fire. As the third Spitfire came in crewmembers had managed to reach the mounted machine guns on the ship. But the guns were poorly maintained. They both jammed and as the fourth Spitfire came in their operators were forced to abandon them and run for their lives. The fifth Spitfire strafed the deck and peeled off joining the others for another run. A Bristol Beaufighter joined them. This plane was carrying a torpedo.

On the deck Von Brest and his two German companions had been left unguarded during the attack. Despite their bonds they were able to move to cover and watched as crew members tried desperately to get the German flags down.

Down in the hold Mufasa had heard the first attack. A crewman rushed in to find the captain and the first officer who were frantically levering at the lid of the giant sarcophagus.

“Cap’n we’re under attack!”

“By who?” Mufasa answered without looking up.

“British fighter planes.”

“Get the flags down. Signal that we’re friendly….”

“We’re doing that Captain.”

“Push! Push!” Mufasa said to Domingo. The lid moved some more. Now there was a crack. Mufasa could smell musty air. Air that was thousands of years old.

“Captain!” the crewman called again.

Mufasa didn’t hear. He was too engrossed in what he was doing. The crewman turned and fled as the first of the Spitfires came in again. He reached the deck and dived for cover as bullets ripped past him and smacked into some barrels of petroleum. These exploded in a deafening shriek. A fireball rose fifty feet into the air as burning fuel rained down and set fire to anything in its path. Crewmembers having to sit by and watch it burn because of the planes still coming in. Bill looked out of the side of his cockpit and saw a pall of black smoke trailing the freighter. Two crewmen left their cover and ran for a fire hose. The concept of being burnt alive more terrifying than the bullets. They saw the last plane coming in and they saw the torpedo drop into the water.



The lid of the sarcophagus hit the floor with a crash. Mufasa and Domingo had heard the explosion two decks above. Their greed for gold had kept them here. The explosion had rocked the ship and moved the sarcophagus lid. Now they’d been able to lever it off. Excitedly they each grabbed a lamp and held it over the open tomb.

Gold!

Coins, cups, plates, statues. The finest funerary items ever seen.

They both stared puzzled.

There was none of it.

Just a painted wooden coffin and four canopic jars.

Mufasa stared open mouthed.

“Where is my gold?”

He reached in and tried to feel around the wooden coffin. It filled the sarcophagus. There was no room for anything else. Another explosion rocked the freighter. More fuel drums exploding on deck.

Mufasa looked up at Domingo.

“I thought it would be full of gold.”

“You arrogant ass! You’ve killed us for this!”



The torpedo exploded into the stern of the ship almost blowing it from the water. The captain and the first mate were thrown forward by the impact. The sarcophagus broke free of its bonds and crushed the legs of Domingo. He screamed in panic, trying to free himself as the sea rushed in. Mufasa waded through the rapidly rising water to try to free him. The sea water was soon over Domingo’s head and his hands frantically scrabbled at Mufasa’s legs until they ceased.

“I’m sorry my friend,” Mufasa said struggling up the stairs. Another explosion rocked the ship throwing Mufasa back into the hold. The sea was now almost to the roof. Mufasa kicked to the roof and found an air pocket. His freighter was going down by the stern, of that he was certain. He took a deep breath and dived, swimming for the stairs. Something was blocking them. He swam back to the air pocket and panicked when he found it was gone. He turned frantically in the water looking for an escape but the light just caused murky, blurred shadows that danced and twisted in his eyes. Mufasa tried again to find a way out then desperate for a breath he opened his mouth and felt his lungs fill with water.

Within minutes the ship had disappeared under the waves. A slick of debris all that remained.

Bill Smith flew by for a last time.

“Leader to base. German merchant freighter torpedoed. Vessel destroyed. No, repeat, No survivors. Leader out.”

He flicked the switch for plane to plane.

“That’s it boys. Mission complete. Return to base.”



Colonel Hans Koenig stood at the dock staring across the sea. His arm in a sling. His chest and shoulder heavily bandaged. His two British guards sitting idly by smoking cigarettes.

For Koenig the war was over.

Rushton had given him the privileges of rank. He was the only German not detained in the Medina. He was unsure of his future. That rested in the hands of General Francis Tuker. Alf and Johnny were repairing the disabled boats when a soldier approached causing Alf to glance up. The soldier handed him a piece of paper. Alf accepted it, returned the salute, and read it. He looked over at Koenig and headed for him.

Koenig was watching tiny fish swimming around the pillars that supported the concrete. He turned at the approaching footsteps and smiled as Alf stopped alongside. Alf smiled back. Hours ago these men had been enemies. Now it felt, somehow, different.

“Colonel I’ve just received a report. General Tuker will be arriving at any time ahead of his 4 Indian army. The 11 Panzer is on the run but the bulk of it has been smashed. Your General Von Arnim was captured two days ago.”

Koenig watched the fish again.

“Von Arnim is a good man Lieutenant. What will the British do to him?”

“He will probably be detained until the war is over and presumably be returned to Germany. He may stand trial. That is not for me to decide.”

“No of course not.”

Then a thought.

“It’s ironic isn’t it. Yesterday those two men over there tried to kill me. The small one threw the knife,” Koenig said lifting his bandaged arm to indicate his injury, “And now they are my guards.”

“The war is over for you Colonel but not for them. They will continue the fight.”

“I’m sorry that we’re enemies Alfred….If I may call you Alfred?”

Alf nodded his approval.

“Thank you.”

“I’m not your enemy Colonel just the flag you fight under.”

“I’ve only ever had an administrative position in the Wehrmacht. I’ve been based in Berlin my whole military career. I was ordered out here by General Hans Von Brockhorst.”

“What were you doing out here and what was in that sarcophagus?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Hitler’s dream.”

Alf laughed.

“Well Hitler’s dream is now at the bottom of the ocean.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. The freighter that escaped just as we took the town was destroyed by a torpedo.”

“A torpedo.”

“Yes one of our air patrols spotted it and it was attacked. They torpedoed it. Your ship is gone.”

“And survivors.”

“None. None found alive. The Doctor’s body was the only one recovered. He was easy to recognise because of his white suit.”

“I was supposed to be on that ship.”

Alf stood by watching the little fish.

“Are there truly no survivors?”

Alf shook his head.

“Hitler’s dream is gone,” Koenig said more to himself than the Englishman standing next to him.

“Who or what was in that sarcophagus?”

Koenig looked around to see who was within earshot. There were many people about. He leaned over and whispered in Alf’s ear. Alf’s eyes widened. He stared into Koenig’s eyes. Koenig met the gaze.

“It’s true Alfred I swear it. The greatest archaeological find in human history and it’s out there somewhere,” he nodded at the sea, “Lost again. This time, maybe forever.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Do you understand the importance of what I’ve just told you.”

“Yes. Yes of course I do.”

“I for one will never speak of it again. For as long as I live.”

“You’ll never be able to keep something like this quiet. People will find out.”

“Let them. But they won’t hear it from me.”

“It probably doesn’t matter anyway. That freighter went down in minutes. It’s probably by now buried under the wreck.”

“But it is out there somewhere.”

Alf heard the engine as Johnny started the boat they had been working on.

“I have work to do,” he offered his hand smiling. Koenig stared down at it for a moment then took the handshake firmly.

“Good bye Alfred.”

Alf only got a few steps when he turned back.

“Oh I nearly forgot,” he fished in his trouser pocket, removing something and throwing it to Koenig, who caught it. Alf raised his hand once more in farewell and was gone.

Koenig slowly opened his hand to reveal the dog tags.

“Major Otto Wurtz, SS,” he said aloud, “Elsa’s husband. And the most evil bastard I’ve ever encountered.”

He continued studying them for a moment running the tags and chain between his thumb and forefinger. Then grunting with the pain he drew his arm back and launched them into the sea. They fell into the water with a gentle plop. Koenig stood watching the small ripples until they disappeared then turned and headed for the square as the first of General Tuker’s jeeps entered the town.