The Polikarpovs glided in low to deliver their payloads, some skimming the treetops, over which they began to drop phosphorous pellets, which ignited everything they touched. The trees and shrubbery were soon ablaze, and Johann knew that those soldiers unlucky enough to receive phosphorous burns would die a slow and painful death.
‘Take cover!’ Johann called to his remaining machine-gun units. Experience told him that his men were unlikely to bring one of these Nachthexen down. The biplanes, which were essentially modified crop dusters, were strongly built, and his men, gathered in clusters around their gun emplacements, were easy targets. Their best defence was to scatter and wait out the attack.
The snick-snick of the biplanes’ engines started up again as soon as they passed by, and Johann peered up from his cover to watch their shadows pass overhead in the darkness like the winged, fire-breathing beasts they were. It seemed the enemy would not allow them a moment’s rest in their retreat from Vienna. The Nachthexen had done their job well, but their raid on Johann’s position was only the beginning. Within half an hour the shelling began, and now that their position was lit up by the burning trees and foliage, Johann and his unit were easy targets.
The first barrage landed short and Johann gave the order to push on along the road towards Linz. The only vehicles he and his makeshift unit had managed to pull out of Vienna with were an open top VW Kübelwagen and two Zündapp sidecar motorcycles—one of which had run out of fuel several miles back. Thankfully they had not yet been hit, but even so, while the vehicles had proven useful for carrying supplies and a few wounded Kameraden, the unit as a whole could only move as fast as those who were on foot.
Johann made for the Kübelwagen, which was parked a hundred yards or so along the road, beneath a canopy of branches at the roadside. Further in, the burning trees continued to crackle and flame, illuminating the way. He called over to one of his men.
‘Bring the wounded. Schnell!’
As Johann turned back to the car, he saw someone jump in. It was Rottenführer Protz. The car’s engine started and the vehicle pulled away, wheels slipping in the loose dirt beside the road.
‘Protz!’ Johann yelled.
He pulled out his Luger and took aim, knowing that this man’s cowardly attempt to save his own life would mean the wounded would have to be left behind. He fired a shot and saw the bullet clip the car with a spark, but Protz did not stop. Johann took aim again, but this time as he pulled the trigger he did not hear the gun’s report over the shells that suddenly burst around him. The ground shook at his feet, unsteadying him. He saw the car take a hit and flip into the air. Then he heard screaming behind him and he turned around to see a man staggering towards him, flames consuming him as others ran into the trees in wild panic.
Johann was reminded of the woods near Romanovka, where he had earlier received his wounds, and he wanted to warn his men to stay out of the trees, but at that very moment he felt a searing pain at the back of his head as another hail of Soviet shells erupted. Something struck him out of nowhere, and for the briefest moment he was aware that he was falling.
Then darkness fell with him.
Chapter Thirty
Present day.
It was apparent to Tayte as soon as the taxi pulled up at the gates to Trudi Strobel’s significant home that Tobias Kaufmann had not understated her wealth. She had clearly done very well for herself since the war, despite having been left with next to nothing because of her association with her war-criminal husband. Given that Tobias had said she had never remarried, worked, or owned a business herself, the main question turning through Tayte’s mind as he approached the intercom and pressed the call button was where her wealth had come from. He had a few ideas, which he expected Trudi would soon confirm, and he hoped he could also persuade her to talk about Volker Strobel.
Jean was beside him. By the time Tayte had collected her from the hospital with his wilting bunch of flowers and had taken her back to the hotel, there had been little time left before his appointment with Trudi—just long enough to book them both onto a return flight to London the following evening while Jean fetched her jacket and changed into her jeans and a pale yellow, V-neck sweater.
Having brought Jean up to date with everything that had happened since he’d left her that morning, and despite Tayte’s suggestion that she might like to rest at the hotel, she had insisted on seeing Trudi with him and he could do little to dissuade her. Her neck brace was off. Her hospital test results were good. Apart from a few bumps and bruises here and there she was her usual self again. Only now she seemed to have a renewed sense of determination to make the most of their now limited time in Munich. As the main gates powered open and Tayte and Jean walked the drive towards the house, they had time to take the estate in.
‘It must be worth millions,’ Tayte said.