Heroes by David Hagberg (reading cloud ebooks TXT) 📗

goods and piled at one end. Deland found a hard wooden seat toward the middle, shoved his suitcase and radio beneath, and settled back, his hat low over his eyes as if he wanted to sleep.

He kept seeing Katrina lying on the floor in Maria’s kitchen.

Mingled with that was the look on Schlechter’s face when he went down. What had they said or done to Katrina from the time he had left until he had returned? That’s what bothered him most.

She had been dressed only in his sweater. Had they forced her to disrobe in front of them, and then, dress? Had they used her for their own little perverted sideshow?

He had never really gotten to know Maria, but Rudy Schlechter had been a nice man. At least he had been outwardly warm and friendly. Deland had never been able to trust him, of course, but he would have been happy if it had turned out that Rudy was not Gestapo.

The train whistle blew, and they moved slowly out of the station.

The blinds were closed on all of the windows, and only a few dim red lights were lit in the car, making it impossible for anyone to look at a newspaper or to read a book.

There hadn’t been an Allied bombing raid in these parts for some time now, but Berlin was hit regularly. Trains coming in and out of the city were often favorite targets.

They gradually built up speed, the car swaying rhythmically, and Deland settled back. No one else was seated with him, so he put his feet up. The car was very warm, but there was a small, very cold draft coming through the window frame where he laid his head. It felt good, although he knew that if he fell asleep with the cold on his head, he’d awaken with stuffed sinuses.

For a long time he lay there like that, not moving, listening to the sounds of the train, listening to the other passengers talking.

They passed a crossing, and a bell rang, the Doppler effect raising the pitch of the bell until they passed it, and then lowering it.

Most train schedules, and all train routes through the Reich were classified, to thwart men such as Deland from making their way easily across the country. But it was a simple matter to do as Deland was doing. Take a train from city to city with no mind for the time or the exact route.

From Berlin he would travel to Leipzig. From there to Nuremberg, then on to Munich, and finally across the old Alpenstrasse to the Swiss border near Radolfzell, where he would cross on foot.

He could visualize the route. It would be very dangerous in Berlin, and again in Bavaria, not only because of the German authorities—civil as well as military—but because of the Allied bombing raids, too.

Wouldn’t it be ironic, the thought crossed his mind, to have come this far only to be blown to bits by an American bomb.

A blast of cold air swept through the car and Deland looked up sharply. The conductor and two men in dark overcoats and wide-brimmed hats had come into the car. They stopped at the first seats. The passengers handed up something which the conductor took. Tickets, probably, Deland figured. But then the passengers also handed up something to one of the civilians.

Even in the very dim red light Deland could see they were identification booklets. Probably travel passes and work cards as well.

The Gestapo could not have discovered what had gone on in Maria’s apartment. Not yet. It was impossible. His heart sank.

Impossible, unless Katrina had awakened and had called them. If she had, they were looking for him. And they’d know exactly where to look.

He was going to have to get off the train. Now! He sat up slowly, so as not to attract any attention, and using the toe of his boot, he slid his radio out from beneath the seat. He’d leave his suitcase, he didn’t think he could get out of here unnoticed with it. There was nothing incriminating in it, in any event. But the radio was simply too important to leave.

The conductor and civilians, who were probably Gestapo, had moved up a couple more rows. Deland started to get up, when someone shouted something.

One of the Gestapo agents reached down and pulled a young man to his feet, then shoved him out into the aisle.

The other civilian punched the boy in the chest, sending him sprawling. The first man kicked the boy in the ribs.

None of the other passengers dared to look.

“Traitor,” one of the Gestapo shouted. “It’ll be to the East for you.”

He and his partner dragged the young man down the aisle and out the door. The conductor followed them.

Gradually the hum of conversation increased in the car, and Deland, whose heart was hammering, sat back in his seat and once again closed his eyes. But there’d be no sleep for him, he suspected. Not this night.

Berlin had come under attack. Thirty miles away, the passengers on the train could see the flash of the bombs going off— even through the blackout shades on the windows. And twenty miles out they could hear the pounding of the bombs and the heavy thump of the antiaircraft guns.

They had been stopped well north of the city’s suburbs in Oranienburg for about an hour, until the bombs began to subside.

Then they were allowed through Reinickdendorft and Wedding, then into the heart of the city itself.

The train stopped again; this time the rear door opened and the conductor came aboard. It was after midnight.

“Stettiner Station,” he called. “Stettiner Station.” He ducked back outside.

Deland got off the train with the other passengers, the odors of smoke and plaster dust very strong. There were a lot of people milling around, most of them apparently waiting to board the trains leaving the city.

Shouldering his radio and hefting his suitcase, he pushed his way through the crowd at the ticket barrier and started into the