The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Six - The Shadow Retreats

George

In another fortunate turn of events that seemed too good to be true, we had no trouble finding a place to stay and a bite to eat. After a full nights' sleep and a hearty breakfast, we set off for the train station without turning heads. Either this lot wasn't too sympathetic to the war, or they dealt with this kind of thing all the time.

     'Funny, none of them struck me as the type to turn us over to the Wehrmacht,' Paulie said, rubbing the back of his neck.

     'None of them seem to be supporters of the war either,' I pointed out. 'Reckon they think the Allies are winning after all?'

     'Dunno,' he said with a shrug. 'That's the hope, isn't it?'

     We drew stares as we waited on the platform for the train, from civilians and soldiers alike. I hoped we wouldn't be stopped and asked for leave papers, especially because we didn't have any sort of identification except our tags. Those clearly singled us out as RAF pilots, and therefore the enemy.

     'Think they suspect us?' Paulie leaned over at one point to mutter into my ear.

     'Hope not,' I said, because even though our flight suits were clean, we still seemed to give off a clear foreigner air, like a smell we couldn't wash away. 'Don't stare back. It'll make you look suspicious.'

     We made a point to appear as if we didn't notice, asking for cigarettes off the German businessman reading a newspaper near us. He seemed to be placated by my rough grasp of the language, and handed over his cigarette tin.

     Halfway through our cigarettes, the train's whistle sounded in the distance. To me it was the sound of our deliverance. We were nearly home free, and bound for safety. We'd risked everything to make it here, and the ordeal was almost over. At least, that was the hope.

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Paulie fell asleep a half-hour in. I got up to use the loo, and since I couldn't think of sitting still anymore, I walked up the length of the train. Coming from Berlin, more than a few of the passengers in first class were in Nazi uniforms. None of them even so much as spoke to me, although when a couple of them glanced up at me as I passed, I had to resist the urge to bolt for cover.

     Halfway down the first-class dining car my ears distinctly caught the word 'Elemental' in a conversation between a stocky blond German man in a plain black suit and a soldier dressed in a Nazi uniform. I signaled to the waiter, who hurried over. I indicated the table nearest me and held up one finger. He nodded and pulled the chair facing the window, away from them, out for me. Now I could listen to the conversation and avoid suspicion.

     'So tell me again, Herr Wittenberg, why we are here,' said the soldier, his English heavily accented. He spoke with the perfect grammar of a schoolbook–clearly English wasn't his native language.

     'We have a contact in Hamburg, Hans, I told you,' said Wittenberg. His voice was clearer, his German accent faint. 'After we stop in Essen, we'll be taking the route up by way of Bremen. Or do you really need me to draw another map for you?'

     That was a relief. At least they weren't following us to Brussels. Belgium was on the Allied side, not yet in the Nazi's grip.

     'There is vital information to be found there, I presume?' asked Hans hopefully.

     'You think I would make the trip if I did not think it was important?' Wittenberg snapped.

     'Yes, you're right. Apologies.' Hans seemed only faintly apologetic.