Chapter 132: Priceless Cargo
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At a small checkpoint on the German border with Poland, two Wehrmacht soldiers shouldering rifles watched the civilians lining up to cross. To the side of the civilians, a dozen SS men were checking their documents and searching their packages.
A truck was parked on the side of the road. Two SS officers stood nearby, smoking and chatting. Their voices were not low, and they clearly had nothing to hide. “Captain Lucian, what day is this?”
“The seventh day,” the captain named Lucian replied, pointing to the queue of people. “The order from above is that we must find the missing item. This involves a very large plan, so we must be cautious.”
“Have you heard about that fellow Kohl? The one who was transferred to the Wehrmacht’s motorized transport training course,” the other officer, a lieutenant, asked with a frown as he took a deep drag from his cigarette. “What a lucky guy.”
“You mean the Kohl who bought a car a few days ago?” Captain Lucian glanced at his colleague, his eyes filled with a mix of envy and resignation. “That guy disappeared for a few days, and when he came back, he was tanned as black as a piece of coal. But he’s become much more generous. He gave each of us old colleagues a carton of cigarettes and bought a new car. So extravagant.”
“I hear he went over there,” the lieutenant said with a purse of his lips. “And came back rich and promoted. He’s a major now, you know. I heard he’s been transferred back to the SS.”
At this, he lowered his voice and whispered, “The 2nd SS Division. I hear he’s commanding dozens of tanks. Quite impressive.”
Lucian blew a puff of white smoke to the side and replied with a sour tone, “Yeah, what else is there to say about being transferred back there.”
He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stamped it out viciously with his foot. “Right now, the Wehrmacht is getting tactical vests and new rifles, looking all sharp and proper. The Waffen-SS is also flourishing, even calling themselves the ‘Führer’s Personal Army,’ and their treatment is on another level.”
“Isn’t that the truth? All we get here is obsolete, old equipment. Last year, we received a batch of MP38 submachine guns, and I was thrilled. But after chatting with the commander of the transport unit that delivered them, I found out it was because the Wehrmacht was upgrading to new gear, and these were their cast-offs…” the lieutenant beside him said with a nod.
“Hey! You over there! Yes, you!” Captain Lucian shouted, pointing at a peasant woman with a basket not far away. “Take your hand out of that basket! Slowly!”
At his gesture, several German soldiers immediately surrounded her, their faces menacing as they aimed their rifles and submachine guns.
The peasant woman raised her hands high, scared out of her wits. “My God! I haven’t done anything! Don’t kill me!”
From her reaction, it was clear it was a misunderstanding, but a German soldier still went forward and rummaged through the basket full of potatoes. “Sir! There’s nothing in the basket! It’s all potatoes,” he reported, while casually stuffing a dark potato into his own pocket.
He couldn’t be blamed for skimming a little off the top. The second-line SS units were severely marginalized by the Wehrmacht, and their material supplies were not always sufficient. For example, regular Wehrmacht troops at least had their fill of potatoes and vegetables for three meals a day, and the Waffen-SS, with party sponsorship, might even get meat soup once a week. But for the pitiful SS Reserve, there was only vegetable soup and black bread… This had taught the grunts at the bottom to scrounge for useful things wherever they could.
Besides, most of the time, these SS soldiers wouldn’t be so bold as to randomly take things from civilians. But today, they had been ordered to set up a checkpoint here and question passersby, and those being checked were all Poles leaving the country. So, on the principle of “it’s a crime not to take what’s offered,” they committed a minor transgression.
Captain Lucian walked over quickly and, with two soldiers, carefully searched the woman’s basket. They also checked her documents and travel pass.
Finally, under the woman’s terrified gaze, Lucian waved his hand, signaling his men to let her go. “Let her get back in line. She didn’t come from within Germany. She just crossed the border yesterday to secretly buy some potatoes.”
The tense atmosphere eased, and the people continued to queue up, preparing to pass through the border checkpoint, while the German soldiers continued to check their documents one by one.
A man in a black fedora at the end of the line frowned. He reached his hand into the inner pocket of his trench coat and touched the iron box inside. He was under orders to carry this iron box across the border checkpoint. He had been told it contained top-level intelligence crucial to the life and death of his motherland.
It looked like he wouldn’t be able to get through here. The man in the black fedora sighed softly, turned, and left the queue, walking slowly away. He did not look back, nor did he dare to walk too quickly, for fear of attracting the attention of the German soldiers.
Captain Lucian, who had already started walking back with the lieutenant, suddenly stopped. He turned and scanned the queuing crowd. He had wanted to use the atmosphere of panic created by the harsh search just now to flush out any suspicious individuals. He hadn’t held out much hope, but as a result, he immediately spotted the man in the black fedora walking away with his back to him.
“Stop! The man in the hat!” Lucian shouted.
Several soldiers holding guns looked at their commander, then followed his gaze to the man who was now holding his hat and running quickly toward a patch of grass.
“Stop!” several soldiers yelled, aiming their guns at his back.
“What are you standing around for? Shoot!” Lucian shouted as he drew his own pistol from its holster. “Shoot him! Don’t let him get away!”
“Bang!” A soldier with a rifle fired. Several civilians nearby ducked down in fear. But it was clear this soldier’s marksmanship was not very good. By the time he lowered his rifle to work the bolt and reload, the man in the fedora was still running away.
“Bang!” The second shot rang out. This time, the bullet flew from the muzzle and, in an instant, crossed the distance of several dozen meters, accurately drilling into the man’s shoulder. Blood splattered, and the man pitched forward, looking extremely wretched.
“Get him! Quick!” Seeing the man fall, Lucian didn’t bother with his own pistol and just ran over. As he ran, he shouted to the lieutenant behind him, “He might have accomplices! Maintain order in the queue. Every single person must be checked again! No slacking!”
The lieutenant, who by this time already had his pistol in hand, heard Lucian’s instructions and immediately gave orders to the soldiers around him. “Load your weapons! Check everyone carefully! Confirm these people’s identities! If anyone dares to make a move, open fire immediately.”
Just as his order was given, the sound of rifle bolts being worked rang out. The few Wehrmacht soldiers near the guard post also raised their rifles with grim expressions. The atmosphere instantly tensed up again. Some women in the crowd began to cry softly, clearly frightened by the gunshots.
Over on the other side, Lucian and several soldiers had already surrounded the shot man in the fedora. They approached the target on the ground cautiously, shouting as they moved closer, “Sir! Put your hands where we can see them! Quick! Or I don’t mind firing a couple more shots!”
The fallen man turned over in pain, revealing his left hand. Blood had soaked through his trench coat, and he was breathing heavily, seemingly not long for this world. But when his right hand came out, it was clutching a small, delicate pistol.
“Bang!” “Bang!” “Bang!” The fully alert German soldiers gave him no chance to resist. More than one person opened fire. Several of them had subconsciously pulled their triggers. Soon, the man in the fedora was lying in a pool of blood, silent and still.
Lucian walked over, kicked the body on the ground, then crouched down and searched its pockets. His movements paused, and he pulled out a small iron box. He carefully gave the box a little shake. A crisp metallic clinking sound came from inside.
Lucian smiled, a very happy smile. This achievement would probably be enough to get him promoted to major. It might even get him transferred directly to the Waffen-SS. In that case, the days of driving a car and living in a nice house were not far off. The lieutenant came over and handed Lucian a cigarette.
“What is it?” the lieutenant asked as he lit Lucian’s cigarette.
“The higher-ups said that some very important intelligence was stolen by a spy. A few days ago, the Wehrmacht intelligence section caught a woman. A dozen men worked her over for a whole night before the bitch finally talked,” Lucian said, explaining the situation in a suggestive tone as he smoked.
“She handled two film canisters, both top-secret documents. She had no authority to know the specific contents, but they were definitely very important. I never expected to find them today! Looks like our promotion day isn’t far off!” Lucian blew a smoke ring, then triumphantly opened the metal box for the lieutenant. “Look!”
Inside the metal box lay a short, round iron canister, clearly for holding film. But there was only one, looking lonely in the corner of the box.
The lieutenant’s face turned ashen. He looked up at Captain Lucian. “Where… where’s the other one?”
“The phone? Where’s the phone?” Lucian ran in a panic toward the checkpoint’s guard post.
He rushed into the post, grabbed the phone, and yelled, “This is Captain Lucian of the SS Reserve Army! I have an important military intelligence report! Connect me to SS Headquarters, quickly!”
“This is the dedicated line for the 44th Wehrmacht Border Guard Division’s checkpoint. If you want to call the SS, you need to use a different phone,” the person on the other end replied in a deliberately annoying voice.
“…” Lucian felt a strong urge to curse.
Berlin, Wehrmacht High Command Intelligence Section. Major General Gascoigne was standing at attention, reporting on the execution of the mission to Führer Akado over the phone. “My Führer, everything is proceeding according to plan… Yes!… Yes!… A part of it was intercepted at the border, but the real item has already been arranged… It arrived in Poland safely, with a little bit of excitement but no real danger. Yes!… Heil Führer!”
