Where Eagles Dare

by Alistair MacLean

‘I don’t think so.’ Admiral Rolland spoke gently and for the first time, moving from the wall-map to join the group. Admiral Rolland always spoke gently. When you wielded the almost incredible range of power that he did, you didn’t have to talk loudly to make yourself heard.

The castle itself was another dream, the dream of the apotheosis of medievalism. This dream, Smith was aware, was as illusory as the golden age of its setting. It wasn’t medieval at all, it had been built as late as the mid-nineteenth century to the express order of one of the madder of the Bavarian monarchs who had suffered from a comprehensive list of delusions, of which grandeur had not been the least. But, delusions or not, he had had, as the deluded so often have—to the dismay and consternation of their allegedly saner brethren—impeccable taste.

Below the soaring northern ramparts of the castle the valley fell away steeply to the Blau See, beautiful pine-fringed jewel of a lake of the deepest and most sparkling blue, a colour which with the green of the pines, the white dazzle of the snow and the brilliant, lighter blue of the sky above formed a combination of breath-taking loveliness, Impossibly lovely, Smith thought, a completely faithful colour reproduction of the scene would have had everybody shouting ‘fake’.

‘What I mean is, they’re really going to go after us now. With everything they have. They’ve Doberman pinschers up at the castle and I’ve no doubt they have them at the camp too. They’ve only to bring them to the station, sniff our gear, have them circle the station, pick up our scent and that’s it. Smith and Schaffer torn to shreds. I’ll take on the Alpenkorps by numbers, but I draw the line at Doberman pinschers, boss.’

‘You heard?’ Mary said emptily. Her face was as drained of life as her voice. ‘I heard—and I don’t believe it.’ ‘Why should they lie?’ ‘They believe it.’ Heidi’s tone was impatient, almost rough. ‘It’s time you stopped loving and started thinking. The Major Smiths of this world don’t drive over cliff edges.’ ‘Talk is easy, Heidi.’ ‘So is giving up. I believe he is alive. And if he is, and if he comes here and you’re gone or not there to help him, you know what he’ll be then?’ Mary made no reply, just gazed emptily into Heidi’s face. ‘He’ll be dead. He’ll be dead because you let him down. Would he let you down?’

Her voice was imploring, almost despairing. ‘They know—or will any minute—that you’re alive. They know who you are. They’ll be expecting you up there.’ ‘Ah, but you overlook the subtleties, my dear Heidi,’ Schaffer put in. ‘What they don’t know is that we are expecting them to be expecting us. At least, that’s what I think I mean.’

‘Suits her, doesn’t it?’ Schaffer said suddenly. Harsh edges of strain blurred his voice and his face was tight and desperate. ‘A lovely name.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ Smith demanded. ‘Heidi.’ ‘Oh, my God!’ Smith stared up at the rapidly closing header station. ‘Her name is Ethel.’

‘There’s that. How are you on immobilizing helicopters, Lieutenant Schaffer? Your report states that you were an up-and-coming racing driver and a very competent mechanic before they scraped the bottom of the barrel and dragged you in.’ ‘I volunteered,’ Schaffer said with dignity. ‘About the competence, I dunno. But give me a four-pound hammer and I’ll sure as little fishes immobilize anything from a bull-dozerto a bicycle.’ ‘And without the four-pounder? This is not a boilermakers’ convention.’ ‘I have been known to use finesse.’

Schaffer was already climbing the steps up to the helicopter. The guard was now only feet from the base of the ladder. He’d his hands out of his pockets now and was flailing his arms across his shoulders in an attempt to keep warm. Thirty seconds later Schaffer climbed down the ladder again, carrying some piece of equipment in his left hand. He reached the ground, lifted the piece of equipment for a closer inspection, shook his head in disgust, lifted his right hand in a vague half-greeting to the uncaring German guard and headed for the main door again.

‘Unheard of for a Reichsmarschall’s personal pilot to walk away and leave a job half done.’ ‘Would it be unheard of for him to take a piece of mechanism inside and repair it under cover?’ Mary asked sweetly. ‘Or perhaps you haven’t seen a thermometer tonight?’ ‘I’m getting as bad as the old commandant and his witchhunts,’ von Brauchitsch said sadly. He moved on, shaking his head. ‘You see before you a horrible example of the dangers of being too long in my business: the obvious answer is far too obvious for shrewd and cunning intellects like ours.

He glanced briefly at Schaffer, but only briefly: the American’s face, though thoughtful, was calm and unworried: there were those who might require helpful words, encouragement and reassurance, but Schaffer was not one of them.

Smith was beside him. He had fished out a plastic explosive from the bag on his back and torn off the friction fuse. He handed the package to Schaffer and said: ‘You have a good right arm.’ ‘I have a good right arm. Horses, no. Baseball, yes.’ Schaffer took aim and lobbed the explosive neatly through the doorway of the disappearing cable-car. ‘Like that?’ ‘Like that. Come on.’

‘Two hours! I’ve aged twenty years tonight. And that, lady, is one helluva long courtship. Oh, God!’ He watched in wearily resigned despair as Smith climbed into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition. ‘Here we go for another twenty. On the floor, everyone.’ ‘How about you?’ Heidi asked. ‘Me?’ Schaffer’s surprise seemed genuine. He smashed the front window with the butt of the Schmeisser, reversed the gun, released the trigger and knelt on the floor. ‘I’m the conductor. It’s against regulations.’

Schaffer shortened his gaze and tried to locate the three others, but all were on the floor, under seats and completely concealed. He cursed as the shaking and shuddering bus lurched violently, throwing him against the right-hand front door, then straightened and peered at the illuminated dashboard. ‘God save us all,’ he said piously. ‘Ninety!’ ‘Kilometres,’ Smith said patiently.

Schaffer shook his head in wonder, rose, closed the rear door, sat in the back seat, lit a cigarette, tossed the spent match through the smashed rear window and observed: ‘You’re a lucky lot to have me around.’ ‘All this and modesty, too,’ Heidi said, admiringly.

The Wing Commander was hardly exaggerating. In the far distance the silhouette of the Weissspitze was but dimly seen, but there was no mistaking the intensity of the great fire blazing half-way up the mountain-side. Occasionally, great gouts of red flame and what looked like gigantic fireworks could be seen soaring high above the main body of the fire. ‘Explosives or boxes of ammunition going up, I’d say,’ Carpenter said pensively. ‘That’s the Schloss Adler, of course. Were any of your boys carrying matches?’ ‘They must have been.’ Wyatt-Turner stared impassively at the distant blaze. ‘It’s quite a sight.’

‘Yes, sir. There’s one thing, sir, a small thing. I want to get married this morning.’ ‘You what?’ Grey bushy eyebrows lifted towards the mane of white hair. ‘I want to get married,’ Smith explained slowly and patiently. ‘To Miss Mary Ellison.’ ‘But you can’t,’ Rolland protested. ‘This morning! Impossible! There are such things as banns, permits, the registrar’s office will be shut today—’ ‘After all I’ve done for you,’ Smith interrupted reproachfully. ‘Blackmail, sir! You play on an old man’s gratitude. Downright blackmail!’ Rolland banged down the phone, smiled tiredly and picked up another phone. ‘Operator? Put me through to the Forgery Section.’