Just in Time.
A Short Story
Written by B R Walker.
As the train pulled away from the small alpine station it started to build up speed leaving the platform covered in a white smog which slowly disappeared revealing the stature of a high ranking German SS officer. Standartefuhrer Colonel Friedrich Hans Mueller stood silent eying up the scene before him, with all the traits of a typical Aryan German the prime example of Hitler’s Third Reich. The small number of battle weary soldiers on the platform came to attention on seeing this figure, turning to a lower ranking officer he asked in an authoritarian tone, “Your name?” “Captain Herman Schwartz sir”, “Where is the prisoner?” Schwartz immediately came to attention saluting with an Heil Hitler. Pointing to the stationmasters office, “In there sir”.
Mueller entered the room, there sat on a chair with his hands and legs tied was the British prisoner Captain Roberts. Taking off one leather glove the SS officer walked over to Roberts and slapped him across the face twice, which twisted in pain and surprise.
“Where is the key, I require that key”.
Roberts battered face and bruised body from previous beatings and interrogations he'd endured while in captivity stared back in silence at this Aryan pit bull terrier! Mueller beckoned to the solider behind a desk, “Turn over the timer”….Now!
“Captain Roberts, tell me where that key is or you’ll be shot, do you really want to die for such a small thing as a key?” Roberts sat there staring as the sand began to trickle through the small egg timer thinking to himself, “Where the hell are they”.
Slapping one thigh with a leather glove, something this Colonel Mueller seemed to relish for some reason, he seemed deep in thought pacing back and forth across the tiny room, stifling through lack of ventilation. Going over to Roberts again, “Where is the key, tell me you can live”.
Through the office window Captain Roberts could see the station clock ticking away it was nearly 12 noon, glancing across to the table, his time was also running out, but could he out maneuver it. He could only wait and hope.
The German approached yet again this time he seemed worried over something and Roberts sensed it. “Captain Roberts do you really want to die”? Silence.
“You English are so stubborn, King and country eh, tell me and you’ll live, think about your wife and children back in England, don’t you want to see them again”.
Roberts didn’t speak. The Colonel took out his Luger checking it was loaded staring at the Captain menacingly.
Glancing across at the timer again then at the station clock, time was just about up for him he was thinking, he sat there waiting for the end he knew he would be shot, but he also knew he could never have reveled the whereabouts of that key.
Taking what he thought was probably his last look through that damn window at the clock and onto the world outside just before the big hand hit twelve making it twelve noon.
Roberts closed his eyes and waited to be shot.
A rapid sound of gunfire echoed through the small room and along the station platform where the German soldiers had been standing waiting the outcome of the interrogations.
Captain Roberts opened his eyes, he was alive and the Germans in the room were all dead including the SS officer who lay at his feet gun in his hand blood pouring from his body.
Standing in the doorway was a typical looking French fellow wearing a beret a broad grin and holding a smoking machine gun with white smoke still filtering from the nossel. “Viva La France, Viva La France, Viva La France”.
“You left it a little late didn’t you shouted Roberts to him”.
“Monsieur we are the French resistance come to rescue you and get you back to England, we are told you are a very important man my name is Marcel and these are my men”. He walked over and untied the Captain from the chair.
“Monsieur you are a very lucky fellow eh”.
“Well you could say that Marcel, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
The French man produced a bottle of wine from inside his coat pocket and handed it over to the Captain. “Here you drink the death of these Germans eh”. He took a large gulp, not the best wine he’d tasted but it felt good in the circumstances.
He smiled with relieve, and thanked God he was still alive.
Now where the hell did I hide that key!
THE END
by B R Walker
Copywriter UK 2017