Lt. JACK TAYLOR

A low voice spoke quietly in the dark, “I doubt if they will be back; they usually go to the barracks about this time. At least they have done so every night for the last two months. Germans like to eat. Tonight is pork night. Ugh! I cannot not imagine the eating of a filthy pig. Allah forbids the eating of such an animal.”

The men were startled, “Who is there?”

“I am Berät. I have been waiting here for almost three hours. I have finally lost my radio. It was hidden in a barn loft near the city and the Germans found it by direction finders and dropped two bombs on the barn and farmhouse. Any information we gather, you will have to carry out with you. Follow me.” His English was almost perfect. He left the riverbank and took them southwest but still towards the sea.

Pete positioned himself in the rear. Berät had handed him a German MG-40 machine gun. The markings indicated it had been manufactured in the Seudetenland in 1938. That area, bounded by the Seudeten Mountains was mostly inhabited by German speakers; often referred to as Der Sudetendeutschelanders—the Sudeten Land Germans.

Twenty minutes later, they were crawling through reeds and brackish salt water pools. Berät held up his left hand, “There is an ammo dump by those piles of logs. See it. It is almost buried in the sand. Only the roof shows and it’s camouflaged. There are rock lined stairs going down towards the riverbank on the northwest.”

Jack marked the dump on the map near the known bunkers already marked by the OSS Captain back in Egypt. “We need to mark troop sleeping quarters. Which way are they?”

“We must follow the shore for a ways. That is the main location and about five-hundred are stationed there. There is a mix of Roman and Hun soldiers here. The Navy Germans sleep upstream a few kilometers.”

They followed the shoreline for two more hours. Another small stream ran out into the sea and on the far side of the river they could see over thirty troop trucks and half-tracks.

“This is the motor pool and mechanic shop for the patrols. This is the most I have seen here. Usually there are more vehicles out on their rounds. They may be low on fuel. The Luftwaffe takes top priority for fuel.” Lieutenant Taylor marked his map.

“We’ll follow the shore for a few more kilometers and then catch a boxcar train going away from the sea. I will show you two large airfields. One has fighters and transports and the other has light bombers. There are only a few fighter planes in this area. They have sent most of them to France. Many of the small bombers do not work. No parts.” They kept walking slowly.

“We’ll cross some railroad tracks just ahead. The tracks have been bombed a few times, but they have not been damaged much. The Roman and Hun workers seem to fix it overnight. We’ll follow the tracks and perhaps catch a ride.” He chuckled under his breath. “I like riding free. I have paid the Romans for so many years, now it is their turn to lose.”

An hour later, they found the tracks. They walked carefully along for six kilometers and caught a freight train as it was leaving Ballsh. They hid in amongst shelves of live chickens all day. The train stopped at a check point and they could hear Italian spoken. No soldiers searched the chicken cars. The train moved slowly along once more.

They jumped off the train at night near a river coming out of the mountains. They dipped their hands and drank some of the ice-cold water. The five men found a sheltered cove and built a small fire. They had brought three chickens with them from the train. Pete wrung off their heads and watched until they stopped flopping. He plucked them as best he could and skinned the rest—taking off the remaining feathers. They roasted them over a sheltered fire and ate them quickly—tearing them apart with their fingers.

“Tomorrow, during the early daylight, we’ll walk through the next v