Where Eagles Dare

Smith motioned Mary to stay where she was as he moved quickly to take up position behind the door: Schaffer, for all his alleged exhaustion, had dropped flat to the floor behind the bed with all the speed and silence of a cat. The door opened and a young Oberleutnant strode into the room, stopping short as he saw Mary, her hand to her mouth. His face registered astonishment, an astonishment almost immediately replaced by an anticipatory half-smile as he stepped forward beyond the opened door. Smith's arm came down and the young officer's eyes turned up in his head.

Smith studied the plans of the castle given him by Mary while Schaffer trussed up the Oberleutnant with the nylon, gagged him with tape and shoved him, jack-knifed, into the bottom of the cupboard. For good measure he pulled the top of the bed against the door.

“Ready when you are, boss.”

“That's now. I have my bearings. First left, down the stairs, third left. The gold drawing-room. Where Colonel Kramer holds court. Complete with minstrels' gallery.”

“What's a minstrels' gallery?” Schaffer enquired.

“A gallery for minstrels. Then the next right-hander takes us to the east wing. Down again, second left. Telephone exchange.”

“Why there?” Schaffer asked. “We've already cut the lines.”

“Not the ones between here and the barracks, we haven't. Want them to whistle up a regiment of Alpenkorps?” He turned to Mary. “Helicopter still here?”

“It was when I arrived.”

“The helicopter?” Schaffer showed his puzzlement. “What gives with the whirlybird, then?”

“This gives with the whirlybird. They could use it either to whip Carnaby out of here—they might just be nervous if they think we're on the loose—or they might use it to block our getaway.”

“If we get away.”

“There's that. How are you on immobilising 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 immobilise anything from a bulldozer to a bicycle.”

“And without the four-pounder? This is not a boiler-makers' convention.”

“I have been known to use finesse.”

Smith said to Mary: “How can we get a sight of this machine?”

“Just five paces that way.” She pointed to the door. “Every passage window in the Schloss Adler opens on to the courtyard.”

Smith opened the door, glanced up and down the passage and crossed to an opposite window. Schaffer was by his side.

The comings and goings of the moon made no difference to the state of illumination in the Schloss Adler courtyard. Two big overhead arc lamps burned by the heavily-barred entrance gates. A third burned at the opposite end of the courtyard, over the main doorway leading into the castle itself. At a height of about ten feet, four waterproof storm lamps were fastened to the east and west walls of the courtyard. Lights burned from a dozen windows on the east and northern sides. And the brightest light of all came from an arc-lamp that had been rigged above the helicopter and under the temporary protection of a stretched tarpaulin. A figure in green overalls and a high-peaked cap was working on the helicopter's engine. Smith touched Schaffer's arm and they moved back into the room where Mary was waiting, closing the door behind them.

“Seems a straightforward operation,” Schaffer said. “Fixing it so that the chopper doesn't fly again, I mean. I cross to the main gates, overpower the four men on guard, strangle the four Doberman pinchers, knock off two or three other characters—armed characters—who appear to be patrolling the place all the time, overpower about twenty soldiers who appear to be drinking beer in some sort of canteen across the way, dispose of the guy who's working on the engine and then immobilise the chopper. I mean, just immobilising the chopper itself wouldn't be anything, really, would it?”

“We'll think of something,” Smith said soothingly.

“I'll bet you think of something,” Schaffer said moodily. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

“Time's a-wasting. We won't be needing those any more.”

Smith folded the plan, handed it to Mary, then frowned as she put it in her bag. “You know better than that. The Lilliput: it should be on your person, not in the bag. Here.” He handed her the Mauser he'd taken from Colonel Weissner. “This in your bag. Hide the Lilliput on you.”

“When I get to my room I will,” she said primly.

“All those leering Yankee lieutenants around,” Schaffer said sadly. “Thank heavens I'm a changed man.”

“His mind is set on higher things,” Smith explained. He glanced at his watch. “Give us thirty minutes.”