Turning, Macurdy pushed open the entryway door, and with as little Baltic accent as he could manage, called: “For the love of God, come quickly!”, then stepped back out of the way. He heard a brief exchange above the entryway, then one man ran down. As he passed, Macurdy shot him too, then stepped back into the room, took out one of his small, shortfuse blocks of TNT and lit it, intending to throw it out of the entryway and take out the other guard. With an eye on the sparking fuse, he stepped into the corridor-colliding with the other guard, who’d heard the unfamiliar boom of the .45, and after brief indecision, had run down to back up his buddy.
Both men recoiled with shock, then Macurdy pounced, at the same time tossing the block of TNT into the entryway. Wrapping powerful arms around the guardsman, he pinned the submachine gun between them, and wrestled him against the wall, out of line with the door. Felt, heard, smelled the man’s weapon fire, bullets pocking the concrete near their feet. Squeezing with more strength than he knew he hadstrength multiplied by desperation-he compressed the man’s rib cage. For a long moment they struggled, the man’s eyes bulging, then Macurdy found an added surge of strength, felt the man go limp, and staggered with him into the corner next to the entryway door. A quarter pound of TNT exploded just outside it. Macurdy let the German fall, and picking up the man’s submachine gun, pointed it at him and squeezed the trigger, three rounds slamming into the fallen guard before the gun was empty.
Meanwhile there’d been a shout from somewhere up the corridor. Picking up the other guard’s submachine gun, Macurdy started toward the magazines at a lope, then became aware of boots pounding on concrete, running toward the ell, so he slipped through an unlocked door, leaving a crack to peer through.
Landgraf himself rounded the ell first, followed by four guardsmen. An image imprinted on Macurdy’s mind, of the colonel, tall riding boots freshly shined and a Luger in his hand. The others carried submachine guns. Seeing the bodies, they faltered, then one shouted, “Colonel! The door at the end of the corridor! It is open!”
The colonel led them on, half crouched now, no longer running. They’d almost reached the first two bodies when 1,800 half-kilo blocks of TNT exploded under the south wing. Even in the stone-walled cellar the sound was stupefying, and followed by the roar of floors, ceilings, roof, even sections of exterior walls collapsing into the cellar beneath. A thick cloud of dust rolled swiftly down the corridor and around the ell, and Macurdy closed his door, keeping it shut for half a minute, listening in darkness to the explosion’s rumbling aftermath. Then he peered out again. The men in the corridor stood coughing in the settling dust, the colonel slightly bent, brushing it from his breeches, his tunic.
Turning to a sergeant, he chuckled. “Giesl, we are still alivel Is that not remarkable? One wonders why.”
The five Germans were looking away, toward the ell.
Macurdy stepped into the corridor and fired two long bursts into them at a range of thirty feet. Then, willing his hands not to shake, he quickly picked the locks on both magazines, swung their doors open, lit the fuses on two of his remaining pieces of TNT, tossed them gently onto the two stacks of explosive-and sprinted down the corridor, up the steps of the entryway, and across dewy grass toward the trees.
He’d almost reached the forest when the north wing blew Glass flew. The roof heaved upward. Sections of wall burst out, others, an instant later, fell inward. Macurdy sprawled headlong, hands pressed tardily to his ears.
He lay there for perhaps a minute, perhaps several, while additional stone blocks fell individually and in masses onto the rubble. Temporarily deaf, he did not hear them. Stunned but still functional, he got up, groped in a pocket, and replaced the magazine in his .45. He would not, it seemed to him, be finished until he was sure no Voitu had escaped.
PART FIVE
Escape From Victory