DRAGONFLY RUN
Copyright©2003 by Ed Howdershelt
ISBN 1-932693-07-6
Caution: Some Erotic Content
Chapter One
Incidents happen. My team managed to bring a family of four out of East Germany near Fulda on 3 August 1973 with only one casualty, and that casualty wasn't one of our team or our extractees. This was remarkable for two reasons: first, because our teams had never had or caused anyone else to have a casualty in three years of smuggling people; and second, because it was later deemed a miracle that more people weren't killed or wounded during our escape.
We used the fact that it was a Friday to our advantage, timing our exit for the late afternoon shift changes at the guard shacks. Monika, my 'client', had the passports supplied by our employers (unnamed in this story to avoid repercussions) ready to show as we approached the first small gate in our decade-old Ford Taunus. Her father was in the back seat pretending to be asleep and her two children were in the car behind us.
We had split the family to increase chances of at least partial success if things went to hell. Splitting was a normal procedure on some of our extraction missions and in this case also served the pretense that Monika was my West German wife, that I was a U.S. Army sergeant stationed in Kaiserslautern, and that we had been in East Germany to visit members of her side of the family - which was just about the only true part of the story.
Will and Connie were in the car behind us, doing their best to act like typical hurried and harried middle-class American tourists who were ragingly frustrated with both their children in the back seat and the bureaucratic hoops of entering and leaving East Germany.
It was likely that they were only half-acting, since the kids were the only ones in our group who'd had enough sleep in the last thirty-six hours. The adults were all just about dead tired from preparations and waiting in a long line of cars at the checkpoint.
Throughout the mission they'd stood out like sore thumbs in their polyester outfits, dragging the kids to various museums and monuments for a couple of days as cover activities while they coached them on how to act and what to say.
The checkpoint guards were obviously old hands at their duties and were actually moving people through with relative speed, but you could see them glancing at their watches as their shifts neared completion. As the guards heard Will and Connie bickering and bitching from three cars away, they rolled their eyes in anticipation of having to deal with a couple of cranky, obnoxious Americans who probably didn't have their papers in order for the cheap souvenirs they'd purchased.
I looked across at Monika. She was tense, but containing her fear. I'd gone in with one fake wife and was leaving with another. Darlene had been dropped at the US embassy and would be listed as a robbery victim with all her luggage and personal effects stolen. It would be a week before she was back at her desk at Landstuhl's 2nd General Army Hospital.
Monika and the children had been appended to our exit passports by a friend in the business of "assisting in circumventings of convention", as he put it. We'd used him several times in the past and not once had his alterations invited suspicion.
Preparations had been fairly extensive. Everyone in both cars had been outfitted with ID's and used clothing from the thrift shop at Ramstein AFB. In the weeks previous to our extraction effort, I'd had friends in some Stateside German-American clubs write letters and postcards to Monika and her father at a Kaiserslautern address and some of these bits of correspondence were in luggage as well as the personal effects of both of them. There was even a past-due bill for membership dues for her father from one of the clubs. He said that if he actually made it to a meeting he'd pay the bill just for the hell of it.
I won't belabor you with all the other details of preparing people for escapes from Communist countries or the gut-clenching worry that something would suddenly go very wrong somehow.
I will say that we thought we had it nailed down, detail-wise, and the Eastie guards apparently thought so, too. After the usual minor interrogations, examinations of documents, and some less-than-subtle insinuations that Monika had somehow sullied herself by marrying a non-German, we were allowed past the gate to enter the narrow, twisting lane that crossed the hundred meters to the West German side of the barrier.
Other sections of the barrier between East and West were much more elaborate, often with wide, well-lit trenches and multiple fences. Some even had mine fields, but those areas of the 'wall' were mostly for the benefit of the news photographers, since nobody was ever dull-witted enough to try to escape at those points, anyway.
I lost sight of Will and Connie as we made the first turn between the concrete dividers. Monika almost turned to look back. I backhanded her leg softly before she could complete the move, which made her instead turn to stare at me. She looked like a deer in the headlights. Her face was a mask of stark terror and she was rigid with fear.
"Meine kinder..." she whispered.
"Your kids are fine. You knew this would happen. Stay cool and hold on, Monika."
The incident didn't begin until our Taunus sedan stuttered and died a little over halfway through the concrete maze. I put it in neutral, set the footbrake, then got out and opened the hood. One of the tower guards behind us blew a whistle and got on the radio.
On the West side I could see someone aiming a camera at us from a watchtower as a number of people stopped what they were doing and came to the fence to watch.
Monika was so visibly frightened I felt I had to do something to make her emotions fit our circumstances, so I stepped up to her side of the car and slammed my palm hard against the window by her face, which made her cringe away from the window as two East German guards came jogging up to our car. I pretended to have hurt myself, holding my "injured" hand and swearing effectively about everything and calling the Taunus "...this piece of foreign-made shit!"
"With MY car this wouldn't have happened!" I yelled at Monika, "You dumb bitch! You just had to take YOUR goddamned car to show off to your poor relations!"
I slammed my other hand on the window. "We haven't had it a whole goddamned week and the damn thing just has to fucking die in the middle of a goddamned free-fire zone!"
One guard seemed to disapprove of my behavior while the other seemed not to give a damn as he peered under the hood. He reached for something and I yelled, "Watch out! It's hot!"
Both rifles immediately pointed at me. Monika squeaked and quickly explained my outburst in German and the rifles lowered somewhat. I told her to tell them that I thought the problem was a vapor-lock and that I would pour water from the washer bottle on the fuel line to cool it.
One of the guards wordlessly handed me his canteen, instead. I took it and trickled water on the fuel line as he watched.
The one who had disapproved of my earlier tantrum strolled around the car to have another look inside, stopping at the driver's door. Glancing back over the hood, I could see that it was business as usual at the guard post. Will and Connie had been passed, but wouldn't be allowed to continue until my car was moving again.
They moved only slightly forward from the guard post and waited, as instructed. As the last of the water ran down the line, I got the guard's attention and made a key-turning motion in the air with my hand. He reached in and turned the key. When it wouldn't start right away, he sat in the driver's seat, holding his rifle outside the car, and put a foot on the gas. The Taunus finally started fitfully and smoothed out after a moment.
I handed the canteen back and smiled as I thanked him, then closed the hood and quickly walked back around to the driver's door. The other guard was standing there, blocking my way. I looked at him questioningly. He glanced around once, then quickly drove the butt of his rifle into my belt buckle. As I painfully straightened myself, he spoke sharply to me, then glanced at Monika and spoke to her in the same tone.
Monika fidgeted a bit, then seemingly reluctantly said, "He tells me to tell you that a man who treats his woman as you do should be beaten, that any good German woman is too good for you, and that he would enjoy meeting you out of his uniform."
I played the role as expected, glaring back at him as if tempted to do something stupid. After a few moments, he realized I wouldn't give him the satisfaction and spoke again before he turned to leave. I got back in the car - carefully because it hurt to move - and started us moving for the West German gate as the guards walked back to the East.
Monika's giggle came a few moments later. It had an edge of hysteria, but it was real humor.
"He called you an asshole," she said, giggling again.
"Yeah, I know," I said, "I speak German, don't forget. Good for us 'cause it means he bought the act and good for him 'cause it means he isn't an asshole."
Will and Connie were on the move again as we neared the West gate. She didn't relax much. As I negotiated the final turns of the maze, I heard a gunshot and thought, "Oh, damn."
A machine gun opened up, some rifles fired, and I was ready to try to get real small real fast as I ordered Monika onto the floor under the dash. She was peering up in abject terror as she squeezed herself into the area.
It crossed my mind as odd that nobody'd been able to hit the car yet. Ahead of us , a jeep quickly blocked our West gate exit, and just as quickly an officer appeared next to the jeep, screaming at the driver. I hoped the driver wasn't stupid enough to think I'd stop before ramming him and his jeep out of our way.
As I entered the final straightaway, I slipped the car into neutral, gunned the engine, and beeped the horn twice quickly. They looked at me. I waved them away.
"C'mon, guys," I mumbled, "Clear the deck. I'm coming through anyway, so move it."
The jeep backed away to clear the gate. I dropped the car into first and we made the dash across the white lines in seconds. Two machine-gun-equipped jeeps came up fast to take positions on either side of the gate, and soldiers everywhere had weapons out and ready as if expecting some kind of invasion. Four MP's came running up to surround Monika and me, rifles at ready, and demanded ID's and explanations.
I handed our paperwork to one of them, pointed back at Will and Connie's car and said, "They're with us and we're part of a D-team. Why the shooting?"
"I don't know, sir," said the MP, moving to stand between me and the gate.
"Do you think I'm going to try to walk back into East Germany?" I asked him, "Get the hell out of the way. I just want to see what's going on." The guy just stood there looking confused, so I stepped around him and went up to the officer who had been arguing with the jeep driver.
"Who's being shot at, Major?"
"The shooting's stopped," he said, pointing a bit left of the narrow lane between gates, "And now something else is happening over there."
An enlisted man ran up to us with a radio that was chattering in German. He turned it up a bit and we all listened intently as we watched the drama unfold in the zone.
Will and Connie were about to negotiate the last zigzag before the straightaway when the shooting started again. I saw glass flying as car windows shattered and then saw someone running alongside the car.
There was another short burst and the running man went down hard, sliding to a stop ahead of the car. He began trying to crawl forward, trailing far too much blood, and he only made it a few yards before he went limp and slumped flat to the road. One of the guards on the other side pointed a rifle at the guard tower as an officer spoke into a radio by the guard shack.
"Well, goddamn," said the Major, "He was trying to use them as cover. He probably thought they wouldn't shoot if there were tourists near him."
"Their officer must be holding the key down, sir," said the enlisted man with a grin, "He just told the guy with the rifle that if the guard tower fires again, he's to shoot that gunner. He's pissed, sir. Very pissed. He's saying... He didn't order anyone to fire... To shoot the next man who fires without orders..."
Will stopped his car only inches from the fallen man. He jumped out and ran around the car, scooped the guy off the ground and laid him face down on the hood. After using his belt to tie the injured guy's belt to the windshield wipers, he dropped himself back into the driver's seat, moved the car through the last turn of the maze, and floored it on the straightaway, accelerating right up until he crossed the white lines.
Will's car crossed the lateral road behind the guardhouse, jumped the eight-foot-wide ditch on the other side and was dragged to a stop by the deep mud more than halfway across the open field beyond the road.
Two jeeps full of MP's immediately hauled ass to catch up to him, having to go nearly a quarter-mile down the road to the gate. One of the men at the chainlink border fence had a pair of binoculars. The Major waved him over and used them to view the distant car.
I could see Monika struggling briefly with the soldiers at our car. They wouldn't let her go to the other car. When she looked at me, I raised both hands in a "stay calm" gesture and yelled, "Stay there. It'll be all right!" To the Major, I said, "Nobody took a stretcher," I said, "What are they gonna do, leave the guy as a hood ornament?"
The Major snapped a look at the enlisted man with the radio. "Gimme that. Get a stretcher out there and get that man off the hood of that car."
Done and done. The guy was off and running for the guardhouse door. He reappeared quickly with a green stretcher and tossed it and himself into the jeep that had blocked the gate for Monika and me. The driver didn't argue this time.
The Major flicked a switch on the radio and called a Lieutenant Someone for a sitrep. In the field, one of the MP's stepped a distance away from things and used his radio.
"The guy on the hood is still alive, sir. Two adults and two kids seem to be okay, but there's glass everywhere and all of them have some cuts and bruises. I've called for a medevac. They'll take 'em all if it's okay with you."
"Yeah, good. You go with them, arrange for guards at the hospital, keep them isolated for now, and keep me posted. My authorization is yours within reason, but don't go crazy with it, okay?"
The Major then turned to me and asked, "Now, exactly who the hell are you, sir? And the short version will do just fine."
"Name's Ed," I said, "Your guys already have my phony ID's. When you call Brigade, tell them that D-319207 and his clients and crew are safe in port, okay?"
The officer's eyes narrowed and he swore softly for a moment. "A goddamned Dragonfly run, huh? Mind telling me why you people had to use my gate?"
He didn't really expect an answer. He was just venting a little as he said, "Tonight this place will be swarming with reporters and brass. None of us'll get out of here 'till around midnight. Thanks a lot."
His attitude pissed me off a bit. "One man may die and some people are stepping on free soil for the first time in their lives, and all you give a damn about is going home late? Should I quote you to the press, the brass, or just to some of the people I work for? I'm sure any or all of them would love hearing your opinion on this matter."
He deflated instantly, but I felt that it wasn't really due to my casual threats. Now and then you meet a brass hat with a conscience, and the Major seemed to be one of them.
"How many, um, clients, total, did you bring over this trip? Is anyone still stuck over there?"
"Four clients and this was everybody. I don't know the guy who got shot. Where's the lady I had with me?" I looked for Monika but didn't see her by the car.
"They've taken her inside," he said, leading the way to the office, "What needs done and who needs called?"
"I don't think anything needs done that isn't being done and I'll give my office a ring when we get inside. Got any coffee in the guard shack?"
"We're the Army. We always have guns, ammo, starch, boot polish and strong coffee, and you aren't using the phone until I've verified you with somebody." I nodded.
Monika was the center of a cluster of MP's when we entered the office. She was at a small table by the coffee pot, so all backs were to the door as we entered. The Major slammed the door. Six men spun at the sound and were suddenly standing at attention.
"This is a surveillance unit," said the Major, "So how come not one of you zeroes was aware that an officer entered the room? All except the company clerk get out now ."
He sat down at his desk and asked the clerk to get him a coffee, then to get my particulars and call Brigade for verification 'of some sort'.
"Serve yourself," he said, waving at the coffee pot, "Then sit down over here and tell me what you can. I'm going to have some things to do before the circus really starts around here."
I noted that he said, "Thanks, Harry," when the clerk delivered his coffee, so I didn't assume he was a martinet-type. I took a moment to reassure Monika, got a coffee, and sat by his desk to give him the company line.
"We have observers on both sides of the wire, so my people already know what happened. Probably the best thing to do, Major, is simply contain everybody and everything in whatever manner seems appropriate and wait for them to take us off your hands. That way neither you nor your office has to be involved to any great degree."
He agreed with a nod. We were interrupted by the arrival of the medevac helicopter. Monika was at the window instantly, watching for her children. I joined her there and the Major joined us at the window to watch them load the stretcher and the other passengers.
Two medics worked on the gunshot victim for a few minutes while people and luggage were loaded, then the stretcher was attached to the inside wall of the chopper and two intravenous drip bags were hung on the wall above the patient. With everybody aboard and strapped in, the bird lifted off and the MP's went back to matters at hand.
"Sir," the radio crackled, "This is Davis. The car's full of holes but you ain't gotta tow it out of here. We can drive it up there if we put a couple of boards across the ditch."
"Wrong, son. You don't have to tow it. I wasn't going to help with that anyway. But why tell me?" asked the Major, grinning at us, "Tell someone who has some boards. Just get that car out of that farmer's field and up here under secure cover with a guard. Use one of the old mess tents. Someone may show up thinking it's evidence, you know."
Someone laughed in the background as the guy replied, "Yes, sir."
The Major half-turned to face the company clerk as he keyed the radio and said, "Nobody goes near that car or any of those people unless they clear it with me. Got that?"
"Yes sir," said the guy on the radio.
"Clear, sir," said the clerk, "I'm on it. After I contact the L.T. I'll pass the word."
The Major said, "Thank you, Harry. Stay on this and call me if you need me to back you. I really mean nobody , okay? This place will be a goddamned circus tonight."
"Got it, sir. Potential international incident. Lockdown. By the way, this guy checks out. Brigade was expecting a delivery today, but they didn't know which gate."
"An announcement might have been difficult to arrange, I suppose." The Major chuckled at his joke, turned to us and said, "All right, make your call. I hear another helicopter coming and it doesn't sound like one of ours. It's probably the first busload of brass-hats and bureaucrats looking for a useable angle on this thing."
I called our Bonn embassy office, made a quick report, took a moment to confirm which hospital was receiving our crew and clients, and was told that one of our people was very likely on the incoming helicopter if it was blue.
When I had hung up, I looked out to see a sleek, light-blue helicopter with civilian markings setting down in the parking lot. I grinned as some of the eight men who got off that bird looked as if they wanted to kiss the ground. Fancy pilot, probably. None of the faces were familiar, so I sipped coffee and waited. The blades were barely moving when the last person stepped off.
A brunette woman with a briefcase stood at the top of the steps and looked around for a moment. She took off the sunglasses she'd worn on the flight and tucked them into her suitjacket pocket, set her briefcase down long enough to straighten her skirt and jacket, then disembarked the aircraft. She had to duck to clear the doorway and descended the steps with a sort of sidewise step, probably because she was wearing a close-fitting skirt.
The legs I saw flashing in the sunlight were the kind I use in my sketches, not skinny model's legs, and she wasn't wearing heels to enhance them. She waved off a guy who was about to carry her suitcase and picked it up apparently effortlessly, then approached the guard shack with a steady stride.
I poured a cup of coffee, set it on the nearby table, and went to get the door for her. When I heard her measured steps on the wooden porch, I opened the door, smiled at her, and said, "Hello, Linda."
"Hello, Ed. They sent me to annoy you with lots of questions." She smiled slightly as she said it and never slowed her stride as she entered the office. She set her bag and briefcase on the floor by the small wood-and-glass table and scanned the room, spotting the Major and Monika in the center of a clustering of the people who had been on the chopper. The Major sat at his desk sipping coffee as he scanned various documents that would relieve him of the situation and the people. Linda looked hard at my shirt.
"Cut me some slack, lady. I earned this rumpled look today and I even poured you a coffee as you were walking to the shack, just in case you still drink the nasty stuff."
"Thanks for the amenities," she said, "But no coffees until we do the secret handshake and all the other spooky rituals. Them's the rules, mister."
"Bruno, D-31..." I said, and waited for her to finish my number and password.
"Giordano, 9207," she said. All she was verifying by that was her involvement in our case. She might have known my number from another case, but not my current mission passwords. As she had said, "Them's the rules."
I took her over to meet Monika and the Major. Linda reassured each of them according to his or her concerns, then suggested she and I go back to the table so I could bring her up to date. I took her light jacket and seated her as if we were in a restaurant, asking if she'd like to see a menu. She smiled.
"Cool," I said, "Linda Baines, Girl Spy. I didn't know they let you out of the office."
"Oh, now and then I slip the shackles," she said, "I have your bag with me, too."
She bent at the waist and knee to retrieve her briefcase. I watched the lovely play of muscles in her legs and her graceful self-control until I realized she wasn't moving. She was gazing back at me in the glass top of the small table next to the chair.
Linda straightened with the briefcase and looked at me rather piercingly for a moment.
I gazed evenly back at her, unashamed of my interest in her legs and waiting for her response, if any. She merely opened the briefcase and pulled out the manila envelope in which I'd placed my personal effects at the start of our mission.
There were no signs of tampering, so I flicked open my belt knife and slit the top of the envelope. If my facility with my knife impressed her, she concealed it well. I took a quick inventory of the contents. Everything was there; DAC-ID card, keys, etc...
Linda sat down at the little table and sipped coffee as I rooted through the small pile of pocket stuff. In the clear space between my stuff and her briefcase I could see that her skirt had ridden up a bit when she sat down. Her legs were wonderfully solid-looking, so I counted everything again between lingering glances.
"What's the matter? Don't you trust your own outfit?" She grinned at me. I had no doubt she was just as thorough about such things.
I grinned as I said, "Trust, but verify. Just taking a second look."
"I noticed that," she said, setting her coffee on her napkin to block the clear space, "I'm actually slightly flattered, but may I have your attention elsewhere for a moment?"
"Ah, hell, you caught me," I said, taking the other chair. I looked through the table top and made a minor production of placing the manila envelope precisely to block my view of her legs through the tabletop, then met her laughing gaze as I sipped my own coffee.
"Such a sacrifice," she said, producing a tape recorder, "Thank you. Now report."
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