Chapter One Part Eight
Von Junker lay on the stone floor of Waterloo Station, his eyes following the car carrying von Hildebrand and the blueprints for which he'd given his right arm as they started off into the night and disappeared round the corner onto Leake Street. He heard the two Englishmen approach, their finely crafted shoes echoing with a hollow sound, ringing out in the vast man-made cavern of the station. He sighed to himself almost imperceptibly, unmoving.
He couldn't blame his protégé for so heartlessly driving off: he'd taught him to be so ruthless and so cold blooded himself. He'd taught him well, and if von Junker couldn't outwit a pair of English gentlemen... well, perhaps he no longer deserved the honour of serving his Kaiser. No, von Hildebrand had been right to leave him.
With some surprise he turned as he heard the first man bend down and, asking in an unexpected and soft American tone for him to let his evening jacket be removed, take the jacket off and start to tend to his wounded stump.
It had been a shock, certainly, to see his own arm fly before him, but, he supposed, it was always likely to be his fate, a similarly gory end. He'd seen worse. Of course, he'd dealt out worse himself - to French, Austrians, Russians, Danish, most often and most recently to the damned English. He'd never come up against an American before. They were never keen on coming to Europe, and he'd never wanted to travel so far himself, he'd never wanted to spend so long away from Agathe or her cooking.
As gentlemanly as this one seemed, he was clearly a bloody amateur in medicine. If he'd meant to it would surely have been impossible to inflict such pain, thought von Junker. Outwardly he tried not to show what he imagined was a weakness. He gritted his teeth. The American had the right idea to staunch the flow, it was true. He was already weak from the shock, but above all from the sudden and enormous loss of blood. It was slick and warm beneath him, and cooling desperately fast. He felt it draining from him, and felt his life draining along with it. He had enough wit left to amuse himself with the thought that this sounded dreadfully melodramatic, but then he realised that it was probably true. He ignored the pain as best he could and returned to his musings.
He'd helped turn the tide of wars, had Hans von Junker; his most recent and possibly greatest coup though was the Affair of the Damaged Hat, which but last year had brought down the British Government and sent its ripples across the globe. Entirely bloodless. Masterful. He'd been personally honoured by the Kaiser for orchestrating the affair, and he smiled as he thought how, thanks to his cunning and in no small part thanks to his bravery, Agathe and his now grown children would live in honour and comfort.
No. He had known that this was coming soon. He'd been getting old. He should have taken the offer to stop all of this years go. It was a young man's job. He wondered what the other man was saying to him. He seemed quite pleased with himself, but for all von Junker's personal loss, it seemed to him, his side had won. The blueprints were on their way to Dover; soon the Kaiser would have them and then one day the most powerful navy in the world.
"You are von Junker, are you not?"
He opened his eyes. He didn't know it, but he saw the faces of William Wellington and Winston Smith look down upon him expectantly. Not for lack of English - his linguistic skills had been such an asset for so long - but now he couldn't make out what the Englishman said. He wondered about this for a moment. He closed his eyes again. He drifted back to Agathe's face, the eyes that he'd known for so long, he remembered Werner's and Gratia's faces, that he'd known since their births, for their whole lives. He saw Agathe's smile from the day they married. He would be happy if he never saw another thing.
"I say, you are Hans von Junker, are you not?"
His eyes stayed closed.
More than an hour later, von Hildebrand was speeding towards Dover in a car carrying his erstwhile companion's arm and the briefcase he'd sacrificed it for. He had barely three dozen miles left to travel before his rendez-vous with the new fangled contraption the Kaiser had ordered be sent as their means of escape.
This, of course, is unknown to our second band of intrepid gentleman adventurers, at whose vanguard is the brave Scot Thomas Wallace, heading a miniature column of heroic Black Watch highlanders. As they march on to face the enemy, he walks down the column, enquiring if any of the soldiers happen to have a bowling ball on a chain about their person. Oddly enough, one of them does, a private MacMurray, who proclaims himself proud to offer whatever assistance he can to one of the heirs of Wallace, even to go so far as to give up his favoured battle weapon.
The fearsome column marches on, mere minutes away from their destination, the air about them fouled by the majestic wrath of the drum and bagpipe, the sky seemingly rent apart as if being assaulted by the tartan god of war himself, the countryside about them shivering in frozen fear. By Wallace's reckoning, if the fisherman's directions are correct, they cannot be more than five hundred yards from their enemy.
Still in Dover, more heedful of decency and humanity than cold urgency, the famous duellist McGeenyton has wounds and captives to attend to. With him on one side and Link on the other, they manoeuver the severely wounded Hans von Papen about the silent streets of Dover until von Fersen, carefully watching over his unwounded prisoner, finds a hotel where he convinces the night porter to take care of their enemy and to seek recompense in London in a day or two.
Before they leave, McGeenyton offers the German tea one last time.
He accepts, and at McGeenyton's command the night porter brings them tea, although sadly there are no biscuits. They share a few minutes' truce and then the disparate band finish their refreshment, and, with the wounded von Papen propped up as comfortably as possible in a chair before the fireplace, they leave into the cold morning air.
Von Fersen, brandishing his shotgun, orders the remaining German to lead the way to where he is supposed to meet his conspirators. He obeys, no longer having a choice, and, accompanied by McGeenyton and Link, they set forth upon the path not so long ago travelled by Thomas Wallace.
As they walk, McGeenyton realises he has forgotten his own wound in his gentlemanliness, and has repaired neither his leg nor his suit. As he remarks upon this sorry fact to his peers, he meets with a stirring reply from von Fersen.
"Sirs, we go to war! We go to save your glorious nation of the King of Scotland and England! Shortly we will worry no more of our earthly attire, for we will be dressed in the glory of martial struggle and noble sacrifice! We will not worry for our corporeal wounds, for our inner hearts will be whole, and our gentlemen's wills bent upon the destruction of our foes! We will not feel the cold biting upon our own limbs, for our steel shall bite upon those of our enemies! We will not... We will not... bother... Anyway... Let us make haste. The hour is late. This brandy should do the trick for your leg old boy."
Not far behind Thomas Wallace and his imposing column, the three gentlemen and their prisoner make good time, their presence signalled in the wintry night by the crunch of their feet on the snow laden ground and the smoke of von Fersen's pipe in the cold laden air.
In London, Jenkinson jumps out of the car without turning off the ignition. He runs breathless up the stairs of Waterloo station where he spots the two gentlemen crouched around the body of the German spy.
"Sirs! I know that man! It is von Junker! You have had success then? Sir Melville has sent me. If you have the blueprints already we should collect the other fellows in Dover. It is a dreadful place; the quicker the better if you ask me. I say - let's go, we shall arrange for a constable to attend to this unfortunate man. Terribly cold tonight, what?"
Thomas Wallace Item Acquired! Bowling Ball on a Chain.
Henry McGeenyton Items Acquired! Two Duelling Swords.
Gentlemanliness Increased! Offering Tea to One's Foe!
August Von Fersen Gentlemanliness Increased! Taking Care of the Defeated.
Winston Smith Gentlemanliness Increased! Particular Chivalry! Attempted Kindness to a Foe!
Trait Acquired! Fatally Bad Doctor! (-1 to Medic type rolls)
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Topic: Roll to Be a Gentleman Spy - Chapter Three Part Twenty One. (Read 74917 times)