Linskey Hunting the Hangman

1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-1-84344-951-5
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 320 Seiten

TWO MEN... ONE MISSION... TO KILL THE MAN WITH THE IRON HEART Based on true events, this gripping historical thriller is the culmination of Howard Linskey's fifteen-year fascination with the attempted assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, the architect of the Holocaust. With a plot that echoes The Day of the Jackal and The Eagle Has Landed, Hunting the Hangman is a thrilling tale of courage, resilience and betrayal. The story reads like a classic World War Two thriller and is the subject of two big-budget Hollywood films that coincide with the anniversary of Operation Anthropoid. In 1942 two men, trained by the British SOE, parachuted back into their native Czechoslovakia with one sole objective: to kill the man ruling their homeland. Jan Kubis and Josef Gabcik risked everything for their country. Their attempt on Reinhard Heydrich's life was one of the single most dramatic events of the Second World War, and had horrific consequences for thousands of innocent people.2017 marks the 75th anniversary of the attack on Heydrich, a man so evil even fellow SS officers referred to him as the 'Blond Beast'. In Prague, he was known as the Hangman. Hitler, who dubbed him 'The Man with the Iron Heart', considered Heydrich his heir, and entrusted him with the implementation of the 'Final Solution' to the Jewish 'problem': the systematic murder of eleven million people. 2017 marks the 75th anniversary of the attack on Heydrich, a man so evil even fellow SS officers referred to him as the 'Blond Beast'. In Prague, he was known as the Hangman. Hitler, who dubbed him 'The Man with the Iron Heart', considered Heydrich his heir, and entrusted him with the implementation of the 'Final Solution' to the Jewish 'problem': the systematic murder of eleven million people.

Howard Linskey is the author of five novels published by No Exit Press, including the David Blake crime series, The Drop, The Damage and The Dead. Harry Potter producer, David Barron optioned a TV adaptation of The Drop, which was voted one of the Top Five Thrillers of the Year by The Times. The Damage was voted one of The Times' Top Summer Reads. He is also the author of two books set during WW2. Hunting the Hangman, is a historical thriller about the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich in Prague during WW2. His new novel Ungentlemanly Warfare features SOE agents Harry Walsh and Emma Stirling, as well as American OSS agent Sam Cooper. Howard is also the author of four books published by Penguin; including No Name Lane, Behind Dead Eyes, The Search and The Chosen Ones in a crime series set inthe north east of England, featuring DS Ian Bradshaw, with investigative journalists Tom Carney and Helen Norton. Originally from Ferryhill in County Durham, he now lives in Hertfordshire with his wife Alison and daughter Erin. howardlinskey.co.uk

Autoren/Hrsg.

Linskey, Howard

Leseproben

2

‘Set Europe ablaze!’

Winston Churchill’s instruction to Hugh Dalton, Minister for Economic Warfare, on the creation of the Special Operations Executive (SOE), July 1940

Josef Gabcík was playing at soldiers again. He had just leapt from an imaginary landing craft, an L-shaped jetty yards from a Scottish beach, into an admittedly very real sea and was now wading towards the shore, chest deep in the salty surf.

Using his peripheral vision, he noticed he was at the head of a dozen men who had jumped into the water. There were a few gasps from his comrades, and a number of loud curses at the initial shock of the cold ocean, but the swearing strangely cheered him, coming as it did in his native tongue. He ignored the icy chill of the water, the salt in his eyes and the burn of the pack’s straps on his shoulders, and pressed on.

Gabcík held his rifle high above his head with both arms, trying not to stumble on the uneven, shifting surface of the seabed, bending forward to allow for the 40lb pack full of rocks that was strapped to his back. He advanced as quickly as the buffeting of the ocean would allow.

A few more steps and he was pulling himself free from the grip of the water, which tugged at his soaking fatigues, weighing him down, and he became instantly aware of the harsh cries of the two British NCOs waiting on the shingle.

‘Move yourselves! Move yourselves!!’

‘Get out of there now! This is not a fuckin’ tea dance!’

Both men were with the Special Operations Executive and, with the sadistic enthusiasm to which Gabcík had become accustomed, they were hell bent on turning him into a commando. As soon as he was free from the surf, he sprinted across the cove in a stumbling run, feet sinking into the shingle, running like a child trapped in a bad dream who cannot get away fast enough. His lungs heaved under the exertion and the breath caught in his throat, before it was expelled in little clouds of vapour that were immediately left behind him as he powered forward.

Now he was almost there, he could make out the giant shadow of the cliff face in front of him, even though his head was down to avoid the pretend bullets of an imaginary machine gun they were assured was in the cliff tops.

‘Diggah! Diggah! Diggah!’ screamed the Glaswegian corporal. ‘Yer fuckin’ deed Kubiš!! Unless you get yer bastad heed doon!!’

Like Gabcík, Jan Kubiš would barely have understood a word from the Scotsman’s mouth but he would have easily picked up the meaning. That’s what it was like here; a few half comprehended phrases of command were all they had to cling to. That and a desperate yearning to one day return to their homeland to fight the Germans who occupied it.

Till then their world was a completely foreign place. These defeated Czech soldiers awoke each morning in a Scottish barrack block in Mallaig, to be ordered around by officers, they could just about understand. As for the NCOs, they were a grim bunch of hard soldiers, with varied and unusual communication skills. Everything was barked or yelled in a guttural holler. That was fine, it was the same the world over and Gabcík was a six year veteran of the Czech army, when it had an army, but the few words of English he and his comrades picked up were torn and tortured beyond understanding by these career soldiers. The NCOs were cursing now as some of the men made a slow and unsteady progress across the beach.

‘What’s wrong with you lot? Are you all pissed or something? Gabcík! You short-arsed little runt! All you’ve managed to prove is your legs are not long enough to get you where you need to be!’

With these inspiring words of encouragement ringing in his ears, Gabcík finally reached the cliff face at a full sprint, almost slamming into it. As always, he did not let up until he was at the very end of his task.

He leant against the rock gasping for breath, a few of the quicker, fitter men having arrived at roughly the same time. Gabcík was pleased that, at twenty-nine, he was among the first there, could still hold his own. His short frame was stocky and powerful, making him capable of feats of strength that would defeat larger men. Gabcík had a volatile temper that could cause embarrassment in civilian life but served him well during a hail of bullets or shelling. And he had already fought, and killed, Germans.

He had beaten Kubiš there by a yard and felt no less respectful of the slightly younger man for it. Jan Kubiš was still a fine soldier and theirs a good friendship, forged under the most maddening of circumstances. As the NCOs got the men together he noticed Kubiš, like him, was quickly recovering.

‘That woken you up?’ asked Gabcík.

Kubiš was breathless. ‘There’s nothing like a nice walk along the beach.’

The corporal immediately rounded on him. ‘Save your breath, you’re gonna need it.’

The Scottish corporal was away again. This time it was an unrelenting rant at their inability to cover the yards of beach-head within the desired time; a limit Gabcík was savvy enough to assume would always be a few seconds quicker than their fastest man, such was training, such was the army.

‘Now you are going to redeem yourselves with a nice gentle climb!’

The NCO cajoled the men into one final effort, an eighty-foot vertical ascent of a sheer rock face.

‘Make it look good or we will throw you off this course. You can go and dig potatoes with the Land Army girls. I’ve seen a couple of them up close and they are a fucking sight scarier than you lot. Now move it!’

And so Gabcík climbed, for he knew it was his only way back into the war. With three and a half thousand other Czechs, Jan and Josef had endured a perilous sea journey to England. The Czech Brigade based itself at Leamington Spa and the two veterans had experienced the boredom of army camp life there with no imminent prospect of a return to action. After a year of frustrated inactivity, the request had gone out for volunteers to join the SOE. Neither man hesitated and they were on the move again; to Mallaig and the six week commando course that was more than two thirds through by the time Gabcík found himself stranded half way up the cliff face.

He clung perilously to the rock; red face pressed against the stone, hissing profanities to himself in Czech. He was about to fail his assignment and would likely be thrown off the course as well, and it was all down to his own stupidity. Had he listened to the instructor when he urged them all to use proper footholds and not just grip the rope with their hands like they always did? The cliff face was too high for that. Gabcík’s biceps burned and the small of his back throbbed with the effort required just to stay still. He tightened his grip round the length of grey, wet rope that hung from the upper most point of the crag and rubbed the skin from the palms of his hands.

Moments ago he had admitted to himself he was stuck, unable to go back down and seemingly stranded without the footholds needed to carry him the extra forty feet to the summit. All about him lesser men than Gabcík were making steady if unspectacular progress. The humiliation was too much and it spurred him into action. Rage welled up inside him and it slowly replaced the fear and the doubt; he cast his eyes to the left and spotted an outcrop that was tantalisingly out of reach. If he could just spring from his current spot, he might get enough leverage with the rope to propel himself onto this toehold. Gabcík hesitated for a moment, closing his eyes and summoning up his anger, the storm that had always served him so well in battle. He had to make it and fear of falling must not be allowed to prevent him. If he did not make the jump he could not move higher. If he did not climb higher he would never reach the top and would not then pass out of the commando course, to join the other would-be saboteurs – his only opportunity to engage the Germans and remove the shame he felt at abandoning his country. And so, he jumped.

For a second there was nothing but air around him, then his left foot connected with the rock, his left hand scrabbling for an indent, and it held. He clung there, the rope drawing fresh blood from the base of his thumb, which he contemptuously ignored. Gabcík barely paused. Instead he hauled himself higher and propelled his other hand into the air. He could not see the ledge above him but grasped it firmly and pulled his body upward again, stretching out his right foot till he connected with a large outcrop. And so on it went; Gabcík rising, cursing and rising again, using his self-recrimination to push him on, catching up with the others.

He remembered the last thing the Scottish corporal had told them in the briefing.

‘When you reach the top of the cliff I want you to give me a battle cry. Let me hear the roar from each of you. Pretend I’m a Nazi machine gunner. I want you to scare the shit out of me!’

Gabcík took him at his word and shot over the edge of the cliff with the most bloodcurdling cry imaginable. Even Corporal Andy Donald was impressed.

Gabcík careered past him at a full sprint, only stopping at the rallying point, which was already beginning to fill up with his fellow Czechs, who sat on the ground next to, or on top of, their packs. One of them was foolish enough to let out a laugh at Gabcík’s crazed countenance and they exchanged a handful of insulting words. That was it. Without pausing for a moment, Gabcík whirled on his mocking colleague and smashed a fist squarely into his...