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Dirt and splinters of wood danced around them as bullets continued to impact the embankment and planks Radler was trying to cross; the heel of his shoe spun away towards the road.
Gallagher yelled at him, “Harald! Lose the bloody coat! For chrissake, take it off!”
The Hungarian major, knowing his men would inadvertently be placing themselves in the line of fire as they ran towards the breach, screamed at the guard tower to cease firing. The response gave Radler seconds to gather enough fading energy and willpower to slip the bonds of his entangled coat and thrust a free arm into Gally’s outstretched hand. Guards leapt down from the road and lunged at the feet waggling crazily in front of them.
Like fishermen hauling in a bumper catch, Deek and Matthias unceremoniously heaved the two struggling men along the planks and through the fence leaving everyone in a heap in the Austrian wild grass. The electricians, having long abandoned any hope of retrieving the isolator, were already halfway to the safety and cover of the woods.
Unsure of what to do next, the Hungarians stood and pointed their weapons whilst their colleagues tried to untangle themselves from the barbs of the defensive wire.
The major shouted, “Stand still! No one is to do anything! Lower your weapons!”
Feeling the commands had little to do with them, the remaining ‘escape committee’ dragged Radler to his feet and began to propel him away from the frontier. Heading across the open field, they realised their mistake and abruptly dog-legged right and tried to make the trees under which their companions lay panting.
Still visible on the periphery of light from the two vehicles, three shots rang out. Jacket left protruding from his entangled coat where he’d abandoned both on the wire, his white shirt highlighting him amongst his companions, Radler staggered forward as the first bullet smacked into his right buttock, the second grazing his waist and the third slapped his right arm. He stumbled and ploughed into the ground.
The Hungarian guards wheeled round to see the Stasi ‘Colonel’, wild-eyed, his pistol raised. Open-mouthed, they watched as he fired another two shots before he was struck by the major with such force the weapon flew from his hand as he collapsed sideways to the floor. Recovering quickly, he lunged at the gun lying only feet from him on the tarmac but the major raised his own weapon as the intelligence man, Kovács, began to draw his. Working parts racked rounds into breaches as the border patrol turned as one to point their weapons at the Hungarian agent.
Calmly, the major said, “If you try to pick that up, Colonel, I swear, I will shoot you. You have no jurisdiction here. He’s gone. It’s over. We wouldn’t want to cause an international incident would we?” A momentary look towards Kovács brought the return of his half drawn weapon to its holster. The major picked up Drexler’s gun and pocketed it.
Gally had thrown himself across Radler as the fourth and fifth shots rang out. He’d come too far and been through too much to lose him now. He turned to gauge the situation and saw the drama unfolding behind him. Judging it an opportunity, he and Deacon pulled Harald up and began, as fast as they could, to drag him for the protection of the wood.
More shots rang out; they threw themselves into the grass, Gally again shielding Radler. Border patrol soldiers began to scatter. A sergeant, seeing the flashes from the far side of the field and believing they were the object of a cowardly ambush bawled instructions to his men and returned fire, the occasional glowing ‘tracer’ round showing the others the source of the problem. Drivers extinguished headlights and firearms crackled, flame from barrels providing an instant firework display. Deek was up, weapon drawn and cocked, zigzagging several metres away from the others, firing as he moved. Dropped to one knee, he fired three more towards where the last tracer had impacted and where the muzzle flashes now came; Gally felt something whistle past his ear and heard bullets striking the ground alongside him.
Across the fence, the major quickly assessed his men were not being fired at and began shouting, “Cease firing! Cease firing!!”
The American moved again, fired three more rounds then went to ground. Lying prone in the fresh-smelling grass, arms outstretched, he waited for the next incoming. There was nothing.