Lehrter Station by David Downing Page B

onto the dimly lit platform. The sky was clear, stars winking down through the skeletal remains of the station roof.
    Effi had just joined him when the windows of their carriage exploded inwards, the sound of falling glass chiming through the boom of the offending gun.
    Russell dropped to the platform, pulling Effi down after him. ‘Flat as you can,’ he urged her, remembering the sergeant who’d given him the exact same advice twenty-seven years earlier, in a patch of no man’s land a few miles from Ypres.
    Raising his eyes, he saw that others had done the same. Most, however, were hopelessly milling.
    Another burst of machine gun fire produced screams of pain or alarm.
    Who was firing? And at whom?
    Feet were pounding towards them, and he did his best to shelter Effi’s body with his own. The owners of the feet ran past, and squinting upwards Russell recognised one of the men from their carriage. The boy was there too, mouth pursed with effort as he hauled the heavy sack along the uneven platform.
    There were shouts and whistles, and a last burst of gunfire from those in flight. Russell turned to see the old man from the opposite seat crumplesilently to the ground. His wife sank down beside him, and a keening cry seemed to slip from her throat. She raised her head on its long pale neck, and the thought crossed Russell’s mind that swans always mated for life.
    * * *
    ‘It was probably the Lehrter Station Gang,’ the American major told them. Once it was safe to do so, they had sought and found his office in what remained of the old ticket hall. As they waited for transport Russell had asked him about the battle on the platform.
    ‘The what?’ Russell asked. The ‘Lehrter Station Gang’ sounded like something out of a Hollywood Western.
    ‘They’re mostly Russians,’ the major explained, ‘prisoners who don’t want to go home. They’ve realised that crime pays much better here than real work does back in Russia. Particularly when the chance of getting caught is close to zero. Unlike the police, they’re armed.’
    ‘Why Lehrter Station?’
    ‘It’s where the biggest gang is based. Most of the refugees from the east arrive there, and the whole area’s just one big camp. Ideal for hiding out.’
    ‘Did they get away with anything?’ Russell asked. He hadn’t seen anyone carrying booty.
    ‘A few thousand cigarettes.’
    ‘And they kill men for that?’ Effi said disbelievingly. She still felt shocked by what she had witnessed. She had seen death in many forms during the war years, from bodies mangled beyond recognition to bodies lacking only that unmissable spark of life, but she had never seen a man killed, or a woman widowed, at such close quarters.
    The major smiled. ‘You must have just got off the boat. Cigarettes are money here. Better than money.’
    ‘We know,’ Russell said. It was why they were carrying a dozen cartons in their suitcases. But an economy that used cigarettes for currency still took getting used to.
    The door opened to admit a US Army corporal, a lanky young man of around twenty with a ready smile and hopeful eyes.
    ‘Here’s your ride,’ the major said.
    On the walk to the jeep the corporal told them that his name was Leacock, that his hometown was Cincinnati, Ohio, and that he’d been in Berlin since July. Despite the late hour and the freezing temperature, he seemed more than happy in his work. After ushering Russell and Effi into the back and piling their suitcases next to his own seat, he turned and asked if they’d like to ‘see some of the sights.’
    ‘Like what?’ Russell asked.
    ‘The Ku’damm’s still busy at this time of night. Worth a look, and it’ll only add a few minutes to the ride. And you’d be doing me a favour. I need to pick something up there.’
    ‘No, I…’ Russell began, but Effi intervened. ‘I’d like to see it,’ she said in German.
    ‘Have you been here before?’ Leacock asked.
    ‘Once or twice,’ Russell said drily. He