The SS Express
By Ray Drayton
“I thoroughly enjoyed this book. A great story line which required you to keep reading.
Very well researched and a good ending which makes you think.
Highly recommend.”
Synopsis:
A Nazi WW2 train lies hidden in an unknown tunnel of The Alps bordering Italy and Austria. Rumours abound of a secret train carrying gold bullion and priceless artworks plundered by the Nazis in the last days of the war.
Does the train actually exist, or is it a ghostly relic from a war torn past?
A former RAF Mosquito pilot is adamant it does exist and intends to prove it. In his own words, “I know the train is still there, because I chased it into the tunnel and bombed the entrance and exit, trapping the train inside.” The advancing years have taken their toll on Squadron Leader Leo Percy. Is his recollection accurate or does the phantom train only exist in his mind?
Another interested party with sinister intentions have a vested interest in locating the train. The Neo Nazi National Front will do anything to achieve their evil ideals – including murder. Human life is cheap and expendable. The priceless cargo on the secret train takes precedence over anything else…
“Excuse me, Professor Sorenson,” Sylvia rushes up to me breathlessly. “ The Nazi secret train supposedly hidden in Poland which I heard you talking about, is not there. People who claim it is are looking in the wrong place.”
Immediately my senses are on red alert. “How do you know about the train?”
Sylvia puts on a duffle coat over her nurses uniform, indicating her shift is finished. “My grandfather was flying a Mosquito fighter bomber during the war. He often spoke about returning from a raid on the Italian, Austrian border and bombing a tunnel, trapping a Nazi train inside. “ She brushes a strand of hair from her pretty face. “ He maintains the train in Poland is possibly the same one but in the wrong country.”
I go numb all over. “Is your Grandfather still alive?”
“Oh yes,” she smiles. “I am sure he would like to meet you both.”
While waiting in Sylvia’s lounge, I study a photograph on the mantle showing two young men in flying kit standing beside a Mosquito fighter. I glance up when Sylvia returns. “Is this your Grandfather?”
“Yes, and his navigator.” She points to another photograph of him wearing an RAF officers’ uniform. “Those medals he is wearing are the DFC and DFM.” Sylvia announces proudly. “Grandfather lives in an annex in our garden. He is looking forward to meeting you.”
I follow her through a beautiful garden to a well kept annex. She stops suddenly. “I must warn you, he suffered horrific burns when his Mosquito crashed in the English Channel returning from France. He was one of Doctor McIndoe’s ‘boys’ in The Guinea Pig Club.” Sylvia hesitates. “His appearance does not worry me. He is my grandfather, and I love him dearly.” She puts on a brave smile and leads me up the steps…
The Nazi Odessa sniper pans the top ridgeline through the 10×40 optical scope several times before he finds his targets. Three men appear to be talking while standing on the ridgeline one kilometre away. Their images are clear but he needs a better angle to take the shot. He repositions the Dan .338 snipers rifle, shifting the bipod onto a rock. Now he locks his cheek firmly into the support pad. The deadly weapon is perfectly positioned to unleash a killing head shot.
The sniper matches his breathing to his heartbeat and takes first pressure on the trigger when an image fills the optical scope. The recoil and the man dropping happens simultaneously. He feeds another .338 Lapua magnum bullet into the chamber prior to checking the Rangefinder. The instrument confirms the range, but now the scope is empty. The other two images have disappeared. Quelling his mounting frustration, the sniper back pans along the ridgeline…
The lone Mosquito flies low and fast over treetops before climbing and executing a victory roll. The RAF roundels glint in weak sunshine.
We all pause to watch the beautifully restored fighter bomber level out and fly over us before disappearing into a soft blue sky. Only a throaty drone of twin merlin engines give indication the Mosquito was actually here.
‘The Mosquito was in the day, described as the most beautiful, fastest fighter bomber ever built.’ Squadron Leader Leo Percy DFC, DFM and Bars, whispers in my mind.
I sense Sylvia shiver beside me and put a protective arm around her when we walk behind the Pall Bearers. Leo’s casket carries a single red rose next to his RAF officer’s cap and ceremonial sword.
An RAF Sergeant calls the Guard of Honour to attention while a lone bugle sounds ‘The Last Post.’
“He will be proud of you wearing his medals. ”I whisper to Sylvia.
She glances down at the medals pinned to her black topcoat. ”Yes, I suppose so.” She murmurs, looking up at me with a tearful loving smile.
‘This one was named after her Grandmother, and is just as beautiful. Look after her for me.’ Leo’s voice returns to me from nowhere…
Does the train actually exist, or is it a ghostly relic from a war torn past?
A former RAF Mosquito pilot is adamant it does exist and intends to prove it. In his own words, “I know the train is still there, because I chased it into the tunnel and bombed the entrance and exit, trapping the train inside.” The advancing years have taken their toll on Squadron Leader Leo Percy. Is his recollection accurate or does the phantom train only exist in his mind?
Another interested party with sinister intentions have a vested interest in locating the train. The Neo Nazi National Front will do anything to achieve their evil ideals – including murder. Human life is cheap and expendable. The priceless cargo on the secret train takes precedence over anything else…
“Excuse me, Professor Sorenson,” Sylvia rushes up to me breathlessly. “ The Nazi secret train supposedly hidden in Poland which I heard you talking about, is not there. People who claim it is are looking in the wrong place.”
Immediately my senses are on red alert. “How do you know about the train?”
Sylvia puts on a duffle coat over her nurses uniform, indicating her shift is finished. “My grandfather was flying a Mosquito fighter bomber during the war. He often spoke about returning from a raid on the Italian, Austrian border and bombing a tunnel, trapping a Nazi train inside. “ She brushes a strand of hair from her pretty face. “ He maintains the train in Poland is possibly the same one but in the wrong country.”
I go numb all over. “Is your Grandfather still alive?”
“Oh yes,” she smiles. “I am sure he would like to meet you both.”
While waiting in Sylvia’s lounge, I study a photograph on the mantle showing two young men in flying kit standing beside a Mosquito fighter. I glance up when Sylvia returns. “Is this your Grandfather?”
“Yes, and his navigator.” She points to another photograph of him wearing an RAF officers’ uniform. “Those medals he is wearing are the DFC and DFM.” Sylvia announces proudly. “Grandfather lives in an annex in our garden. He is looking forward to meeting you.”
I follow her through a beautiful garden to a well kept annex. She stops suddenly. “I must warn you, he suffered horrific burns when his Mosquito crashed in the English Channel returning from France. He was one of Doctor McIndoe’s ‘boys’ in The Guinea Pig Club.” Sylvia hesitates. “His appearance does not worry me. He is my grandfather, and I love him dearly.” She puts on a brave smile and leads me up the steps…
The Nazi Odessa sniper pans the top ridgeline through the 10×40 optical scope several times before he finds his targets. Three men appear to be talking while standing on the ridgeline one kilometre away. Their images are clear but he needs a better angle to take the shot. He repositions the Dan .338 snipers rifle, shifting the bipod onto a rock. Now he locks his cheek firmly into the support pad. The deadly weapon is perfectly positioned to unleash a killing head shot.
The sniper matches his breathing to his heartbeat and takes first pressure on the trigger when an image fills the optical scope. The recoil and the man dropping happens simultaneously. He feeds another .338 Lapua magnum bullet into the chamber prior to checking the Rangefinder. The instrument confirms the range, but now the scope is empty. The other two images have disappeared. Quelling his mounting frustration, the sniper back pans along the ridgeline…
The lone Mosquito flies low and fast over treetops before climbing and executing a victory roll. The RAF roundels glint in weak sunshine.
We all pause to watch the beautifully restored fighter bomber level out and fly over us before disappearing into a soft blue sky. Only a throaty drone of twin merlin engines give indication the Mosquito was actually here.
‘The Mosquito was in the day, described as the most beautiful, fastest fighter bomber ever built.’ Squadron Leader Leo Percy DFC, DFM and Bars, whispers in my mind.
I sense Sylvia shiver beside me and put a protective arm around her when we walk behind the Pall Bearers. Leo’s casket carries a single red rose next to his RAF officer’s cap and ceremonial sword.
An RAF Sergeant calls the Guard of Honour to attention while a lone bugle sounds ‘The Last Post.’
“He will be proud of you wearing his medals. ”I whisper to Sylvia.
She glances down at the medals pinned to her black topcoat. ”Yes, I suppose so.” She murmurs, looking up at me with a tearful loving smile.
‘This one was named after her Grandmother, and is just as beautiful. Look after her for me.’ Leo’s voice returns to me from nowhere…