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fought their way through the blinding snowstorms higher and higher into the mountains. Each new curve in the winding road had been a minor engineering feat, as the vehicles, sliding and skidding on the slick new snow, had been dragged round by sheer muscle-power, with hundreds of freezing, cursing, yelling SS men digging a new path for them in the rock and snow.
    Now the Regiment was stuck again. At the head of the column, just behind Habicht’s command vehicle which had cleared the corner safely, a halftrack full of grenadiers had begun to slip towards the sheer drop on the far side of the road and the ashen-faced driver had only managed to bring the ten ton vehicle to stop at the very edge of the drop. Behind it the whole Regiment was stalled again, the drivers gunning their engines nervously, while they waited for the obstruction to be cleared away.
    Angrily Habicht pushed by the young driver and strode to the side of the road to gaze down at the drop. With his good foot, he stamped on snow-covered ground there, obviously to test the strength of the rock below the snow.
    ‘Schulze, get a dozen men at each side of the vehicle ready to push when I give the word.’
    ‘Over the side?’ Schulze asked.
    ‘No. Back on to the road,’ the Hawk said. He swung himself up into the cab just vacated by the shaken driver. ‘I’ll get the bitch out myself.’
    Hurriedly Schulze ordered the men to their positions on both sides of the halftrack, while the Hawk gunned the motor and then gently let out the clutch. The wheel trembled violently in his single hand. With a lurch the halftrack moved forward a little as he put his foot on the accelerator.
    ‘Put yer backs into it!’ Schulze yelled, as the troopers took the strain. They heaved. The halftrack moved forward a little more, its rear tracks throwing up a shower of stone and snow. Another lurch. Abruptly the track hit ice or hard-packed snow. The vehicle lost traction. The tracks whirled furiously, the Hawk gunning the engine all out.
    ‘ Pass op! ’ one of the men on the sides yelled in panic.
    The Dutchmen jumped clear as the halftrack began to swing to one side,
    ‘Get back there, you Cheeseheads!’ Schulze cried in dismay, as the men scattered out of the path of the vehicle which was sliding sideways towards the edge of the road, the Hawk fighting the wheel crazily.
    Schulze jumped out of its path just as Habicht regained control of the halftrack, preventing it from sliding that last couple of paces on the treacherous granulated snow.
    ‘Get out, sir!’ Schulze yelled from where he lay sprawled in the snow. ‘Let it go over the side. The bastard’s not worth –’
    The words died on his lips. Quite deliberately the Hawk rammed home first gear again. Gently, very gently, he let out the clutch, the engine whining in protest as he did so. The halftrack lurched forward again. Schulze held his breath. If it slipped now, the Hawk would not have a chance. His face showed no fear, just anger that this piece of metal would not obey his commands. He increased his pressure on the accelerator, thick clouds of blue smoke pouring from the halftrack’s exhaust. Still the vehicle did not respond. Schulze watched, his mouth wide open, his heart beating frantically in an onslaught of panic. Would he do it?
    Suddenly the track caught. Habicht did not hesitate. He swung the wheel a half turn to the left. For a moment he thought he had done the wrong thing. Desperately he gave the vehicle more power. The halftrack jolted forward. He swung the wheel round. The tracks answered readily. A moment later he was away from the danger of the mountainside, the vehicle righted and pointing up the slope once again.
    On the ground, Schulze breathed out hard. The Hawk might be out to kill them, with his blind belief in Germany’s cause, but he was a damned brave man all the same.
    But there was no time for congratulations. For in that same instant that Habicht sprang lightly from the halftrack’s